Note: Once again, we apologize for the delay. We don't even have a good excuse for this one. sigh. We are very truly sorry and we hope you like it anyway!
--kyra

3: change of heart

Life continued as normally as was possible at Hogwarts. Harry continued to go to class, and his scar seemed to be cooperating. He wasn't having nightmares, and he held out a faint hope that he'd finally conquered them. It might have been the stress of NEWT level classes, or it might be that his brain had realized that he wasn't going to feel guilty anymore, but he stopped being tortured at nights by his subconscious, and he was grateful. He was succeeding in every single class, and, to his surprise, Care of Magical Creatures quickly became his favorite. Every other year, he'd taken the class out of a duty of friendship to Hagrid, and he'd expected to feel the same this year. But, without Malfoy and with the Crups, the first class of most days was the most enjoyable. He and his Crup (a female that he'd named Serenity, after a vaguely remembered muggle television program) got along famously, and he loved teaching her things. He'd never had a pet of his own, and he was amazed at how well he took to the responsibility. Hagrid too was pleased, and he speculated loudly that he "might make a decent successor out of you yet, Harry!" Harry always grinned when Hagrid said that, but he knew that he would never succeed Hagrid as gamekeeper and Care teacher. He already knew his temperament wasn't suited to explaining things over and over in many different ways, and he knew that if he became a teacher, he would be an exceedingly bad one. That wasn't something he was willing to do, having suffered through enough bad teachers over the years. No one mentioned the DA to him again, and he almost forgot his fury at Dumbledore.

Belle had written back a couple weeks into the year. Her letter was brief and to the point.

Harry.
Leave it alone: I'm not going to tell you.
Belle

He rolled his eyes as he read it, but eventually decided that it wasn't worth pursuing. He saw more than enough of Malfoy these days, after all, and eventually he would find out what the Slytherin had been talking to Belle about. Of course, that involved actually talking to Malfoy, which was something Harry wasn't too keen on doing at the moment. After their disastrous first session, neither one of them had been willing to speak to the other. Harry was furious at Malfoy for setting him up like that, and Harry supposed that Malfoy was furious at him for getting caught. It wasn't like it was Harry's fault, but Malfoy would always think like that.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He couldn't show up for potions in such a bad mood, or Snape's teaching would affect him even more. He'd managed to overlook Snape's bad attitude so far, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before something happened to make him crack.

He looked around the hallway, searching for Hermione. She was the only other Gryffindor who'd managed to scrape an O in potions, and they worked together. She was nowhere in sight today, though, and he sat down in his seat with a sigh. She would get here – Hermione was far too obsessive a student to skip class – but if she was working on something special in Arithmancy, she wouldn't arrive until the very last minute. Sure enough, she dashed into the classroom just before Snape arrived, gasping for breath. Snape glared fiercely at her, but refrained from saying anything. Hermione grinned apologetically at Harry, catching her breath while Snape snapped out the directions for that day's class. Soon, the room was full of the sound of softly bubbling cauldrons and the scraping noises of silver knives. Harry and Hermione worked efficiently, combining her precision and meticulous methods with his (as yet untapped) potions talent. Snape glowered horribly at them, but he couldn't find any mistake in their work, and grudgingly moved on.

They didn't talk much, each concentrating on not doing anything wrong. Harry had suffered too many Ds last year to allow his thoughts to wander now, especially because Hermione's grade also depended on his skill. She would not like it at all if he made them fail, and she would get her revenge by forcing him to study with her, or testing him on every single one of their subjects for hours. He preferred to do the work properly.

When the hour was finally over, they gathered their things and walked into the hallway. Hermione seemed to linger slightly, but when Harry turned to look for her, she was next to him. He shrugged inwardly, and followed her up the stairs to the Transfiguration classroom. Ron, who had an off period, met them at the door, and the three of them walked into the classroom together.

They had advanced from changing the color of their hair to changing the color of their eyes, and, though neither Harry nor Ron had mastered it yet, both of them ended up with eyes shot with brown. Hermione burst out laughing when she saw them, and Harry had to admit that they did look rather ridiculous. Hermione herself had transfigured her eyes a soft shade of gray, startlingly like Malfoy's. Ron had noticed as well, and he scowled every time he looked at her. Finally, she picked up her wand and flicked it delicately. Her eyes went from gray to black, and she looked irritably at Ron. "Is that better?" she snapped.

Ron shrugged. "No," he said frankly. "You look like Snape now."

Hermione snorted slightly. "No, Ron, I look nothing like Snape, I promise you." She frowned at her reflection, then a slightly wicked grin began to play around her mouth. She picked up her wand again, and flicked it, changing her hair color from its usual light brown to jet black. It was the same bushy mane that she'd always had, but even so, the resemblance was scary.

Ron shuddered. "She looks creepy, doesn't she?" he complained.

"Exceedingly," he agreed.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but obligingly returned her hair to its normal color. She left her eyes the same, though, and Harry couldn't help thinking that she was teasing them.

