"D'you ever think about why so many Slytherins go Dark?" Harry asked later that evening, as he, Ron, and Hermione lounged near the fire in the common room. The space was beginning to empty as the night wore on, and it was the perfect volume at which to have a somewhat-private conversation. The fire kept them comfortably toasty, and it was moments like this, warm and surrounded by his closest friends, that Harry felt most at home.

Both his friends looked at him with bemused expressions, though Hermione's, unsurprisingly, quickly turned thoughtful. Ron spoke first. "Dunno, mate. They're just sort of sneaky, aren't they? And loads of their parents are Dark, so I guess it sort've gets passed down," he said, shrugging a little.

Harry wasn't convinced. "I don't think being sneaky means you'll go Dark though, does it? I mean, Fred and George are plenty sneaky, aren't they, and they're hardly Dark wizards."

Ron's frown deepened. "I guess…" he said, uncertainty clear.

Hermione sat forward a little, a look of consideration on her face. "I don't suppose every Slytherin could actually be Dark, or they'd just disband the House, surely. But enough of them must've been – at least at some point - to get their reputation. I suppose it didn't help when You-Know-Who started recruiting from within his old House."

Harry nodded slowly. "Everyone knows what Salazar Slytherin thought about teaching Muggle-borns and Half-bloods. I suppose it's hard to know who goes to Slytherin just 'cause they're cunning and ambitious, and who goes 'cause they agree with the Founder and want to be there because of that. There must be a mix of the two, surely. I mean, Crabbe and Goyle have never struck me as particularly cunning or ambitious. Unless their ambition is to follow Malfoy around for the rest of their lives, in which case I suppose they're doing fantastic."

Ron snorted, and Hermione nodded grimly. "And don't forget those whose parents have pressured them to get sorted there," she added after a moment. "That must happen with all the Houses, I suppose."

Harry made a noise of agreement, and Ron turned towards him. "Why're you thinking about that stuff anyway, mate?" he asked, a bemused frown still on his face. He was looking a little betrayed; normally Hermione was in charge of the random philosophical discussions in their group, and Harry and Ron always presented a united front.

Harry shrugged, and began twirling his wand idly. "'S just, when you two were sick, I ended up having to partner with a few Slytherins in class, and they were surprisingly alright. Not Malfoy's lot!" Harry added hastily, seeing Ron's expression. "I mean, uh, Nott, Bullstrode, Davis, and Zabini."

"They were 'alright'?" Ron looked rather aghast. "Are you sure, Harry? I mean, they're Slytherins. 'Cunning' is sort've their thing." He pulled a face. "What if they were just pretending to be nice to you as a trick? You know, make friends with you and then do something to embarrass you, as some sort of prank?" Ron's normally friendly face looked uncharacteristically worried.

"They weren't trying to make friends with me, though." Harry pointed out. "And they weren't exactly friendly, just… civil. They were actually suspicious of me." Harry could see Ron's offense at this and pulled a face. "I'm explaining it wrong. It's just, I realised that if we had to, we could get along fine, and then I started thinking about how it's weird to ignore them just because most of their House are gits. And then I bumped into some Slytherin first years, and they mostly just reminded me of Colin Creevey, y'know? Little and excited. Hardly dangerous evil masterminds."

Ron still didn't look entirely convinced, but most of his worry seemed to have faded, and now he was just frowning. Harry took that as a good sign.

"Anyway, I, er, ended up studying with them in the Library one night last week," Harry admitted, bracing for their reactions. They didn't disappoint.

"Studying?", they said in unison, with alarmingly different tones.

"In the Library? Really, Harry?" Hermione looked as if Christmas had come early.

"With the Slytherins? Did they kidnap you or something, mate?" Ron, conversely, was looking at Harry as if his best friend had been replaced by an irate Hippogriff.

"Er, yes, in the Library, and no, I wasn't kidnapped. I have studied before, you know," Harry huffed, a touch defensive.

"When?" Ron asked, sounding honestly surprised. "Where was I?"

"Yes, when, Harry?" Hermione added with a hurt look, as if Harry had been organising some secret underground studying ring and had decided not to invite her. She exchanged a bewildered look with Ron, and Harry felt a moment of fear over the rare display of the two teaming up, before racking his brain trying to come up with an answer.

