Author's note: Well, here's the next chapter. Hope you like it! (Sorry, we have nothing witty or entertaining to say, so we won't bore you.)
Disclaimer: do we look like JKR?

4: friendship

With the success of Draco's patronus, he quickly returned to his usual self. Harry had been delighted in detention when Draco proudly showed him his black panther patronus, and agreed that there was no way it could be a lioness. They laughed about it together, and though there was something in Draco's eyes that still worried Harry sometimes, he didn't press the blond boy for details. He knew what it was like to be pushed too soon, and he knew that Draco wouldn't thank him.

The incident had cemented their friendship, and Harry often found himself filing things in the back of his head to remember to tell Draco. It was an odd feeling, and if he stopped to examine it for too long, it was utterly disconcerting. He learned not to look at it too closely, accepting it for what it was. Harry had too few real friends to risk alienating any of them. The disconcerting warmth had returned a few times, but Harry had learned to ignore it. He didn't know what it was, didn't care to guess, and refused to risk examining it. If it was what he wouldn't admit it might be… well, problems would be an understatement.

His time with Draco didn't cut into his time with Ginny, though. Far from it, in fact. She'd taken to waiting for him in the hallway outside of the Transfiguration classroom a few days a week and walking with him to the Great Hall. On these days, they would usually skip lunch there altogether and go out onto the grounds with a picnic thoughtfully supplied by Dobby and his army of House-Elves. They talked some, and listened some, and gradually became more and more comfortable around each other. Harry learned more about Ginny's childhood at the Burrow than he'd ever even imagined, and he told her selected excerpts from his time with the Dursleys. She seemed to enjoy his tales about humiliating Dudley as much as he did, and she laughed hilariously when he told about shutting him in the snake exhibit at the zoo.

"They had to call the zoo-keeper and everything," Harry said, grinning as he reminisced. "Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were furious, but it was worth it to see the look on his face. He was totally terrified!"

She laughed. "How long did he stay in there?"

"Not nearly long enough. He managed to fit through the door, which he might not be able to do now, and they took him off to the restaurant and bought him ice cream. Uncle Vernon made them pay for it, too."

"Didn't you get any?"

He shook his head. "No, but it didn't matter. I'd already had one and, unlike Dudley, I don't care to look like a human walrus."

This only made her laugh harder. "You should call him that from now on! At Christmas, you could send him an anonymous love letter addressed to, 'My Darling Walrus in Human Form.'"

Harry laughed along with her. "You know, I think I might just do that. If I can find a muggle post office, then no one will suspect me. My handwriting can be disguised easily enough. Or you could write it."

She grinned. "I will," she promised. "Tell me what to write, and you can teach me how to send a letter the muggle way."

He nodded. "All right. Help me remember in November, will you?"

"We could do it now. It doesn't have to be a Christmas card, you know." She dug around in her bag and came out with a piece of parchment, a quill, and a heavy book. She balanced the book on her knees and said, "Tell me what to write."

Harry thought for a moment, then began. "To my darling walrus in human form: I love you so much! The way your blubber jiggles when you walk makes shivers run up my spine. I adore the way you pick on others to make yourself look stronger, even though it doesn't work. I delight in listening to you try so hard in class, even though you get all the answers wrong. I wish you didn't have to spend all summer in that house with your awful parents, but I realize that I can't have everything. I pine for your answer, my dear. My fingers yearn to stroke your oversized belly and burry themselves amid the layers of fat."

By the time he was finished, both he and Ginny were laughing so hard that she could hardly keep writing. She carefully signed the letter in curly handwriting, and passed it to Harry. He snorted as he read the signature: Pansy Parkinson. He wondered if he should forward a copy of the answer to the actual Pansy, if they received one. He pulled out his wand and carefully changed the parchment into a piece of flower-covered stationary, which emitted a ghastly smell of flowery perfume. He stuffed it into his bag, vowing to come up with a muggle envelope and stamp soon to send it.

"Do you think he'll answer?" Ginny asked, putting away her supplies.

Harry shrugged. "We haven't given him a return address," he pointed out.

She frowned. "Do you think we should?"

He shook his head. "If we give him a fake one, then he'll know that it's a trick. No, it's better just to leave it blank. He's thick enough to believe it."

She sighed. "I wish we could see his reaction!"

"Do you think Fred and George have anything that'll let us eavesdrop?"

"I don't know. Let me owl them to find out. If it's discreet, then we can just send it with the letter."

Two days later, a reply came from the twins, enclosing two small red stickers and a sheet of detailed instructions. Harry read them over Ginny's shoulder, marveling at the precision of the charms that were involved, and the simplicity of the steps to set them into action. All they had to do was stick one on the outside of the envelope or, better yet, on the back of the letter. It would begin to work as soon as Dudley touched it, and they would be able to see and hear everything that happened as long as they were in contact with the other. They would know when the first one was activated, Fred and George promised, although they wouldn't say how. They also added that, if Harry wanted, they would send him more samples to help his guise as their PR person. Ginny carefully took their sticker and placed it on the inside of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, saying that that was exactly where Dudley should be.