Professor McGonagall came by and looked at the three of them carefully. She raised her eyebrows at Hermione's choice of eye color, but awarded her five points anyway. Harry and Ron received no points, but she didn't take any either, so they weren't worse than anyone else in the class. Harry couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief when she moved away. He hadn't quite forgiven her for taking away all the points after the first detention, and he knew that she was probably still mad at him for what she thought he'd done. Ron glared at her retreating figure, which Harry took to mean that he too was angry with McGonagall.

Finally, the class was over, and the students streamed out. Ron lingered to tell Harry, "Wipe that smirk off his face, will you? It's making me sick!"

Harry sighed. "I'll see what I can do," he promised. Ron grinned at him, and left the room. Altogether too soon for Harry's tastes, he was once more alone with Malfoy. They glared fiercely at each other as McGonagall's green robes swished out of the room, locking the door as she left. She hadn't renewed the anti-magic wards, but they knew that the moment they tried to use magic, she would pounce. Harry, at least, wasn't willing to risk it yet.

Malfoy put his book down after a moment, and surveyed Harry intently. Harry tried to ignore it, but the other boy's scrutiny proved to be too much. He rounded on Malfoy, glaring darkly. "Is there something wrong with me?" he spat. "Can you do anything other than glare at me?"

Malfoy sighed. "Why do you always think it's all about you, Potter? If you must know, I was watching your owl."

Harry started, and turned to look out the window. Sure enough, Hedwig was sitting at the window, looking at him reproachfully. Harry stood and moved quickly to let her in. She glared at him, creating a sudden eerie resemblance to Malfoy himself. She held out her foot stiffly, and he slipped the note off. She flew off in a huff, and he returned slowly to his seat.

The note was brief, but it numbed Harry to the bone.

Dear Harry,
You may not appreciate my writing this to you, but it needs to be said. As I'm sure you are aware, Sirius left all of his worldly possessions to you when he died. That includes both the house and, I'm afraid to say, Kreacher. The other items (a moderate amount of gold and a few valuable trinkets) have been transferred to your vault at Gringotts. There are a few other matters to settle, so I would appreciate a prompt response.
Yours,
R. Lupin
P.S. Are you going to Grimmauld Place for Christmas? He would have wanted you to.

Harry looked blankly at the letter for a moment, then began to rip it up. He didn't stop until it had been reduced to a pile of shreds, and even then, he didn't feel calm. Hanging the consequences, he yanked his wand out of his pocket and blasted it out of existence. He watched the ashes disperse in the slight breeze coming through the window, and tried to force himself to calm down. He was being irrational. He'd known that it had to happen, of course. But seeing Lupin's neat handwriting on the page, reading the words when he died had completely unnerved him. The ink made it real, as though, before he'd read the small black letters, he could have denied it. Only the vague awareness of the company he was in stopped him from bursting into desperate tears on the spot.

Malfoy was watching him with a detached expression, and this infuriated Harry beyond reason. His emotions were heightened by grief, and the sight of Malfoy just sitting there brought him over the edge.

"What are you doing here?" Harry screamed, his face contorting with rage.

Malfoy seemed a bit taken aback by his tone, but replied in kind, though at a lower volume. "If you recall, Potter, I'm in detention with you."

"Well get out! You have no right to be here right now! I'll take the damned points from Gryffindor, all of them! Just get the hell out of this room!"

"The door's locked, Potter," Malfoy stated flatly. His calm, controlled voice made Harry even angrier, and he rounded on the other boy, his wand raised.

"Do you even know what it's like?" he shouted. "To have someone you love taken away from you? Do you even respect the grief that I feel? Or do you not care? Are you just the hard rock that you pretend so hard to be? Have you ever loved someone so much that you would die to protect them? Well, have you? Because I have. I do. And he's gone. Can you understand that, Malfoy? The only one who loved me, the only one who knows who I really am, he's dead! He's dead and he's never coming back. Do you even realize how that makes me feel? No, you don't. Because you're a heartless basted, Draco Malfoy. You only care about yourself, and no one else, and you can't imagine what it's like to live differently. Well I can. I've never been loved by anyone else, Malfoy, and now that he's dead, I'll never be loved by anyone. So just get the fuck out of this room and out of my life!"

Malfoy looked at him, and his expression was hard with cold fury. "Let me tell you something, Potter," he snarled. "You think you have it bad, do you? At least you had someone! Do you have any idea what it's like to be a Malfoy? No, you don't. You probably think that it's like being some Prince, don't you? Well let me set you straight! My parents have high expectations of me. They want me to be the best at everything. Do you know how hard it is for me to live up to that? They want me to wipe you off the Earth, Potter, and I've failed. Do you know how that makes me feel? I have your guts, Potter, and I'm not going to listen to you feeling sorry for yourself!"

"Feeling sorry for myself?" Harry roared. "You think I'm feeling sorry for myself?"

