Author's note: look, the last section of chapter five! it's a bit longer than what we've been posting, but we figure that you won't mind too much. right? -grins- anyway, have fun with this.
Disclaimer: i just bought a big jar of café mocha, but i don't own harry potter. -sigh-
--kyra

Granger had gone out to do some more shopping, leaving the house to the two of us. We played more games of model Quidditch, though I was rapidly running out of snitches, and I proved to him yet again that I was a better strategist than he was. After my players had captured the snitch three times in a row, he called it quits.

"I'd rather do this on a proper field," he announced. "There, you can catch the blasted thing yourself and not have to put up with incompetence."

I snorted. "You were directing them yourself," I pointed out. "Does that mean that you're not a good strategist?"

"I'm not," he said ardently. "It's Ron who's the brilliant strategist. You should see him play chess."

I raised a mocking eyebrow. "He's that good, is he?" I asked.

He nodded. "He is. He saved all of our lives by playing chess in our first year."

"Do tell," I said, rather cynically.

"He did!" he protested.

"How?" I demanded. Harry hesitated for a moment, then slowly, with increasing speed as the tale wore on, divulged the secrets of his adventures in our first year. When he'd finished, I was silent for a long moment. Finally, I said, "So that's what the troll was doing in the school! I always wondered just how it managed to get into the dungeons. Professor Snape has just about every ward possible on them."

He shrugged. "Maybe, but Quirrel, or rather, Voldemort, managed to break them."

"He did," I agreed. "So you were already fighting him when you were only a first year. That'll disrupt all the stories about first years being good for nothing but wiping upper classmen's boots on."

He winced. "First years are good for much more than that," he told me. "Or had your forgotten that Ginny held Voldemort off for almost an entire year when she was a first year?"

It was my turn to wince. I remembered that very well, and I also remembered just how she'd gotten the diary in the first place. From the slight strain that was creeping into Harry's eyes, he did too.

"Most first years aren't good for much, though," I said, mostly as an attempt to lift the tension than because I actually believed it.

"That's not true!" he protested. "They know lots, and some of them arrive with prior knowledge."

"But none of them would last a chance in the real world," I pointed out.

"That's why they're still at school," he told me. "So that they can learn how to survive."

I shrugged. "It would be nice if they were a bit taller," I said.

He grimaced. "There, I agree with you. I swear, they get shorter every year!"

I nodded. "That is quite true. I am absolutely certain that I was not that short when I was eleven."

"You weren't," he told me. "I looked."

He had? What did he mean by that? Was it possible…? No. No, it wasn't possible at all. He'd just been making idle conversation. My emotions had no business getting excited, none at all.

I was saved from a potentially embarrassing situation by a commotion in the front hallway. We both heard the door swing open at the same moment, followed by the sound of uneven steps. Harry winced and stood. "I'll go," he said.

"I'll go with you," I said instantly. What with my emotions being in the state they were, I wasn't about to let him go off alone.

"I'm not sure that that's such a good idea," he said, a little uncertainly.

"Don't even try," I threatened. "I'm going, and that's final. Hurry up!"

He made his was reluctantly to the door of the living room, with me at his heels. We passed through the kitchen and into the main hallway. Suddenly, Harry stopped dead. I almost ran into him, and only my own shock stopped me. The man standing in the doorway was easily recognizable. I'd spent an entire year in his company, after all. Alastor Moody. The notorious auror, who had been responsible for half of the prisoners in Azkaban, possibly including my own mother. I wondered what the hell he was doing here. Harry obviously hadn't been expecting either, but he stepped forward anyway once he'd mastered his shock. Moody glanced at him, then searched the rest of the hall out of habit. His magical eye stopped dead when he caught sight of me. He snarled, and stepped forwards far more swiftly than I would ever have thought possible. He dragged me out of the shadows like a child, and glared at Harry.

"What is he doing here?" he snarled.

To his credit, Harry didn't back up. He wouldn't meet either of Moody's eyes, though, and his voice shook slightly when he answered. "I invited him."

"You what?" Moody roared. Harry did take a step back then.

"I invited him," he repeated.

Moody drew his wand and pointed it directly at me. "You are an idiot, Potter," he said. "You've compromised our security, and there's no other option than to kill this piece of filth."

I gasped, and squirmed as hard as I could, trying to escape Moody's grasp. I knew without a doubt that he would kill me, and I was terrified of the prospect.

Harry appeared to be no less afraid, but he stood his ground bravely. "He's safe, Moody," he said. "Dumbledore agreed to my inviting him here!"

"Dumbledore's all very well," Moody growled, not moving his wand from my temple. "But he trusts far too many people and sometimes, he needs to be brought back to the real world. You, Malfoy!" His attention turned abruptly to me. "Imperio!"

I felt myself descending into a calm, slightly fuzzy place. There was nothing that I couldn't do, but there was no point in doing them. An extreme lethargy seemed to engulf me, and I wondered idly why I was even standing here.

A calm, comforting voice entered my brain. "Forget where you are." I blinked. Did I need to forget? I'd never known in the first place, had I? The voice returned. "Turn around and leave this house. Go to a river and jump in. Drown yourself, and make sure that the body is not found." I moved towards the door, and started to open it. Suddenly, another voice cut across my consciousness. It was sharp and frightened, and I wanted it to go away. I tried to ignore it, but it wouldn't go away. I wished it would stop. I had orders, after all. The voice was interfering with my ability to carry out my orders, and I didn't like it. Someone took my hand and pulled it away from the door handle. I fought blindly, struggling to get back to the door, to leave the house and jump into the river like I'd been told.

The voice came back, and this time it was shouting at me, yelling a name that I vaguely thought that I should recognize. Was it mine? It might have been, I supposed. I wanted to get to the door, wanted to carry out my orders, but the hands weren't letting me. They were holding me, forcing me to stay still. The comforting voice came back, drowning out the sharp one. "Fight him. Fight him, but don't kill him. Go to the river. Jump in, and make sure no one finds the body."

I pulled out my wand and pointed it at the hands. I uttered a spell, and the sharp voice screamed, but the hands didn't let go. The comforting voice and the sharp voice were shouting at each other, and I was confused. Why wasn't I doing what I was told? Didn't I want to do what I was told? Of course I did! But then, why wasn't I doing it? The hands were still holding me, but they were weakening. So why was I still here? My mind couldn't focus, but I thought that it might be something about the boy belonging to the hands. Who was he? Another name floated through the hazy layers of my consciousness, and I grasped it. Harry. Yes, the boy belonging to the hands was Harry. Harry was important. I didn't want to hurt Harry. I had hurt Harry. I'd put a spell on him, and it had made him scream. The thought made me feel deeply ashamed. Why had I done that? I'd been told to, that was right. But why did I do what I was told? I'd never done what I was told!

I blinked, and struggled to come back to the real world. I'd been cursed, I thought blurrily. I'd been cursed, and that was why I'd hurt Harry. An intense feeling of self-loathing filled me. Oddly enough, that helped me emerge entirely from the Imperius Curse. The emotion burned away the residue of the curse, and the core that was me remerged. I turned to Moody. He was still arguing with Harry, and I closed my eyes, focusing on what they were saying.

"You can't kill him!"

"You can't stop me, Potter. Obviously he's put some kind of spell on you. Who knows, maybe you're Imperiused as well. I can't take any chances."

"I'm not under the Imperius Curse, Moody."

"I don't know that, do I?"

Harry sighed. "I learned how to throw off the Imperius when I was fourteen. Crouch taught me."

Moody's face transformed painfully into an awful scowl. "You could just be telling me that," he reminded Harry. "I have no way of knowing."

"You'll just have to trust me, won't you?"

"I don't trust anyone, Potter. That's why I'm still alive."