"Er, well, I mean, I've probably studied before. During exam time, surely," Harry said in the most reasonable tone he could muster.

"Bugger off," he said with a scowl when Ron only snorted.

A thought seemed to suddenly occur to the other boy. "But it's two weeks into term, mate! What on earth could they have been studying?" He sounded horrified. Hermione, on the other hand, was looking rather impressed.

Harry let out a sigh. "I was just trying to break the ice with them, to be honest. I think they study together every night." He pulled a face at this, and saw his feelings mirrored by Ron. Hermione hummed far too wistfully for his comfort, and the boys shared looks of panic. Merlin help them if Hermione got that idea into her head.

"And, well. Last night, I actually bumped into Nott…" Harry began, fiddling with the strap of his watch. His friends listened thoughtfully as he gave a summary of his encounter with the other boy. He skimmed over the details (Hermione had shot him a pointed look when he mentioned being unable to sleep, and Harry knew an interrogation of his sleeping habits was in his near future) and mainly focused on how Nott had helped him with his Cheering Charm, and their conversation about Boggarts. He perhaps overstated Nott's helpfulness and made the boy seem a little more friendly than he rightfully was, but for some reason Harry was rather desperate for his friends to get a good impression of the boy.

When he finished, Ron was frowning again and Hermione seemed thoughtful.

"I don't know, mate… He sounds alright, from what you said, but he still gives me the creeps." Ron shuddered, and Hermione rolled her eyes at his dramatics.

"Ronald," she admonished, "if Harry wants to make a new friend and thinks he's harmless, then we should support him."

Harmless wasn't a word he'd ever associate with Theodore Nott, Harry thought grimly, but he was hardly going to argue.

It was Ron's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm not not supporting him, Hermione. I'm just saying, you've got to be careful, Harry." Ron's face was very serious, and Harry felt a rush of fondness for his friend.

"I will be," he said. The conversation had gone remarkably well, and he felt like riding that feeling of success as far as it would take him. "Now, who's up for a game of Snap?"

"I can't believe we just did that," Harry said for the third time as he trailed after a rushing Hermione.

"We didn't have a choice!" the girl fumed as she stormed away from their classroom. "What a sham, honestly! I can't believe she gets away with teaching that rubbish. It was a complete waste compared to my Arithmancy class."

Hermione was scowling fiercely, and Harry wasn't sure he'd ever seen her so offended.

He was still somewhat in a daze.

Their Divination lesson had started normally, with Harry a great deal more cheerful having Ron and Hermione finally by his side. However, within ten minutes, Harry was beginning to worry that Hermione was attempting to give them a demonstration of spontaneous human combustion. They were reading tea leaves again, and like in previous lessons, Trelawney was predicting disaster and devastation at every turn. Hermione had worn an unusually serious expression at the beginning of the lesson, but by the time Trelawney got round to reading Harry's soggy tea leaves (which apparently portended the sudden and grizzly death of someone close to him this year) her scowl was so severe that even their Professor was giving her a wide berth.

Harry had tried to assure her that he didn't mind his bleak fortune, but that seemed to only anger the girl further. Two minutes later, Trelawney made a passing reference to Harry's Grim and the 'tragedy of a life cut short', Harry flinched at the reminder of the menacing black dog, and that was it for his future in Divination. Hermione had yelled at their Professor; Harry still couldn't quite believe it. But what had perhaps surprised him most was that after Hermione had gotten her (considerable) feelings off of her chest, she had turned firmly to him and said, in a no-nonsense tone, "Harry?" with a stiff motion to the door. Taking one look at her face, Harry grabbed his things, shared a baffled look with Ron, and followed their friend out the classroom and down the ladder. The class stared after them silently with open mouths.

Which left Hermione storming down the corridor with a meek and very confused Harry in her wake. "Er, Hermione?" Harry tried. She didn't make any indication of having heard him. What little he could see of her face from his position trailing behind her made him want to scuttle off to someone a little less terrifying, like Snape perhaps, or Aragog. Biting his lip, he gathered his courage and made another attempt. "Hermione, just wait a second!" he panted as they began descending a staircase. "Please?"

This seemed finally to do the trick.

Hermione spun round, and Harry felt a moment of pure surprise when he noticed tears trailing down her cheeks. Her face was red, and she looked like she might break down at any moment.