"Yes I bloody well do!" Malfoy screamed back. "You're Potter the Ministry Posterboy, the one everyone loves! People swoon over your every move. Do you know how many articles there are about you? No? Well maybe you should bloody pay attention! People far and wide know your face. They know who you are, and they love you! Maybe you could show them a little respect, and stop your 'feel so sorry for myself, my parents are dead' act! In case you'd forgotten, you're supposed to be fighting a war!"

Harry was about to cast a very painful curse when the door to the classroom burst open. McGonagall strode in, eyes snapping with a fury equal to Harry's own.

"Put that away!" she shouted at him. His arm moved with its own mind, and his wand was sheathed before he realized what he was doing. "Both of you, seventy points from each of your houses! Mr. Malfoy, Professor Snape will have a word with you. Mr. Potter, come with me!"

Harry followed her out of the room, still shaking with rage. She blew her door open and blasted it shut again, giving Harry a good idea of just how much trouble he was in. He wondered what she had in store for him. He didn't have to wait long. She rounded on him soon, her face still furious. "What in Merlin's name possessed you, boy?" she demanded.

"I hate him," Harry told her, too angry to be afraid. "He's an insufferable git."

"That is no excuse!" she blazed. "Just because you and Mr. Malfoy do not get along does not mean that you have an excuse to act like a child!"

"You think I'm acting like a child?" Harry bellowed, his slight control gone once more.

"Control yourself, Mr. Potter," she snapped. "Yes, both of you are acting like spoiled children! We have all had enough!"

"What are you going to do about it?" Harry demanded.

"I am going to talk the matter over with the Headmaster," she answered firmly. "You are going to stay in this room until we have come to a decision. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

He nodded stiffly. She eyed him closely for a moment, then added, in a slightly gentler tone, "If you choose to destroy any of my possessions, Mr. Potter, I would ask you not to harm the vase in the corner. It's an antique."

Minerva had no idea what to do. She'd thought that putting the boys in detention together was a good idea, but apparently it had only made things worse. She hoped desperately that Albus could make sense of the situation. He knew both boys better than she did, and he understood, Mr. Potter, something Minerva had never quite managed to do. She threw a pinch of floo powder onto the fire, and called sharply, "Albus?" Through the door, she heard the sound of a blasting spell, and the crunch of something delicate being smashed. She hoped that he would take her words about the Ming seriously.

"Minerva." Albus appeared in her line of sight. "What can I do for you?"

For answer, she shifted a little, allowing him to hear the sounds of another item crumbling into a million pieces. It sounded like a book. Appropriate, she though, with a grim inner smile.

"Ah," Albus said. "I'd better come through, hadn't I?"

"That would be a good plan," Minerva agreed. She pulled her head out of the fire, waiting. Moments later, the tall figure of Albus Dumbledore appeared in her inner study.

"What caused this latest outbreak?" he queried mildly, listening to Mr. Potter blast his way through Minerva's library. She hoped that she would be able to repair them tonight. Some of those were generations old.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "My wards were triggered for magic, and I came to investigate. I found the two of them at each other's throats, Mr. Potter apparently ready to blast Mr. Malfoy off the face of the Earth. Again."

Albus sighed, and twined his fingers into his beard. He looked remarkably old for a moment, and Minerva was struck by an unpleasant thought: Albus wouldn't always be here. Soon, she would have to make decisions like this herself. The thought was not a pleasant one, and she tried to get it out of her head.

"What do you suggest?" she asked him, hoping for a magic formula. Just this once, let there be an easy solution!

Unfortunately, Minerva was clever enough to realize that there is no such thing as an easy solution, and it was with little surprise that she heard Albus say, "No, Minerva."

Both of them sighed simultaneously, and then exchanged rueful glances. Together, they walked into the other room. Minerva was a little shocked at the extent of the destruction. Mr. Potter had apparently taken her advice to heart. He was in the process of dismembering a particularly ugly potted plant when the two entered. He stopped when he saw them, but didn't look remotely sorry. Albus sighed again. "I suggest you take a seat," he told Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter sat gingerly as close to the door as possible. Minerva took the chair behind the remains of her desk, and Albus lowered himself with a nearly inaudible sigh into her good leather chair, which was, remarkably, still intact.

"Now, Harry," Albus said gently. "Suppose you tell us what brought this about."

Mr. Potter shortly recounted the contents of the letter that he'd received. Minerva listed in detached silence, wondering if Mr. Potter realized just how powerful he was when he got angry. She could feel his fury, only slightly contained, radiating off him in waves, and knew that it would take very little to set him off. They would have to tread extremely carefully.

"And what did Mr. Malfoy do?" Albus asked.

Mr. Potter opened his mouth, the closed it. "Nothing, I guess," he said finally. "I just… needed somebody to yell at."

"And Mr. Malfoy seemed to be the best target."

Mr. Potter nodded. He didn't look ashamed, only slightly disgruntled. "Yeah," he agreed.

Albus sighed again, and seemed to shrink very slightly. "Harry," he said sadly. "I must say that I expected better from you."

"Why, because I'm the hero of Gryffindor?" Mr. Potter began, and Minerva could tell that he was working into a well-rehearsed rant.

