Author's note: well, it's that time of year again. june, time for harry's inevitable confrontation with voldemort. -shakes head- he really can't stay out of trouble, can he?
Disclaimer: all i own is a furry monkey of a brother who is annoying the f-cking hell out of me right now.
--kyra

10: ending

When Harry didn't show up for breakfast, I started getting worried. We'd established a ritual over the past few months: both of us would show up for breakfast, and a single moment of eye contact would be exchanged, carefully. We couldn't speak, or even smile at each other, but the sheer physical presence of the other was reassurance. That morning, the reassurance was gone, and I felt its lack acutely.

Pansy tried to convince me that nothing was wrong. "Posterboy's probably just doing homework," she said. "Just because he isn't here doesn't mean that something drastic has happened."

I frowned. "I suppose," I said slowly, trying to convince myself that she was right.

"Good," she said briskly. "Now, we have a very important Herbology class to attend, so finish up quickly."

I raised an eyebrow. Pansy showing enthusiasm for any class was about as disturbing as Harry's absence.

"Cho Chang's going to tell Padma Patil whether she'll go out with her or not," Pansy said impatiently.

That explained everything, of course. Cho Chang wasn't even in our year, but that didn't matter. I was sure she was more than capable of going down to the greenhouses before her own class. I could care less about both of them, of course, but I followed Pansy down the hallway to humor her. When we arrived at the greenhouses, I realized that Pansy wasn't the only one who wanted to witness what I was beginning to understand would be the social event of the week. Parvati Patil and her friend Lavender Brown were there, presumably to lend moral support to the Ravenclaw Patil in question. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones were trying to look as though they weren't interested, but both were quite obviously straining their ears to catch the slightest detail. Millicent Bulstrode had managed to pull off perfect nonchalance, but Pansy shot her a knowing glance. Several Ravenclaw girls that I didn't know, both older and younger, were milling around, accompanied by what looked to be their clones in Hufflepuff colors. Ginny Weasley was talking to a blond Ravenclaw girl, and a Slytherin girl with bright green hair turned to smile at Pansy. Pansy extracted herself from me, and walked over to talk with the green-haired girl. I spotted Blaise at the other end of the crowd, and pushed through to reach him. He rolled his eyes at the exhibition of female excitement that we were witnessing. "Sad, isn't it?" he asked. "All of them are going to be late to class, and none of the teachers will care, because they all want to know too."

I nodded. "Wish Chang would just come and get it over with." But Chang was not coming. Or at least, she was taking her time about it. When she finally appeared, alone, I had to admire the way she parted the mass of girls like Moses parted the Red Sea. (I've heard that Muggles think that Moses was a prophet, but all he was was a wizard with an exceptional talent for locomotor charms.) Chang apparently had those same skills, as well as silencing ones, because the troupe of females went dead quiet as she entered. She walked over to where the Ravenclaw Patil was standing and whispered something. I could tell that she was trying to be quiet, but someone heard, and soon there was a sort of hushed murmuring as the girls all related Chang's words to the girl behind her. I didn't listen to what the murmur was saying, but the end result was fairly obvious, because it ended with Chang kissing Patil and all the other girls, Pansy included, erupting into deafening cheers. Finally, Chang left the scene, obviously going to her own class. Everyone else reluctantly streamed out, leaving a beat red Patil surrounded by the Ravenclaw girls of her own age. Pansy came to find us, and grinned evilly as Millicent dropped a small leather bag into her hand. It clinked satisfyingly as Pansy tucked it into the pocket of her robe.

But even the bemusement caused by this unusually visible female social event didn't last for very long. By the end of Herbology, I was back to worrying about Harry. By the end of Potions, which he hadn't come to either, I was getting seriously scared. Pansy, who was in the potions class with me, was at the end of her rope by that time, and she practically dragged me out of the classroom. "Look, Draco," she ground out. "Stop worrying! Maybe he's out saving the world again. It's the kind of thing he does at this time of year."

That drew a slight grin out of me, but it fell quickly. "What about Weasley and Granger?" I asked. "They're usually with him."

"Maybe he left them behind this year. You know how much last year still affects him. He probably didn't want to take any chances."

Oddly enough, this frank appraisal gave me no comfort whatsoever. At least if Weasley and Granger had been with him, they'd have had a chance at protecting him. They, at least, have an instinct of self-preservation.