Finding a way to mail the letter was harder. Harry was still officially on Academic Probation, and Ginny couldn't leave the castle until the first Hogsmeade weekend anyway. They discussed various ways to sneak out, but dismissed all of them as unworkable. They didn't want to get caught, and Harry knew instinctively that Dumbledore wouldn't approve at all of what they were doing. Finally, Ron provided the answer.

"I can just ask dad for an envelope. I'll tell him that I can send it the muggle way, but that I don't have any. They'll send me a stamp as well."

Both Harry and Ginny thanked him enthusiastically, and the very next day he received a muggle envelope complete with a stamp. Harry put the letter inside, dictating the Dursley's address to Ginny as she addressed it. The portal sicker was on the back of the letter, in a spot where they were almost sure that Dudley would touch. Ginny kept Fantastic Beasts with her at all times, and all three of them waited in feverish excitement for the time when Dudley would open the letter and discover what it said.

Finally, at long last, the sticker began to heat up. Ginny, who'd been fingering their sticker, felt it first. Harry and Ron crowded around, and watched with childish excitement as Dudley read the letter, and struggled to find a way to react. Aunt Petunia was called in, and she had no idea how to react either. They weren't sure if it was a two way portal, so they had to contain their hilarity, but it was increasingly hard as Uncle Vernon came home and blew up. By the time the letter had been rescued from the fire once and stuffed into Dudley's school notebook, they had to break the contact to burst out into gales of furious laughter.

"I wish we could keep this forever!" Harry gasped out finally. "I wonder if I can find a good excuse to tease him about it this summer."

"Tell him you know the girl who wrote it," Ron suggested. "Then he'd be doubly frustrated!"

They all agreed that this was a very good plan, and Harry promised to keep them both updated as to the continuing saga of the Walrus in Human Form.

The first Gryffindor Quidditch match arrived the next Saturday, and none of the three had recovered enough to be in anything resembling a bad mood. In fact, Harry was ecstatic, and he, along with Ginny and Ron, who'd both made the team, subjected Hermione to far more Quidditch mania than she could reasonably stand. She soon vanished into the library, leaving the three athletes no choice but to go down to the Great Hall in the hopes of crossing paths with someone who would listen to their pre-game hype. Harry couldn't even feel disgruntled when that person was Draco.

"Want to get hurt to sit out this match, Malfoy?" Ginny shouted, seeing him. "You'll get clobbered if you don't!"

"Trust me, you are going to be crushed, Potter!" he said, totally ignoring Ginny. She glowered furiously at him, and made not-so-subtle moves towards her wand.

"Really?" Harry asked, lifting his eyebrows. "You know, Malfoy, you've said that every single Quidditch match so far, and I've won them all."

"It'll be different this time," Draco said, glaring.

"You say that every time too," Harry reminded him. "Now, if you'll get out of my way, Malfoy…"

Draco snarled, but Harry shoved his way past, grinning at Ron and Ginny, who'd reluctantly let go of her wand. "Just ignore him," he advised. "He's afraid of us, you know."

Ron shrugged. "He's a rotten flyer too."

Draco heard the comment, and whispered loudly to Blaise, "Weasley is our King!"

Ron's face went red, but Harry clamped his hand around Ron's elbow and escorted him out of earshot. Ron didn't mention the incident, and the three of them concentrated on preparing for the game ahead. Harry changed into his Quidditch robes, preferring to do it in the comfort of the dormitory instead of the changing room. Ron followed suit, and soon both of them were ablaze with red and gold. Harry grabbed his broom, and clattered down the stairs, checking one last time to make sure his wand was safely hidden in his pocket. He'd had too many surprises to risk leaving without it.

The rest of the team, including Ginny, was waiting for them, and Harry realized suddenly that both Wood and Angelina had given pre-game speeches. He felt his face flush slightly, and thought wildly, 'What the hell am I going to say?'

Finally, he sighed. There was no getting around it. He was going to have to say something, after all. "I'm not really one for pep talks," he began. The team fell silent, watching him. "All I really have to say is this: we've always beaten Slytherin. We know their tactics, and we've flown against them way more times that I can count. We're good, and if we remember that, then we shouldn't have any trouble."

Ginny grinned at him, and he grinned back. "Let's get out and play!" There was a rousing cheer, and they streamed out onto the field. Harry glanced at the stands, trying to see who was announcing the game. With Lee Jordan gone, the post was open, and anyone who wanted to could try out for the position.

To his surprise, it was Seamus who lifted the microphone to his mouth and bellowed, "Hello and welcome to the first game of the year! Facing off today, we have Gryffindor," there was a rousing cheer from three quarters of the stands, "versus Slytherin!" The green section shouted as loudly as they could, making almost as much noise as the other three. Harry was impressed. Obviously, the Slytherins had learned to shout loudly to make up for their lack of numbers.

Seamus rattled off the players as they flew their warm-up lap around the pitch and landed in front of Madam Hooch. "I expect you all to follow the rules!" she said, glaring hard at the Slytherin side. Draco glared back at her, then shifted his glare to Harry. "Captains, shake hands!"

