Malfoy jolted awake, his own screams still ringing in his head. He had dreamt of the summer again, and groaned as he rolled over. He lay motionless for five minutes, trying to get back to sleep, and when it didn't come growled and rolled out of bed. He landed with a thump and stood up, his back cracking loudly.

He staggered through into the common room and was surprised to see that it was completely empty. He glanced at the clock above the fireplace and yelped. It was ten o'clock. He turned quickly to run back into his dorm but Snape blocked his path.

"Glad you finally decided to wake up. The Headmaster wants to see you half past ten. I advise that you get dressed. You have been excused from lessons this morning," he said shortly and disappeared through the wall to go teach. Malfoy groaned in frustration and continued his way to the dorm to have a shower and get dressed. He wasn't looking forward to this meeting.

"Good morning, Draco," Dumbledore said warmly as Malfoy sat down opposite him half an hour later. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, thank you sir," Malfoy replied tightly.

"Would you like a sherbet lemon?" the old man offered him a yellow sweet.

"No thank you, sir,"

"Am I correct in assuming you would like to know why you are here?" the Headmaster asked with a sigh.

"I think I already know," Malfoy replied. "I threatened a teacher,"

"Yes, you did," Dumbledore said heavily. "And do you know what the punishment is?"

"No, and I don't really care. She endangered the lives of six students. Not that I particularly care about the Gryffindors, but one of those lives was my own," he said bluntly. "I don't feel the slightest bit of remorse for what I did – or what I would have done had Granger not stopped me. I said she deserves to be sacked, and I wasn't kidding. I don't care what you do to me,"

"Draco, what Professor Maude did was not acceptable. But that does not excuse what you did. If you provide Professor Maude with a full written apology, I will be willing to drop most of your punishments,"

"I've said, I don't care,"

"But Draco, you schooling career is at stake,"

"I don't care,"

"Draco, if you are expelled now, you will never -"

"I SAID I DON'T CARE!" Malfoy yelled. He wasn't aware of standing up, but he was on his feet, leaning on the desk, glaring at the old man. "I AM NOT STAYING AT THIS SCHOOL IF SHE IS!"

"Draco…" Dumbledore said in a warning tone. "Do not make this worse for yourself. You are lucky as it is – had Miss Granger not stopped you, you could have been sentenced to life in Azkaban,"

"I DON'T CARE!"

"Then if you are unwilling to co-operate the full punishment will have to be forced upon you. A month of detentions with myself, banned from Quidditch for the rest of the season, a personal curfew of eight o'clock, no Hogsmeade visits, your parents will be informed, and you will face a trial at the Ministry in three days time. Threatening a teacher is a serious offence, Mr. Malfoy, but I can only help you if you will help yourself. I will ask you one last time. Will you apologise?" he snapped.

"No," Malfoy said stubbornly.

"Then I would request that you retire to your common room and wait there until afternoon lessons commence. An elf will bring you some lunch. Good day, Mr. Malfoy,"

Malfoy didn't move.

"Am I to deduce from this," he said slowly, "that no enquiry is going to be made concerning her actions?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. You are. She is a teacher, and her judgement will be valued higher than yours will. I believe I appointed Professor Maude as Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, not you. She will teach you as she sees fit. Now, she does not teach you again until Thursday. I am sure that if you -"

"YOU CAN'T LET HER GET AWAY WITH THIS!" Malfoy roared, silencing Dumbledore mid-sentence. "IF NOT FOR ME, FOR POTTER!"

"Harry has nothing to do with this,"

"HE HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH THIS! I WAS FINE, I CAN RESIST DEMENTOR ATTACKS, BUT THEY AFFECTED HIM WORSE THAN REAL DEMENTORS WOULD HAVE DONE! I WAS FINE, BUT HE WASN'T! THAT WAS THE REASON I THREATENED HER – I HAD BEEN IN NO DANGER MYSELF, BUT SHE COULD HAVE KILLED POTTER!"

"I would prefer it if you didn't shout at me, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said delicately. He jumped as a glass object to the side of him smashed, exploding into a million tiny shards which flew out in all directions. He stared at it for a moment before looking back at Malfoy.

His grey eyes were closed, and he was breathing heavily. His head was bent. His blond hair was sticking to the sweat on his forehead, and his arms were shaking where he was leant on the desk. It looked as though he would collapse any moment. There was a knock at the door and it opened, the person on the other side not waiting for an answer before entering.