"Hermione?" he said quietly. "What's the matter?"

Her rage-filled face finally crumbled.

"Oh, Harry!" she wailed, and threw herself at him. He was frozen for a moment, finding himself with a face full of bushy hair. After a second, he got his bearings and hesitantly began patting her back, thoroughly mystified.

"Er," he said. She clung to him for a few seconds more, and then released him with a slightly sheepish look.

"I'm sorry, Harry," the girl began, hastily wiping at her eyes. "It's just… when you told me last week that Trelawney was predicting your death, it just got me so upset. I hoped maybe you were exaggerating or something, because surely a Professor would have more tact, but hearing her be so blasé about it… Oh, Harry. It's just, after everything that happened last year, and the year before…" Hermione trailed off, sniffing. Harry suddenly felt terrible.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I never thought that it might be upsetting for you," he said, awash with guilt.

This didn't seem to be the right thing to say. Hermione scowled, and gave him a very unimpressed look. "It's not your fault, Harry. You don't have to apologise. I just had to see it for myself. And then, well. I know you pretend these things don't upset you, Harry, but I know they do. And you don't deserve to have to listen to that nonsense."

Harry cleared his throat. "They don't upset me…" he mumbled, tugging at his collar. Judging by Hermione's withering look, this wasn't the right response either.

He let out a sigh, and ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks, Hermione. That actually… means a lot. You're right," he said with a shrug. "I won't go back. But, er. What do we do now?" The shock was finally wearing off, and worry began curling through his gut; surely they'd be in serious trouble for this? They had left a lesson halfway through. Not only that, but Hermione had had some rather choice things to say about the subject itself, and Harry felt rather certain that dropping a subject didn't usually involve storming out ten minutes in.

Hermione also seemed to be calming down enough to start feeling embarrassed. "Well," she said, cheeks tinging pink, "it perhaps wasn't the most traditional method, but you are allowed to drop electives within the first two weeks of term. We should speak to Professor McGonagall as soon as possible so we can arrange our new timetables."

That posed an entirely new problem. "Er, Hermione – what am I supposed to take instead of Divination?"

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. Unsurprisingly, talk of academics seemed to cheer her immensely, and Harry noted with relief that her crying seemed to be over for now. She began walking again, thankfully at a more sedate pace, and Harry followed.

"Well, there are three electives you could pick from. Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. Muggle Studies wouldn't make much sense for you, as you were Muggle-raised, so I'd suggest one of the others," she informed him, pragmatically.

Harry's heart sank. Arithmancy or Ancient Runes? Did he want to die of boredom, or die of boredom in another language? What a choice.

Hermione must have read his gloomy expression for she rolled her eyes pointedly. Harry thought of her previous upset and tried to muster up some enthusiasm.

"So, er, which would you recommend?" he asked. He sounded rather miserable to his own ears, but Hermione gave him a fond look, so he supposed she must've known he was trying.

"I'll admit, Arithmancy is my favourite, but both have their value. I'd suggest discussing it with Professor McGonagall. She'll be able to explain the merits of each subject and determine which might suit you better."

They were nearing their Head of House's Office, now. The castle was silent around them, and their footsteps were echoing loudly off the stone floors. If you weren't careful, you could announce your presence from several corridors away in certain parts of the castle. Harry resisted the urge to drag his feet and tried to muster up a smile for his friend. "Thanks, Hermione. I'm sure we'll work something out."

The two students arrived at the intimidating oak door to McGonagall's office. Luck seemed to be on their side; they could see light escaping from under the door, signalling the Professor was there and not off teaching. Harry didn't want to imagine their Professor's face if they had had to interrupt a lesson to give her their news.

The two looked at each other nervously. Despite her earlier confidence, Hermione was beginning to look a little pale. Harry knew how she felt: McGonagall on the warpath was a sight to behold, and Harry remembered with a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach that Hermione's boggart had been a disappointed McGonagall. Merlin, she'd risked facing her greatest fear for him? Pushing down a squirm of guilt in his stomach, Harry took a deep breath, gathered his Gryffindor courage, and knocked.

