A/N: Thanks to all who've been reading this! Believe it or not, this story will be drawing to a close soon. There will be sixteen chapters in total, I think. Thanks to all my faithful reviewers!

If anybody is curious, Mafalda was actually a character that J.K. Rowling had planned to use in the Goblet of Fire, so her personality and traits (and relation to the Weasleys) were not made up. All other OC's (like Whitby and Graham and Tracey) are fictional, however. I just thought I'd let you guys know, in case you were wondering where some of these characters came from.

Chapter Twelve

The initial reaction to Hestia Paddock going missing was McGonagall's distress that Hogwarts was no longer safe and would have to close. Of course, after the number of times she had said this and the school continued operating, the distress went mostly unnoticed by everyone else.

Mafalda, the Dementor's victim, had been a pureblooded Slytherin. Hestia, the girl who had gone missing only a week after Mafalda had been Kissed, was also a pureblooded Slytherin. The odds were that many war-torn, bitter students, and several professors, didn't think the events were completely unrelated. Or that they were unfortunate.

"I don't understand how Slytherins can even lose their souls," Harry overheard Whitby talking to another professor at breakfast. "I mean, they don't have one to begin with!"

The other professor just laughed with him and Harry quelled the desire to strike Whitby again.

All over school, the rumor had spread that the Slytherins had been cursed. Quite a handful of students, from all varieties of Houses, from all varieties of years, believed that the children of the Slytherin Death Eaters were receiving their comeuppance. Here was the retribution the Light side of the War was receiving for dead relatives, broken families, and terrorized childhoods.

"How could they even think that?" Harry burst out one afternoon, as Malfoy and he were brewing the poison. "What did these innocent Slytherin children have to do with a war that happened three years ago? That, in fact, has been going on for longer than many of them have been alive!"

Malfoy gave him a bored look. "Potter, you're beating a dead horse. You know I couldn't agree more. Now stop pacing around and hand me some newts' eyes."

Harry did as asked and sat down in front of the cauldron that contained the brewing poison. Malfoy added some type of powdered plant to the potion and it began steaming heavily. They had been working on the poison for several weeks now, and it showed enormous progress. Since it hadn't blown up yet, as many failed potions tend to do, Harry decided their plan might work after all.

Although Malfoy had considered what Harry had suggested about the Dementors being smart enough to watch their own tracks in attacking students, he still didn't seem to believe it. Harry was entirely sure of the fact, but couldn't understand why it was Slytherin students who were being solely targeted. He didn't know if it was just coincidence or if there really was a message they were supposed to grasp.

When Harry had met with the Aurors to discuss the issue, they had set aside extra hours to watch the Dungeons and Slytherin corridors and other parts of the castle. Harry had stood outside the storage room several times that week, but no new activity had occurred.

Presently, he was helping Malfoy stir the poison in a clockwise direction, after it had stopped steaming.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked as they worked. "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's the middle of April, and it's still as cold down here as it was in February."

Malfoy didn't spare him a glance as he crushed what appeared to be dried red bat ears with a mortar and pestle. "It's been a little more frigid here than usual," he finally said. "But it's not strange temperature for the Dungeons. You Gryffindors are lucky you live in a Tower and not under the Black Lake. It gets quite moldy down here."

Harry shivered and considered wearing warmer robes tomorrow.

Malfoy glanced at Harry, noticing his movement, and smirked. "Really, Potter. It's not that cold. And if you're so afraid of freezing to death, I could always do a Warming Spell."

That reminded Harry of their experience with gathering puffer fish and leeches in the Black Lake, under subfreezing weather and with the prospects of being stung by stonefish. "No, thanks. I don't want to be reminded of what happened the last time you used a Warming Spell."

Malfoy seemed to remember it as well. "I must say, you get yourself in the worst situations. I don't know of anyone who's ever been stung by a stonefish. You're lucky I had the potion for it. And got you indoors in time."

Stirring the potion, Harry was hit with the realization of how true that statement was. He really didn't know what he would've done without Malfoy's help, other than going to the Infirmary and explaining how he even got stung in the first place.

"I guess I never really thanked you properly for it," Harry said, looking at Malfoy with sincere gratitude.

Malfoy seemed to sense the seriousness in Harry's voice and glanced at him. "You don't need to sound so thankful. It's not like I could've just left you there."

"It's something you wouldn't have hesitated to do a few years ago," Harry replied evenly.

That caused Malfoy to pause. They regarded one another for another moment, before Malfoy finally glanced away and said, "I suppose things have changed."

Harry had nothing to say to that. They continued working on the poison in silence, occasionally adding ingredients and stirring the Felix Felicis as well. As the afternoon drew on, they began the antidote in the third cauldron. Harry wasn't sure how they would manage toiling with three potions brewing all at once, but Malfoy seemed capable of figuring out exactly when a cauldron needed to be stirred and when something new needed to be added.

After a while, Harry's thoughts drifted to consider exactly how they would defeat the Dementors.

"Malfoy, what if we can't find them?"