"Headmaster, I need to -" Snape began, but stopped short when he saw Malfoy stood leaning over the desk. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise Mr. Malfoy was still here. I'll be outside," he said quietly. He was about to leave when Malfoy whirled around and the wall next to the door exploded, leaving a hole the size of a Quaffle. Snape paused before continuing, exiting the room. Malfoy was shaking.

"I suggest that you go somewhere you will be calm, Draco," Dumbledore said gently. "It will do you no good to injure yourself or others. Please come back to my office at six o'clock for your detention. Remember, your trial is on Friday,"

Malfoy stormed out of the office. There was a faint luminous sheen rippling across his body, and his robes swirled about him in a way that would normally have required wind. The air around him was cold, and where he stepped the floor froze, melting immediately as he walked away, leaving a burn mark.

The other students knew instantly to let him past as he strode down the corridors. They parted like the sea as he made his way out of the school, and he flew onto the grass like something possessed. His heart was hammering in his ears, and he could feel the magic building up inside him. He knew that soon it was going to be released, and wanted to be in a place where it didn't matter.

He got halfway to the Quidditch pitch before it came out.

It came whipping around his ankles, moving up to surround his body in a whirlwind as he walked. Blue metallic hues sparked before his eyes, and before he knew what was happening everything exploded around him. There was a roaring in his ears for five seconds and he squeezed his eyes shut. When it stopped, he opened them and looked at the destruction.

He was standing in a crater five metres deep and ten metres wide that he had managed to blow in the ground.

"Whoops,"

"Malfoy?"

Malfoy looked up to find the owner of the voice. Snape was peering down at him from the lip of the crater.

"Yes?"

"Would you care to explain why you are standing in a hole in the middle of the grounds?"

"No, I wouldn't," Malfoy retorted. He climbed up the side of the crater and marched straight past Snape, his head held high. The Potions Master gaped at the impudent boy as he strode towards the Quidditch pitch, pretending as though nothing had happened.

Potter yanked the handle sharply to the left and the Firebolt hauled around, his feet scuffing the stands as he stopped slamming into them. He shot straight up and levelled of as he reached the height of the goalposts. He glanced at the opposite end and gasped.

Malfoy was standing at the top of the teacher's tower, staring blankly down at the ground. He slowly raised his head to look Potter straight in the eye. They stared at each other for a good minute. Potter saw Malfoy's lips moving, but didn't know what he had said – but the thought was knocked out of his head as Malfoy stepped off the top of the tower.

"No!" he yelled, and shot forwards. Malfoy fell quickly through the air, his robes billowing out. Potter zoomed forwards, but he knew he wouldn't reach Malfoy in time The Slytherin was going to hit the ground, probably break about fifty bones in the process.

Suddenly something shot through the air and hit Malfoy, taking him with it. Potter pulled up, and stared at Malfoy.

He was a ten feet from him, a bit higher, perched on a brand new broom. The handle was pure black, and the tail was an odd silvery white colour.

"Ebony and silver birch," Malfoy said. "Nice, isn't it? It's the latest Volas model. Just got it this morning. Thought I'd try it out. Want a game?"

"Go on then,"

Malfoy pulled a golf ball out of his pocket and cast a spell on it. It shot out of his hand, and Potter followed it closely. They began an intricate dance over the pitch in pursuit of the ball, dodging each other as they both sought the same goal. Malfoy's new broom had a slight advantage over Potter's, turning faster and moving more smoothly, but Potter was still giving him a run for his money.

Malfoy suddenly shot upwards, and Potter whipped his head around to find him. Malfoy hurtled past him, brushing his side, nearly knocking him off course. Then they began again, weaving about each other; fingers grasping the air as the makeshift Snitch escaped their attempts. Elbows banged, hands collided, and more than once Malfoy's head connected with Potter.

Potter suddenly focussed his inner magic on the broom carrying him, and felt the wood grow warm beneath his fingers. His velocity increased, and he saw the shocked look on Malfoy's face as he lunged forwards for the ball. The distracted Slytherin didn't register Potter swerving suddenly as the ball changed direction, and Potter smacked him in the side, catapulting him into the stands. He crashed into them with a sickening thud that resounded through the air. Potter swore and, Snitch forgotten, shot to the ground to Malfoy.

The Slytherin was trying to stand, shaking violently. Blood was running from a gash under his hair, staining the blond red. A dark bruise was already forming on his left cheek, and he was clutching his side. Blood was seeping between his fingers, and he hissed as he tried to take a step forward. The stands behind him were crushed, broken when Malfoy had slammed into them. Potter dismounted hurriedly and rushed over to him.

