"Mornin', Harry."

"Good morning. Have you guys seen—"

"Kekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkekkek…"

"Never mind." Draco heard Potter say behind him, as he bolted down the hallway, getting as far away from that bedroom as fast as he could run. The portraits along the corridor craned their necks, watching as he flew past. He hit the edge of a set of stairs, took a tumble, but caught his footing and kept on running.

"Eee!" he squawked, when a strong hand grasped him abruptly about the middle.

"Hey, there," Potter said, tucking his wand in his belt. "Where d'you think you're going?"

"Kek-kek-kek-kek-kek-kek-kek!" Draco stated, stricken by what he'd been forced to endure.

"Sh-sh-sh." He was cradled against a solid chest that smelt of pine and laundry soap. "It's all right, lovely one. I won't let you get locked in Ron's room again."

Potter petted Draco soothingly. Draco buried his nose in the crook of Potter's elbow and let himself be coddled. After the horror of the prior evening, he deserved it.

Breakfast included nibblings of biscuits, which was terrible for his figure but much tastier than dry ferret kibble, and bits of toast with butter. Draco sat comfy in the sling the robe made between Potter's thighs and ate what was fed to him, while Potter read the Daily Prophet and made disgusted comments about it.

"Bloody Rita Skeeter," Potter muttered. "It's not only my war."

They sat in a library, books piled on every surface available and stacked waist-height on the floor. Bookstones held open scrolls of note parchments on the triangular table, with three chairs pulled around, in the middle of the room. Empty inkbottles, brittle quills, and odd-looking nubs of painted wood were scattered about the tabletop.

"Harry," Granger's grating voice came from the doorway. She stood with her hands on her wide hips. "Is that all you're having for breakfast?"

Potter glanced at the nearly empty plate of bread and biscuits near his elbow. "Er, yes?"

Granger shook her head. "You really should eat healthier. It's no wonder you were so tired yesterday."

"Being chased around by a hungry manticore might've been more the culprit," Potter said wryly.

Draco peered up questioningly at Potter. Manticore? What manticore?

"You were riding Witherwings," Granger pointed out.

"You try riding a hippogriff upside down while dodging certain death and see how winded you are."

Draco made a sound of contempt. Upside down on a hippogriff? He didn't believe it for a second.

"You were not upside down. You would've been crushed," Granger said, repeating Draco's thoughts.

"Nearly, then," Potter said. "I couldn't have reached the cup otherwise."

Granger pursed her lips, but didn't comment on it anymore. She glanced around, instead. "Where is the cup?"

"In my room."

"Harry," Granger said in the same exasperated tone as previously. Potter merely grinned. She threw her hands in the air and clomped off.

Weasley entered the library shortly thereafter, with a bag of cockroach clusters held to his face like a horse's feedbag. "What's Hermione up-in-arms about?"

"I left the Hufflepuff cup in my room, instead of putting it away," Potter said.

"Ah." Weasley sprawled, limbs akimbo, in one of the chairs at the table. "You're going to get lectured again."

"Since when does Hermione not lecture?" Potter asked, with a playful tilt of his head.

"I can answer that," Weasley replied, lasciviousness dripping from his tone.

Draco dry-heaved.

"Whas'up wit'da ferret?" Weasley said, after dumping cockroach clusters in his mouth.

"I think you and Hermione traumatized her last night." Potter ran his palm comfortingly over Draco's fur. "She was locked in your room. Who knows what she saw?"

Weasley cringed. "The thought of anyone named Draco seeing Hermione and me getting off is sort of disgusting."

Yes, just sort of. Draco tasted bile in his throat.

"Imagine how she feels." Potter scooped Draco up and held him face-to-face. "Isn't that right, my lovely one? Did Ron's big, freckled prick scare you?"

Draco was certain he turned a sickly green.

"How do you know I have freckles? I thought you promised not to look," Weasley said, covering his lap with the bag of cockroach clusters.

"You've waved that fluglehorn around the dorm since First Year." Potter smirked, still looking at Draco. "It's probably what made me gay."

Draco blinked. Potter was gay?

"Harry!" Weasley exclaimed.

Potter laughed. "You know it's not true, Ron. I didn't even figure it out until last Christmas, remember?" He set Draco back down in his lap.

Draco glanced at the vee of Potter's thighs, his heart oddly racing. Potter was gay? No wonder he handled a broom so well.

Weasley chuckled and raised the bag of cockroach clusters to his mouth again. "You thought you were cursed. Ginny wished you were cursed."