Albus, also recognizing the signs, skillfully intervened. "I expected better because you're better than that, Harry."

Mr. Potter laughed shortly. "You're sure?" he asked. "I certainly haven't acted like it."

"You are mistaken," Albus told him. "You conduct yourself with honor and kindness. Usually. Outbursts like this one do not become you, I'm afraid to say."

"I don't care," Mr. Potter said rebelliously.

"Stop it!" Minerva intervened. She was tired of his attitude, tired of his airs and grand mood swings. "You are almost an adult, Mr. Potter. I would suggest that you act like one!"

Mr. Potter glared ferociously at her and stood up to storm out of the room. Albus shook his head warningly at Minerva. "Sit down, Harry. We aren't finished with this conversation."

The boy sat reluctantly, still glowering at both adults. "You do understand that there is going to be a punishment for this, don't you Harry?" Albus asked.

Mr. Potter nodded stiffly.

"Obviously, putting you in detention will not do the trick. Professor McGonagall has taken more than enough points away, so that is out as well. Therefore, I am making an executive decision and placing you on Academic Probation for the next month."

Mr. Potter opened his mouth to protest, but Albus ignored him. "This means, Potter, that you are not allowed out of the castle, except for Care of Magical Creatures or Herbology, without an escort. An adult escort. That means a teacher, not Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley. To ensure that you keep to this ban, I'm afraid that I will have to insist that you hand in your map and cloak until the end of the probation."

"No." The word was curt and final. Minerva could see that Albus was trying his hardest not to get truly angry. There had been enough anger today.

"Harry, do not make me take them from you."

"No."

"Yes, Harry. If you persist in being stubborn, I will remove them from your belongings. Let us do this in a civilized manner and simply get them for me."

Mr. Potter looked about to refuse again, but the steely look in Albus' eyes changed his mind. "How am I supposed to get them, Professor?"

"You have a fireplace in your dormitory, I assume," Albus said mildly, though Minerva knew that he was well aware of its existence. Mr. Potter nodded again. "Minerva, would you be so kind as to lend Mr. Potter some of your floo powder?" Albus asked. "Enough for two trips, please."

Minerva gestured to her box of floo powder. "Help yourself," she said. Albus stood and looked at Mr. Potter.

"Shall we go?"

Mr. Potter glared fiercely, but nodded yet again. Albus helped himself to a pinch of powder, and slipped another into a small box, which he deposited in his pocket. "After you," he said pleasantly. Mr. Potter stepped through the fire, Albus following a moment after. Minerva waited for several long nervous moments before the green roar of the fire announced that Albus was returning.

She stood and reached into a hidden cupboard, coming out with a bottle of Firewhiskey. She poured out two generous glasses, and pushed one across the desk to Albus. He accepted with a grateful nod, and they drank in silence. Finally, she asked, "How did it go?"

Albus put his glass down with a sigh. "Much as it did here," he admitted. "I had hoped that he would come around, but apparently I was mistaken."

"What are we going to do?" she asked, hoping that he would have an answer.

"Let them work it out for themselves," Albus replied tiredly.

Minerva frowned. "Albus, you've been saying that for the last five years. Isn't it obvious that it's not going to happen?"

"It has to, Minerva," Albus told her simply. "For all of our sakes, Harry and Draco have to get along. They both have vital roles to play in the upcoming war, and they can only do them together."

"You are an optimist," Minerva said bluntly. "I would rather study realism, myself."

"Sometimes, Minerva, you need a little optimism," he told her gently. "Otherwise, what is there to fight for?"

Ginny expected to find Harry still in detention when she came back from Herbology. Instead, she found him sitting in the common room, glaring ferociously at anyone who dared to make eye contact. She dropped her books by a chair, and walked over. Planting her hands on her hips, she looked down at him.

"Go away, Ginny," Harry said flatly.

"What happened?" she asked, not moving.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. "No, Harry, you're not. What happened?"

"Nothing!" He looked up at her, his eyes hard. "I'm fine."

She sighed. Why did he always do that to them? Couldn't he just realize that there were people who cared about him? "Harry, it's obvious that something's wrong. Just tell me!"

He stood abruptly. "Leave me alone," he said shortly. "Just go away and leave me alone."

She shrank back slightly at the tone of his voice, but stood her ground bravely. "Harry, I want to help you!"

"Then leave me the hell alone!" he shouted. She backed up, and looked at him, fighting the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Fine," she said quietly. "If you want to be like that, then do so. But don't expect me to feel sorry for you when you lose it."

"I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me," he told her, making little effort to moderate his volume. She looked at him for a long moment, then turned and ran as fast as she could out of the common room, plowing through a group of first years on the way. They looked at her in shock, but she was too distressed to realize it. She tore blindly through the halls, looking for a place to hide. She sprinted into the library, but quickly realized that it wouldn't do. Madam Pince looked at her in irritation, but Ginny was already out of sight and down towards the Great Hall. She skirted this, knowing that most of the school was having lunch, and raced out onto the grounds. Hagrid's hut loomed invitingly in the distance, but she wasn't in the mood for company. She just wanted to run, to run as hard and fast as she could until the exhaustion took her and numbed the feeling inside her. She took off towards the Forbidden Forrest, not caring that it was forbidden for a reason. She entered the trees and dashed through the growth, running blindly from the source of her problems.