Harry groaned, and looked away. I knew that he was losing the argument, and I wanted to do something to help him. I was still struggling not to fall back into the calm fuzzy place, though, and I thought that he would rather I fight the curse than help him. Moody had turned his attention back to me, and it took all of my strength not to resubmit to the urge to obey the comforting voice. I missed what Harry and Moody were saying, but all of a sudden, the curse lifted completely. I blinked, wondering if I'd managed to throw it off completely. But no, Moody had turned all of his attention to Harry. I could tell that there was some kind of confrontation of wills going on, but I didn't know who was winning. The two of them were staring at each other, and I fancied that I could feel the tension cracking between them. Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped, and an icy chill seemed to be coming from Harry. Moody stared.

"What are you doing, Potter?" he demanded, and I thought that he sounded like he was trying not to be scared.

"Turn around and leave my house," Harry said in the coldest voice I have ever heard. He advanced, and Moody took a step back. "Leave, and do not come back. If you set foot here again while we are still here, I will curse you harder than anyone you have ever faced. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Snap out of it, Potter," Moody growled, but his hand was on the doorknob. "You'll hurt someone."

"The only person I will hurt, Moody, is you. Get out!"

Moody pulled the door shut behind him with a loud crack, and I could hear his uneven footsteps as he limped down the stairs and out of the gate. The warmth returned to the room, and Harry slumped. I caught him before he could fall, and struggled to stand. He was heavier than he looked, and I knew that I would never get him up to his room on my own. I wished that Granger were here, but knew better than to expect her back before nightfall. I knew Granger and libraries, after all. With a sigh, I yelled, "Kreacher!"

There was a loud crack, and the filthy House-Elf appeared in front of me. He looked at Harry with undisguised glee. "Is the blood-traitor dead?" he asked in excitement. "Kreacher is so happy!"

"Shut up," I snapped. "He isn't dead." Kreacher's face dropped miserably. "Help me get him up to his room," I ordered. "And don't hurt him."

Kreacher grabbed Harry's ankles and together, we maneuvered his unresponsive body up the stairs and into the Gryffindor room. Kreacher sniffed in disapproval when he entered the room, but my threatening look kept him quiet. We arranged Harry on the bed, and I dismissed him sharply. He disappeared back to wherever he keeps himself, and I sat down next to Harry.

"What on Earth did you do?" I asked him quietly. He didn't answer, but he stirred slightly and I reached over and smoothed the black hair out of his eyes. He sighed softly, and relaxed very slightly. I sat there for a long time, wondering just what had happened back in the entrance hallway.

When Hermione returned to the house, she found Harry deeply asleep in his room, and Malfoy curled up in the library. She wondered what exactly had happened while she was out. She sent the groceries flying to their proper places in the kitchen, then went to the library herself. Malfoy didn't look up when she entered, but she knew that he'd registered her presence. After a long moment, he said, "Is he still asleep?"

"Yes," Hermione answered. She reached over and pulled a book off the shelf at random. She examined the book jacket, shrugged, and opened it. The two of them read in silence for a while, the he spoke again.

"Do you know if anger can be tangible?"

She looked at him in surprise, but she was already processing his question. "Let me think… Yes! Some really powerful wizards can create anger so strong that it's tangible. Why do you ask?"

He didn't answer her, only turned back to his book. She sighed in irritation, but didn't press him. If he was going to talk, then he would, and it wouldn't do any good to make him mad. She buried herself in an explanation of the history of the Salem Witch Trials, and almost missed his words. She carefully didn't look up from her book, but listened intently. When he'd finished, she sighed. "I don't know," she said. "I've heard of things like that, like I said, but they've always been really powerful wizards."

"Harry's very powerful, Granger," he reminded her, a little sharply.

She nodded. "True," she agreed. "But he's not at the same level as, say, Dumbledore."

"He could be," Malfoy said. "He's got the raw talent, and his wand's designed for someone with enormous power."

"How do you know?"

"Did he tell you about our first detention?"

"Of course." She carefully refrained from mentioning her reaction.

"When I put the power back in his wand, I felt its capacity. His wand can hold way more power than either of ours, believe me. He had the potential of being as powerful as Dumbledore."

Hermione didn't know what to think. She'd known, of course, that Harry was powerful. It was obvious that he was gifted and talented, and she knew that he had far more raw power than she did. But, as powerful as Dumbledore? She'd never thought about it like that! And then another thought hit her. Parvati was right. Malfoy was in love with Harry. She hadn't been sure, but now, watching his face when he thought she wasn't looking, she could see just how scared and lonely Malfoy really was. She'd seen that look on her Mother's face sometimes, and she recognized it perfectly.

"He'll be fine," she told Malfoy quietly, looking up from her book.

Malfoy looked at her sharply. "Of course he will," he agreed, but she thought that he sounded a little unsure.

"You can admit it, you know," she said, wondering if she was about to die. "I already know."

He started, and stared hard at her. "What do you already know?"

"About you and Harry."

The blood drained out of his usually pale face. He set his book down and glared at her. "Who have you told?"

Hermione sniffed. "Who do you think I am? I haven't told anyone!"

Malfoy looked hard at her, then leaned back. "No," he said, almost to himself. "No, you haven't. Well, Granger you won't, or I'll tell the world about you and Professor Snape."

Hermione felt the blood drain out of her own face. "Me and Professor Snape?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's obvious, Granger. You glow when he talks to you."

A small, dense ball of despair began to form in her belly. He could blackmail her now, and there was nothing she could do about. He seemed to know what she was thinking, because a small smile appeared on his lips. "Relax, Granger. I won't tell anyone if you keep your own mouth closed."

She nodded slowly. "I won't tell," she promised. Honesty made her add, "But I'm not the only one who's guessed."

He frowned. "Parvati Patil," she said, in response to his unasked question. "She's the one who told me. I didn't believe her at first."

"But you do now." It wasn't a question.

"It's rather obvious, Malfoy."

He sighed. "We appear to have come to an impasse," he observed.

She shrugged. "Unless you say anything about Snape, I swear I won't say anything about you and Harry."

He considered for a moment, then nodded. Both of them returned to their books, and a comfortable silence fell over the library of number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Granger had gone off to visit some relative or other, and Harry and I were left totally alone for the first time in a while. The encounter with Moody had strained the atmosphere between us, and I hoped that time alone together would help to relax it once again. Of course, I was scared out of my wits that nothing would happen and that he would go on ignoring me, but I repressed that emotion. It would be fine, I told myself. Everything would be completely and utterly fine. I'm afraid that I wasn't very convincing.

At first, it seemed as though we would spend the afternoon in silence once again. He was avoiding me, and I had no wish to appear desperate for contact, though I was, so we spent a good part of the first hour in different rooms. I was wondering whether I would have the courage to go see him and ask what it was that I'd done wrong when a shadow fell across the page of the book I was reading. I looked up into his green eyes and set the volume down.

"You've decided to talk to me again?" It came out bitter, and I wished that I'd been able to moderate my tone. It was how I felt, though, and I suppose that I had to express it at long last.

His shoulders sagged. "I've come to apologize."

That surprised me. I stared at him. "What do you mean? Why do you need to apologize to me?"

"I let him curse you, didn't I?"

"There wasn't anything you could do to stop him. He's mad, Harry."

"I know. But I couldn't do anything! I just had to watch you struggle through it on your own!"

And then I understood. I realized in that instant just why it was that Harry was so afraid of Dementors, and why he clung to his pride so very tightly. He was like me. Life had dealt him rotten cards, and he'd had to fend for himself. All this came to me in a flash, and the understanding vanished just as quickly. I was left slightly uncomfortable with him looming over me, and I summoned a chair for him to sit in. He seemed to sense my discomfort, because he dropped into it reluctantly.

"It's past," I said, trying to get rid of the tension that was almost tangible in the air. "Just let it go. We all survived, didn't we?"