Potter shrugged. "Better I realized it before things progressed between us."

"Ron, will you open the cache, please?" Granger said, as she came into the library, carrying the gold Hufflepuff cup with a Gryffindor scarf.

Weasley dumped the cockroach clusters on the table and leapt to his feet. Over Potter's leg, Draco saw Weasley pull a series of tomes partway off three separate bookshelves. A loud click sounded, and Weasley pushed up an entire shelf, revealing a secret cache. The shadows prevented Draco from seeing what else was hidden within, as Granger stuck the cup inside.

"Fascinating," Granger murmured, examining the black residue marring the scarf.

Weasley frowned. "Is that my scarf?"

Potter nicked a cockroach cluster, broke off a leg, and offered it to Draco. Draco ate it readily. "The last Horcrux: we're certain it's made of bronze?"

"No, but it makes the most sense," Granger said, tossing the scarf over the back of a chair before taking a seat. "Bronze, silver, and gold are the most commonly used precious metals, and we already have a silver piece and now a gold piece."

"Riddle's diary was paper and the Gaunt ring had a stone," Potter said, stroking Draco's head. "And the Gryffindor—"

"We have to start somewhere, Harry," Granger interrupted. "Searching for one item embossed with Rowena Ravenclaw's emblem will be difficult enough, as it is."

"True." Potter sighed and popped the remaining cockroach cluster into his mouth.

After righting the bookshelf, Weasley straddled his chair. "It's back to work, then."

Draco continued sitting in Potter's lap, as what appeared to be revision got underway. Apparently, collecting these Horcruxes, which were somehow tied to the Dark Lord, was what Potter and his mates had been doing all these months. Draco wished he could ask questions; like, how were the Horcruxes actually connected to the Dark Lord? How many were there? Why did they need to be destroyed? How could they spend hours reading through books without dying from boredom? Draco had fallen asleep just thinking about it.

"Ron-ALD!"

"Eee!" BANG.

"Draco, are you all right?" Potter lifted Draco from his lap and gently touched where he'd banged his head on the underside of the table. The screeching voice had startled him awake. He hissed at Potter, embarrassed and sore from the smacking. Potter had the audacity to chuckle.

"You're closer to your namesake than I realized," he said.

Draco bit him.

"I'd better go and see what Mum wants now." Weasley pushed back from the table and muttered as he left the room, "Too bad someone won't bother to recast the fidelis charm and then conveniently forget to tell her where I am."

"Ron does have somewhat of a point," Granger said, lifting her gaze from the open text in front of her. "We've asked you time and again and you still haven't given a decent answer: why haven't you recast the fidelis charm? Anyone who knows about you inheriting this house can come and go as they please. Although, they have respected your privacy."

Potter tugged Draco off his thumb. "It's not worth the bother." He grimaced at the tooth marks.

"Isn't it? Or are you still hoping someone in particular will show up?"

Potter said nothing. Draco stopped wiggling for freedom, intrigued.

"Harry," Granger said, not unkindly, "he would've appeared by now, if he were going to do something."

"That's what he'd want you to think, lulling you into a sense of complacency and then—" Potter slammed his fist on the table, causing both Draco and Granger to start, "—avada kedavra!"

"Harry—"

Potter shoved back from the table. "I need a break." Carrying Draco, he stalked out of the library.

Upstairs, Potter dropped Draco on the bed, his bedroom door closing with a resounding SLAM. Draco circled nervously, watching as a fuming Potter stomped around picking up laundry from the floor and shoving it into a basket unearthed in the corner. It would be amusing, that Potter relieved his anger by cleaning, if the thunderous expression on his face wasn't quite so scary and the furniture wasn't vibrating from displaced magic.

Abruptly, as if someone had cast a disabling spell on him, Potter collapsed on the floor in front of the overflowing laundry basket. He removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead irritably. The furniture came to a rest.

Draco settled at the edge of the bed, chin on his paws, eyeing Potter warily. Potter slipped his glasses back on, sighed heavily, and noticed Draco. He smiled wearily and crawled across the floor until he was kneeling beside the bed. "Sorry, pretty girl. Talk about Snape makes me a bit stroppy."

Draco tilted his head contemplatively. Obviously, Potter hadn't taken Dumbledore's death well. And all that anger could've been about him if he'd completed his task.

Potter stroked his hand down Draco's back. "But don't worry, lovely; you may be named after Malfoy, but Snape's the only one I want dead."

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't such a bad thing that he'd failed.

tbc...