Harry and Draco stepped towards each other, and shook hands. Draco muttered, "Good luck," so softly that Harry hardly heard. He nodded infinitesimally back, and stepped away. He returned to his place in the game and mounted his broom. At Madam Hooch's whistle, he shot up into the air, his eyes already scanning the field for the snitch. He saw Draco doing the same, but paid him no mind. Draco might be a friend off the pitch, but in the air, he was the opponent, and Harry didn't intend to show any mercy. He knew that Draco felt the same way, and that he would get no relief from that end. He didn't want any. Quidditch was apart from friendship, and if a friendship couldn't survive a match, maybe it wasn't meant to be.

He dimly listened to Seamus' commentary, noting that Gryffindor was only slightly ahead, and that Slytherin had been fouled several times already. The snitch still hadn't made an appearance, but he knew that it was only a matter of time. Draco wasn't following him, but scanning his own half of the pitch. Harry kept half an eye on him in case he made any sudden movements, but Draco seemed content to bide his time just as Harry was. And suddenly, there it was! It hovered just out of Draco's line of sight, and Harry knew that it was only a matter of time before Draco turned and saw it. He made his way cautiously over towards Draco, seeing the other boy's eyes lock on him, hoping against hope that it would work, he dived, counting on the speed of his broom to make it. Sure enough, Draco followed. Harry came out of the dive sharply, swooping up to where the snitch was still hovering. It darted just out of reach, but he was faster than it was, and he brushed it with his fingertips. He leaned forwards, straining, and there it was! He grasped it, feeling its wings beat frantically as it struggled to get free. But it was too late. It was secure in Harry's fist, and he raised his arms in triumph, guiding his Firebolt with his knees alone. Draco, who'd realized a fraction of an instant too late what Harry was up to, came up next to him.

"You are going to pay for that, Potter," he snarled.

Harry grinned, too happy to try to be subtle. "In your dreams, Malfoy!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You want to bet on that?"

"You're on. Loser buys dinner."

"Deal!"

Harry veered sharply away, and landed in the middle of his team.

"That was utterly brilliant, Harry!" Ron shouted gleefully. "Did you see that look on Malfoy's face?"

Harry nodded, still grinning. "He thinks that he'll beat us next game."

Katie shook her head. "They're living in a dream world," she said. "There's no way they can match your speed, Harry! Malfoy's two thousand and one is so outclassed!"

Ginny nodded. "Their tactics suck as well," she observed. "They have no strategy except trying to plow into as many of us as possible."

"But we've beaten them again!" Ron yelled. "They're history!"

This caused a rousing cheer from the rest of the team, and they walked back to the castle together, still talking animatedly and accepting congratulations from their friends and supporters. Luna drifted over to tell them that she'd enjoyed the game, then wandered away again, lost in her own world. Harry hardly noticed her, wrapped up in the elation of victory. They arrived at the common room and passed through, greeted by loud exclamations and cheers. Someone had taken up Fred and George's role of food provider, and the Quidditch team was loaded down with edibles before they'd made it to the other side of the common room. Harry laughed and chatted with friends, congratulating Seamus on his role as commentator. He had to admit to not having listened much, but promised to pay closer attention at the next game.

At some time during the evening, Dean jumped up onto a table. He amplified his voice, and roared, "HERE'S TO OUR TEAM!" There was a deafening cheer of approval, and he continued, "WE'VE STARTED MARVELOUSLY! LET'S KEEP IT UP AND WIN THE CUP AGAIN THIS YEAR!" Another roar of support followed, and Dean jumped off the table.

Ginny took his place, much to Harry's surprise. She too magnified her voice, and her words filled the common room. "HERE'S TO HARRY, OUR CAPTAIN AND SEEKER! THANK YOU FOR AN AMAZING VICTORY, AND I HOPE THAT YOU'RE INTENDING TO KEEP IT UP LIKE DEAN SUGGESTED. IF NOT, I KNOW THAT I, FOR ONE, WILL BE INCREDIBLY DISAPOINTED WITH YOU!" There was laughter along with the cheers, and Harry felt his face begin to flame. Ginny reached down and hauled him up onto the table next to her.

He sighed, knowing that he had to say something. He pointed his wand at himself and muttered the incantation. When he spoke again, his voice was loud enough to be heard above the shouting. "HERE'S TO THE REST OF THE TEAM! THEY'RE THE ONES WHO DID THE REAL WORK! I JUST CHASE AFTER A LITTLE GOLDEN BALL THAT THINKS IT'S A BIRD! SO, FOR THEIR SAKE, I SURE HOPE THAT WE'LL WIN THE CUP AGAIN! MCGONAGALL WANTS IT TO STAY IN HER OFFICE!" This was met with more laughter, and Ginny turned towards him, her eyes shining. Before the entire House, she reached over and kissed him deeply. Several of the girls gave little sighs, and the boys cheered them on shamelessly. Finally, Ginny stood back.

"No more until we win the Cup," she teased.

Harry grinned, realizing that he wanted that Cup very badly.

I grinned at him as he walked into detention the next day. "You are going to regret yesterday," I told him wickedly. "Believe me, I am going to make you pay for that!"

He shrugged, and dropped his things onto the table. He looked tired, and I wondered just how long they'd stayed up celebrating the night before. "You'll have to get a heck of a lot better first," he pointed out. "I can beat you with my eyes closed at this point."

"Oh yeah?"