The Library that evening was unusually quiet, even for so early into term. The sun had come out that afternoon, and most students had flocked to the grounds to soak up what would probably be the last nice weather of the year. The castle was beautiful in the sunshine; the light brought out the colour in the stone walls, and the grass and Lake were almost blinding with their vibrancy. Ron and Hermione were out there now, lounging by the lake with the other Gryffindor third years; Harry had been with them too, until Hermione's increasingly pointed looks had driven him to sigh and head for the Library with only a little grumbling.

It was the deal he had worked out with McGonagall; the Professor had been unsurprisingly unimpressed with their tale. Hermione had began looking increasingly pale as the Professor told them off with sharp words and even sharper frowns, and Harry couldn't stop picturing her as Hermione's Boggart.

"It was my fault," he blurted, before his brain could catch up with him. Hermione shot him a wide-eyed look and he belatedly realised he'd cut the Professor off mid-sentence. He froze. "Er."

After a very still moment, McGonagall raised her eyebrows and gave him an expectant wave of her hand. Harry sunk a little further into his chair.

"Well," he began, "it's just that Professor Trelawney kept predicting my death, you see, and I didn't mind—" Hermione's look could cut glass.

"I mean," he corrected hastily, "I suppose it wasn't exactly nice to hear, and well, I think it was just a little… upsetting, for Hermione to listen to."

He cleared his throat and looked resolutely at his lap. The grandfather clock along the far wall felt blaringly loud as it tick – tick - ticked its way through the tense silence. Hermione shuffled next to him, and he could feel the Professor's gaze boring into the top of his head.

"Well," McGonagall said at last, and Harry looked up in mild alarm at the softening of her tone. Their stern Professor had a rather characteristically irate twist to her mouth, but Harry (who was an expert on adults being mad at him) was relatively sure that it wasn't directed at either of them.

"It's done now," the teacher continued, with a hefty and taxed-sounding sigh. "And we are still technically within the window of switching classes; so," she said, with an air of finality. "Have you given any consideration as to which elective you'd prefer instead, Mr. Potter?"

That led to this evening, with Harry slouching through the dusty dim Library while his friends enjoyed the sunshine by the Lake. When it had become embarrassingly obvious that Harry had not, in fact, considered which elective he'd prefer, McGonagall had resignedly ordered him to spend the rest of the evening looking through the course textbooks until he had gotten a better grasp of his options. He only had the rest of the night to pick, which seemed rather a lot of pressure to Harry, but McGonagall had only had to raise a formidable eyebrow at his perturbed expression, and he had hastily agreed to the terms.

The shelves stretched on ahead of him, and Harry could see Pince a few stacks away, turning a corner with beady eyes, out on the prowl for trouble. Thankfully, his Hermione-sanctioned trip to the Library last week made things easier tonight. He remembered vaguely where the sections for Runes and Arithmancy were and had only a little trouble finding the shelves.

It was only when he was staring down the rows and rows of tomes that he began to realise what it was he had done. Goodbye easy-pass, he thought morosely. He could just imagine the extra work he was in for. With a long-suffering sigh, he set to work.

After fifteen minutes of aimlessly scanning the shelves for anything interesting (which was not a lot), he had managed to secure both core texts and half a dozen books on the subjects which he had selected on the grounds that they looked less intimidating than the rest.

Lugging them up from where he'd dumped them in a pile on the ground, Harry headed out in search of a seat. He could admit that he'd wondered in the back of his mind, as he rummaged through book after book, if the Slytherins would be at their table today as usual, or if they were also out enjoying the sun like most of the students. He didn't have to wonder long. As he made his way out of the stacks into the nearby study area, he spotted them immediately; Bullstrode seemed to be holding court today, and the others were alternating between looking at her, their books open in front of them, and writing languidly in their notebooks. Harry had noticed last week that they all seemed to take note-taking very seriously; each had an expensive-looking leather-bound notebook of differing styles which were utterly unfamiliar to Harry, who mainly used the cheap spiral-ringed notebooks he'd found near the tills in Flourish and Blotts on his first trip to Diagon Alley. Harry expected the Slytherins had went elsewhere for their stationary.

They hadn't spotted him yet, and Harry hovered uncertainty at the edge of the open space. Would it be alright to just… walk up to them? He wouldn't second guess himself with his Gryffindor friends in this situation, but he supposed, after a moment, that he had only really hung out with the Slytherins all together once before. That hardly made them friends, despite the internal turmoil they'd thrown him into recently. With the way they (especially Nott) had tipped his life upside down over the last few weeks, 'acquaintances' felt like too light a term.

