A/N- I was influenced to post this because of the HUGE number of reviews I received in ONE DAY after my last update!! I'm so happy that you guys are enjoying the fic, and I thank you for all your encouragement! I was SO thrilled to come home and find 14 reviews in my inbox! It really made my day, and I dedicate this chapter to all of you! #huggles reviewers#
HOWEVER… I also received my first flame, which I will reply to.
Here is the text of the review, which I am deleting, because I don't appreciate its presence (though at least they didn't do the "u idiot theyr not gay u suck and are going ot hell", which I appreciate).
THE REVIEW:
"From: ( )
No, I would not say it is lovely. It's highly unbelievable, especially given that Harry has Order guards and one of them could easily have taken care of Malfoy. And how the hell did Malfoy get there in the first place? A portkey that his mother made that conveniently left him within walking distance of Harry's relatives' home?
I'm willing to bet that you've never written Harry Potter fan fiction before because you haven't read the books. Your entire knowledge of the series probably came from one or two of the movies, and you're likely also between the ages of fourteen and seventeen."
MY REPLY TO THIS:
First off, I doubt Harry will agree to "Big Brother" surveillance. I have no doubt there are alarms of some kind, I highly doubt that they would go off at invited guests (which, if you didn't notice, Draco was). Second, how Malfoy got there will be explained, if you felt like being patient. It has a bit to do with the whole story, and will be revealed eventually. I will tell you that Hermione will be wondering the same thing, and that it has something to do with Draco's lie. That's all I'm saying at this point.
To the next section of your 'concerns'- No, I haven't written HP fiction before, which I clearly stated in Chapter 1, if you bothered to read my warnings. I have read the books, multiple times (though less of the end of book 5, for it made me cry… Siri… #sobs#), but yes, I have seen the movies. Which, by the way, was also made clear in my warnings in Chapter 1. And yes, since you asked, I am 17. I will be 18 in March. Are you satisfied now? Good, good. And what, really, does my age have to do with anything? Does being over 17 mean that I am suddenly struck with some wonderful "Over 17 Only" super writing powers that allow me to be better than everyone else? I never heard that one at my writing forum meetings, but who knows, we might have missed it. I'll be sure to inform everyone, now that you've enlightened me.
NOW, for those of you people who do like this fic, a lovely new chapter. (Look! I called it lovely! Whatcha gonna do about it, Flamer-Who-Would-Not-Give-A-Name???)
Chapter XVII- The Reconstruction of the DA
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Harry was glad, in retrospect, that he had been the first in their room to wake up that morning. The rude awakening that Draco had received the day before would have been nothing compared to what they would have gotten if Ron had been first up and seen them. Harry's first awareness was of warmth. It was cozy, like curling up under a blanket in front of a fireplace on a winter evening. He unconsciously snuggled closer to the source of the heat. Which would have been fine, had the heat not snuggled back.
Suddenly wide awake, Harry opened his eyes to find that he was entirely wrapped around Draco, and that Draco had wrapped back. So much so that Harry was not entirely sure whose legs were whose. The worst of it, though, was that Harry found himself, against all his better judgment, not wanting to move. It was that feeling, more than anything else that panicked him into moving.
Slowly and carefully, so as not to wake the sleeping blond, Harry extricated himself. It took a while, and every little noise from any of the room's other occupants caused him to freeze up. Finally, after an eternity of careful motion, he was free. Still moving cautiously, he picked up the clothes that Draco had laid out for him and headed to the bathroom, stopping momentarily to lightly scratch behind the ear tufts of Draco's new owl, who hooted appreciatively. On the bed, Draco smirked to himself, then rolled to watch with half-lidded eyes as Harry exited the room, closing the door behind him.
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It was several hours later, once everyone was awake, bathed, dressed and fed, that Hermione arrived. Her parents, she informed them, hadn't been told the address of the house, and so hadn't seen her to the door. The twins helpfully volunteered to take her things up to her room, and finally the whole group of them convened in the "first boys' room," as it suddenly came to be called, to chat.
"Harry." Hermione called for his attention from her position at the head of Ron and Neville's bed, where she had curled up for the time being, "I've been meaning to ask, are we going to continue with the DA meetings? I mean, now that Dumbledore's back and everything?" She ignored Ron's pointed looks at Draco, which may have been more urgent if he were taking notes or something. As it was, he barely looked like he was paying attention. He did seem to perk up at the mention of the DA, but Hermione planned to do her best not to judge him as quickly as Ron had. Harry, meanwhile, was contemplating.
"I hadn't really thought about it, actually. I don't really see why not, if Dumbledore's fine with it and people still want to come to meetings." Harry shrugged. Technically, he supposed he was in charge of the DA, but he had never really felt the compulsion to act like 'the leader'. It was more that he had naturally evolved into the position, since everyone else had placed him there. "If we're going to, I think we really need to work on advancing everyone's curse blocking skills." He remarked, remembering their battle at the end of the previous year, in which spells had flown in every direction, some capable of killing on contact. Hermione shuddered, obviously remembering the same thing, and Ron looked a bit green for a moment. Draco resolved to ask about it some other time, but at the moment, he could offer only one comment.