"Move your hand," he said urgently. Malfoy shook his hand, gritting his teeth. "Move you hand!"

Potter yanked the strong hand away from his side and blood poured from the wound. Malfoy gasped and his knees gave way, taking Potter with him. The Gryffindor paled at the sight of so much blood.

"Take your robes off,"

"I'm injured, not mad," Malfoy snarled as best he could in his state.

"I said take your robes off," Potter repeated harshly.

Grumbling, Malfoy relented, and awkwardly disentangled himself from his robes. He was wearing a black T-shirt under them, which Potter removed without hesitation.

"Don't look," he said hastily, but it as too late. Malfoy looked down and blanched.

There was a stake stuck in his side. About two inches was sticking out, but he knew that there was more inside him. Potter glanced up furtively.

"Move up against the stands," he ordered. Malfoy shuffled backwards until his back was against the undamaged stands and stared fearfully down at Potter. "Brace yourself," the Gryffindor said quietly. Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth.

He felt the wood slowly crawling out of his side and gasped in pain. It hurt more than anything… well, expect the Mark perhaps. He opened his eyes and grabbed Potter's shoulder tightly.

"It hurts," he gasped out. Potter grimaced and allowed Malfoy to grip his shoulder as he eased the stake from him. Malfoy let out a small yelp as it exited his side, then a full-on scream as it caught something within his gut. Panting and shaking, he tried to wriggle away from Potter.

"No, it hurts, stop…" he whimpered, but Potter held him firmly in place. Malfoy gripped the dark hair and bit down on the shoulder he had previously been clamped on to help relieve his pain. The Gryffindor took it in his stead, nearly finished removing the wood.

"Just a bit more," he whispered. Tears streaked down Malfoy's cheeks into the robes he had buried his face into and he bit Potter's shoulder even harder.

"I'm going to yank it out the last bit, OK?" Potter murmured in his ear. Malfoy nodded and sank his teeth further into the shoulder. He braced himself and let go of the shoulder as the wood left his body, his mouth opened in a scream that echoed around the pitch. He fell backwards onto the sandy floor, pulling Potter with him, and lay shaking, blood gushing out of his side. Potter hurriedly clamped his hands down on the open wound, trying to stem the flow.

"HELP!" he bellowed. He pressed his hands down on Malfoy's side, hushing the writhing Slytherin. Suddenly Dumbledore was beside him, peering at Malfoy over Potter's shoulder.

"Can he be moved?" he asked firmly. Potter shook his head vehemently.

"Get Madame Pomfrey down here now please!" he snapped out. Dumbledore immediately forgave his shortness and was gone with a whirl of his cloak. Potter straddled Malfoy to hold him in place, one hand still pressed to his side, the other resting on his pale, strong chest. "Madame Pomfrey will be here soon," he said gently. "She'll heal you,"

Malfoy bit his lip and nodded, clamping his own hand on top of Potter's at his side.

"Don't let up the pressure," he gasped out. Potter nodded. He removed his left hand from Malfoy's bare chest and used it to wipe the blood from the head wound out of Malfoy's eyes. His skin was cold and feverish, and Potter wished Madame Pomfrey would hurry up.

As if she could read his thoughts, she appeared at his side.

"What in Merlin's name happened here?" she asked.

"He crashed into the stands, and got a chunk of wood in his side,"

"Idiot boy. He should have come straight to me," she snapped, levitating Malfoy in front of her as she began her trip off the pitch up towards the castle. Potter suddenly felt very much like Lockhart, and blushed at the thought, watching as the Slytherin was transported to the Hospital Wing.

Malfoy awoke with a start and a gasp, and sat straight up. He looked around wildly, calming only slightly when he registered that he was in the Hospital Wing, not his father's dungeons.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey said briskly, stepping up to the other side of the bed. She hoisted his shirt up to inspect his side. He craned his neck to look through her arm at the wound. It looked relatively small and un-messy compared to how it had been before, but the gash was still open. She made him hold his shirt in place while she flicked her wand, bandages wrapping around his stomach to cover the hole in his side. He winced slightly as it tightened, but said nothing.

"You may go back to lessons now, Mr. Malfoy. I would suggest that you do nothing physically demanding for the next couple of days. Goodbye,"

She whirled out of the ward in a manner that Snape would be impressed by, leaving Malfoy to awkwardly climb out of the bed and gather his belongings from where they were on the floor beside him.