The decision was taken out of his hands when he spotted Pince glaring suspiciously at him from where she hovered behind a table of indifferent seventh years, who were looking so overwhelmed with whatever they were reading that Harry thought a full-on wizards duel could take place in front of them and they still wouldn't look up.

Harry decided he'd best do something before Pince got it into her head that he was up to no good.

Zabini was the first to spot his approach over Bullstrode's head. A slight raising of his eyebrows betrayed his surprise, but the boy contented himself with an amused smirk while Harry approached.

He paused uncertainly a few feet from the desk and cleared his throat. Just say something normal, he told himself sternly.

"Hi," he said as the four students turned to him, "mind if I join you?". He smiled awkwardly and nodded to his pile of books.

Bullstrode was glaring again, but by this point Harry was becoming rather oblivious to it, like with Neville's blushes, or Ron's frequent eyerolls. The foursome traded unreadable looks, before Davis smiled up at him and nodded cheerfully over to the seat he had occupied last time.

"If you'd like," she said, sounding rather amused. Harry wasted no time in taking the seat, feeling his face start to burn as they all continued looking at him. The atmosphere was a little less tense than last time, which Harry found perhaps unreasonably reassuring. Maybe he'd be able to wear them down through sheer exposure?

Harry finally gave in and turned his eyes fleetingly to Nott. The boy was watching him with a characteristically blank expression, but Harry thought he could detect the tiniest twitch of his lip. Was that a repressed smile, or a sneer?

Bullstrode dragged him out of his thoughts with a hefty sigh. "Do your friends know you're here, Potter? I know they're not sick anymore." Her eyes narrowed, and her tone was accusing. "What're you doing studying with us when you could be off with them, blowing something up or whatever it is Gryffindors do with their free time?"

Davis laughed, and Harry sent them both a glare. "I need to study tonight, and what's the point in studying alone when I could just sit with you? I thought I already explained that I've not got an ulterior motive."

Bullstrode pursed her lips, and Harry added, churlish, "And we don't blow stuff up, either."

Zabini joined in with Davis' laughter, this time. Bullstrode opened her mouth, possibly to list off every Gryffindor-sourced explosion in recent memory, but Nott cut her off. "Leave it, Millie," he said, voice surprisingly soft. Bullstrode looked at the boy for a moment, before rolling her eyes and giving another sigh.

Nott turned to Harry at last, and he felt himself sitting up straighter in his seat.

"What're you studying, then, Potter?" Nott asked. He had a way of looking at people, Harry thought, that made it impossible to ignore him. His eyes were steady, and his face blankly interested; he looked straight at someone, unwavering and eerily still, and Harry was suddenly put in mind of a nature programme he'd caught a few minutes of several years ago on the telly. In the show, he'd seen a tiger stalking its prey. She had moved only by degrees, muscles moving with a graceful fluidity which he'd never seen elsewhere. But the thing that struck Harry most was her eyes; utterly still, and utterly focused. Nott seemed to watch people in the same way – blank, motionless, and missing nothing. Harry couldn't work out if he wanted to meet that gaze, stare back to show he had nothing to hide, or avoid it at all cost; it seemed the latter was winning.

"Ah," Harry said, looking down at his uninviting pile of books. "Hermione and I, er, sort've dropped Divination today, so McGonagall says I have to pick another elective by tonight." He could still feel Nott's eyes on him as he spoke. He had the bizarre urge to try and flatten his hair, which he knew was likely a complete mess by this time of day. Instead of giving into this ridiculous notion, he picked up the topmost book from the pile and waved it a little at the other boy to give his hands something less dangerous to do.

Nott's eyebrows were raised when Harry finally gave in and darted a look back up.

"'Sort've dropped' it?" Nott asked with a slight twist to his lips. Harry thought he could detect a hint of humour, so he shot the boy a wavering smile in return.

"Er, yeah," he returned, feeling his cheeks heat a bit with remembrance of his and Hermione's display. "Bit of a long story. Wasn't the most gracious exit."