Pansy was obviously impatient again, because she said firmly, "Look, Draco. You want to know what's happening to your Posterboy, right?"

I nodded.

"Do you want to know badly enough to scry for it?"

I frowned at her. "Pansy, you know that I can't scry." I hadn't even attempted to take Divinations, a choice that I've never regretted.

"I didn't say you should do it. I said, do you want to know badly enough to scry for it?"

"Can you do it?"

"No, but I know someone who can."

"Who?"

"Cassandra Newman."

"Who?"

She sighed. "You saw her earlier. She's a year younger than us. You know, the one with green hair."

"Ah, that one. And she can scry, can she?"

"Yes."

"How long will it take?"

"To find her, or to find him?"

"Both."

"Five minutes for the first, no clue for the second. Do you mind missing Arithmancy terribly?"

"Not at all."

"Good." She slipped away and, true to her word, came back five minutes later with the green haired girl in question.

"Draco, this is Cassandra Newman. Cassandra, Draco Malfoy."

Cassandra nodded gravely to me. Now that I could see her clearly, I realized that it wasn't just her hair that was green. Her eyes were as emerald as Harry's, and her fingernails were painted a soft shade of green. Her face was lightly tanned, and she moved in a slightly uncoordinated manner. "You said you wanted something?" she asked Pansy, in a soft, controlled voice.

Pansy shrugged. "A small favor," she said. "I want to know where someone is."

"Who?"

"Harry Potter."

Cassandra didn't seem surprised. In fact, she looked like the kind of girl who was never surprised by anything. She checked her wristwatch, then glanced out at the sun. "It's fifteen minutes 'till eleven," she announced. "Meet me in your study then, Pansy, and we'll see what the spirits choose to reveal." She swept away, managing to look regal despite the gawkiness of her limbs.

I watched her depart, then looked at Pansy. "Is she honestly for real?" I demanded.

Pansy nodded. "She's a bit dramatic sometimes, but she really can scry. Besides, once you get past the act, she's actually really nice."

"If you say so," I muttered skeptically.

She just shoved me towards the Slytherin common room. "She doesn't really like to be kept waiting," she said, by way of explanation.

I followed Pansy to her study, wondering how on earth I'd managed to miss Cassandra all these years. I mean floor-length green hair isn't really something that's easy to miss. But then, I didn't pay much attention to younger students. By the time you get to be about fifteen in the House of Snake, you've gotten your own study and you sleep in it, even though it's technically against the rules. Pansy was the girl's prefect, though, which would explain her friendship with Cassandra. Not to mention the fact that they'd shared a dormitory for a few years.

Slytherin House is predominantly male. Very few females are deemed worthy at the tender age of eleven, though I suspect that if the entire school was resorted when they were about, say, fifteen or sixteen, there would be a lot more of them. But, as that is not the case, it wasn't practical to build seven dormitories for the girls. In fact, there are only three: one for the first and second years, one for the third and fourth years, and one for the fifth and sixth years. By the time you reach seventh year, you have your own study, and that's where you sleep. One of the characteristics that the hat looks for is willingness to break the rules. But even though Pansy had slept in her study ever since she was fourteen and three quarters and Daphne Spice left under mysterious circumstances (everyone thinks that she went off to join the Death Eaters, but I have it on good authority that she's thriving somewhere in Spain, happily out-blasting the Chimeras that she works with), she still has a duty to check in on the other girls from time to time. At least she should probably know their names.

We entered the study in question, and I saw that there was someone in it. I frowned. The short brunette with the earlobe length hair and piercing violet eyes looked as though she should be familiar, but I was absolutely sure that I'd never seen her before. Purple eyes are as distinctive as green hair, after all. The girl was wearing a long black dress and a cloak thrown carelessly over her shoulders. Its Slytherin green trim was quite obvious, and the crystal ball that she was holding rested on a wrought iron base painted emerald. Pansy grinned at her. "More practical that way, isn't it Cassandra?"

I blinked, and studied her carefully. Yes, it was Cassandra after all, but then how… "How did she do that?" I hissed when Cassandra's back was turned. Unfortunately, the fifteen-year-old girl appeared to have excellent hearing, because she answered me without turning around.

"I'm a Metamorphmagus. It runs in the family."

I nodded. That explained everything, of course, from why I'd never seen her before to how she'd changed so drastically.

