I thank all ye faithful: Nutz Nina, weirdlyyours, firewolfalpha, Snow-Leopard-Patronus, DCoD, DivineDarkness, Queen of Anonymity (you don't review much, but I'm glad that you're still reading, dear), and Poetic License.

I'm so sorry for all these late updates—ff-dot-net keeps telling me there's an error when I try to upload the chapters. Sorry.

See Malfoy. See Malfoy run…to breakfast. See Malfoy be jealous. See Malfoy be irrational. See Hermione go "WTF!" on Malfoy. Attack, Malfoy, attack. See FFF hope this chapter answers all the questions on how Malfoy really feels.

Chapter Twenty: Not a Peep

Malfoy had been having the strangest dream Friday night. A dark-haired boy only a little bit older than him had been stroking a long, brilliantly green snake and had snapped to the dreamer, "Don't touch him! He's mine." Malfoy had been about to respond by saying he didn't normally get friendly with snakes, but then the dancing elephants had arrived and offered him an impressive rack of sweaters. After that, things got fuzzy.

Now he tugged his robes on and ran a hand through his hair, feeling tired and groggy. Damn dreams, he thought.

"Potter!" he called. "C'mon, get up, you lazy bum."

Malfoy's principle was that it was simply his sacred duty to make sure that his friend was awake as early as he was so that they could suffer the pain of consciousness together. It was with this noble cause in mind that he made his way to Harry's bed and moved the hangings over. "Potter?" he called again.

Malfoy noticed with a little start that Harry's head wasn't in sight. He lifted the blankets up and saw the boy curled up, his wand lying next to his hand and the diary nestled in his arms. Apprehension kicked in. The blonde boy shook his friend's shoulder. "Come on, get up before I actually start getting my robes in a knot."

Harry's eyes opened slowly and he stirred. "Wassamatter?" he murmured.

"Get up," Malfoy said simply. "We'll miss breakfast."

Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Malfoy watched him shrewdly. "Long night?" he drawled—in the most suave manner possible, he thought assuredly.

Harry glanced up at him. "Er, no—"

"—You wrote in the diary, then?"

Harry sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I did." Harry's face twisted disappointedly.

"It didn't do anything?" Malfoy wagered.

Harry shook his head. "Nah. Not a peep."

Malfoy grinned lazily. "Good. It's about time you got your mind off of that stupid thing." He took the diary and threw it haphazardly into Harry's trunk, carefully watching Harry's face for protest. None came, and Malfoy was reassured. "Nothing coming from my father is good for the health, Potter. You know that."

Harry nodded. "I know." He fell back into bed and sighed. "Lemme sleep a little more."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "As you like. Don't blame me when all the toast's gone." He walked down to breakfast feeling significantly cheerier. That diary business had been strange at the least, and he'd missed getting into trouble—or rather, closely dodging trouble—with Harry, knowing he'd rather spend his time with that rotting Ravenclaw and an old book than with him.

He scooped up a few pieces of toast and turned to leave—despite his cocky words, he would nonetheless bring Harry up some breakfast. Making his way back towards the dungeons, he spied a bobbing brown furball. Speak of the devil, Malfoy thought with a grin.

As they crossed, he smirked at her leeringly and she shot him an apprehensive glance. He turned to watch her go and called after her: "Bit early for prefect duty. Haven't you got anything else to do?" She didn't say anything or turn towards him, so he jabbed further: "He's thrown it away, girl. No more little meetings, then."

She looked back at him over her shoulder. "What?"

He reiterated carefully, as though she were slow: "Potter. Tossed the diary. Doesn't need you anymore."

She looked a little worried. "Did he figure it out?"

Malfoy felt the back of his neck heat up in agitation. "What's it matter? He's tossed it. Gone. So you can drop this whole thing. He doesn't need you anymore!" He heard someone talking loudly in the back of his head; with a start, he realized it was himself. When had his voice gotten so bloody loud?

The boy took a deep breath. Granger, immobile, watched him, seemingly torn between wanting to cart him off to St. Mungo's or running off. He didn't understand what was going on with him—only felt that any mention of the damn diary nowadays repelled him to the point of spite. Malfoy shook his head to clear it and walked off, still thinking, leaving a befuddled prefect girl in the hall behind him. He slammed the door to the dormitory once he got inside, startling Harry and Blaise Zabini, who were playing a game of Exploding Snap to ward off sleep lag.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked thickly.

Malfoy sat on his bed. "Nothing. Here. I brought you some toast."

Harry accepted the toast with a tired grin and Malfoy felt satisfied.

Sod the diary, he thought contentedly.

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