They were all watching him, now. Harry looked around the room desperately, hoping that something would pop up and cause a distraction, but he had no such luck. Turning back to the others, who now all (barring Bullstrode) looked rather amused, he sighed and gave them a brief account of his departure from the class. By the end, Davis and Zabini looked delighted, Bullstrode thoughtful, and Nott, bizarrely, was frowning. Merlin, he hoped the other boy wasn't such a swot that he'd be annoyed at Harry for storming out of class.

Bullstrode, surprisingly, was the one to respond first. "Potter, you're an idiot," she said, looking faintly exasperated. Zabini snorted, and Davis swatted his arm fondly.

"Wh- hey!" Harry replied, stung.

"Why did you return to the class when it was clear the Professor had it out for you?" she demanded, frowning disdainfully at him like she was taking his incompetence personally.

"Er," Harry said, thrown a little. "Well…" he thought for a moment. "I s'pose it never occurred to me that I could drop it. It's not like we haven't had awful teachers before. I mean, there was Lockhart last year – he was an idiot. And Quirrell, in first year. His teaching was rubbish, and he tried to murder me. Actually, so did Lockhart. I suppose." He frowned. "But Quirrell had Voldemort on the back of his head like some sort of gross mask, so I guess he was worse."

All four flinched at the name, and Harry felt a thrill of alarm at their expressions. Had Harry not been looking closely (and he firmly tried not to think about why he was), he would've missed Nott's sharp intake of breath. The other three were watching him carefully. The sudden tension at the table was palpable, and Harry felt himself swallow reflexively as he realised he'd said something wrong. What though? Was it using Voldemort's name? Or calling him 'gross'? He felt a rush of indignation at either of those causing offense, but recalling the way Nott had looked suddenly struck, Harry felt his justified anger wash away to be replaced by uneasiness. Perhaps not, then. The wooden seat underneath him suddenly felt uncomfortably hard, and he shifted a little to find a better position. Harry could hear his own heartbeat, and the low murmur of conversation at the next table over suddenly seemed rather loud.

He risked another glance up, and found that Zabini was the only one looking back at him. Nott was aiming his steady gaze at the table, face completely void of emotion. Davis and Bullstrode were, in turn, watching the pale boy, each with a frown. Harry felt his own eyebrows rise when Zabini suddenly shot him an unmistakably friendly grin.

"On the back of his head, Potter, really?" the boy said, his voice easy with humour.

Harry nodded, slowly. Had Zabini somehow missed the atmosphere?

But the other boy simply snorted again. "That explains the turban. And, Merlin, the garlic." He turned an amused look onto Davis, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. They looked at each other for a moment, Zabini's smile still easy and pronounced on his face, before the boy turned to Nott, and Davis looked away. Throughout this exchange, Bullstrode hadn't taken her eyes from the silent boy.

"Doesn't it, Theo?" Zabini asked, mildly. His voice was quieter than before, but there seemed to be some sort of challenge to it. Harry blinked in surprise. He wasn't sure what kind of bizarre exchange was happening, here, but he felt very suddenly out of his depth.

The two girls seemed to be holding their breath, but Zabini's polite gaze didn't waver. After a moment, Nott looked up to meet the other boy's eyes.

"I suppose it does, Blaise," Nott said, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving the other boy's bright gaze. Zabini's smile visibly softened, and Harry looked away, wondering suddenly if he was encroaching on a private moment. God, he thought, utterly confused; why couldn't Snape have just paired him with a Hufflepuff, that day? He would happily bet that they didn't have these kinds of mysterious, veiled conversations.

The tension was broken rather anticlimactically by Bullstrode. "Well," the tall girl said, turning back to Harry and sounding pragmatic, "it was still silly to wait so long to drop it. What do you think you'll pick, instead?"

What followed was a surprisingly non-torturous hour of discussion, in which Harry was mostly content to listen to Bullstrode, Zabini, and Davis bicker happily about the merits of the third year electives. Bullstrode seemed to be firmly in the camp of Arithmancy, whereas Zabini argued rather passionately for the benefits of Ancient Runes. Davis seemed to have no real interest in either subject, but interjected occasionally to put forward the case for Muggle Studies, of all things. Harry was able to piece together that the girl had been split, last year, between that class and Divination. When Harry looked mildly surprised at this (before trying to wipe his expression to something neutral, realising his surprise was probably rather rude), Davis simply snorted, and kindly told him that she was actually a Half-blood, like him, and had an interest in Muggle culture, as she'd never really known any of her Muggle family.