"What's with the eyes?" I asked her, wondering if she would actually tell me.

"Purple is a color of magic, power, and deep spirituality," she said absently, carefully going over her crystal ball. "I find that these help me communicate with the mystic spirits."

I stifled a giggle. Pansy shrugged.

"Now, Pansy," Cassandra said, and her voice had gone from mystical to practical. "Come here and take my hand. This time, you won't be the anchor, I will. I'll provide the power, but you'll be the one leading us, do you understand? I'll help you if you get into trouble, but you should be fine. Oh, and he has to leave."

I started to protest, but Pansy cut me off with a short shake of her head. "You wanted this," she mouthed.

I scowled, and stalked out of the room.

Pansy felt a bit bad about dismissing Draco so abruptly. After all, it was him who was desperate to know about Potter, not her, even if Potter didn't seem to have realized that enough to bother telling him where he was going. But she didn't have time to feel either angry with Potter for making her do this or nervous at what she'd agreed to do, because Cassandra was looking at her watch. "Thirty seconds," she said. "Concentrate on the Potter boy. Think about what you want to see. Two, one, go!"

Pansy concentrated on Potter. She saw his black hair, which she hated, and his green eyes, which she found disconcerting. She remembered Draco's obsession with the boy, and Potter's dismissal of her friend's feelings. And then, she saw him. It was a shock to finally see anything clearly in the orb. Last time, she'd been the anchor. She'd seen a little of what Cassandra saw, but it had mostly been as though she were looking through a very dirty window. This time, the window had been wiped clean, and she saw the scene almost more clearly than if she'd actually been there.

She could feel Cassandra next to her, but she didn't pay much attention to the psychic witch. She watched Potter instead. He was carefully walking through a hallway, looking straight forwards. There was a door at the end of the hallway, and Potter was concentrating only on that door. Finally, he reached it, and he hesitated fractionally before pushing the door open. The room wasn't empty. A small, rat-like man stood in the doorway. Potter pushed him aside without even looking. The rat like man shut the door again, and surreptitiously locked it. Potter advanced into the firelight, and then stopped. Pansy gasped when she realized what he was seeing: two figures, tied and suspended in midair. Both had very grubby blond hair, and frightened faces. The witch was crying softly, and the wizard was trying to look defiant. Potter didn't look at either of them, though they both stilled when they saw him. Potter appeared to be waiting for something, or maybe for someone.

And then, He came. Pansy knew instinctively who he was, though she'd never seen him before. It was impossible to see the bone pale face and gleaming red eyes and not know. She was face to face with Lord Voldemort. To his credit, Potter didn't back up. Voldemort looked the boy over, and chuckled softly. "So noble, Harry," he said, and his voice sent shivers of terror up Pansy's spine. "Coming all the way here to save the parents of a boy you hate."

Potter didn't answer.

"You've gotten here too late, though, haven't you?" Voldemort asked.

"It's never too late," Potter said steadily.

"Isn't it? Well, Potter, how very Gryffindor of you! But I'm afraid that you are, in fact, too late. Or rather, you're just on time. Wormtail!"

The rat like man looked up and bowed very low. "Yes, Master?"

"Harry here would like to witness our game. Make him comfortable."

Wormtail nodded, and then pointed a short, stout wand at Potter. He shouted a spell, and Potter found himself pushed into the chair behind him, with ropes appearing out of nowhere to bind him to it. Wormtail deftly drew Potter's wand out of the boy's grip. Potter struggled against the ropes, but they wouldn't give an inch.

Voldemort laughed, a high, chilling sound that made Pansy want to turn and run as fast as she could. But she couldn't. She had to see this through to the end, she'd promised Draco that she would find out what happened to Potter. Voldemort pointed his wand at the blond witch, and said, almost lazily, "Crucio."

The witch screamed, a high, desperate sound that went on and on, far longer than she should have been able to without breathing. Finally, the screaming died away, leaving only whimpering.

"Let her go!" Potter shouted. "She hasn't done anything to you!"

"She refused me her son!" Voldemort shouted back. "And he" here, he pointed his wand at the wizard, "failed me. They must be punished!"

"Please, Master!" the wizard began, but Voldemort silenced him ruthlessly. "You have no right to speak to me, Lucius! Your time of explanation is over, and now you shall pay for your failure."