There was nothing Ginny feared more than losing control. Ever since her first year, when Tom Riddle had possessed her, she'd held a deep seeded fear of losing her control and doing things she would regret. She knew that her mother was still worried about her, and she did her best to prove that she had recovered from the experience. She hadn't, not inside, but her mother didn't need to know that. Ginny hated being fussed over, and her mother had driven her half-insane the summer after her first year.

She finally slowed to a stop, looking around curiously. She'd gone much farther than she'd expected to, and she realized with a pang that she had no idea where she was. 'That's what I get for being oblivious,' she though grimly, scanning the ground for her footsteps. All she could see around her was pine needles, no sign of her track anywhere. She bit her lip, carefully counting her breathing until she calmed down slightly. 'Think logically, Ginny,' she told herself firmly. 'It will be all right. Just send up sparks and Hagrid will come find you. You'll be just fine."

There was a sharp crack next to her, and she whirled, her wand up and pointed before she even knew what was there. Then she gasped in shock. A delicate white unicorn stepped daintily across to her, and regarded her with wide, soulful eyes. Ginny was transfixed. She knew that unicorns were incredibly shy, and that they only approached pure souls. Was it a sign that Tom Riddle hadn't corrupted her? She hoped so. Slowly, she reached out a trembling hand. The unicorn surveyed it for a moment, the walked up and put its nose into the palm of her hand, butting softly. Ginny laughed in delight, and the unicorn looked up with startled eyes.

"Don't go!" Ginny whispered, suddenly irrationally terrified of being left alone again. "Please!"

The unicorn looked at her, and tossed its head, as though to encourage her to follow it. All at once, it turned and darted out of her line of vision.

"Wait!" Ginny called, scrambling to catch up. The unicorn waited until she'd almost gotten close enough to touch again, then took off. Ginny ran after it, her breathing becoming labored much more quickly, now that she was already tired. The unicorn seemed to know exactly when Ginny was too tired to go on, because it would stop, and look back at her. Its eyes would give her more strength, and they would take off again into the forest.

The unicorn finally stopped in the center of the forest. Ginny slowed to a halt next to it, and gasped in amazement and breathlessness. A whole group of unicorns was watching her warily. Her guide stepped forwards, and uttered a short, high whinny. It was the first sound that Ginny had heard it make, and she was slightly taken aback that it sounded so much like a normal horse.

A short dialogue followed between Ginny's guide and the rest of the unicorns, but finally, a much older animal stepped forward. He advanced towards Ginny, his head bowed in respect. Ginny didn't know what to do. Obviously it was some kind of ceremony, but how should she respond? Her guide nodded at her, and she slowly reached out a hand. The old unicorn fit his nose into the palm of her hand, just as the younger had done. The contact only lasted for a moment, and then he stepped back, but Ginny was left with a sense of peace and contentment that was unrivalled for as long as she could remember.

She stayed with the unicorns for only a few moments, but those felt like eternity. Eventually, though, to her great dismay, they started to fade into the forest. Finally, only the young unicorn, Ginny's guide, was left. It touched her with the tip of its horn, lightly enough to pierce neither her clothes nor her skin, but she felt an electric shock pass through her. And then, its horn still touching the area above her heart, it spoke to her.

I cannot maintain this for long, human female, so listen well. You have made a friend of the Eldest, and you will be welcome back to our forest. When you have need of comfort or guidance, call to me. I am named Dancing Moon. If you speak my name, I will hear you, and I will come for you. You must leave now, human female. Genevera. Your name is odd to us, but we will speak of you for generations. Not many have passed through evil and come out untainted, but you have. You are a friend of the unicorns, and I will come when you call.

The unicorn, Dancing Moon stepped back and walked back into the forest. Ginny stood transfixed for a long moment, her hand touching the area where the horn had touched. She looked back into the heart of the forest, trying to catch a glimpse of her friend, but Dancing Moon had vanished completely. Ginny sighed in disappointment, and started back out of the forest. Inexplicably, she knew where she was going, and she emerged into the open air a few minutes later, neither lost nor depressed anymore. The unicorns had chosen her, and she would never forget that.

Ginny knew instinctively that she shouldn't tell anyone of her encounter in the forest. When she undressed in the dormitory that night, she noticed a tiny, teardrop scar over her heart. She touched it gently, and smiled. Her mother wouldn't believe her, and her brothers would make fun of her, but it didn't matter. Something incredible had happened to her, and that was all that mattered.

Emily, her best friend, wanted to know about Harry, and Ginny realized that she could talk about him calmly, without wanting to cry. She still felt a deep sorrow over how he'd treated her and anger that he wouldn't let her in, but she could talk about it. Emily agreed that he was being an insensitive jerk, and the two girls heaped abuse of the male species in general, agreeing solemnly that there was no possible way that girls and boys could be related in any way, shape, or form. Ginny managed to get to sleep that night almost right away, comforted by Dancing Moon's ritual offer of friendship, and Emily's much more concrete reassurances.