"Oh," Harry had said, still rather dumbstruck. There was an awkward pause. "My family are all Muggle," he told the girl, who cocked her head to the side in response.

"I'd heard that. I suppose you'd know all about Muggle life, then," she said, sounding intrigued. Harry had a sudden flashback to Mr. Weasley cornering him in the Burrow last year to interrogate him about electric toothbrushes, and nodded warily back, but Davis simply smiled, and the debate continued over them.

Nott interrupted rarely; over the course of the discussion he seemed slowly to return to normal, his far-away gaze somewhat returning to the present. Harry found himself watching the other boy more than he likely should. He couldn't seem to help it. The strange mood that had taken over during the Slytherins' bizarre exchange had dissipated quickly, but Harry had noticed each of the others watching Nott out of the corners of their eyes from time to time, and felt a little mollified.

Harry found, surprisingly, that he was actually enjoying himself. Zabini had kept up his friendly mood, and Harry had to admit his passionate defence of Runes against Bullstrode's utter derision (which Harry suspected was mostly put on to rile Zabini up) was rather entertaining. Davis' position of mediator (and, rather frequently, instigator) seemed to come naturally to her; Harry had the sudden vision of the four of them sitting in a corner of the dungeons, bickering amiably over other ridiculous subjects. Was Nott usually more involved, he wondered? He tried to imagine the other boy squabbling like his friends, and remembered sharply his passionate case for Charms that night in the empty classroom. He could imagine him like that, eyes bright and lips quirked, sardonic and earnest all at once. Harry, very suddenly, wanted to see him that way again.

The debate began to wind down after around an hour, and Harry was surprised at how quickly the time had gone. He was not surprised, however, to find that he had come no closer to picking a subject. Zabini was flushed and victorious; Bullstrode had gracelessly rolled her eyes and admitted defeat several minutes ago (it seemed Zabini had worn her down, more than anything), and Zabini was now winding down what seemed to be a gloating closing speech. Davis was watching him fondly, and even Bullstrode was having a hard time keeping an irate look on her face. Harry found himself laughing along with Davis when Zabini finished with an elaborate bow, which looked far less graceful than it might had he not been sitting down with an ink stain on his face from a dramatic flourish he had made earlier.

"So, Potter," Zabini began, sounding smug, as the others finished rolling their eyes, "have I convinced you to pick Ancient Runes, then?"

Bullstrode muttered something under her breath. There was a sharp thud from under the table, and the girl exclaimed, "Hey!" as Zabini morphed his face into a startlingly innocent expression.

"Well," Harry said, trying to keep a straight face, "you did make an, er, compelling argument. I suppose it's just hard to pick."

Zabini frowned dramatically at this, and Davis seemed to take pity on Harry, interrupting before the boy could say something else. "Let's see," she said, thoughtfully. "You have to think about the pros and cons, with these things. For example, the pros for Runes: apparently, it's good to have a language under your belt for after Hogwarts, if you care about that sort of thing. Oh, and it might help you with other forms of magic, because some have Runic bases. And it'd widen the number of texts you can read, obviously.

Now, the cons," she sat up straighter, with a smirk. Zabini watched her with narrowed eyes. "One, it seems pretty boring. Two, you'd be stuck with Blaise, because none of us take it." She smoothly shifted in her seat, and Zabini cursed as his foot hit the chair leg.

"Ha, ha," he said, drily. "Now, what about Arithmancy? Which I'm also in." He swivelled to face Harry. "Add that to the pros," he informed him, seriously.

Davis shushed him. "I'm getting there," she said. She cleared her throat, and shuffled the papers in front of her like some sort of Muggle judge. "Now, as for Arithmancy. The pros: good to have as an OWL, though not many professions outright require it. Uh, it can help with other subjects, sometimes. Potions uses it a bit, I think, and Transfiguration especially. Some people, apparently, find it interesting." Her face clearly conveyed what she thought of those people. "Now, cons: also pretty boring. And there's a lot of maths," she pulled a face at this, and Harry felt himself nodding in sympathy. "Also, you'd be stuck with Blaise, Millie and Theo, and they'd probably drive you crazy, too."

