"You. Did. What?"

I shrugged, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. "I got him an owl."

"Tori!" Daphne groaned. "Why do you have to be so weird?"

We were sat at her kitchen table, with a heaving plate of ham sandwiches and fresh strawberries between us. In typical sister fashion, our prior squabble seemed forgotten as we spoke, barely needing acknowledgement. Though, it looked as though a new one was forming.

"It's not weird!" I defended, biting my lip. "I mean, you weren't there. He was talking about how Voldemort killed his last owl, and…"

Daphne leant forward and hit her head on the table. "It is not your place to try and fix Draco Malfoy."

"I'm not trying to fix him. He's not a broken wand. I just thought it would be nice."

Daphne sighed. "Well, next time you have one of these meetings, I'm coming."

I shifted in my seat. It had been bad enough with Draco speaking for me during Flint's interrogation. The last thing I needed was Daphne rolling her eyes and chastising me in front of the others. Besides…

"I don't think I'm going again," I voiced aloud.

"That's not an option. Once you're in, you're in. You don't fuck around with death eaters. Or their kids."

"Theo said to send an owl if we're out…"

"Yeah, and how do you think he'll handle it if that owl turns up?"

Bubbles of hysteria formed at the base of my throat, spilling with each word. "But I'm not a death eater, Daph. I can't be! I'd lose my job."

"You should have thought about that before you agreed to go," she hissed.

"I didn't know!"
"A secret meeting for Slytherins only? What did you think it would be, Tori, gobstones club?" Her round, brown eyes flickered as she thought deeply. "Why did you go?"

I became very interested in polishing my wand with my sleeve. Truthfully, because I wanted to see Draco again. And because I hadn't understood the enormity of being there.

"I'm a journalist," I shrugged. "I was curious."

It was half true, at least.

"Anyway," I continued, "where the hell have you been? This was days ago now, and you sounded like you'd only seen my note this morning."

It was Daphne's turn to pinken in the cheeks. She stammered, a very un-Daphne-like mannerism.

"I've been busy, that's all," she said, waving a hand.

I took in the layer of dust atop the shelves, the dull and lifeless kitchen sink. "You haven't been home in days. Where have you been?"

"Get off my back, would you?" she scowled.

Not a chance. "If you don't tell me, I'll mention it to our parents, and then-

"Okay, fine! I was with someone."

"Well, obviously," I said. "Who?"

She stalled, transfiguring a ham square into a quill and then back again.

"Who?" I pressed.

"I can't tell you." She stared fixedly at the morphing sandwich, refusing to meet my gaze. "He… he's not Slytherin. Mother and father wouldn't approve."

"I'm not mother or father."

"Just drop it! I can't tell you, alright?" Finally, the sandwich was a sandwich again, and she ate it in one bite. "But there might be a reward for your silence. With me away from here so often, you might as well move in."

I blinked. "Come and live with you?"

"God no, I couldn't bear it." She shook her long hair. "But I'll hardly be here, will I? Unless it all goes down the drain, which is very likely, and then you'll have to go back home."

I considered for a moment. To leave the manor, far too big and empty, would be a blessing in itself. I'd have this place all of my own. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon came back to my mind, reminding me of Ginny's cosy home. True, the floor tiles and walls here were too stark and grey to be as warm, but that was just the Greengrass way. It could feel just as homely, given the right amount of attention. And it would be all mine.

"Deal," I decided.

"If you say a word to our parents, the deal's off," Daphne warned. "Just tell them you're moving in with me."

I vanished the last crumbs on the table, and stood, getting ready to leave. "Perhaps I should have my own housewarming," I joked.

Daphne glowered. "Don't you dare. This is still my place."

With my cloak on and bag fastened, I hesitated to broach the subject continually eating away at me. I decided Daphne was the safest person to ask, but tripped over my words as I struggled to stammer them out.

"Daphne have you ever… I mean, what would you do if you knew a secret, and you'd promised not to tell, but, um… Well, maybe the other person knows already, maybe they don't, but they might be hurt if you didn't say anything, and-

"Stay out of it," Daphne warned.

"But what if you might get into more trouble for not telling-

"Is it about me?"

I blinked. "No."

"Then I don't really care." She pecked me on the cheek goodbye.

"Astoria!" Marcus grinned and strode to me, while I cringed as far away as the tiny owl room would allow. He looked like an engorgio'd bullfrog today, in robes of murky green. He usually didn't come into the office until later in the afternoon, and so I'd scurried in quickly.

"I'm just sending an owl," I said, fumbling the string on the creature's leg. Perhaps it was high time to buy one of my own, after all.