"It was my fault that he didn't get the prophecy," Potter said. "Why don't you kill me instead?"

"Oh, don't worry, Harry," Voldemort said, almost gently. "I will. Trust me, I will. But tell me. Why did you come to save them? Surely they are your enemies, are they not?"

"They don't deserve this kind of death," Potter said, and Pansy had to admire his appearance of calm. Both she and Voldemort knew that he was utterly terrified, but he gave a very good show of not being.

"How do you know, Harry?" Voldemort demanded. "You don't know what they've done. Lucius here has killed more muggles and mudbloods than either of us can count. He's plotted your death with the rest of us. And Narcissa. Narcissa is weak. She cares nothing for herself. Her entire existence is spent slaving over her pathetic excuse of a son." Narcissa Malfoy uttered a squeal of anger, but she was silenced by the threat of Voldemort's wand.

"That's not weakness, Tom!" Potter said. "But you don't understand that, do you? You don't understand that caring only for yourself is your weakness, not your strength!" They were brave words, but they would have sounded better if he hadn't been wandless and tied to a chair.

"You are wrong, Harry!" Voldemort screamed. "You've listened to that old fool Dumbledore too long! He is wrong! It is my strength and your weakness that have brought us here today. You want to see strength? I'll show you strength!" He pointed his wand at Lucius Malfoy. "Crucio!" This curse was harder, more focused. Malfoy uttered a high-pitched shriek of agony. He writhed in midair, obviously trying to either stop the pain or strangle himself with the ropes. Voldemort laughed again, and reinforced the curse. Pansy wished she could cover her ears, but she forced herself to listen to the screams of the dying man. She owned it to Draco. Finally, Voldemort got tired of torturing Malfoy, and he cast the killing curse. If anything, the way he killed Malfoy was more frightening than the way he'd laughed as he tortured him. Finally, at long last, Pansy understood why Voldemort was the most feared Dark Wizard of all time. He truly didn't care about anyone but himself. His Death Eaters were nothing more than his toys, to be used as long as they could stand it, then disposed of. He wasn't human, and that made him infinitely more dangerous that Grindewald, or any of the other Dark Wizards before him.

"You see what I can do!?" Voldemort shrieked. "You can't do it, Harry! Admit that you can't do it!"

"No," Potter shouted back. "No, I can't. I can't kill a man in cold blood. And I'm bloody proud of it, Voldemort! Tom! I'm proud to say that I've never deliberately killed anyone!"

He started laughing again. This was a long, dreadful hysteria that seemed to last as long as the screams. "Wormtail," he said when he'd recovered. "Wormtail, give Harry his wand back and set him free."

Wormtail looked amazed. "But, Master…"

"Silence! Do as I tell you!"

Wormtail sulkily returned Potter's wand to him and untied the ropes that had bound him to his seat. Potter stood, and Voldemort blasted the chair out of the way. "Now, go on Harry," Voldemort said. "Join us and make your first kill!"

"Are you offering yourself as the victim?" Potter demanded.

"If you like. But for your first time, I was thinking of an easier prey." He gestured at where Narcissa Malfoy was hanging, still looking at the body of her husband blankly.

"No!"

"Do it!"

"NO!"

"Imperio!"

Potter staggered. He raised his wand and opened his mouth. Then, with a tremendous effort, he closed it again. He closed his eyes and frowned. Then he lowered his wand and stared at Voldemort.

Voldemort frowned. "IMPERIO!"

Once again, Potter raised his wand, but this time, it seemed to be easier for him to bring it down again. "Didn't Crouch tell you, Tom?" he panted. "I learned how to throw off the Imperius curse when I was fourteen. He taught me how to do it."

Voldemort shrugged. "There are other ways to bend someone to your will," he said. "And most of the time, they are more effective. Crucio!"

It was Potter's turn to scream, and Voldemort laughed yet again. When it was over, Voldemort asked, "Will you kill her now?"

"No!" Potter said. Voldemort cast the spell again. Pansy turned away, unable to bear any more, even for Draco's sake. After each curse, Voldemort asked Potter if he was willing to kill Narcissa yet. Even after he couldn't speak any more, Potter clung stubbornly to his silence. Pansy didn't know how much more he could take. He was badly weakened, and each bout of the curse took its toll. Pansy found herself wondering if someone could die from the Cruciatus curse. She was becoming more and more certain that they could.