"Barely," he told me, completely undermining my efforts towards making it a comfortable place to be again. "For God's sake, Draco, you almost killed yourself!"

I rolled my eyes. "Honestly Harry, do you think that I'd let some old geyser get the best of me? I would have come through eventually. My instinct of self preservation is quite strong."

Harry snorted. "I know. I still remember you ditching us in the forest as first years."

"I was young and naïve and there were monsters in that forest!" I protested. "And would you have saved me?"

"Eventually," he said, though the grin accompanying his words was a little shadowed. "I'd have laughed uproariously at you first, though."

"Thanks ever so," I said dryly.

There was a moment of silence, and then he asked, "Draco?"

"Mm?"

"How did it feel?"

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Being cursed. What was it like?"

I struggled to remember, finding it surprisingly hard to recall the details. "There was this place in my head. It was… fuzzy." He snorted, trying to suppress laughter. I glared at him. "It was! It's not my fault that my own personal comforting place happens to be fuzzy! So you want to hear this or not?"

"Go on," he said, still smiling slightly.

"There was a voice. It was telling me things, and I wanted… no had to obey."

"Moody," Harry said flatly.

I nodded. "Probably. And there was another voice. You, I would assume. You yelled at me, and I suppose that that helped me snap out of it."

"You cursed me," he reminded me, looking plaintively at his hands, which were still wrapped in a slight layer of gauze.

"Sorry about that," I said sincerely. "I didn't want to, and I felt bad about it right after."

He shrugged. "It wasn't your fault. What did you use, though?"

"A burning charm."

"Flitwick never taught us those."

"And with good reason. It's actually pretty dangerous. No one's allowed to learn it before they pass their NEWTs."

"And you know it how?"

I smirked. "How often do I follow the rules?"

"About as often as I do," he conceded.

"That reminds me," I said. "How do you manage not to get in trouble for all the things you do? After all, anyone else would have been expelled years ago."

He smirked back. "Favoritism," he said smugly. "It's a wonderful thing."

I growled. "That is totally and completely unfair."

"Yep. Side effect of saving the world as a part-time job."

"You want a costume?"

"I'd need a codename first."

"How about Posterboy?"

He goggled at me. "Posterboy?!"

I shrugged. "It's what Pansy calls you, you know."

"It's totally inaccurate," he informed me.

"Oh yeah? You don't read the Prophet, then."

"You're perfectly correct. It's a load of rubbish."

I grinned. "Yup. Rubbish about you. Listen to this." I leaned down and snagged a copy of the latest paper. I flipped to the article that I wanted and said, "You ready?"

He nodded.

"An article about celebrities. 'Latest singing sensation Gergovina Paladine is on a level of fame comparative to that enjoyed by Harry Potter.' And that's one of the minor ones."

"Are you sure that isn't an insult to Gergovina?"

I shrugged. "She's damn sexy, and her voice is decent. I doubt it."

"How would you know if she's sexy or not?" he demanded.

"You think that just because I'm drawn to boys means that I can't appreciate female beauty?"

He blinked, and I laughed. "Never mind. But you are pretty famous again."

"I still refuse to be called 'Posterboy,' though," he said decisively.

"How about the Amazing Starfish?" I suggested.

He looked at me blankly.

"If you cut off a Starfish's arm, it'll always grow back."

"No," he said definitively. "I think that I will choose my own name!"

"What are your ideas?"

"Megamaid," he said instantly.

"Excuse me? And you think I'm bad at thinking of names?"

"Well, I just cleaned up the world, and then it gets back into jeopardy! It's not my fault!"

"I think that you need just as much help as I do."

He sighed. "Well, then we'll just have to go right to the sidekick, won't we? How about this: 'blank and his trusty sidekick the Amazing Bouncing Ferret'?"

"NO WAY!" I shouted. "I am picking my own name too!"

"You want to be the starfish instead?"

"How about a piranha? Then I can bite you when you insult me."

"Fine. Megamaid and the fearless biting Piranha."

"All right. I'm not wearing fins, though."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he promised solemnly.

"Good."

"How do you know so much about Superheroes, anyway? Do wizards have their own superheroes?"

I shook my head. "I smuggled muggle comic books into the house. I must admit a private fondness for the Wolverine."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You and Dudley," he said. "It was the only thing they could get him to read."

I grimaced. "Thank you ever so much for insulting my taste in such a vile fashion."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"You're right."

I snagged a piece of paper and a pencil, bending over my lap in concentration.

"What are you doing?"

I grinned wickedly up at him. "Payback," I informed him. I quickly sketched the picture I had in mind, then passed it over to him.

He looked at it, then chocked. "You are an evil person," he informed me.

I grinned at him. "Yes, I know." The drawing was of him, wearing one of the comical spandex costumes that Superheroes seem to love so much. It was emblazoned with a big clunky M on the front, and there was the slightest hint of a long, flowing cape coming down behind. One hand was propped on his hip, and the other was stuck fist-up into the air. He was wearing a slightly comically stern expression, and I'd added in a speech bubble reading Don't tell me, you've messed the world up again??

"You really could go professional," he informed me. "Though if this particular drawing is ever made public, I will personally desecrate your name."

I shrugged. "Go ahead. It's not like it's that clean in the first place."

"Your first name, Draco."

"I repeat, it's not all that clean at this point. Besides, I doubt my father would be too thrilled if I announced that I was going to take up a career as a starving artist."

"You wouldn't starve, I'd make sure of it."

"How generous of you."

There was a moment of silence, then he said, "You know, if anyone had told me last year that I'd be having a conversation with you about superheroes and starving artists, I would have told them that they were mental and tried to take them to see Madam Pomfrey."

I shrugged. "My my, how times change."

"Indeed."

I glanced at my watch. Over forty-five minutes had elapsed, and I wondered just how much longer we had together.

As though he'd read my mind, Harry said, "You know, Hermione won't be back for another hour at least. Do you have anything in mind as to how to wile away the time?"

"No. You?"

"Well… as we seem to have exhausted our own superheroes, and there's no way to get new ones, how about trying to get muggle movies to work in here."

I frowned. "Where exactly are you intending to set them up?"

He shrugged. "The living room, maybe. I'd need a VCR, but mostly I want a place to hook it up. You're sure there's no spell that allows electricity to work here?"

"There might be. If there is, I haven't found it yet."

"Isn't there a card catalogue of this place?"

"No."

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "It's not my library, now is it?"

He sighed. "Can you make one?"

"Spontaneously? Certainly not."

"Then can you find the spell?"

I rolled my eyes. "How do you know that there actually is a spell?"

He grinned. "Because there's a tape deck in Sirius' room."

"A what?"

"A tape deck. It plays muggle music."

"Oh. So go look through his notes. Surely it'll say how he did it."

"You look through the library."

"Fine."

He left the room, and I looked around the immense Black family library, wondering where in the hell to start.

Hermione came back to a house empty of cooking and full of scraps of paper and two boys obviously planning something. She dropped Aunt Addy's presents on her bed and wandered down into the deserted kitchen, half intending to start dinner. Just as she was trying to decide what she was going to make, Harry popped his head through the door. "Hey, Hermione!"

"Mm?"

"Can you help us?"

"With what?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just a project."

"What kind of project?"

"Nothing illegal," he assured her right away. He then outlined his vision of installing a VCR in the living room. "I know that it's possible," he told her, explaining about Sirius' tape deck. "But we can't find the spell he used, and he didn't write it down."

Hermione frowned. It was an interesting problem, that was for sure. "I don't know without checking," she warned him. "But I have an idea of what he might have used. Tell you what, you cook dinner, and I'll have a look at Sirius' tape deck."

He nodded. "Thanks a million, Hermione!"

She left the kitchen and made her way slowly upstairs, noting as she did so that Malfoy was nowhere in sight. He must be in the library, she thought. He certainly seemed to like it almost as much as she did.