"You've been avoiding me!" He wagged a finger. "And I'm only growing hungrier for a decent meal."

"My schedule's pretty packed at the moment," I tried to explain. "I haven't had a chance to-

"Not to worry. I think things will ease off a bit now Ernie's back. And speak of the devil!"

Ernie seemed to be, like everyone else in the office, immune to Marcus. He came in with a light tan, several rolls of parchment, and a frown. His forehead creased in just the way I knew to mean he was concentrating, and he barely looked up as he chose his owls.

"Morning," he greeted me. "I cleared the howlers from your desk. They're getting clever, though. One managed to evade the silencio charm, I'll have to chat with Hopkirk when I'm in the ministry next."

Good as it was to see Ernie again, a melancholy came over me. No longer would I be correspondent. I'd been demoted to the assistant once more. And though this gave me free time once more, that would only make evading Marcus more difficult.

"Who're you writing to?" he asked, his tone that of professional curiosity.

I moved my hand to hide Draco's name as best I could, and sent the owl on her way. "Just tying up a few loose ends for quoting," I lied.

"Ah, yes. We can't have another misquote incident, not after what happened with Rowe."

"Thank you for dealing with the howlers," I said, moving to leave while Marcus was distracted feeding a tawny.

"Oh, wait a moment," Ernie said, his last letter sent. "We're having a gathering at mine tonight, a sort of welcome back thing. For ourselves!" He laughed, and I joined politely. "You should come along. There'll be a lot of people there I think you should meet."

"I actually have a Quidditch thing," I said. In truth, I hadn't been planning to go, but it seemed a suitable excuse to avoid Ernie's party. I'd heard tales in the past — they weren't often exciting affairs.

"Oh yes, Luna did mention that. We'll be kicking off, to use the expression, around eight, so you won't be late or anything."

Ah, shit. Now, not only did I have to go to the party, but I'd need to make an appearance at the Quidditch meeting too. I hadn't flown in months, and I knew I'd be rusty. Probably embarrassingly so.

"Take the rest of today off to practice," Ernie offered, no doubt seeing the apprehension in my eyes. "You've been busy enough while I've been away. Send over your day's schedule and I'll see to it."

"No, it's fine," I tried to protest.

"I'm not being entirely unselfish. I want to see a Ravenclaw on the team," he grinned.

I felt foolish and clumsy in my old Hogwarts robes, striding to the grounds with my broomstick in hand. Luckily, the Greengrass Estate was secluded enough I could fly high enough to get a decent practice, but it took at least half an hour before I was comfortable again on a broomstick. The Firebolt was considered outdated now — broomstick fashions were far more fickle than even clothes — but mine still responded to the slightest twitch. When my face had grown numb from the wind and a thin film of sweat formed across my skin, I released our old snitch.

It wasn't nearly as fast as the Hogwarts snitch, much less those of competitive teams, but it still gave me good practice. Logically, I knew I ought to try out for chaser — better odds — but there was something about the rush in being a seeker I just couldn't shake. I loved the power in seeking out the gold flashes in the sky, the knowledge that my actions could make or break the game. Maybe because I was so reluctant to take that responsibility in life. I'd always had Daphne to speak for me, to shoulder blame for me. As seeker, I flew alone.

I'd caught the snitch for the fifth time, finally regaining a semblance of my former skill, when I glanced down and nearly fell off my broom. The figure clad in black, stood watching, could only be one person. I became clumsy and disoriented again, self-conscious, as I flew down to see him.

"Hi," I greeted, breathless from the exertion.

He smirked. "You angle too far to the right."

I waited, puzzled.

"You missed the snitch buzzing around your left side. You angle too far to the right."

"Oh. Okay."

"Well, I assumed since you invited me here to watch you play, that you'd want some feedback." He drew a green apple from his pocket, threw and caught it single-handedly a few times.

"I didn't," I said, my face growing hot. "You're early."

"Actually, I'm late."

Shit. Had I been that long? "Well, thank you for coming," I said, veering far too formal in my embarrassment.

"I didn't know you still flew," he said, nodding to my broom.

"I don't," I confessed. "I've got a, um, recreational team thing tonight. You should come, if you like." He raised an eyebrow, but I couldn't stop speaking, digging myself further into embarrassment with each word. "It's at six o'clock, on the Somerset pitch. You don't even have to fly, if you don't want to. Not everyone is. It just, um, it could be a laugh."

I was almost thankful that he chose not to acknowledge any of it. "Why am I here, Tori?"