"I know a few good defense spells that may help." When everyone turned to look at him, he explained clearly, if a bit nervously. "My father always intended me to be a DeathEater, so he taught me spells. Some of those curses are particularly used by the DeathEaters, and they developed some basic protection spells to defend against... what's the Muggle term for it? I used to know..."
He looked at Hermione for help. The curly-haired girl concentrated for a moment, a little "v" creasing the skin of her forehead. Finally her eyes snapped open.
"Friendly fire?" She offered, hoping that was what he was looking for. It was.
"Yes! That's it, thank you. Friendly fire. It was a way of making sure that they didn't take out their own if things got... confusing. I know most of them, not all, unfortunately, but I could teach you." The end of the comment was directed at Harry, who met his eyes with an approving smile.
"That would be great." He replied, perhaps a bit softer than one normally would. Ginny kept filing, even as Draco began explaining the fundamentals of the blocking spells and which curses they would work against.
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They spent the next two weeks at Grimmauld Place digging through the extensive Black family library, which, fortunately enough, contained a good number of books on curses, countercurses, and blocking spells, in addition to more basic object enchantments to make perimeter alarms and even how to make bodyguards from household items (this discovery had prompted many a joke about Mad-Eye Moody and his flying dustbins). It was a treasure trove, and the six of them, the twins having left to take care of their rapidly growing business interests, practiced and practiced and practiced until they each felt reasonably comfortable with a few of the spells. Even Neville was doing well, and had practically mastered most of the simpler counter-hexes they had found.
Hermione, in a fit of rare brilliance, had the forethought to ask Dumbledore on his last visit if he'd mind them borrowing a few books from the house. He had granted them permission, which had prompted several cheers and one loud 'thump' as Ron managed to tip his chair over backwards in his enthusiasm. When they began collecting the volumes they needed to borrow, however, they ran into some difficulty. The preliminary selection of books came to five stacks, each at least a dozen tall. Two full days were spent re-copying spells from the books that contained the least amount of valuable material onto rolls of parchment, until they arrived at a stack of eight books and another half-dozen thick rolls of parchment, covered in four versions of meticulous script (Harry and Ron had been forcibly exempted from recopying spells, on the grounds that no one could read their writing except the two of them. Rather, it was they who had been responsible for page-marking and sorting out the books that needed to be taken).
The last day in August arrived to find the six mostly-self-appointed leaders of the new school year's version of the DA surveying their handiwork. Provided that there was enough interest to continue the group, they would have enough to do to keep them occupied for months, and that was just the more advanced members.
Now, with the DA's plans for at least the first half of the year sorted out and everyone's things packed for the morning trip on the Hogwarts Express, the last day at Grimmauld Place took on a surreal air. By mid-afternoon, Harry was beginning to worry about Draco. The blond had been avoiding everyone all day, ever since their final check of the DA materials right after breakfast. When he finally realized that no one had seen the boy in over an hour, Harry went searching for him. When he found Draco, though, it was in one of the last places he would have thought to look.
"What are you doing?" He asked, slipping down into a cross-legged sitting position on the rug next to him. Draco was staring at the Black family tree, a wall that he had staunchly ignored since that first day at the house. He shrugged non-commitally.
"Just thinking. It really has been odd, hasn't it?" Harry nodded, confused but listening. "I mean, it's been barely a few weeks since we couldn't stand the sight of each other, but now here we are. Not two hours ago I was having a conversation with not one but two Weasleys, and if you asked me before I'd have told you I'd be buggered before that'd happen. Hell, I've been sharing a bed with you for the past, what is it now, three weeks, give or take? And I would've told anyone they were mad if they'd have suggested it a month ago. It doesn't make any sense." Draco's head dropped, his chin close to resting on his chest. "Aren't we supposed to hate each other?" The question came out as the barest of whispers and Harry wasn't sure if he was expected to answer or not. As it was, he wanted to.
"We're supposed to, I think. But then again, when has either of us done what we were supposed to do?" Draco let out a half-hearted chuckle at that- neither of them was exactly known for following the rules. "Besides, I don't know..." He searched for the right words, finally settling for something in the middle, "Doesn't it feel better this way? It just feels... more right, I guess." He gave up, punctuating his statements with a sigh and leaning back on his hands to look up at the top of the wall. He wished that he could read the names at the top, but they'd long been rendered unreadable; either by time or by purposeful wearing, he didn't know. It was fun, though, to trace the lines down and see where they ended up, imagining the lives of the people whose names were emblazoned there. He was so absorbed that he almost didn't notice, some minutes later, when Draco finally answered him, or rather, responded, spreading his elegant hands to physically form the question.
"But what is this? I know, you're right, it feels like it's right, but I don't even know what it is! This whole situation, or this... thing, with us..." His voice faded out, leaving behind it the ringing echo of his words, and just like that, it was out in the open. The looks, the casual touches, that fleeting kiss and all the mornings spent pretending to be asleep but really making mental excuses for that feeling of not wanting to move; all the little things that just happened. They weren't spoken of, they just existed, until this point, this moment, and all of those half-felt feelings came sweeping back.
"I don't know." It was all Harry could say. They spent the next hour tracing the golden lines with their eyes, not really seeing the pattern at all, lost in thought and warm silence until the voice of Mrs. Weasley calling them to supper intruded on their shared solitude.
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Please review (again)! I just love hearing when people like my stories, and constructive criticism is always welcome!