He avoided her over the next few days, but she received a box of Honeyduke's chocolates as an apology the next night. She knew from Hermione, who'd forced him to talk, that he was banned from leaving school grounds for two months, and decided that he must have sent Ron to buy them for him. Ron was subsequently interrogated, and he swore that he hadn't set foot in the place that year. Ginny finally worked up the courage to ask Harry himself, and he admitted that, yes, he had slipped out at night. She kissed his cheek then, and decided to forget his mood-swings. He was incredibly sweet in the end, and she loved him.

Though she could never get any concrete details, she concluded eventually that Harry was having less of a problem getting along with Malfoy in their detentions. He didn't come into the common room fuming anymore, and he was much more relaxed around everybody. It was a huge relief to all of his friends, and they gradually stopped worrying so much about him.

It was on a Wednesday morning that Lavender Brown started talking. It was innocent enough at first, but soon enough, she leaned over and whispered quite loudly in Parvati's ear, "You know, I heard that Malfoy was going out with someone. A boy."

There was instant silence in her vicinity. Ginny felt Harry strain to hear, and she leaned back slightly, allowing him a clearer view of Lavender herself.

Once she was assured of everyone's attention, Lavender allowed herself a smug smile. As it turned out, she didn't have any details, but she swore up and down that it was someone that all of them knew. Ginny, who knew the ways of gossip well, could have sworn that Lavender's eyes rested a fraction of a second too long on Neville. Ginny raised her eyebrows. She doubted that there was any truth to the rumors, but Neville was an interesting choice. Neville looked up, saw both Ginny and Lavender looking at him, and immediately turned beet red. He cast instant suspicion on himself, and Ginny wondered suddenly just how much truth there was in Lavender's rumor after all. Lavender's eyes darted back and forth again, as though picking another target, then stopped mischievously on Harry.

"You have detention with Malfoy today, Harry," she simpered. "Why don't you ask him?"

There was a ripple of snickers, and then all attention was riveted on Harry. He managed to snort disdainfully, though Ginny could feel the tension in his muscles. "If I try and talk to him, Lavender, he'll try to hex me again. McGonagall's taken enough points away from Gryffindor for me to risk it."

Lavender made a big show of looking shocked. "She takes points away from us when he tries to hex you?"

Harry shrugged. "I have a tendency to want to defend myself. Instinctive reaction, you understand."

Everyone laughed, and Lavender sighed, a little wistfully. "I did so want to know," she said. Gradually, the conversation resumed, and the attention moved away from Harry. She felt a little of the tension drain away, but he was still rigid with either shock or fury. Ginny knew him well enough not to press, and led him into a conversation about Quidditch, which he participated in willingly.

She walked with him to the entrance hall, squeezing his hand as she prepared to leave. He smiled, then glanced over his shoulder, making sure they were alone. He leaned forward and deposited a kiss on her mouth. She moaned slightly, but didn't try to keep him when he withdrew. They smiled at each other, then separated. Ginny walked to Herbology, her triumphant expression telling Emily all she needed to know.

I was reading as the class streamed out of the Transfiguration classroom. Harry grinned at Granger and Weasley, and they grinned back as they sauntered out of the room. He sat down again, rather stiffly, and rummaged around in his bag. We passed about fifteen minutes in silence, as was usual. We hardly ever talked anymore, and I couldn't have said whether I was relieved or not. At least he wasn't insulting me, I thought. It would do.

After fifteen minutes, it was very obvious that he wasn't concentrating. Or rather, he wasn't concentrating on whichever essay he was writing. Instead, he was apparently trying to look anywhere but at me. His discomfort made me lose my own concentration, and I finally put my book down with a growl. "Spit it out, Potter."

He blinked, and tore his gaze away from the window and forced himself to look at me. "What do you think about… well, people who… you know… gay." The last word was almost a whisper. I looked at him hard, wondering whom he'd talked to. Surely no one had guessed?! I tried to reassure myself that, if people had, they would have told him and he wouldn't be asking me questions, he would be pointing his wand at my chest.

I thought very carefully before answering. Finally, I said slowly, "I see no immediate problem with the state of being, no. Why do you ask?"

"What would you do if you found out that one of your friends was like… that?"

I allowed myself an infinitesimal sigh of relief. I wasn't one of his friends; therefore no one had been talking about me. "It would depend very much on the friend, Potter," I said.

He sighed. "Why am I asking you, anyway?"

I shrugged. "If you recall, Potter, it was you who brought up the subject. I have no idea why you're talking to me at all, much less about a subject like this."

"I suppose I wanted an unprejudiced view," he muttered, almost to himself. That surprised me. I know myself well enough to realize that I am not what most people would call unprejudiced. The term almost flattered me.

"How wonderful," I said dryly. "Perhaps I would understand better if you would tell me what you were talking about."