As promised, the tape deck was on the slightly cluttered desk. Hermione cast a slightly curious glance around the rest of the room, but then honed in completely on the project at hand. Catching her lip between her teeth, she pulled out her wand and began to try to analyze the layers of spells that Sirius had put on the appliance. Obviously, he'd done lots of research beforehand, and she found herself admiring the subtle complexities of the spell patterns.

Unable to discern them just by looking, she dug through the drawer until she found a blank piece of paper that seemed to suit her purpose. With a quick flip of her wand, she transferred the patterns that she was seeing onto the paper. Another motion made them three dimensional, and she dropped into a chair, losing herself in the beauties of the patterns.

Harry found her fifteen minutes later, still entranced by what Sirius had managed to achieve.

"What in the name of God are you doing?" he asked, startling her. As she lost concentration, the spells broke and the entire construction vanished. She turned to glare at him, suddenly aware of the fierce headache that was pounding at her temples.

"I was examining the spells, like you told me to," she shot back. "I was almost done, too."

"Sorry. So what did you find out?"

She rubbed a hand over her forehead, pressing down in an attempt to dull the pain that was piercing through to her brain. "It's a quite complex set of spells that, once cast, never really wear out. You can reinforce them, but you don't need to."

"Can you do it?"

"With a bit of time and preparation, yes. Help would be nice, though."

"What can I do?"

She shook her head. "Not you. Malfoy."

His eyebrows shot sky high. "You want Draco to help you? Why?"

"Because he's better at this than you are," she said bluntly. "You have power, but you don't have the control needed for such a delicate operation."

He sighed. "Can I watch at least?"

She shrugged. "If you want. I doubt that it'll be very interesting."

"I'm curious. When can you do it?"

"I don't know. You'd have to buy me a VCR first, you know. And I'll have to talk with Malfoy, to see if he agrees. And food would be nice."

He grinned. "That, at least, I can help you with. Dinner is served."

Over dinner, Hermione outlined her plans. Thankfully, Malfoy seemed interested, and he agreed to help. Hermione was relieved. She could have done it on her own, or allowed Harry to help, but this was the ideal solution.

"So basically," he said, swallowing a mouthful of mashed potatoes, "you want me to cast the spell in tandem with you to relieve the magical strain."

She nodded. "That's the basic idea, yes. And it would help to have your control as well."

"You flatter me, Granger."

"No, I'm telling you the truth. If you remember, I've been your partner in class for the last month. I've had plenty of time to assess your capabilities. You have enough power to make it possible and enough control that I don't have to worry about you losing your grip on the power."

He grinned. "I'd be glad to help, especially after you asked me so nicely."

"Thanks ever so. Now, if you boys don't mind, I think I'm going to retire. I have a mother of a headache."

The next morning, they sent Harry off to buy a VCR. When he returned, he found them sitting at the kitchen table, neck deep in papers and notes. Neither one looked up as he entered the room, and he deduced from the look on Hermione's face that it might be quite a while until they were actually ready to cast the spell. With a sigh, he deposited the VCR in the living room and then dropped into a chair, wondering how long he would have to wait. Casting around for something to do, he spotted a rather ugly ornament of a swan. It was made of some sort of ceramic, and Harry wondered what on Earth it was for. He shrugged and pulled out his wand, thinking for a moment, and then casting a basic locomotor charm on it. It glided softly over the table and fell off the edge. Harry rescued it with a hasty, "Wingardium Leviosa," and it rose back up to the table. He continued to play with it for a long time, trying to make it come to life.

When Hermione and Draco entered the room, Harry muttered, "Finite Incantatem." The swan fell to the ground, shattering. Harry shrugged and swept the pieces up into his hand. It was ugly anyway.

Hermione glanced at him. "You can stay, but put your wand away. If this is going to work, then we need no other magical influences."

"All right." He shoved his wand back into his pocket. "Do I have to move?"

Draco shook his head. "Just keep quiet," he said. "We'll need to concentrate."

Harry relaxed in the armchair as Hermione and Draco moved to opposite sides of the VCR. As one, they raised their wands and looked at each other. Hermione gave an almost invisible nod, and both of them brought their wands up and around in a complex motion. Bolts of light shot out of the wands, hitting the VCR at exactly the same moment. Then, while Draco sustained the spell, Hermione began to move her own wand rapidly, whispering words in an arcane language that Harry couldn't even begin to comprehend. For a surreal moment, he felt himself being transported into the VCR. His body changed and became flat and smooth, and his brain cells mutated into electronic pulses. He was changing, being brought forth from the dark world of electricity into the light of magic. He pulsed with the new power, and his circuits were strained to the maximum, unable to cope with such power. He was changing, allowing his power cells to fill with the strange new energy, letting go of his instinctive urge to be tethered to a plug. He didn't need such things! He was a new being, and as such, he could begin a new life. He was being reborn, and giving birth at the same time. He didn't know how much longer he could stand it.

Suddenly, as abruptly as it had begun, the feeling ended. Harry was himself again, staring in mute amazement as Hermione and Draco finished casting the spells. As one, they lowered their wand arms and shouted, "So mote it be!" The odd light that had filled the room while Harry was pretending to be a living VCR vanished, and Hermione slumped to the ground. Harry caught her adroitly and maneuvered her to the chair where he'd been sitting. Draco staggered, caught himself, and managed to stumble onto the couch. He collapsed into it, his face a frightening white.

"So drained," he managed. "Better soon." He fell into a dead faint, and Harry moved to cover him with the blanket that someone had conveniently left on the arm of the couch. He turned to Hermione, seeing that she too was fast asleep, and padded softly into the closet, pulling out a spare blanket from the supply there. He laid it gently over her prone form, then slipped out of the room, wondering what in the hell he was going to do until they woke up. A delightful idea occurred to him, and he grinned as he put his shoes on and left the house.

I woke feeling slightly refreshed, if not up to doing enough magic to lift a pin. A quick glance told me that Granger was still out, and I threw back the blanket and stretched, wincing at the pain the shot up through my muscles. The VCR looked none the worse for wear, and I hoped to dear God that what we'd done had worked. It would be very frustrating indeed to know that we'd expended all of our power for nothing at all. I walked up the stairs, thinking muzzily about drifting back off to sleep in the bed that I'd come to call my own. Harry's door was open, though, and he was sitting at the desk, fiddling with the thing he called a tape deck. At my weary knock, he glanced up. His face brightened with a delighted grin.

"Draco! You finally woke up!"

"I'm not ready to be awake yet," I said, stifling a yawn with my hand. "I could sleep for another day, at least."

Harry grimaced. "You've been asleep almost all day," he informed me. "Do you have any idea how bored I've been?"

"Can't you entertain yourself?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Not really. I like having other people around. How's Hermione?"

I blinked at the change of subject, too addled to make the connection. "Still asleep. She did the hard part: I just supplied the raw power."

"It was a very weird experience," he informed me. I raised an eyebrow, and he tried to describe to me his journey into the heart of the VCR.

When he was finished, I was silent for a long moment. Finally, I said, "Since I've never done this before, I don't know if it's normal or not. I suppose it must have been a side effect of the powerful nature of the spell."

He shrugged. "Why ever it was, it was very disconcerting. You don't expect to be changed into a piece of technology, even at Hogwarts. I wonder if Flitwick would know if it's supposed to happen."

"I have no idea," I said truthfully. "I didn't even know that it was possible until yesterday."

"If it's never happened before, maybe we can think of a way for me not to be in the history books again," he suggested.

I managed a grin. "Not likely," I said. "You'll be the 'Boy-who-lived-and-changed-into-a-piece-of-muggle-technology-for-five-seconds.' More famous that Celestina Warbeck herself."

"Thanks ever so," he said dryly, turning back to the tape deck. "Sit down. You look about to fall over."