Malfoy walked into the Transfiguration classroom ten minutes later, the lesson already begun. He murmured an apology and was about to sit down when McGonagall's cutting tones halted him.

"Would you care to explain where you have been for the last five minutes of the lesson, Mr. Malfoy?" she said icily. Malfoy frowned.

"I was in the Hospital Wing, Professor. I just got let out,"

"And what, pray tell, were you doing in the Hospital Wing over lunch?"

"I had an accident whilst playing Quidditch. Potter was there, he can tell you,"

McGonagall turned to Potter, who was sat at the back of the class.

"Is this true, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes Professor. He was injured and Madame Pomfrey took him away,"

"Very well," McGonagall sniffed. "Take a seat, Mr. Malfoy, and get out your wand,"

Growling, Malfoy sat down at the front of the class and pulled his wand from his robes. McGonagall had resumed writing on the blackboard and her back was turned to the class. Malfoy looked over his shoulder at Potter. Something suddenly cracked loudly on his desk and he whipped around, nearly falling off his seat in fright. McGonagall's lips were set in a straight line that belied the anger in her aged eyes.

"You have had the impudence to turn up late to the lesson, and now are refusing to pay attention. Twenty points from Slytherin, Mr Malfoy, and it will be a detention should you step out of line once more this lesson," she grated, then whipped around to continue on the board again.

Cheeks burning, Malfoy hung his head, his hair falling around his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at any of his classmates. It was bad enough being berated by a teacher, but having points deducted for being injured then turning around in class? That was ridiculous. McGonagall had her back up this term, Malfoy knew now, and he wasn't willing to get on her bad side again. So far though he was being attacked from all sides, everyone a critic, and it was beginning to piss him off.

"Today we will be having a look at a branch of Transfiguration that is most often needed in quick-response situations. It involves turning something threatening into something safe, using a general incantation. I believe you all tackled Boggarts in the third year with Professor Lupin?" There was a murmur of general consent. "Good. This spell requires similar thought processes. You have to see the object as something completely harmless as you say the incantation. Observe,"

She flicked her wand and an enormous snarling werewolf appeared before her.

"Innocens,"

She flicked her wand again and it fell to the floor as a plump Labrador puppy, earning a few simpering noises from the girls in the class. She turned back to them.

"I will be requesting you forward one at a time to practise on various hazards behind the curtain," another flick and a barrier was erected at the side of the room, a curtain sectioning part of the room off. "Mr. Malfoy, you first please,"

Malfoy stood and pulled his wand out, sauntering around the curtain to where McGonagall was waiting.

"The incantation please,"

"Innocens,"

"Prepare yourself,"

She stepped back around to the other side of the curtain, and with a pop a massive snake erupted out of the floor. The black coils shimmered under the lights as it slithered towards him. Without thinking, he raised his wand and yelled the first thing that came to mind.

"Deleo!" he cried, stepping backwards and colliding with a chair. The cobra imploded with a sharp crack, leaving a pile of soot behind. McGonagall whipped around the curtain with a furious look on her face.

"I said Innocens only!" she yelled. Malfoy collapsed on the floor and cringed.

"Sorry, I just reacted…"

"And where, pray tell, did you learn that particular curse? Your father?" she sneered. Malfoy's face immediately contorted in anger, fury welling up inside him. Suddenly something grabbed her by the feet and she was flipped over to land her back. Malfoy stared in utter shock, knowing that whilst that had been him, he had no idea how he had done it. He cowered again as McGonagall's explosive face leapt into his field of vision.

"DETENTION, MALFOY, AND FIFTY POINTS FROM SLYTHERIN! NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" she bellowed, looking positively apoplectic. Malfoy scrambled to his feet and pelted from the classroom, followed by flabbergasted stares. He sank to the floor outside in the corridor, slightly out of breath, and cast a single spell.

"Fenestra Mur," he murmured. A rippling square formed before him, one corner attached to the end of his wand. He moved it against the wall of the classroom and it shimmered before him, the stones turning transparent, a one-way mirror. He peered into the classroom.

The Gryffindors had never seen their Housemistress look so angry. They quaked in their seats as she stormed back to the front of the class. She sat behind her desk, fuming, her hands gripping the table in a frightening manner.

"Does anybody here know what Deleo is?" she asked, her voice falsely calm. Granger's hand shot up.