"People have been talking," Harry said quietly. "About… well, about you. And Neville"

I froze. On the one hand, I was terrified that he would reject me right there. And Longbottom?! Whoever had been spreading the rumors had incredibly bad taste. Or rather, they credited me with the awful taste. As though I would go out with Longbottom to save my life. If Harry asked me… I bit my tongue sharply to distract myself from the thought. This was not the time to be thinking such things. If there had been talk about me, then it would have to be stopped immediately. Especially if my name was linked to Longbottom's.

"What have you heard?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice calm.

He looked surprised. "Haven't you heard?"

"The only gossip I pay attention to, Potter, is the kind that I can use against my enemies. I don't have any idea what else is floating around this castle. So, I repeat. What have you heard?"

"Lavender Brown started it, I think," he said nervously. He was resolutely avoiding my eyes, and I was still battling my raging temper. "There's nothing concrete, but she says that you have a boyfriend. She won't say who, just that it's someone we all know. She was looking straight at Neville, though."

"Well you can tell Brown that, unless she wants to spend the rest of the year in St. Mungo's, she is invited to keep her mouth shut."

"So it's not true?"

"Not entirely, no." I could have cursed myself the moment the words left my lips. What more proof did I have to give him? A written confession of my sexual orientation? It was hard to keep looking at him, but I made myself keep looking in his direction. I knew that a raging blush was covering my cheeks, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.

"Then what part is?" he asked, as though reading my mind.

"Let me put it this way, Potter," I said, wondering how much more harm I could do to my reputation. "I have no boyfriend at this present moment."

"But you are like… that?"

I ground my teeth together and tried to control my cooking features, with little success. It was his fault, really! What business did he have, asking questions like that? Still, the question had been voiced, and I had to answer it. If I kept silent, then he would think the worst, and I was not ready for that.

"Yes, Potter. I am, as you so charmingly put it, like that."

He goggled at me, and his own cheeks reddened. He didn't seem to know what to say, and I took pity on him. I was about to keep going, but he recovered enough to manage, "How long?"

I snorted, fighting to regain my own composure. There was no way that I was going to allow him to get the better of me on this! "Since I was eleven years old," I said, matter of factly. Silently, I added, 'Since I met you.' That thought would forever remain unvoiced, though, and I told myself that it was better this way.

He too seemed to be gaining control of himself, because his breathing stopped racing and the tide of red was beginning to fade from his cheeks. My own face was still stained red, and I suspected that it wouldn't be fading any time soon. Still, I could talk without stammering, and that was a start.

"Why haven't you told anyone?"

His question caught me off balance. "Isn't it obvious, Potter?" I snapped. "I would much rather return home with all body parts and mental functions intact."

He frowned, and I wondered if he was slower than I thought. That would be a bitter disappointment, though I supposed that we could work around it. I firmly lidded that thought and kicked it as far away as possible.

"You mean people would attack you?" He seemed genuinely confused, and I remembered all of a sudden that he'd been raised by muggles.

"Yes, Potter. I mean that people would attack me. The wizarding world is not… tolerant."

"But it's not your fault, is it?"

I laughed a little bitterly. "Isn't it, Potter? Is it my fault that my hormones are abnormal?"

He sighed. "That depends on what you believe, doesn't it?"

I shrugged. "And what do you believe, Potter?"

He frowned, and I was amazed to realize that he was actually taking my question seriously. Finally, he raised his arms in a gesture of defeat. "I have no idea," he admitted. "I've never thought about it ."

I smirked. "Maybe you should. After all, you never know who will turn out to be like that, do you?"

He shook his head. "You're right," he admitted. His mouth twisted slowly into an evil grin, and he finally met my eyes. "So, Malfoy. Do you fancy anyone?"

I stiffened, and prayed to anyone who was listening that he hadn't noticed. "I don't recall that being any of your business, Potter."

He shrugged, but didn't seem too put out. I allowed myself to relax slightly, hoping that that would be the end of the conversation. Unfortunately, my luck was not with me, and he spoke up again. His tone was thoughtful, but his question was one that I would give a lot not to have to answer. "Why is it so much worse for you in… our world? Muggles would be fine with it. Or at least," he amended, "most of them would be."

I gulped, and tried to regulate my thoughts enough to formulate an answer. Finally, I thought that I could speak without embarrassing myself, though I wouldn't look him in the eyes. "It's different for us, Potter. There are millions, probably more, muggles in the world, and tens of thousands right here in Britain. They can afford to lose a few members of society. Sure, they say that they want everyone to marry and have children, but does it matter? They'd be better off if fewer of them reproduced! But I digress. For wizards, we don't have that strength in numbers. We've always had small families, and most of us have enough money to avoid the child killers of the poorer class. And so, we thrived where others died, through money and magic." I paused for a moment, thinking. I'd never really tried to explain it before. It had just been something that everyone knew, something that was part of the racial memory of all pure blood wizards. I was sure that Weasley could have given him an almost exactly similar answer, and I was touched that he'd asked me instead. Not, of course, that it made any difference between us, but it was a decent gesture. I would have to be content with that.