I started to protest, but realized that he was right and wove a bit drunkenly over to the bed. I dropped onto it, and leaned against the wall to brace myself upright. "Is there any good music there?" I asked, nodding towards the tape deck.

Harry shrugged. "What do you classify as 'good'?"

"Something with words and a bearable tune," I answered.

He sorted through a pile of plastic things, and came up with one. "Beatles, Abby Road," he read. "Ever heard of them?"

I shook my head. "No. Are they good?"

"They were wildly popular in the 60s," he told me.

"That does not make them good," I pointed out.

"True," he agreed. He popped the plastic thing into the tape deck and pressed a button down. There was a long moment, then music began to come from the tape deck. I closed my eyes, listening to the music. They were decent, and I thought that I could detect subtleties beyond what could normally be achieved by pure muggle instruments. Was one of them a wizard? I was beginning to realize just how many wizards left the community and slipped back into mainstream muggle society.

The music played for a long time, and I felt myself drift into a semi-wakeful state. When the sounds finally wound to a stop, I blinked blearily.

Harry was watching me, and he raised his eyebrows as I looked up at him. "Better?"

I shrugged. "I'll live. I might even be able to get back up again."

"Need help?"

"Probably." He stuck his hand out, and I grasped it firmly, using it to heave myself back into a sitting position. The contact felt warm on my skin, and I had to physically force myself to stop from leaning into it. Now was not the time to be thinking about such things, I told myself firmly. We'd just gotten comfortable around each other again, and I vowed not to do anything to jeopardize that comfort. With a slight groan, I pulled myself to my feet, wincing at the pain of the blood surging back into my legs. Harry caught me as I staggered, and supported me as I concentrated on breathing and making myself take that first step. It was a lot harder than just making my legs move.

Finally, though, I had to move on my own. I walked almost smoothly to the door and he followed me, closing the door behind him. We made our way slowly down the stairs and into the living room, finding that Granger had woken up and was examining our work with considerable interest. I admired her determination: even after the second impromptu nap, the last thing I wanted to do was look at a magical working.

She seemed to read my mind, because she commented, "You supplied the pure power of the operation, Malfoy. You're actually a lot more drained than I am."

"Thanks ever so," I said dryly, moving over to sit across from her. Harry took his place on the couch where I'd conked out, and looked at the VCR with interest.

"And it'll play movies now?"

Granger nodded. "There's no reason why it shouldn't. Though, upon reflection, Sirius must have had help. It's not possible to supply the power and the subtleties on your own. Your dad must've been the anchor."

Harry nodded. "And Lupin observed? I wonder if he thought he was transforming into a tape deck." Granger looked at him questioningly, and Harry explained about his shift in perception. She, typically, looked utterly fascinated, and I could just tell that she was going to be doing major research on the subject as soon as possible.

Partly in order to stop her from going off on an intellectual tangent, I asked, "So are there any decent movies to watch?"

Harry grinned. "While the two of you were dead to the world, I popped out and got us something to enjoy. You ever seen this one, Hermione?" He produced a cardboard case and tossed it to Granger. She caught it clumsily and read the title quickly. She shook her head.

"What is it?" I queried, when explanations didn't appear to be forthcoming.

"Superman," Harry told me, still looking at Granger.

"I've heard of it, of course, but I've never actually seen it," she said in answer to his earlier question. "Have you?"

He shrugged. "Bits of it. Dudley rented it one time, and I snuck in a few times when it seemed interesting."

"And was it?" I put in.

"Interesting? Moderately. A bit less mindless than Star Wars, I think."

"A bit hard to get more mindless than Star Wars," I said dryly.

Harry and Granger exchanged glances. "Believe me," Harry said, grimacing. "There's a lot worse than Star Wars floating out there."

To Hermione's astonishment, the movie wasn't all that bad. It was, as Harry had promised, less mindless that Star Wars, and she found herself actually connecting very slightly with some of the characters. The story was fairly straight forwards, with the only real twist the fact that Superman didn't reveal himself to Lois and she didn't seem to guess. What should have happened, in a traditional type film, was that he would tell her, she would accuse him of lying, and turn away. He would be heartbroken, and then he'd be forced to save her as Clark Kent and she would fall into his arms, thinking him Superman. When she realized who he was, there would be a moment of revelation and she'd decide that she loved Clark for himself and not for Superman. Then they'd get married and live happily ever after. Of course, if they'd done it that way, there wouldn't have been any sequels.

Malfoy seemed to enjoy it as well. He made snide comments about the characters and the effects, and sneered at the romance. Hermione deduced that he would do his best to replicate their charm at his own house.

When the movie was over, Harry stretched. "That was nice," he said to no one in particular. "Though I can't see why Dudley was so obsessed with it."

Hermione snorted, remembering Harry's cousin. "Are you kidding?" she asked. "Ordinary guy goes off and beats people up without getting into trouble for it. Why do you think he liked it?"

Harry grimaced. "True," he agreed. "That would be why I wasn't allowed to see it, I imagine."

Hermione nodded. "Probably."

"And now what do we do?" Malfoy asked. "It's only ten thirty, and the movie appears to have finished. Any other brilliant plans for how to pass the time?"

"We could finish the puzzle," Harry suggested.

"What puzzle?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, that's right. You weren't home for that. We went to the British Museum and bought a puzzle of the Rosetta Stone," Harry explained. "We tried it, but it's fiendishly difficult. You feel like helping us?"

She shrugged. "I'll take a look. I'm not too good at puzzles, though. If you want someone who's good, you should ask my sister."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "Belle's good at puzzles?" he asked.

She nodded. "She's always been good. I don't know where she gets it, but she was better than I was when she was five."

"I imagine that that wasn't too difficult," Malfoy said dryly. Harry glared at him. He shrugged.

More in order to forestall an argument than anything else, Hermione said, "I'll try. Where is it?"

Harry led her into one of the rooms that they didn't use, lighting the lamps with a flick of his wand. A table was set up in the middle, containing a large number of puzzle pieces, all exactly the same color. Hermione winced. "You definitely want my sister for this."

"Belle's not here," Harry reminded her.

"I know that," Hermione assured him. She bent over the puzzle, but couldn't make heads or tails out of it. "Sorry," she said. "I don't think I'll be any help here."

Harry shrugged. "No one'll touch it if we leave it here until next time we come back, I suppose."

Malfoy grimaced. "You're going to leave it unfinished?" he demanded. "Isn't there a rule against that, or something?"

Harry grimaced. "I don't know. I've never read that Puzzle-maker's bible."

"I have," Draco assured him. "It's rule number N45, right before the one that proclaims that it's cheating to do the edge first and right after the one instructing you not to separate by color."

"Since when are you an expert on puzzles?" Hermione asked, a little sarcastically. She wasn't usually a sarcastic person, but three weeks with Malfoy were starting to rub off.

"What else do you think there is to do at my house?" Malfoy demanded. "My ancestors decided to build the Manor out in the middle of basically nowhere, and there isn't even a proper village next to it. I get to be cut off from the world for two months a year."

"Join the club," Harry muttered. Malfoy grinned.

"I wouldn't have thought you had the patience to do puzzles," Hermione said frankly.

Malfoy shrugged. "Depends on the day," he admitted. "There were times when I desperately wanted to kill something. Puzzles weren't the best thing to do during those days."

Harry looked at him in askance, but he didn't volunteer any more information. Finally, Harry shrugged. "Well, if we're going to meet the standards set in rule N45, we'd better get started, hadn't we?" Malfoy nodded, and the two of them bent over the table. Hermione left them to it.

She suddenly had an unignorable urge to go out. Shouting this to Harry and Malfoy, she passed through the front door and out of the wards on the house. She reached into her pocket and switched on her cell phone, checking it for messages. She noted that she had one from Aunt Addy and turned the sound up to hear what her aunt had to say.