Malfoy was startled by the question and almost added too much wormwood to the antidote. He glanced at Harry crossly. "Can't find the Dementors? What kind of question is that?"

Harry sat cross-legged and chopped asphodel roots on a cutting board stationed on the floor as he spoke. "Other than the one in the Whomping Willow passage, we have no idea where they are. No clue where they might be hiding. I think that could definitely put a dent in our plan."

Malfoy shrugged. "I hardly think that's a problem. We'll go looking for them when we're done with the poison and the antidote. And if we can't find the rest of them, we'll just kill the one in the Whomping Willow passage. I think the most important thing now is to concentrate on brewing the potions."

Harry's eyebrows knit. He wasn't sure if he should voice his concern, but decided that he needed to mention it.

"What if the poison doesn't work?"

He received silence in reply. Malfoy ceased working on the potion and regarded Harry. He pursed his lips and finally said, "You can't tell me you have doubts now."

"I need to know what else I can do," Harry said, his voice quieting, spilling fears he'd been harboring for months. Fears that had been resurrected from his third year. "I can't just walk into a group of Dementors and offer myself up as bait. I haven't gone through all this just to have my soul sucked out, Malfoy."

"We haven't decided who's going to take the poison yet!" Malfoy replied angrily. "Stop acting like a martyr, Potter. I'm just as willing to poison myself. After all, I created the potion, so I should be the one to test it."

Harry stood to his feet. "No matter how much I'm afraid of what'll happen, I'm not letting you take it. You've done enough as it is with designing a poison and antidote out of thin air. The least I can do is take the poison."

"Well, if you're so convinced about it, then what's the problem?" Malfoy asked, standing up as well. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me. Why are you backing out and stepping forward all at the same time? What are you trying to say?"

They faced each other across the cauldron containing the poison. Malfoy looked confused and tense all at once, while Harry gazed at him with frustration and dread.

"I just need to know I have a back-up plan," Harry finally said. "I'd want, more than anything, to know I can do a Patronus if I needed to—if something goes wrong with the poison and it doesn't work. I feel helpless with just the hope that this poison doesn't fail standing between living and losing my life."

Looking very determined, Malfoy strode around the cauldron to stand only a foot from Harry, who was suddenly uncertain about how Malfoy would react. Malfoy looked at him with an intense expression, pouring his grey eyes into Harry's. He grabbed Harry by his shoulders and didn't break eye contact.

"Then what's stopping you, Potter?" he demanded. "Why don't you produce a Patronus—right here and right now?"

Harry was startled by the forcefulness in Malfoy's demeanor. He felt Malfoy's hands clutching his shoulders strongly and compellingly and the incessant, resolute look in his eyes.

"I can't. I've told you that I tried so many times—"

"Well, have you tried recently?" Malfoy asked. "When was the last time you tried to produce it?"

Harry was hesitant. "Back in January—"

Malfoy gripped his shoulders more forcefully. "Then try again!"

Malfoy was looking at him as though he believed it to be possible, for Harry to produce a Patronus again. Harry examined Malfoy's expression more fully: There were bags under his eyes, most likely from sleepless nights of considering the effects and inner workings of the poison and its antidote, but presently his eyes had also taken on a feverish shine. That particular gaze made Harry's stomach drop, and not quite knowing why he felt compelled to agree, Harry nodded.

Malfoy released his shoulders and stepped back, looking less demanding. Instead, the corner of his lips twitched upward and he smiled slightly in encouragement. Harry stepped backward and pulled his phoenix wand out of his robes pocket.

"Although I doubt anything will happen, you might want to stand back," Harry said as he raised his wand.

Malfoy did so and watched Harry carefully, as though he might learn how it was done just by looking.

Harry closed his eyes and dove into his memories, trying to think of something powerful enough to produce a Patronus. At first, he thought back to his days in school with Ron and Hermione. But those memories felt so long ago, that he couldn't quite find a particular moment when he was immensely happy—all his recollections seemed to have become strung together and he couldn't tell them apart. And the more he thought back, the more recent memories flocked to the forefront of his mind.

He remembered the past four or so months of gathering ingredients and brewing potions with Malfoy. He recalled the time he'd first revealed something immensely personal to Malfoy, about his godfather and the significance he'd held to Harry. He recalled the conversations they'd shared in this very room, only with the quiet bubbling of a cauldron in the background.

Then Harry recalled something particular—the time they'd gone looking for toad's feet and Malfoy had slipped in the mud. And when Harry had helped him up, he had seen the Dark Mark on Malfoy's left arm. Harry presently reddened as he remembered touching Malfoy's arm as he traced the Mark and Malfoy bringing his hand to Harry's forehead to trace the scar. Although the exchange wasn't in its nature as intimate as if say, they had kissed, it was certainly not platonic. And Harry now felt how very personal the occurrence had been and that he didn't consider it just a friendly gesture.

With this memory in mind, Harry raised his wand higher, keeping his eyes closed and suddenly said, "Expecto Patronum!"

At first, nothing happened. Then, Harry opened his eyes and saw a large, white, and wispy figure springing out of the tip of his wand. The stag leapt into the air, illuminating the room with bright, silvery light, as it bounded toward the ceiling.