"I did, didn't I?"

"I was watching you. Your eyes were wide open!"

He rolled the eyes in question. "They were closed in spirit, Draco."

I snorted. "Won't cut it, I'm afraid. Make sure you win all your other matches so that we can face each other again for the cup. I'll prove to you then how much better I am than you!"

"Deal. You win yours as well. And if you lose to Ravenclaw, I may have to get quite angry with you."

"I assure you Harry, I have no intention whatsoever of losing to Ravenclaw."

"Good."

I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he bent down to take out his homework. He was still scowling fiercely, but it was a totally different scowl than it would have been last year. This was in response to a challenge, not an insult. I grinned. "You know, you look practically irresistible when you do that," I remarked.

He glanced up at me, his eyebrows lifting. "You're joking, right?"

I shook my head. "Harry, if I were a girl, then I would be scheming as hard as I could to catch you."

"I'm already caught."

"More's the pity. You honestly don't realize how you look, do you?"

He grimaced. "I'm not handsome, if that's what you mean. I'm skinny, unkempt, and I could care less about how I look."

I rolled my eyes. He really didn't see it, did he? "Let me put this into perspective for you. You've shot up over the summer. Quidditch has given you muscles and grace that you don't even realize. Now, compare that to the other boys in our year. Longbottom wouldn't know grace if it whacked him with a stick. Finnegan is… in a word, nerdy. Thomas… let's not even talk about Thomas. Granted, Weasley is moderately attractive, but he's much less open than you are, and that's a determent to girls. Face it Harry, you are officially the most desirable male in the school at this moment."

He was eyeing me skeptically. "Is that objective, Draco? For all I know, you could be scheming to get me for yourself. After all, you did come out to me."

I shrugged, trying to control my racing heart. Had he guessed? But he was looking at me with open curiosity, and I doubted that he would be asking if he thought that I would say yes. "Because I am out to you, then you'll know that you can trust my judgment. Obviously, I am viewing you in the same way that girls would, so I know what they see."

He still looked doubtful. I sensed that he was about to keep arguing, and I sighed. "Look, if I showed you physically what I mean, then would you believe me?"

"I don't think that you could," he said frankly.

I shrugged, and dug into my own bag. I pulled out a piece of parchment and a muggle pencil. I'd tried numerous times, but it is physically impossible to draw correctly with a quill. I'd given up last year and sent an owl to my mother for a supply of number two pencils. She, being who she is, didn't ask any questions, and within the week I had a pack of twenty-four of the things. I was down to around five now, and I wondered how I would manage to get more. I wondered idly if Hogsmeade sold them. That wasn't important now, though, and I bent my head to the parchment, watching him for a long moment before placing the pencil to the parchment.

I drew as I watched him, trying my hardest to capture his spirit. He was caring and understanding, willing to help anyone that he cared about and even those he didn't; he was careful and methodical when he wanted to be, able to do things of the greatest delicacy with the greatest precision when he got over his macho man act. He carried terrible burdens of his own, and still agreed to carry those of others. He was the heart of the Quidditch team, and the soul of any room he entered. He'd captured my heart at eleven, and his image was still imprinted into my heart. He was fury itself when his friends were being threatened, and the embodiment of loyalty. I'd been brought into his inner circle, and I'd watched him closely enough to realize that he would now protect me as fiercely as he would protect Granger and Weasley. He was a friend and a confessor, and I didn't know how I could ask for more.

Something told me that the picture was done, and I pulled my attention back to the real world. It was his face, concentrated on something far away, maybe the snitch, maybe something totally different. His lips were pulled together in concentration, and his eyes were narrowed to bring the unknown object into focus. He was perfect to my eyes, and I knew that, though my drawing was a poor substitute for reality, it had managed to capture a little bit of what I'd been telling him. I signed it quickly and hesitated for a moment before pushing it across the desk.

He looked at it, then looked up at me, his eyebrows unintentionally assuming the position that I'd drawn them in. "I don't know which is more unbelievable: that you can draw like that, or that you've chosen to draw me."

I grinned. "I've always been able to draw," I said. "And you asked me to draw you. I could do the Weasley girl as well, if you want."

His eyes took on a calculating look. "Could you do us together?"

"Would she consent to modeling for me?"

"No."

"Sorry." I was relieved. I had no desire whatsoever to discuss Ginny Weasley with him, and I certainly didn't want to draw them together. I wondered if I would even be able to.

He sighed. "I suppose it would have been too much to ask," he admitted. His eyes turned back to the picture. "You really did this just now?"

I nodded. "It's not that hard," I said dismissively. "The muse takes you over and you don't notice what you're doing."

His eyebrows shot up. "The muse?" he asked skeptically.

I shrugged. "What else do you want me to call it? The artistic possession? Muse sounds so much better."

"But what does it mean, exactly?"

"There's a presence, one that I choose to call my muse, that takes over my limbs and causes my hand to move across the paper without my controlling it."

"How is that possible?"

"I'm sure I don't know. How is it possible that you can fly and be perfectly and completely in tune with the wind and the air that you can hear the snitch coming before you see it, and you can lift your arm and catch it without even seeing it?"

"That's not the same," he protested.