Hey darling, it's me, Addy. Listen, I was thinking. Since they're making you do the cooking anyway, why don't you ditch the duty and invite them to my place. I'd like to meet them, after all. And yes, I am acting on behalf of your mother. Don't worry, I haven't told her that you're staying with two boys. She just told me to keep an eye on you. Give me a ring when you get this, and we'll talk more, all right? Love you, Addy.

Hermione switched the phone out of voice mail and dialed her aunt's number. Aunt Addy picked up on the fourth ring.

"Hey Aunt Addy, it's Hermione."

"Darling! I was just about to call you again!"

"Sorry. The phone doesn't work inside the house. Magic and technology don't work together."

"Oh well. At least you've called now. So, how are things?"

Hermione shrugged. "The boys are working on a zillion piece puzzle of the Rosetta stone."

"Oh dear."

"Exactly."

"So you bailed and left them to it, I take it."

"Yup. You mentioned something in your message about eating dinner?"

"So I did. When do you think would be convenient for you?"

Hermione considered. "I don't think we've got anything too urgent left to do. We go back on Sunday, you know."

"So you could come any time?"

"I think so."

"Wonderful! Why don't we do it tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?!"

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's a bit sudden, don't you think?"

"Of course not! Honestly, darling, you're acting like your mother!"

Hermione laughed. "Sorry about that," she said. "I'll talk to the boys and find out if they agree."

"Deal. But remember to call me back, all right? Any preferences on the menu?"

"Chinese?" Hermione said hopefully. "They don't serve it at school, and I haven't had any in ages!"

Aunt Addy laughed. "I see you're making it easy on me," she observed. "Chinese it is. There's a nice little place a few blocks away that does affordably delicious take-out."

"Wonderful," Hermione said sincerely. "So then, I'll see you tomorrow, shall I?"

"Aren't you going to talk to me at all?" Aunt Addy demanded. "I haven't heard from you in days!"

Hermione grinned. "Well, I've been busy. They gave me big books for Christmas, and I'm almost done with the last one."

"I see," Aunt Addy said knowingly. "Which books are they?"

"Outlander, by Diana Gabbaldon."

"I've heard of those, I think. All about a woman in post-war Britain who travels 200 years back in time and meets and marries a dashing young Scotsman?"

"Exactly."

"What was his name again?" Aunt Addy asked. "The Scotsman, that is. Not her first husband."

"James Alexander Malcolm McKenzie Fraser," Hermione said formally. "Better known as Jamie."

"Jamie, that's right. I remember, I had such a crush on him as a girl." Hermione could hear the grin in her voice. "Later I realized that it was my destiny only to fall in love with characters who don't exist."

Hermione laughed. "And what about Robert?" she demanded, naming the man that her aunt had been seeing a couple years ago.

"A passing fancy," Aunt Addy said breezily. "My true loves shall always be Numair Salmalin."

Hermione chocked. "You're right," she said when she could speak again. "It is your destiny."

"Don't mock Numair, wench," Aunt Addy said. "He's better than that!"

"He's also taken," Hermione reminded her. "By a girl about twenty years younger than he is."

"And? Jamie's taken too, in case you'd forgotten. That doesn't mean that I can't dream."

Hermione shook her head. "I'll see you tomorrow evening," she said.

"Wretch," Aunt Addy told her amiably. "Very well. I'll pop over to the Chinese place and see what they have. You still like the shrimp?"

"I do" Hermione assured her. "Give me shrimp and I promise never to insult Numair again."

"For that, I'll buy you all the shrimp you can eat," Aunt Addy vowed. "See you tomorrow."

"See you," Hermione answered. She flipped the phone closed and tucked it back into her pocket.

They arrived at Hermione's aunt's house at five o'clock. She pulled open the door at the first knock, obviously expecting them. She grinned merrily, and ushered them into her flat. Harry couldn't help goggling at her as he followed her into the sitting room. She was shorter than his own 5 foot 7 by several inches, but she held herself like someone much taller. She bubbled with energy, and he wouldn't have been surprised at all to learn that she was a witch. She wasn't, though, and according to Hermione, she was older than she looked.

"I heard that!" she shouted from ahead of them.

Hermione grinned. "You're the older sister, remember?"

"Only genetically," she shouted back. "Mentally and physically, your mother is way older than I am!"

Hermione didn't object to that, and her aunt tossed back another mock insult. Laughing, Hermione answered, and they continued to banter without saying anything important until everyone was arranged satisfactorily in the sitting room. Hermione's aunt perched on the arm of her sofa, and Harry couldn't help wondering just what Aunt Petunia would think if he did that. She wouldn't care if Dudley did. Though, of course, if Dudley tried to sit on the arm of the sofa, he would break it. Harry snorted at the thought.

Hermione looked questioningly at him. "Sorry," he said. "I was just imagining my cousin Dudley sitting like that." He nodded towards her aunt.

Hermione laughed. "I can imagine," she agreed.

Her aunt looked from one to the other. Her bright brown gaze settled on Hermione. "Are you intending to introduce me to your friends?" she asked finally.

Hermione blushed. "Right. Aunt Addy, this is Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Harry, Malfoy, this is, obviously, my aunt."

Her aunt nodded to them. "Call me Addy," she said.

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Addy," Harry said formally.

Addy rolled her eyes. "Please! You make me feel old! Just Addy is fine. Pleased to meet you too, by the way."

Harry smiled. "If you insist."

"I do," she said firmly. There was a moment of silence, then she said, "I understand that you both go to school with Hermione."

Draco shot a glare in Hermione's direction. Hermione shrugged. "Open secret," she said. "Hard not for it to be. I had a habit of lifting things and throwing them around without using my hands. An explanation was much appreciated."

"Yes," Harry said, in answer to Addy's question. "We're all at the same school. Draco isn't in our House, though."

Draco grimaced. "Good thing, too," he muttered.

Addy laughed. "Hard to handle, are they?" she asked sympathetically.

"You have no idea," Draco agreed.

"Oh, I think I do. When Hermione's mother got taller than me, she was impossible to scare anymore."

"No, that was when she got stronger than you," Hermione contradicted. "That happened later."

Addy rolled her eyes. "Must you get technical?" she complained. "It amounts to the same thing." She turned to Harry and Draco. "Are both of you only children?"

Both nodded. She grimaced. "I don't know whether to be envious or pitying. There's times when it would be the best thing in the world to be an only child, and times when I wouldn't give my sister up for the world."

Hermione snorted. Her aunt ignored her.

Harry shrugged. "I live with my cousin, but he and I… well, we have nothing whatsoever in common."

Addy nodded knowingly. "I see," she said. "That's worse than being an only child."

"Do you intend to feed us?" Hermione interrupted. "Or will we just have to sit here all night?"

Addy grinned wickedly. "Oh, I'd just intended to sit here. Why, did you come for dinner?"

"We did, actually," Hermione said.

"Well, you appear to be in luck. I just so happen to have far more Chinese than I can handle on my own."

Hermione grinned. "I don't think that will be a problem."

"Weasley's not here, after all," Draco muttered. "There might even be some left for us."

They followed Addy into the tiny kitchen. Hermione started to set the table, but her aunt batted her away. "Sit," she ordered. "I'll do the work. Since I'm going to feed you, I may as well be a proper hostess all the way." She bustled around the kitchen, making utensils and plates appear seemingly out of nowhere and sending them flying with perfect precision onto the table.

"You're sure she isn't a witch?" Harry muttered, watching her.

Hermione shook her head. "Just extraordinarily coordinated," she answered.

Addy swept over to the table and adroitly slid a tray of mini pastry-like things onto a trivet. She darted back to the oven and came back with two dishes containing meat and noodles. She closed the oven, switched it off, and took her place at the head of the table. She helped herself to several of the pastries, as well as generous servings of meat and noodles. She passed the dishes to Hermione, who also had no trouble picking, and then they went on to Harry. He looked at the pastries stupidly, wondering if it would be rude to ask what in the hell these were.

