"Professor Slughorn?" Dorea asked in her best innocent voice (and her best innocent voice, if she did say so herself, was excellent).

"Dorea! How are you? I miss having you in class; you could have been a great potions master, I still say."

"Thank you, Professor Slughorn, you're too kind," Dorea responded modestly.

"Nonsense, nonsense. Now what can I do for you, my dear?"

"Well, Professor, I was wondering if I could use your Potions lab. You see, just between you and me, Charlus has trouble sleeping sometimes, and often gets Pepper Up Potion from Madam Ward. But I thought since we're graduating soon, I should use these last few months to practice making it myself."

"That's very industrious of you, Dorea. I'm sure you will have no trouble at all; the recipe is very simple. I could help if you want—"

"Oh, Professor, that won't be necessary," Dorea responded, having no intention of using the Lab to make Pepper Up Potion. "I think I'll be more likely to remember the process if I do it myself."

"Fair enough, my dear. You know where to find me if you need me."

"Of course. Thank you again, Professor. I greatly appreciate it."

Draco woke up the next morning feeling equal parts happy and guilty. At first, when Riddle had questioned him about his relationship with Hermione, he felt confused. Hermione had told him that she dated Abraxas very briefly, and that his grandfather had only done it on Riddle's orders.

He hadn't time to think about it, under the scrutiny of the Dark Lord, but considering it later, the answer was obvious: when he had seen Hermione again, and unabashedly kissed her in the library, Riddle must have seen. And so Draco felt guilty for a couple reasons.

First, was he responsible for his grandfather's death? It didn't seem like a stretch to think that Riddle would kill when confronted with Hermione with someone else. But it didn't seem like Riddle, at least not Riddle in the future. It was too emotional; Draco thought of the Dark Lord as more calculating than that. And if that had been the case, why only torture him two nights ago? Why not kill him "again"?

And regardless of Riddle's strange behavior, Draco felt sure that the Dark Lord had seen him with Hermione. And that was probably a source of tension between the two. When Hermione told Draco how they had argued, he had the instinct to tell her everything he knew. But was it truly wrong to keep things from her if they kept her from being with the Dark Lord? He couldn't bring himself to think that it was, despite the twinge of guilt.

"What are you doing, mate?" One of his roommates interrupted his thoughts; Draco recently learned his name was Avery.

"What do you mean?"

"It's Quidditch today," Avery responded in an irritated tone. "You better hurry if you want to eat before the game."

Draco's mind raced; how could he find out if he played, and if so, what position?

"Who's it against, again?"

"Are you serious? Ravenclaw. We have to win if we're going to have a shot at the Cup. But why am I telling you this? You're the Captain."

"I'm kidding, Avery."

Avery looked visibly relieved. "Good, because you need to catch the Snitch. And not before forty points!"

"Don't worry, Avery, I've got this," Draco reassured his teammate as he quickly changed into his Quidditch uniform.

"Okay." Avery didn't seem convinced.

Draco scarfed down his food in the Great Hall, catching Hermione's eye for a moment, but he couldn't read her expression. Worse, Riddle caught him looking and shot him daggers from across the Slytherin table.

Like many other Quidditch games, Draco spent a significant amount of the time flying around aimlessly, looking busy while not spotting the telltale glint of gold. And then Draco saw it: the snitch. It was floating just a couple of inches from the ground. Draco went into a sharp dive; at the same time, the other seeker also dove. He was closing in on the snitch; he was neck-and-neck with the other seeker, so much so that her long hair touched the snitch before his fingers wrapped around it. He couldn't lift the snitch in victory, though, because he was accidentally holding onto her hair in addition to the snitch.

"You might want to loosen your grip a little," the other seeker spoke calmly. Draco did so and she slipped her hair out from under his fingers, tossing it back. Draco lifted the snitch to loud cheering. Soon, he was being lifted by the Slytherin team and, for a moment, he felt like he was back in his own Hogwarts days.

After the Quidditch game, Draco didn't feel much like celebrating. Avery kept recounting the game while they walked off the field together. But though Draco had caught the snitch in one of the best catches of his life, Quidditch no longer held the same joy for him. And it meant so much less when he couldn't beat Potter. Because although Potter was dead in another time, another timeline, even, he still felt he was competing with him. After Potter died, Draco realized how much he enjoyed that dynamic, and missed him dearly, as one would an old friend. He hadn't felt nearly as much when he heard about Crabbe's death. That's because Crabbe was to me what Abraxas was to Voldemort. Nothing. But Draco reminded himself that he would never do what Voldemort had done. But it didn't seem to matter. He had never killed, instead spending years trying to redeem himself from the spineless brat he once was only for the love of his life to choose Voldemort over him.