I snorted. "Oh yeah? Tell me that you feel completely in control of yourself in that one moment of athletic perfection."

He frowned, thinking. Suddenly, he shrugged. "I suppose I see a little of what you mean," he admitted. "But it's somehow scarier when it's something that doesn't happen to me."

"That's always how it works," I informed him.

"But have you had the Quidditch moments?" he wanted to know.

I shook my head. "I'm not a natural like you are. Sure, I'm good, but the skill that I have came from practice, not talent. You've got the inborn talent for the sport."

"Thanks," he said sincerely.

"It's the truth."

"It still means a lot to hear you say it, especially after I beat you yesterday."

I snorted. "How do you think I know what I'm talking about?" I demanded. "I watched you yesterday, you know."

"And what did you see?"

"Love," I said flatly.

"Excuse me?"

"You love the sport, don't even try to tell me that you don't."

He didn't deny it. Instead, he took my picture again and looked at it for a long moment. I watched him look, treasuring the look in his eyes as he examined my work. There was still the insane vulnerability that came from having someone else, especially him, look at my art, but he was holding it so gently, and the look in his eyes was so perfect that I couldn't help loving it. Of course, I love everything about him, but this was different. It made me want to do everything in the world to please him so that that look would stay in his eyes. It was more than appreciation, it was amazement. He was amazed at something that I'd done. Even now, that level of amazement in his gaze when he looked at me was rare, and I'd been able to, I would have drawn that too. I don't trust my own artistic powers to be able to capture something as precious as that, though, so I only gazed at him through lowered eyes, trying to capture the image in my mind forever.

"You're perfect when you look like that," I blurted out.

He looked up, startled, staring at me. I felt my face flame, and mumbled some indistinct remark that might possibly have been an apology. I couldn't look at him anymore, and I turned my eyes to the desk in front of me, tracing the grain of the wood as though it were the most interesting thing in the world at that instant. After a moment, he turned back to the picture and I let out a sigh of relief. I didn't know what had made me speak those words, and I was terrified that he would take them the wrong way. I was perfectly happy with his friendship, and I didn't want anything more. Or rather, I couldn't hope for anything more: I wanted far more, but I doubted that it would come. Friendship was enough. It had to be.

Harry wasn't sure how to react. Draco's compliment had been completely unexpected, and he didn't know how it had been intended. Draco's subsequent reaction had seemed to indicate that it had been a mistake, but why was Draco thinking things like that anyway? Did he…?

No. Harry firmly lidded those thoughts. He had no business speculating on things like that, and they certainly weren't his business anyway. The fact that Draco had come out didn't automatically mean that he fancied anyone at this point. And it most certainly didn't mean that he fancied Harry. Even if Harry wouldn't have minded terribly if he did.

Harry reeled. Where had that thought come from? He was sure that he didn't feel like that, and the fact that such thoughts kept drifting through his head bothered him intensely. He left the detention troubled, though he carefully packed Draco's picture in one of his books and made a mental note to put it somewhere safe as soon as he could. He headed to the dormitory, not in the mood for Defense Against the Dark Arts. He hoped that Dumbledore would understand. After all, if he called Harry in and preformed his usual mind-reading act, then he would know what had happened, and he would understand.

To his gratification, Ginny was sitting in the common room, absorbed in a book. She looked up in surprise as Harry came over to her. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah. Aren't you?"

Ginny shook her head. "Nope. Professor Trelawney announced that there were bad omens in the stars and that she simply couldn't conduct class today."

"Why are you taking Divinations, anyway?" Harry demanded.

She shrugged. "I had a hole in my schedule that I needed to fill up, and that fit. Besides, Mum says that knowing the theory could be useful later on."

He rolled his eyes. "Not if Trelawney teaches it, that's for sure."

She grinned. "Try telling Mum that. She agrees that Trelawney can't predict anything, but she insists that she knows something about the theory of all the things."

"If you want theory, why don't you just ask Firenze?" Harry demanded. "He's easier to talk to."

She grimaced. "He makes me nervous," she admitted. "He just sits there and looks at me, and I feel like he's looking into my soul."

Harry had to admit that she had a point. "Well, since you don't have a class and I'm skiving off mine, do you want to come for a walk with me?"

She shrugged. "Sure. Where do you want to go?"

"We could go off on the far side of the lake," he suggested. "No one'll bother us there."

"All right." She stood up and they walked out together, side-by-side if not holding hands. They passed a few younger students, who looked at them oddly, but both ignored them. They didn't matter, not in the general scheme of the two of them.

Once they were outside the main doors, Ginny grinned at him. "Race you to the lake," she offered.

"All right," he agreed. She counted in a monotone, then took off, speeding down the grassy slope and onto the level ground. He followed after her, both slower and with less endurance. He didn't give up, though, and when she finally reached the other side of the lake, he was only a couple feet behind her. He collapsed onto the grass panting and gasping for breath. She dropped down next to him, only breathing with slight difficulty, and that might have been due to the laughs that were spluttering out of her.

"Who would think?" she managed. "The big Quidditch hero can't keep up with a girl!"

"Stop it!" he wheezed. "I'm not a track star, all right?"

"You'd think that even so you'd be a decent runner," she persisted.