"There were downsides to this, though," I continued after a moment. "The Families, like mine, or the Zabinis, were encouraged to have few children, and to keep secrets close. We became mistrusted by muggles, and that hurried our retreat from their world."

"Wait a second," Harry said, cutting me off. "You mean that wizards used to live with muggles?"

"Wizards still live with muggles, Potter," I snapped. "But yes, we used to be in the open. The prejudices of muggles forced us to go undercover." I glared at him. "May I continue?"

He nodded, a little stiffly.

"Good. As I was saying, we were encouraged to have few children, but that also means that the heir to the family, usually the only child, was encouraged to marry and have an heir of their own. As the heir must be legitimate –that means coming from both the husband and the wife, Potter."

"I know what it means," Harry told me coldly.

"Then you should have the answer to your question. People like that were not tolerated because we are less likely to produce legitimate offspring. Not to mention the fact that we taint the bloodline and, if we do manage to produce children, they will be weak and unable to cope with the stress of being an heir of a prominent family."

He frowned. "But that was centuries ago. Are you telling me that wizard morals and mentality haven't improved since then?"

I rolled my eyes. "Great Merlin, Potter! What do you think's evolved? Wizards are beings of tradition, and if something works, then we don't see reason to change it!"

He shook his head in puzzlement. "That sounds like it could get you into a lot of trouble fairly soon."

I shrugged. "It's the way we do things. It's times like this, Potter, that I remember that you were raised by muggles. If you were Weasley, we wouldn't even be having this conversation." 'We wouldn't be having any conversation,' I added silently.

He seemed to consider this for a moment, then sighed. "It's at these times that I remember that too," he observed, a little sadly. Then, he seemed to think of something. "I won't tell anyone that you told me."

I nodded, but didn't answer him, and the rest of the hour was spent in silence.

The conversation about homosexuality seemed to have broken the ice between us. I wouldn't have called us bosom friends, but he consented to talk to me about things now. Our conversations ranged from Quidditch to muggles to wizard customs to mutual acquaintances. I learned more about Harry's aunt and uncle, and, though I was sparing with the detail, I told him a little about my childhood at the manor. He seemed genuinely interested in traditional wizarding lore, and I wondered just how much Weasley had neglected to tell him. In return, he explained all about how muggles lived, and I found myself truly fascinated. I'd never really stopped to think about how they lived, and I found myself praising their ingenuity.

He laughed when I told him that. "Mr. Weasley says the same thing," he said.

I raised a scornful eyebrow. "Yes, Potter, but you won't see me making cars fly, will you?"

He shrugged. "You never know," he said mischievously, giving me a genuine grin. It was the first time he'd ever smiled at me, and I felt my insides start to melt in response.

A thought crossed though my mind, and I spoke before I could decide that it was a bad idea. "You know, since we're on civil terms now, we may as well address each other by our given names."

He looked startled, then a calculating look passed across his face. Suddenly, he appeared to throw caution to the wind. "Sure," he said. "Harry, then."

I grinned back at him, and stuck out my hand. "Draco, at your service." He shook my hand, though he did let go a little hastily. I didn't mind. I was sure that I'd died and gone to paradise without realizing it. Surely, nowhere else would my once worst enemy and only true love be shaking my hand and promising to call me Draco.

He frowned suddenly, and backed up slightly. I frowned in return. "What is it?" I asked.

"We can't tell anyone," he said abruptly. "You can't, I can't. Both of us have enemies who would be more than happy to use… this against us."

I sighed, but acknowledged that he had a point. "When you say enemies, do you mean the Dark Lord?"

"Of course," he said. "Don't you?"

I raised my eyebrow again. "So you don't believe the common theory?" I had to ask, had to know if he thought that I was a Death Eater or not.

"I'm asking you," he shot back. "Is he?"

I thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes," I said slowly. "Yes, he is my enemy."

"Well then," Harry said briskly. "What happens in this room stays in this room. We have to act the same as always in the halls and in class."

I nodded. It wouldn't be too hard, after all. "Agreed," I told him.

He smiled at me then, a charmingly innocent smile that took my breath away. I hurriedly turned the conversation back to electricity.

Author's note: I would like to say that the unicorns were NOT my idea! I only wrote them in to humor Caroline, who likes Unicorns. The talk about gay wizards is for Kyra.
--Tamara

Sure it was Tamara. You just keep telling yourself that about the unicorns and you'll start believing it.
--Caroline

She's right about the gay wizards, though. That was all for me. (thanks!)
--kyra

You're welcome. And what do you mean by that little remark, hmm Caroline? You SPECIFICALLY asked me for unicorns!
--Tamara

And you acquiesced without any persuasion on my part. Mighty suspicious, if you ask me.
--Caroline

Guys, you should take this someplace else. The people will get bored listening to you.
--kyra

Right. Sorry people.
--Caroline

The unicorns were STILL her idea!
--Tamara

TAMARA!
--kyra and Caroline

Sorry
--Tamara