Thankfully, Hermione noticed his discomfort and said, "These are crab cakes. Those are egg rolls, and these over here are little cheese-filled things that I don't know the name of. Shrimp live on this end, and the middle is taken up with little things called, for some unknown reason, raviolis. The meat is sesame chicken on this side and sweet and sour pork on the other, and the noodles are your basic noodles with vegetables."

"Thanks," Harry muttered. He eyed the tray with suspicion. Finally, he carefully selected one of the cheese-filled things, a ravioli, and an egg roll. He shuddered at the very thought of crab cakes, and the tails sticking out of the shrimp made him very slightly queasy. A small helping of sesame chicken and an equally small portion of noodles completed his selection, and he passed the food gratefully to Draco. To Harry's irritation, Draco seemed to have no problems choosing, and he even seemed quite fond of the shrimp. Harry shuddered and looked away.

The food was surprisingly good. Harry had never had any kind of Chinese before, as Uncle Vernon couldn't tolerate foreign foods, and the House Elves at Hogwarts only cooked British food. He wondered if that was all they knew how to make, or if someone had ordered them not to serve anything foreign. Maybe he could convince them to branch out a bit.

They restricted the dinner-table conversation strictly to idle banter, most of it between Hermione and her aunt. Apparently any cross-examination that was going to happen would be afterwards. Sure enough, once she'd cleared the plates and served herself and Draco tiny cups of Chinese coffee, Addy leaned forward in her chair and eyed Harry almost predatorily.

"Right," she declared. "You know the real reason you're over here, right? Just a hint, it's not so that you can eat my food."

Harry groaned. Apparently that constituted an answer, because she nodded. "That's right. I'm going to have to perform a background check on you to make sure you're a suitable companion for my niece."

"A bit late now, isn't it?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. "The holiday's almost over, after all."

"Better late than never," Addy answered briskly. "So, first question. Why are you friends with Hermione?"

Harry blinked. "What?" he demanded.

"You heard me," she said. "Why are you her friend?"

"Because I like her," Harry answered, a little defensively. "Why else?"

"You don't like her because she does your homework for you?"

"No!"

"But she does, doesn't she?"

"Well… sometimes," he admitted. "But she makes me do it on my own most of the time."

"Next question," Addy said, not responding to his comment. "Are you involved romantically with anyone?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Why does this matter?"

"Just answer."

He sighed. "My other best friend Ron's little sister."

Addy frowned at him. "And how old is she?"

"A year younger than we are."

"Is she still a virgin?"

Harry chocked. "Of course she is!" he spluttered. "Are you suggesting that Ginny and I have been having sex?"

"Just checking," Addy said breezily. "I want only the best for Hermione, you understand. Do the young lady's parents know of the liaison?"

"Of course they do! What kind of person do you think I am, anyway?"

"That is precisely what I'm trying to find out."

Harry grumbled under his breath, causing Draco, who could obviously hear him, to raise an impressed eyebrow. "I didn't think you knew all those words, Potter," he observed lazily.

"You'd be surprised," Harry muttered back. His earlier affection for Hermione's aunt was dimming rapidly, as were his views about Hermione's taste. The broad grin on her face belayed her amusement at the scene and Harry's stuttering state. He resolved to find something nasty to slip into her dinner very soon. Maybe Fred and George had something that would work.

"That's another thing," Addy said, looking from him to Draco. "Just what is your relationship with Draco?"

"We're friends," Harry told her instantly. "Best friends."

"You can only have one best friend," Addy pointed out.

Harry shook his head stubbornly. "I have three," he informed her. "And I'm not going to choose between them, so don't even go there."

She nodded approvingly. "You've got guts. You'll do. Next!"

"Thanks a lot," Harry muttered. He gratefully surrendered his place to Draco, who underwent a similar examination. Finally, apparently satisfied, she leaned back again, toying with her empty coffee cup.

"You picked good ones," she told Hermione. "They won't try anything."

"I think I realized that, thanks," Hermione said dryly. She glanced at her watch. "We should probably start getting ready to go. All of us have rather too much packing to do if we're going to be anywhere close to ready on Saturday evening."

Addy stood. "Well then, get going," she said. "I've accomplished my mission, after all. I can write and tell your mother that you're in good company."

"Mum already knows Harry," Hermione pointed out. "We spent the summer with him."

"But does she know him?" Addy pressed.

Hermione shrugged. "Depends on what you think," she said. "She certainly didn't interview him nearly as closely as you did."

Addy shook her head in disapproval. "That's Ali for you: always forgetting the important parts. Well, I won't keep you from your packing. I suppose I won't hear from you until summer?"

Hermione shrugged. "Probably not," she said. "I doubt that the landlord would appreciate the owls coming through the window."

"I'm sure they wouldn't," Addy agreed. She hugged Hermione, then shook hands with both Harry and Draco. "Very nice to meet you," she said.

Both Harry and Draco murmured meaningless politesses back, then gathered their coats and followed Hermione out of the building. Once outside, Harry slumped against the wall. "That was…. unexpected," he said.

"Sorry I didn't warn you," Hermione said, looking completely unapologetic. "But she'd have known."

"Just what exactly does she do for a living?" Draco demanded.

"She's a fashion consultant," Hermione said.

"A what?" Harry asked blankly.

"A fashion consultant. You know, someone who tells other people what to wear."

"Oh. People get paid for that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Harry. People get paid for that."

"Amazing," he said sincerely. "There's a whole group of people out there that I didn't even know existed."

"Are we going to stand here all night?" Draco demanded. "It's getting cold."

They started off down the street, still talking. Harry was still amazed that he'd never heard of fashion consultants, and he drilled Hermione relentlessly as to the specifics of her aunt's chosen career. He was so preoccupied with the details of the job that he didn't notice the men eyeing their little group greedily.

Draco, not busy wrapping his mind around alien concepts, did see them. "Trouble," he hissed as they emerged onto a dimly lit street corner. Harry looked up instantly, his hand flying to the pocket that contained his wand.

"Street trash," Hermione muttered. "Probably desperate types, willing to do anything to get some cash."

Draco grinned wolfishly. "They won't find us such easy pickings," he said. Harry noted with interest that his stride had gotten smoother and more balanced, almost as though he were unconsciously preparing for an upcoming fight. Harry himself felt tension built up between his shoulder blades, a sure sign that his nerves were working themselves up to premium awareness.

The men had seen them alter their stride, and this seemed to be some kind of signal. They closed in, followers materializing out of nowhere. One of them, a black man with a wicked looking knife, spoke.

"Jus' the money. We jus' wan' yo' money."

"Get lost," Draco told him flatly.

"We don't want ta have to kill ya, kid."

"Just try," Draco sneered. His hand closed around his wand. The black man advanced, and Draco drew his wand with a single fluid gesture.

The man sneered at the wand. "You think that you'll stop us with a stick?" he demanded. "Give up and we'll make it nice an' painless."

"I can't make the same promise, I'm afraid," Draco said.

Harry stepped forward as well, drawing his own wand. "You don't want to do this," he advised. "We're a bit paranoid at the moment."

"Let's jus' kill 'em," one of the others shouted. "We're waistin' our time here!"

"Shuddup!" the black man ordered. He faced Harry and Draco. "I'm curious. Jus' what d'you think you can do with those sticks?"

"This," Draco said. "Stupefy!" A bolt of red light flew out of his wand and hit the black man firmly on the chest. He topped over backwards and fell with a dull thump. There was a dead silence for a beat, then the others hurled themselves at Harry and Draco. They fought for a long moment, but there were far more men than there were wizards, and they were older and stronger. Swiftly, they closed in on the three, forming a deadly ring.