Harry and Malfoy watched the brilliant form, both astounded at how magnificent and vivid it was. Harry glanced at Malfoy and caught his eye. Malfoy gave him a bright smile, and his eyes looked more shining and excited than ever. Harry felt the same way he'd felt the first time he'd produced a Patronus. Lightheaded and happy, as though there was no spell he couldn't do if he didn't try hard enough. The shining stag filled him with hope that even if something went wrong when they finally tried the potion, at least Harry could protect himself—and Malfoy—from the Dementor's Kiss.

Finally, Harry dropped his wand and the stag dissipated into thin air. He felt a bit drained by the amount of concentration he'd had to use just to perform the spell, but nonetheless happier than he'd felt in a while.

Malfoy neared him, still smiling slightly. "See? I told you it was still possible. You just had to find the right memory."

Harry nodded, grinning back at him.

"Which one did you pick, if you don't mind me asking?" Malfoy asked, as he sat down by the cauldrons again, to begin working.

Harry sat down across from him and picked up the asphodel roots. He wasn't sure if Malfoy would feel offended by the memory or if he should just lie and say he'd picked another.

"Er…I picked that time at the lake, when we were gathering toads' feet."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Was that a particularly happy memory—wading in mud to look for toads?" He smirked. "Well, Potter, now I know what you consider a good time."

"Not that part!" Harry replied impatiently. "The part after you fell in the mud, when I saw your Mark."

Malfoy ceased smiling and took the statement more seriously. "When you saw my Mark?"

"Yes," Harry said, reddening again. "And when you—er, touched my scar and I touched your—For Merlin's sake, this all just sounds so awkward! You know what I'm talking about!"

Malfoy laughed at Harry's embarrassed face and rambling words. "God, Potter, you're making it sound as though we did something a lot more sexual than just touched each other's scars."

Harry huffed. "Even that still sounds sexual."

Malfoy smirked. "So that was the memory you used? Something that happened between us, and wasn't quite sexual, but enough to make you turn red and stutter over your words? Although, firstly, I can't believe you picked a memory with me in it as your happiest." His tone was challenging, as though he wanted Harry to rationalize his decision.

"Sod off, Malfoy. I'm not explaining myself," Harry said, crossing his arms. He was a little upset that Malfoy wasn't taking him very seriously and that Harry had even mentioned the memory.

"Fair enough. It was your memory, so I suppose you could've made it out to be anything you wanted," Malfoy said, still smirking. "Perhaps your Patronus worked because you wanted the memory to have been sexual."

Harry turned even redder and snapped, "You prick! This is the last time I share something private with you!"

"Alright, fine, I'll stop pestering you. Are those asphodel roots done yet? You've only worked on them for half an hour now."

Harry handed over the finely chopped roots and began working on another ingredient. Malfoy seemed to have become more serious now that they were working on the poison again, and the looming threat of a Dementor attack hanged over their heads. But after another twenty minutes of steady, silent work, Malfoy looked up at Harry and caught his eye.

"Potter? I know you told me you and the Weasley girl weren't seeing each other at the moment, but—do you plan to? In the future?" He asked, his voice curious but also hinting that the answer was actually quite important.

Harry hesitated, because he really wasn't sure. "I wasn't planning on it, really. I kind of left that road open, like you say, for the future."

Malfoy looked down at some green powder he was pouring into a cup. "I see. So you're not sure yet?"

Harry shook his head. "As you can tell, my work kind of isolates me from people sometimes. I don't think I'd be around enough for a relationship, especially with someone who's also in a full-time career. Why do you ask anyway?"

"No reason. I was just curious and what with all this talk of sexual things…" he drifted off, not quite smiling this time.

Harry sensed some kind of closure on Malfoy's part, and picked up the conversation. "Well, how about you? You said you've been pretty busy these past few years, but with all this time we're spending in your storage room, I think you'd find time for a relationship."

Malfoy smiled dryly. "I really don't think I'd interest anybody. After all, my reputation is in shreds."

"Well, there must be some girl in this school who'd find you attractive. I mean, there's so many women professors—"

"Potter, I'm not interested in any of the women here."

Harry ceased chopping his scurvy-grass and frowned at Malfoy. "You probably haven't even met many of them. Honestly, Malfoy, if you just looked around a little, and maybe smiled a little more—"

Malfoy looked at Harry dead in the eye. "Potter, believe me when I say no woman will interest me."

"I don't understand why you won't give just one of them a chance—"

But this time he interrupted himself, because Malfoy was giving him a very deadpan look and because his words had finally taken root. Harry dropped his knife and his eyes widened as he stared at Malfoy in a new light.

Malfoy stared back at him, not saying anything, but seeming to fully expect Harry to begin barraging him with questions or burst out in anger or stand up and do something drastic.

But what Harry did instead was nothing. He simply said, "I see." And he went back to cutting up his scurvy-grass. Realizing that he wouldn't do anything else, Malfoy continued measuring his green powder. And the rest of the day went in silence.

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