"It's a Dark curse, and close to becoming an Unforgivable," she replied promptly. "It causes the object to deconstruct from the outside in, a metaphorical black hole in the centre of the object. There is usually little or no evidence of the object left,"

"Ten points," McGonagall said absently. "Correct. Would anyone care to hazard a guess as to why we do not teach it here?"

"Because it's a Dark curse?" Potter suggested.

"Precisely. And the only place in this school you will hear Dark curses uttered is in Defence Against The Dark Arts classes, and even then it will be so you know how to defend yourself. But you will not speak them in Transfiguration. Or Charms. Or Potions. Or anywhere else. Is that clear?"

The class consented, muttering, and Malfoy stepped away from the wall. Sighing, he got rid of the charm he had been using and walked down the corridor. He would get his bag later.

"Headmaster, something needs to be done,"

"I know, Minerva. But what?"

"I don't know!" McGonagall cried, throwing her arms up in the air. "Cast a prohibiting spell?"

"I can't do that without parental consent and you know that Lucius will be pleased to hear of his son's progress. Also, Malfoy junior has all but defected. He probably no longer classes himself as a Malfoy,"

"But he's too young. This shouldn't happen for at last another year. Students normally don't start showing until they're at least eighteen!"

"I fear Malfoy has many surprises up his sleeve," Dumbledore said darkly, and took another sip of his hot chocolate. He sighed and looked at the grandfather clock on the wall next to the large oak door. "Alas. It is nearly six o'clock. Malfoy himself will be arriving for his detention soon,"

"From you?" McGonagall asked incredulously. "Albus, you never assign detentions!"

"I believe this is a slightly less than ordinary case. But do not worry. I shall be lenient,"

"I do not worry for him, Albus; I worry for you. There's no telling what he might do in his current state. Are you sure you would not like me to stay?"

"No thank you my dear Professor. I am hoping to help Malfoy, if he at all permits it,"

A sharp knocking on the door alerted them of Malfoy's presence.

"Speak of the devil," McGonagall muttered. She cast a glance to the remainder of her own hot chocolate and drunk it in one go. She place her mug down on the table and stood, wrapped her cloak around her. "I shall lave you to him,"

Albus merely smiled pleasantly, and watched as she opened the door to reveal a very irritated Draco Malfoy.

"Good luck," she murmured to Dumbledore, earning a scowl from Malfoy.

Malfoy entered the room slowly and stood in the middle of the room.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Malfoy. Would you like a hot chocolate?"

"No thank you," Malfoy replied curtly, and stared at the mug in Dumbledore's long hands. It was multicoloured with puppies gallivanting over the sides, barking softly every now and then.

"Now, Mr Malfoy, I have decided, taking recent events into account, to change the plan for your detention. You are going to spend half an hour writing a list,"

"Of what?" Malfoy asked. "Sir?"

"Of everything you feel strongly about. Whether you love it or hate it. Every last thing. You need no write what your feelings towards each situation or object is. It would be helpful, of course, but by no means necessary. You parchment is over there," he indicated to the table by the fire. "I trust you have your own quill?"

Malfoy nodded dumbly, and went to sit down. Everything he felt strongly about. Well, that shouldn't be too difficult. He dug a quill out of his bag and began to write as they came to his head.

Father

Voldemort

Quidditch

Blood ancestry

NEWTs

Career (Auror?)

Houses

Assumptions

Pre-judgement

Food

Harry Potter

He paused at the last entry. Was that a sensible thing to put? After all, Potter was Dumbledore's Golden Boy; no doubt the Headmaster would simply overlook everything else and skip straight to grilling him on why he hated Potter. He was considering scribbling it out but then changed his mind. It would be stupid. Dumbledore was well aware of the animosity between them; if he didn't write it down, Dumbledore would simply start asking anyway. He continued the list.

Half an hour later, Dumbledore interrupted his though process and called him over to the desk. He passed his parchment to the Headmaster, who perused it intently as though it was the greatest works since Shakespeare. After an interminable five minutes, he spoke.

"For the next twenty minutes I will be attempting to provoke you," he said blandly, surveying Malfoy over the tops of his glasses, his fingers steepled under his chin. "I would like to see how you react to each. Is that understood?"

Malfoy consented.

"Let's start at the beginning then, shall we?" he said cheerfully. "Your father. Lucius."

"Is a sadistic, grovelling, arrogant bastard," Malfoy snarled viciously. Dumbledore held his wand in the air as if testing the humidity then smiled to himself, taking notes.