"Well I'm not. Now you know."

"I do indeed," she agreed. "And I know how to get the best of you."

He looked at her curiously. "So when did you get so good at it?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh please Harry. I grew up with six older brothers. I learned how to run early on."

"True," he admitted, remembering how he'd learned to hide and dodge very quickly. He supposed that it was the same principle.

She leaned back in the grass, gazing up at the sky. "Isn't it beautiful out here?" she asked, sighing in bliss.

He nodded, lying down next to her. They lay close together, not touching, just reveling in each other's presence. It had been a long time since they were just alone together, and Harry only just then realized how much he'd missed that.

"We need to do this more often," he said, idly running his fingers through the long grass.

"Mm-hm," she agreed absently. He turned his head to see what she was looking at. Her eyes were turned towards the sky, and she was watching as the clouds moved about their business in the slight breeze. "They look like big puffs of cotton candy," she said, not looking at him. "Dad took us to a muggle carnival when we were kids, and he bought all of us some cotton candy. If the clouds were pink, they'd look exactly the same."

"It looks like a glacier from above," Harry told her, moving a bit closer. "Like a glacier with no flaws or rocks stuck into it, just flowing away into nothingness."

She turned to look at him in surprise. "I never figured you for a poet," she said, a little playfully. "Apparently you have a new career ahead of you when your Quidditch muscles give out."

He grimaced. "Believe me, I have no talent whatsoever in poetry," he said dryly. "I was just making an observation."

"You made it very well," she said approvingly. "It made me able to visualize it perfectly."

"It's a shame Hermione's camera doesn't work here," he said, a little sadly. "She took some amazing pictures of the trip."

Ginny shrugged, an impressive feat for someone who was lying down. "She promised to send them to me eventually. Dad will go nuts over them."

Harry laughed. "I'm sure he will," he agreed. His gaze turned back to the clouds. All the talk of pictures had brought his thoughts back to Draco's drawing of him, and as he scanned the clouds he fancied he could see a slight resemblance to Draco in the whispy shapes and tendrils of clouds. He blinked hard, and when he opened his eyes again, the wind had blown the resemblance away.

"That one looks like a snitch, doesn't it?" she asked suddenly, pointing at one of the clouds as they passed overhead.

Harry squinted at the cloud in question. "A bit," he agreed. "And the one next to it's like a hand reaching out to it."

"So whose hand is it?" she asked.

He grinned. "Yours, of course."

"And where are you?"

"Watching you. See, there I am." He pointed in turn, showing a part of the cloud that had looked like Draco. It had disintegrated into a lightning bolt, and even that was slowly drifting off.

"Oh look, I've caught the snitch," she remarked, watching as the scene played out. "I wonder what you'll do."

"I'll be incredibly jealous, of course," Harry responded. The cloud that was the lightning bolt was drifting away from the snitch and the hand, as though pouting. Suddenly, the wind shifted and the lightning bold drifted back. It lost its shape and mutated into a slightly dilapidated heart.

"Looks like you've made up with me," Ginny commented, giggling.

"Looks like I have," he agreed. "You're not letting the snitch go, though."

"I don't need to," she protested. "You're kissing me anyway." The heart melded with the arm, and two round blobs formed, attached in a single spot.

Harry watched as the blobs drifted even closer, fusing with one another until they formed one round lump.

"And what's that?"

"Ron, of course," she said as though it were obvious. "He's spying on us."

"Why's he doing that?" Harry demanded.

"I don't know! Maybe he's jealous."

Harry snickered, imaging what Ron would think if he heard their conversation. "And there we are again," he said, pointing to a series of lines.

"How exactly is that us?"

"Well, one of them is a unicorn horn, and the other ones are stag antlers."

"Unicorns?"

"That's your patronus, isn't it?"

She frowned. "How do you know?"

He grinned. "I watched you last summer," he said simply. "You were practicing."

She grimaced. "I had hoped that no one saw that," she muttered.

"Why not?"

"It's a bit embarrassing to be seen shouting words in your yard, trying to eject a silver animal from your wand," Ginny said.

"It's a useful skill," he pointed out.

"Well, how did you learn it?" she demanded.

"Professor Lupin taught me."

She frowned. "Why didn't he teach me?"

"He didn't see you collapse from the dementors, I suppose."

She frowned, remembering. "He wasn't there when they came into our carriage," she muttered.

Harry looked at her questioningly, but she only shook her head. "Never mind. So what are the stag and the unicorn doing now?"

Harry looked back up at the sky. "They're shaking their heads at Ron's jealousy."

"So where's Hermione?" Ginny demanded. "Shouldn't she be with Ron?"

Harry looked over at her in surprise. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Haven't you noticed it yet, Harry? Ron's got a desperate crush on Hermione."

"And does she return it?"

"How should I know? She's not my brother."

"So it's a family thing, is it?"

"I live with Ron, Harry. I notice things like that."

"I suppose," he said skeptically. "So has Ron actually said anything yet?"

She snorted. "Ron?! I think not! If you ask him about it, he'll forcefully deny it and then ignore her completely for the next several days just to prove the point. It's in all of our best interests not to ask."

"I see."