Zabini winced dramatically, and Bullstrode scowled at her, but Harry detected no heat in it. Nott, conversely, was smiling a little, around the corners of his mouth. The sight was so unfamiliar that Harry had trouble looking away for a moment.

"You're in Arithmancy, too?" Harry blurted. He could feel the others giving him strange looks, but Nott seemed to be considering him.

"Yes," he said at length. "Tracey's right that it's a useful subject to have." He tilted his head, and nodded once, conceding. "And it's interesting, I suppose. There's a lot of compelling theory being written on the possible applications of Arithmancy in other areas, these days."

Zabini was shaking his head, sadly. "See, Potter? This is what you'd be in for."

Davis flicked a rubber at him. "Ow!" he said, rubbing his arm, but he was smiling.

Well. Harry cleared his throat and tried not to think too hard about the rationale behind his decision. "You've made some good points, Davis. I think I might go for Arithmancy, after all. I don't think Runes would be too useful for me." He kept his face casual, and avoided Nott's eyes, but he could feel the other boy's gaze on him again. Bullstrode's face seemed to be struggling between annoyance and victory; she settled for rolling her eyes, then shooting Zabini a smug look.

Zabini huffed a sigh of resignation, and Harry gave him an apologetic smile. Davis was smirking at her friend, but Harry saw her turn another quick, unreadable look onto Nott; taking a deep breath, Harry finally gave in and glanced up. Nott was watching him, of course, and as their eyes met Harry saw curiosity plain on the other boy's face, as well as something he couldn't quite identify.

Bullstrode closed her book with a loud thwap, breaking the moment. Harry was surprised to see that the Library had largely emptied around him during their debate, apart from the table of seventh years in the corner, which seemed to have accrued even more harried-looking unfortunates.

"Well," Bullstrode said with a churlish sigh, "I guess we're not studying anymore tonight." She didn't look over at Harry, but he felt a twinge of guilt nonetheless.

"Er, sorry that I ruined your study session. Will you be able to catch up?" he asked, awkwardly. He hoped they would – Bullstrode wasn't someone he wanted resenting him.

Bullstrode snorted. "Sure. We're not behind, we just like to keep on top of everything," she explained with a modest shrug.

"Oh," Harry said. The others had taken Bullstrode's cue and were packing up the books scattered across the table. The sun was beginning to wane outside, casting their corner of the Library in dim evening light which made everything look a little orange. Harry wondered if Ron and Hermione were in, yet. He expected Hermione would be excited at his decision; she'd tried to be unbiased, but Harry knew plainly that Arithmancy was the girl's favourite subject and she was hoping he'd pick it. Well, at least it would make her happy, he thought ruefully.

The others had finished gathering their things, and were pushing their chairs back in.

"Er," Harry blurted, unsure how to voice the question he had been waiting all evening to ask. The four Slytherins looked at him, and he felt himself swallow at the weight of their stares.

"I was wondering," he began, before pausing again. He licked his lips. Gryffindor, he reminded himself. "D'you think – I mean, would it be okay if I, er, came back, sometimes? To study, I mean. Uh, with you lot."

He addressed this last, rather meekly, to the now-empty table. There was silence for a moment, and Harry tried to focus on the soft scratch of quills on parchment and the gentle swoosh of a page being turned nearby. It was hard to drown out the thumping of his heart. Merlin, he'd tackled a basilisk, but talking to a bunch of thirteen year olds made him this nervous? It made no sense.

He was considering how courageous it might be to make a strategic retreat, when Nott spoke.

"Okay," he said, simply. Harry's head shot up. Nott was watching him with that same curiosity-and-something-else expression he had worn earlier. The other three were looking over at the tall boy, all with eerily similar neutral faces.

"You can cover Defence, if you'd like. You're better at it than I am." His voice was even, but Harry didn't think he was displeased. He remembered after a moment of staring blankly back at the boy that he ought to reply.

"Uh, sure! I mean, that'd be fine. I'll, ah, see you all in class, then?" he asked, clutching at his satchel and forcing an almost-casual smile. All four nodded, and Zabini smiled back, while Davis bid him a friendly goodbye as they turned to leave. He caught Nott's eye once more, as the other boy turned away, and then they were gone.