"Voldemort?"

"Is a hypocritical, delusional, psychotic half-blood,"

Dumbledore held his wand up again, looking amused, then took more notes.

"Blood ancestry?"

"Is a fundamental flaw in the entire wizarding system,"

"Your NEWTs?"

"Are quintessential for the next thing on my list, and I believe, without meaning to be arrogant, that they won't be much trouble,"

"Houses then?"

"Nurture, not nature. All first years generally act the same. By the time you get to fourth year though, you're generally stereotypically set. Slytherins are cunning yet secretive. Gryffindors are brave and reckless. Ravenclaws are intelligent and arrogant. Hufflepuffs are loyal and emotional,"

"Assumptions and pre-judgement?"

"I hate it when people judge me for my name," Malfoy spat.

"Food?"

Malfoy blushed.

"I'm semi-bulimic,"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Harry Potter?"

"Is…" Malfoy frowned. How do you summarise Potter in four words? He floundered for a few seconds before saying the first thing that came to mind. "He's Gryffindor's Malfoy,"

Dumbledore looked mildly confused for a moment, but then understanding set into his face, and he looked so pleased that he probably would have hugged Malfoy had the Slytherin not edged is chair away slightly.

They continued in this fashion until a small gong on Dumbledore's desk sounded, startling Malfoy. The Headmaster smiled benignly and indicated that he could leave.

"I am to come here again tomorrow?

"Oh no, thank you. I believe I have enough to satisfy my mind for next few nights. I will alert you when I request your presence again. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Goodnight,"

Extremely puzzled, Malfoy shrugged and collected his bags before leaving the room. Dumbledore picked up his notes and sifted through them, his gaze stopping on three of the things Malfoy felt strongly about.

Voldemort

Pre-judgement

Harry Potter.

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley walked down the corridor, laughing and joking, brooms clutched in their hands.

"…the look on her face! That was brilliant!" Ron said enthusiastically. "I swear she was going to faint!"

"Don't make me feel any worse!" Harry groaned good-naturedly. "At least she's OK,"

"Yeah, I suppose. But jeez, Harry, you nearly gave her a coronary!"

Harry grinned. During the practice he had decided on impulse to shoot towards Katie at such a speed that she was nearly knocked off her broom. The tactic worked. She dropped the Quaffle in a desperate bid to escape the demented Seeker.

"Hey, stop a second," Harry said suddenly, bending down to pick up a small black book from the floor. He turned it over in his hands, looking for a name. There wasn't one.

"Have a look inside," Ron suggested. Harry opened it, and flicked through it – but there was only one piece of writing, on the last page. He read it out.

"'Cat 85 is the epitome of my life' I wonder what Cat 85 is?"

"Best to ask Hermione. Come on, she'll be able to wok out whose it is as well,"

Fifteen minutes later Hermione came back down the stairs with a large tome clutched in her arms.

"It's OK Harry, go up to bed, you've got lessons next morning, I'll work on it tonight,"

Ignoring his protests, she forced him up the stairs. Ron frowned at her.

"What was that about?"

"I have a nasty feeling I know both what Cat 85 is and whose diary this is – and if I'm right, I don't want Harry finding out. In fact, you'd better go too. Please," she asked, leafing through the massive book.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Don't mention this to Harry, please,"

"OK, if you're sure…" Ron said uncertainly. Hermione smiled at him.

"I'm quite sure. Night, Ron,"

---------------------

Sorry this took so long to update, I've just had a hectic past few weeks. Summer holidays at last! Plenty of time now for writing!

Apparently I write like Rowling herself... I wouldn't say so... for starters, I write slash! And I also completely disagree with every last thing at eth end of HBP. She's just ruined it now.

please, REVIEW! I know you're reading this. For those of you who don't knwo how I'm managing that, I'll tell you - there's a hits counter in my login that tells me how many people have bothered to read this stuff. Want to know how many so far?138 as of 16.54, 28 July 2005. And only5 reviews. I know you're there... please review, it give me such a ridiculous, happy feeling when I get an alert saying someone's reviewed... please make my day...

Oh and FireOpal? Please stop terrorozing readers. I quote "...review, you little gits, or I'll set Harry and Draco (my fic, Fire and Water) on you!Mwuhahaha!" And you have a mental age of...?

Kendos and a no-prize for anyone who recognises the Defence teacher.

smokey2307

aka

Lloyd the Amoeba.