"Hello, Abraxas," a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned around, half-expecting to see Luna Lovegood in front of him, but finding instead the dark-haired seeker who had almost caught the snitch in his stead. Her statement was calm and matter-of-fact, but that didn't dampen its effect.

"Lovegood," Avery spat. "Being beaten on the field wasn't enough?"

"I just want to talk to Abraxas." Oh no, is this another person I'm supposed to be friends with?

Avery looked at Draco, who shrugged. "Alright then," Avery said, not bothering to hide his suspicious look as he stalked back to the castle.

"I'm Lyra Lovegood," the seeker introduced herself, holding out her hand for Draco to shake.

"Um, I know. I think we've met before," Draco hedged.

"No, you don't. And no, we haven't," Lyra said matter-of-factly.

"I know who you are. We've gone to school together seven years."

"But you're not Abraxas." Did he forget to transfigure his eyes? No, he had done so this morning, under the covers right when he woke up, just as he did every morning.

"Yes, I am," Draco said in his best haughty tone.

"No. You look a lot like him, but your nose is turned up a bit more, which is a bit funny because you aren't as snobby as he was."

Draco wasn't sure how to respond that that statement, but couldn't help but feel his nose. Hermione and Dumbledore hadn't mentioned anything about his nose being different, but he supposed it was unrealistic to think he had the exact same features as his departed grandfather. Feeling his nose didn't give him any answers, of course, and he just continued to stare at the witch in front of him uncomfortably.

She was the one to break the silence. "I won't tell anyone. You seem like a nicer person than Abraxas. And you're much better at Quidditch. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. I'm starting a Quidditch team and I think you would be a good addition."

"You're starting a Quidditch team?" Draco asked, incredulous. Every Lovegood is as insane as the next.

"Yes, I am. Not just me; I have most of the team together, including the manager. But we still need a Keeper and a Chaser."

"But I'm a Seeker."

"Yes, but so am I. And a better one, even if you got lucky today."

Draco glared at her for that, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. "What's the name of the team?" Draco asked, realizing that he would likely recognize it if, against the odds, it actually made it.

"Falmouth Falcons." To Draco's surprise, he had heard of it.

"It's a good name. You came up with it?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I don't know, falcons, birds, eagles, Ravenclaws."

"Oh. I didn't think of that," Lyra said flatly.

"What position do you want me to play?" Draco asked after a long silence.

"Keeper."

"Why Keeper?"

"I kind of get the feeling you don't work well with other people."

Draco made a face at that, but eventually accepted the truth of her words.

"Well, you'll have to audition with the rest of the team next Hogsmeade's weekend. I'll write them."

"Is it just a formality?"

"No," Lyra responded before walking away.

Draco just shook his head before heading off toward the common room. At least he would have something to distract him from everything else that was happening.

Meanwhile, Hermione had rushed back to her own room after the Quidditch game, finally determined to do the research that she had been putting off. She took out the Horcrux books that she had shoved in her trunk, despite the fact that she hadn't even glanced at them over the holiday. She had been too preoccupied with her (apparently unrequited) feelings for Tom.

But now, she resolved that she had to look through the books. Perhaps they could solve the mystery surrounding Abraxas's death. What she was looking for was some reason a Horcrux attempt would fail. If there was no such reason, then Tom must have made a Horcrux if he killed Abraxas. And since he clearly hadn't (or he would know Abraxas were dead), that would mean he hadn't killed him if there was no other way to fail.

Hermione went through the books methodically, taking notes more to keep herself going at a reasonable pace than because she was finding anything of use. She ignored anything that discussed how exceedingly difficult Horcruxes were to make. She knew Tom had already made at least two, so the difficulty wasn't an issue. She was also tempted to skim over descriptions of the process itself because of how graphic they were, but forced herself to do a close read in order to be thorough.

After she had gone through all the books (which had taken her the entire day), she was firmly convinced that Tom didn't kill Abraxas. There were three ways for a Horcrux to fail: lack of skill, remorse, and if the vessel used lives on. Tom was skilled. Abraxas was dead. And Tom was not remorseful. Therefore, he could not have killed Abraxas.

If he had, he would have used the Cup to create a Horcrux. And, because there was no logical way for Tom to fail, he would have succeeded. Then, when he saw Draco in class, he would have known that Draco was an imposter because he would have had the Horcrux back in his room as proof of Abraxas's death. And if he knew Draco were an imposter, he never would have approached him or revealed his true colors to him. He wouldn't have asked him to practice a skill that he was trying to keep a secret, or tortured him and showed him his vicious side.

Hermione couldn't help but smile. Tom hadn't killed again. He hadn't created a Horcrux. And she was proud of herself for at least solving one mystery. It was a much easier one to solve than the current state of her love life, certainly.