He shifted so that he was lying on his side, looking at her straight on. "And what about you?" he whispered. "Is it in our best interests not to ask you?"

She rolled over so that she was facing him. Her brown eyes gazed into his green ones, and the depth of feeling he saw in them gave him all the answer he needed. He reached out and touched her; his fingers ran feather-light down her face and under her chin, tracing her jaw. She shivered and pressed a little closer. Her hands reached up and caressed his hair, her fingers slipping through it as easily as they did her own. He bent over her and pressed a light kiss to her mouth. She caught him, and deepened the kiss. They lay there for a long time, not speaking, not even really exploring, just basking in each other's presence and wondering how anything could ever change.

Hermione couldn't wait. It was the first day of the advanced class, and she was looking forwards to it immensely. Ron had not understood her eagerness at dinner, and he'd rolled his eyes as she bolted her food. "Why are you so happy to take more classes with Snape?" he demanded.

"It's not Snape," she retorted. "I'm looking forwards to being with people who have a higher intellectual level than what it takes to discuss Quidditch."

Ron looked hurt. "I can do more than that!" he protested. "I'm taking NEWT level classes, aren't I?"

"Only because you read all of my notes," Hermione told him.

"Cut it out," Harry said wearily.

"She's mental!" Ron protested. "She wants to take more classes!"

"Haven't you been her friend long enough to realize that yet?" Harry asked. He glanced at Hermione. "Please don't give us the gory details, though. I'm sick of Snape, and I don't really want to hear more about him than I have to."

Hermione shrugged. "I don't care," she said. "Lavender thinks that he's good looking."

Ron choked on a piece of chicken. "She what?!"

"Thinks that he could be pretty good looking if he actually bothered to take care of himself," she clarified. She carefully didn't mention the shot of jealousy that had coursed up through her at Lavender's words.

"I always knew that girls were insane," Ron told Harry when he'd swallowed.

"Thank you so much," Hermione said dryly. She glanced at her watch, and stood. "I'll see you boys in the common room," she said, leaving the table with her book bag.

She walked down the deserted hallways that led to the dungeons, thinking, as she always did when she walked this way, that she should definitely have found someone attainable to fall in love with. Not that she was in love with Snape! Of course she wasn't in love with Snape! The entire idea was absurd! But… but there was the small thrills of pleasure that coursed down her whenever he looked at her, and the warm feeling that filled her whenever he refrained from insulting her work.

She very firmly shoved all those thoughts back where they'd come from. Still, it took a moment for her to get up the nerve to push the door to the classroom open. There was no one inside. She let out her breath, then moved to her desk at the front of the room. She dropped her book bag onto it, and looked around. There were only seven desks, arranged in a half circle around Snape's desk. All the other desks had been pushed to the back of the room, creating a space to walk between them. A series of ingredients was arranged on Snape's desk. She looked at them curiously, moving closer to examine them. She knew most of them, but there were two that she didn't recognize: a gray stone-like thing, and a yellow blob. She bent down to examine the stone more closely, and stretched out a hand to touch it.

"Just what do you think you are doing, Miss Granger?"

She jumped, and snatched her hand back. She turned, and realized that he was standing right behind her. "I was just… looking at the ingredients, Professor," she faltered, wishing that she could manage to string together an entire sentence without sounding like an idiot.

"It did not look like looking to me, Miss Granger. Ten points from Gryffindor for carelessness. Do you even know what this is?"

She shook her head.

"It's a Moragan."

She waited, but he didn't elaborate. 'He won't tell me unless I ask,' she realized in annoyance. She waited for a little longer, then gave up. "What's a Moragan, Professor?"

"A Moragan, as you should have known, Miss Granger, is more commonly known as a Death Stone. It is found only in Southern Africa and Australia, and the natives there have known of it for generations. Properly prepared, it is an invaluable ingredient in many healing potions, but when amateurs use it wrongly, it turns the potion into a poison with no known cure."

Hermione nodded. She'd known what it was from the moment he used its more common name, but she still enjoyed hearing it from him. She liked the way he imparted the information without any ceremony whatsoever, stating that it was easily used to kill people with no emotion. She was about to ask about the yellow blob, but the door opened again and Terry Boot entered. She knew that Snape wouldn't tell her anything when someone else was in the room, so she thanked him and went back to her seat. She and Terry smiled shyly at each other as he carefully put his books on his desk. She didn't know Terry that well, but they were in all of the nonessential classes together, and she knew that he was brilliant. It didn't surprise her at all that he was here. Gradually, the other students trickled in. Though the class had been advertised as for sixth and seventh years, no seventh years had taken it. Hermione was a bit surprised, but she supposed that they were too busy with their NEWT revision to be able to take extracurricular classes. Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst walked in together. Mandy went to sit with Terry, but Padma looked shyly at Hermione. Hermione moved her books over to her own side of the desk, and Padma slipped in. The two girls grinned at each other. "I knew that you'd be here," Padma said.

"Ron and Harry don't get it," Hermione said. "They think I'm insane."

Padma rolled her eyes. "I don't see why you spend so much time with them."

Hermione sighed. "Neither does your sister," she said.

"For entirely different reasons, I'm sure," Padma said. "I was alluding to intellectual quality, not physical."