I took a deep breath. I gestured to the wooden bench, and made my way to sit. Perhaps the proximity was too close for his liking, as he chose to stand, lean and statuesque as I glanced up at him.

I couldn't do it. Not yet. "Did you get my owl?" I asked instead, biting my lip.

His face was indiscernible. "Yes."

I nodded. "Okay. I mean, you know, the black one. Not the one I sent today." I laughed nervously.

Draco sighed. "Yes, I got the bloody owl. I should have sent a thank you note, and saved myself the journey."

"No." I gulped. "It's not that. I…I have something to tell you." He gazed at me curiously, his eyes like stormy pools. It did little to help my confidence. "I wasn't entirely honest the other day, at the Leaky Cauldron."
"Okay." He crossed his arms.

"You see, the day I attended the confederation meeting, they also told us… something else." I closed my eyes before delivering the blow, terrified how he might react. "Your father was there. He's infiltrated the new chapter of death eaters, as a ministry informant. I don't know if you already knew but, I thought… you should," I finished lamely.

Something flickered in his eyes, and I held my breath, but he did not grow angry. "Okay," he said again, relaxing a little. "Who else knows?"

"Only the people that were there."

"Well yes, I'd gathered that." He rolled his eyes. "Who was there?"

"The confederation."
"Obviously."

"A couple other guests." I racked my memory to remember their names, but only one came to me. "Devon Croaker, giving a classified speech on time-turner metals. A few others, I can't remember."

"You need to." Draco frowned.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "The man next to me was a dickhead, if that helps. He didn't seem to be a fan of your dad. Or me, for that matter."

"I'm not worried about people not liking him, Tori. I'm worried about another death eater being in the room, now knowing he's a ministry informant, and getting ready to kill us all in our sleep."

"Oh." My tongue went dry. "I didn't recognise any death eaters."

"Do you even know any?" His gaze narrowed.

Courage flickered in my gut. I'd resolved once not to let Draco Malfoy walk all over me. Today, I seemed to be doing a poor job of upholding that.

"I know you," I shot back.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Did you get any pictures?"

"Yes, of the confederation members. And the speakers."

"But not everyone?"

"Not everyone," I conceded.

Malfoy thought for a moment, rubbing his hand across his jaw and pacing in small circles. I ran a thumbnail up and down the edge of the broom handle, growing nervous I'd be late for the meeting.

"Have you got a penseive?" he asked.

"No."

"We'll have to use mine," he murmured. "Even mother wouldn't dare…"

The meaning behind his words clicked into place. "No. No way."

Draco scowled. "What do you mean, no way?"

"Those are my memories!" I said, my breath quickening. "What if something went wrong?"

"Nothing can go wrong." He rolled his eyes.

"Besides, it's… well, it's highly personal to share a penseive with somebody. Some would even say intimate," I murmured, looking determinedly at my shoes.

I couldn't bear to meet his gaze, even in the silence that followed.

"Please?" he asked, his voice so soft I barely heard.

I looked up to see his eyes darkened, almost panicked. Pleading. I couldn't say no to him, not like this. And it didn't really mean anything, I tried to reason with myself. It was no different than if I'd been more thorough with my photos.

"Okay."

He reassembled himself at my agreement. "I mean, if only to preserve the owl's life. Wasted galleons if he dies with us," Draco joked.

"Selfish of me, really," I smirked.

He looked at me expectantly. "So, are we going?"

"Now? I can't, I've got Quidditch."

"This is a bit more important," he insisted.

"It won't be long," I said.

He fidgeted in place. "Fine. Straight after."

"Okay. Oh no," I groaned. "I can't. I promised Ernie I'd go to his party."

Draco scowled. "What the fuck? Ernie's party?"

"It's a welcome back for himself from himself," I tried to explain, but he was looking at me in disgust. "Look, I'll go for ten minutes, apparate to meet you, then apparate back afterwards."

"You think I trust you to do that? You'll keep me waiting for hours."

"No I won't," I tried to protest.

"Politician."

He seemed to be waiting for my response.

"Assistant correspondent."

He seemed to register my tone, and didn't push the matter further. "I'll go to the party with you. We leave, do the penseive, then you're free."

I bit my lip, wondering how it would go down if I arrived at the party with Draco Malfoy. More surprisingly was the fact that he was so willing to go, and hadn't sneered an insult even once. Maybe because Ernie was a pureblood, too. Or maybe he was too worried about his father to care.

"Okay," I said. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the Quidditch, too?"

He walked away, getting ready to apparate. "I'll see you later."