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly. "Here." She dug into her pocket and passed both Harry and Draco a small round object.

Harry recognized it right away as an Apparating Apparatus. He nodded his thanks, then tapped it with his wand and shouted, "12 Grimmauld Place!" He swallowed it and felt the now familiar disintegrating feeling. He opened his eyes to find himself standing in front of the door next to Draco and Hermione.

"Thanks a million, Hermione," Harry gasped, leaning against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. "I doubt we could have gotten out of that on our own."

Draco snorted. "You couldn't have, maybe. It's a sad day when I can't handle a group of muggle muggers."

"You want to go back?" Harry offered. "I'm sure we could get you there."

"No thanks," Draco said, shaking his head. "You'd only follow me and I'd end up having to save you again."

"You didn't save me at all," Harry protested. He pushed the door open and walked into the house, followed by the other two. "We saved you."

"Um, I think we've got more serious problem than who saved who," Hermione interrupted. "We've got mail."

Harry glanced back through the open door and saw the familiar brown owl of the Ministry. It swooped towards him and dropped the letter it held in its beak into his open hands. It didn't even wait to see if he'd caught it before veering and vanishing into the night. Harry held the scarlet envelope gingerly, wondering just how he would get out of it this time. Slowly, he opened the letter and read it. He blinked and read it again. Finally, Draco ripped it out of his hands and read it out loud.

Dear Misters Potter and Malfoy and Miss Granger,

We have received information that you preformed a number of illegal charms and spells tonight in the business district of London. Under normal circumstances, this would result in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as the breakage of your wands. However, due to the unusual circumstances of this incident, the department has chosen to allow you to go free. However, you are warned that if any such infringement of the law recurs, the Ministry of Magic will not be so lenient.

Hoping you are well,

Malfada Hopkirk.

Draco looked up. "Well," he said dryly. "Apparently people like us in the Ministry. Who would have thought?"

Hermione shrugged. "It works out well for us," she pointed out.

Harry frowned. "But what do they expect in return?" he demanded.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Do you really think that they'll do this for free?" Harry asked her.

She sighed. "I don't know," she admitted. "But why can't they just be trying to make up for all they they've put us through?"

He raised his eyebrows, and she sighed. "You're right," she said. "That was a stupid thing to say, wasn't it?"

"I don't know about you," Draco interrupted, "but I'm going to bed. The two of you can argue all you want, but I'm not going to pay attention."

"He's right," Hermione observed, watching him go. "We should probably turn in for the night."

Harry shrugged. "Go ahead," he said. "I'll be up in a little while."

She vanished through the hall and up the stairs, leaving Harry alone on the doorstep. He sat down slowly, gazing up at the starts above him. They were the same ones as always, the same ones he'd studied incessantly in both Astronomy and Divinations, but tonight they seemed to hold a special message.

"Do you have anything to tell me?" he murmured absently, his eyes tracing the constellations that he recognized and admiring the patterns that he didn't. He was drawn to the belt of tiny lights that made up the constellation Draco. His eyes followed it, tracing the lines and filling in the missing bits that turned it into a complete picture. Almost seamlessly, his mind moved from the picture in the stars to the boy bearing the same name. Draco had been marvelous tonight. He'd leapt to defend them like the knights of old were rumored to have done with their ladies. Watching him confront the muggles, Harry had felt an odd feeling running through him. Respect, certainly, but something else. Something that he'd felt before, but never this strongly. Could it be?

"Stop right there, mate," he told himself firmly. Now was not the time to be thinking such thoughts. There would never be a time to think such things. He knew that he didn't want to risk his friendship with Draco, and admitting to fancies like that would most definitely kill the friendship. There was no point in dwelling on it, especially as he wasn't sure if he knew what he was feeling. Even so, his eyes strayed one last time to the constellation as he stepped into the house and locked the door.

All good things must come to an end, and so our Christmas holiday drew to a close. We packed up our things, pulled the dust covers over the furniture, and tore down the puzzle. Every moment was precious to me: they might be the last time that I could be around him without fear of discovery. Even during detention, there was always the fear of being caught. And so, I'm afraid I became a bit clingy during the last few days of our winter retreat. I know that he noticed, but he thankfully didn't say anything. I caught Granger eyeing me speculatively a few times, but I glared her into submission whenever I noticed. I have no desire whatsoever to have her feeling sorry for me.

Even with my attempts to make the time last, there came the day that we had to be back at the train. Harry cooked us one last breakfast, and we ate it almost solemnly, all presumably storing memories to conserve and keep as reminders that the world was not always as bleak as it seemed to be most of the time. We cleared our plates, scraping off the food the muggle way and washing them with actual soap and water, doing as much as we could without magic. One last trip through the house to make sure we hadn't left anything behind, and then we couldn't put it off any longer. I even consented to let them take the subway, suffering silently through it for his sake.

The train ride back to school was uneventful. I spent most of my time in a carriage to myself, glaring moodily out the window. It wouldn't be the same at school, of course. I knew that it could never be as I truly wished it to be, and the looks I'd caught him giving me a couple times could only be my imagination. Even so, dreams die hard, and this one was particularly stubborn. I couldn't bring myself to kill it completely. I even found myself contemplating paying his carriage a visit, but I couldn't let myself do it. The more I talked to him now, the harder it would be to go back to the old cycle of hatred. We'd been living on borrowed time, and eventually it would all run out and everything would snap back to how it had been before. I hoped I would have the strength to bear it when it happened.

We got off the train at Hogsmeade as usual, and I brushed right past him without even looking back. I was proud of my own self-control, and I tried my best to ignore the tightening in my heart that followed that small act of defiance.

Unfortunately, it is very easy to talk, and even easier to plan. Putting said plans into action, however, is far less easy. I found that it was a constant battle to avoid Harry's eye in the hallways and keep away from him even during detentions. It didn't help that Pansy was suspicious and kept wanting to know what we'd fought about. I didn't have the heart to tell her that we hadn't fought about anything.

By the second week of class, I was at the end of my rope. I needed to know what was going on in his life, and I couldn't ask him. If I did, I would never leave him again, and it would hurt far more than it did right now. But who could I ask? I frowned, biting the end of my quill absently. The ink spurted into my mouth and I gagged, grabbing a glass of water and emptying it with a single gulp in an attempt to get rid of the awful taste. When my taste buds had returned to almost normal functionality, I dried my quill off and set it down. I believe that that single moment cured me permanently of my habit of chewing on quills. No more sugar ones for me, thank you very much.

Slowly, I picked it up again and dipped it once more into the ink. It's green ink, the same color as his eyes. I bought it last year when I was feeling especially low. If I'm asked about it, I can always call it house loyalty and send them on their way. I suppose that Pansy knows the truth of the matter, and Granger might be able to figure it out, but they're a small minority. Most of the population of Hogwarts wouldn't make the connection simply because they can't imagine Draco Malfoy being gay. Especially not gay and in love with none other than Harry Potter. I imagine that my secret's fairly safe simply because it's so far outside the reaches of most people's imaginations.

I pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and eyed it for a moment. Then, making my decision, I placed the tip of my quill delicately on the pristine surface and began to write.

Author's note two: to give credit where it's due, jamie belongs to diana gabaldon, and numair belongs to tamora pierce. erm, i think that's it. hope you like dit. oh, and just a random note: ff. net, in its infinite wisdom, does not allow url's. so that means that neither links nor email adresses show up in the reviews. so far, only one person has left me their email through a review, and i didn't get it. i'm very, very sorry that i can't answer you. i would, except that i have no actual way to contact you. so either send me an email, or add your email in the apropriate place when leaving anonymous reviews. and this goes for all anonymous reviewers, not just the one who left her email in a reveiw. TheGirlWithCheeseInHerPocket, if you're reading this, i really would love to answer you, but i can't.
this really is it, i promise!
--kyra