Hermione laughed. "Harry can be smart when he wants to, but he doesn't care. Ron… well, it's a good thing that he doesn't want to be a straight O student."

Padma nodded. "I see your meaning entirely," she said.

They quieted then, because Snape had looked up. His glare did that to people. Just as he was about to begin speaking, the door opened yet again, and Draco Malfoy strode in. He didn't even look at Snape, just sat down on the desk farthest away from the door, three desks away from Susan Bones and Zacharias Smith. Snape didn't comment on his lateness, only continued to glare at the students assembled in front of him. Finally, he spoke. "You are in this class for two reasons. Some of you," here he looked at Hermione "are here because you are insufferable know-it-alls and you cannot pass up an academic challenge." Hermione traded glances with Padma and Terry. "The rest of you," Snape continued, "wish to gather experience and put harder courses on your resumes." Here, he paused, allowing the words to sink in. No one made a sound. "This is not an easy course. It deals with things that many adult wizards do not know. I will not tolerate failure, and so if any of you slip even a little, you will promptly be evicted from this classroom." He paused again. No one moved. "Because of the difficulty level of this course, I expect each of you to have a partner. As we are an odd number, there will be one person who will have no partner." No one looked, but everyone knew that Malfoy would be working alone. No one would volunteer to be his partner! "Your partners will be assigned. I have created a level assessment, which I expect each of you to finish by the end of the hour. You will be given your partners when we meet again. Begin."

A thick sheet of paper materialized in front of Hermione. She looked at it, then uncorked her inkbottle and read the first question: Describe the properties of a Moragan. She glanced up at the object in question in surprise. Surely Snape had known that the question would be on the test! Why had he explained it to her? She shook her head, realizing that she was behind, and dipped her quill into the ink, bending her head to write.

Severus watched as the students wrote feverishly. He'd known when he assigned the test that most of them would fail it, but he couldn't resist finding out just what he was dealing with. Besides, it would do them good to learn right away that he would not tolerate failure. It was one thing to be told the consequences of failure, and quite another to be kicked out of a class for a bad grade. He wondered how many he would have left at the end of the year. He was impressed by the number who'd signed up. Usually there were about five at the beginning, and anywhere from three to none at all by June. He suspected that, this time, he would have at least a few left. Miss Granger certainly wouldn't think of dropping out, and if Draco didn't stick with it the entire year, Severus would be highly disappointed. Some of the others, though…

He collected their tests at the end of the hour and sent them on their way, ignoring the barely concealed sighs of relief. He was used to them. He seated himself at his desk, pushing the other papers into a tidy stack out of the way. He placed the new tests in front of himself and opened the first one. It just happened to be Draco's and he read it, frowning every so often. He hadn't expected Draco in his class, though he was glad the boy had come, and he was struggling with the proper person to pair him with. It was plain that everyone, including Draco himself, expected him to be the odd one out. Severus wasn't sure why the idea made him uneasy, but he'd learned to trust his instincts over the years. They were telling him now not to put Draco alone.

He finished with Draco's test and put it aside. He hadn't done splendidly, but his score was acceptable. As though fate had been trying to send him a message, Miss Granger's test was next. Severus hardly glanced at it, knowing that she would have answered every question correctly. Sure enough, all he found to mark off were a couple slightly incomplete answers. He frowned as he put her test aside. Miss Granger certainly was a puzzle. She seemed to be the usual, head in the clouds scholarly type that Hogwarts saw every few years. But Severus knew from watching her that there was more to her than that. Miss Granger could be passionate about many things, and he'd even seen her flushed with triumph and splattered with the blood of her enemies. That vision of her, gasping for breath in the middle of the department of mysteries, her wand out and her hair a wild mess of brown snarls was one that he'd dreamed about for weeks. She'd had a life to her in that moment, and it had caused Severus to revise five years of opinions on her.

He frowned, thinking his idea over. True, she and Draco were almost sworn enemies, but surely it couldn't do any harm to force them to get along. Miss Granger was not Potter, after all, and there was little chance that she and Draco would ever even become friends. At most they would learn to respect each other and possible even get along outside the class setting. Severus, who'd learned firsthand the consequences of allowing schoolboy rivalries to dictate his life choices, knew just how dangerous it could be. Perhaps giving the two of them this chance to work together would be one of the smarter decisions of his career.

Of course, his choices would affect the entire class. There were others who could profit from working with either one of the two. The question was whether they would benefit more. Severus sighed, and stood. He walked over to the fireplace and poured himself a cup of industrial-strength tea. No one but him drank the stuff, but he always insisted on having it. He claimed that it kept him awake and functioning, but the honest truth was that he truly didliked it. It could burn the roof off your mouth if you weren't careful, but he'd learned to be careful.

As he digested the first cup and poured himself a second one, his mind wandered back to the situation in the advanced class. With the liquid running through his veins (or at least, working its way there) he found that he could think slightly more clearly than he had been. Or maybe he'd just been tired. In either case, his mind turned over the variables with ease. By the time he'd consumed the second cup, he was reasonably sure that his decision was the most profitable in all possible cases. Just to be sure, of course, he would have to grade all the other tests and think for far longer, but he was fairly sure that he had his most difficult pairing figured out.