Finally, when Potter was only barely clinging to consciousness, Voldemort screamed his triumph. "You see, Harry! You are weak! And now, let us see your true feelings! Let me show you just how similar we are!" Voldemort closed his eyes, and both he and Potter seemed to still. All at once, Voldemort staggered back. He screamed the terrible word again, putting all his power behind the last curse. Potter didn't even have the strength to scream, he curled up in a ball on the floor of the room, whimpering. Pansy strained to hear what he said. So softly that she wasn't sure she would have hear it through normal ears, she heard Potter murmur, "Forgive me." Then he slipped down and fell still.

Voldemort didn't seem to be happy that he'd reduced his enemy to nothing more than a shell of a boy, and he turned his wand on Narcissa Malfoy. The poor woman didn't have a chance. He blasted her out of existence and strode out of the room, Wormtail scuttling behind him

"Come out now."

Cassandra's voice shocked Pansy. She'd been sucked into the scene she'd witnessed to the point where she'd forgotten the other girl's presence. Now, with Cassandra's voice as a guide, Pansy came back to herself. Her hand was gripping Cassandra's with enough force to stop the blood flow to both of them, and she winced as she slowly unclasped it. Both of them were breathing heavily.

"Did you see?" Pansy asked.

Cassandra nodded. "Not as clearly as you, but I saw." Her face hardened. "The Dark Lord will pay for what he has done this day."

Pansy looked at her curiously. She hadn't thought Cassandra had that much of an opinion on the matter.

"I'm psychic, Pansy," Cassandra said. "I can't help receiving emotions. It's not something I can turn off. And I've looked in the orb. I know what he's done, but I'd never experienced it like this." She shuddered. "I intend to be among those who kill him."

"I have to tell Draco," Pansy said quietly. "He… he has to know what happened."

Cassandra nodded slowly. "I will come," she said. She turned to look in Pansy's mirror, and closed her eyes. As Pansy watched, her hair snaked back down her back, ending just past her waist. It darkened to coal black, and her skin paled. She grew, and an unaccustomed elegance and dignity seemed to settle into her features. When she opened her eyes, Pansy saw that they too were black. In her long dress and cloak, Cassandra looked much like a mourner priestess, which was, Pansy realized, exactly the effect she'd been going for.

Pansy opened the door, and looked out. Sure enough, Draco was sitting in the armchair, reading some book that Pansy didn't recognize. He looked up when he saw her, and at the expression on her face, his features took on a slightly terrified cast. "What is it?" he asked, moving over to her.

She stood aside and let him in. He stopped dead when he saw Cassandra. Pansy went to stand next to him, then thought better of it and made him sit down. He looked like someone prepared to hear very bad news, and she wondered if he thought she was telling him that Potter was dead. He'd be spared that pain, at least. "He's still alive," she said firmly.

Some of the tension on his face lifted. "Where is he?"

Pansy looked at Cassandra. "The catacombs of the Ministry of Magic," Cassandra said.

He looked about to leave, but Pansy stopped him. "Draco, wait. Listen to the whole story, please." She proceeded to tell him what she'd witnessed. When she was done, he was dead white, and she knew it had been a good idea to make him sit. As she watched, he began to tremble slightly. She wondered how long it would take him to recover this time. But then, he surprised her. He took a deep breath, then sat up straighter.

"We need to tell someone," he said, and though his voice was quiet, it was steady. "Someone needs to get him."

Cassandra nodded. "We will speak to Professor Dumbledore."

Draco looked at her clearly for the first time. He frowned. "She saw everything, Draco," Pansy cut in. "She'll know as much as I do. We might need her to find exactly where he is, too."

He nodded tightly. "Fine. Do either of you know the password for his office?"

Both girls shook their heads. Draco bit his lip. "We'll go see Professor Snape," he said finally. "He'll know."

It was a mark of how emotionally battered she was that Pansy didn't argue. Instead, she let Draco take charge, following as well as she could. All three of them ignored the people in the common room, and walked as fast as possible to the door. Pansy hexed the one boy stupid enough not to get out of their way.

I was numb. I didn't know how I should be feeling. My mother's death was a tragedy, but that Harry was alive was a miracle. The emotions tumbled through me as I ran to the dungeons, but I pushed them all aside. The only one I allowed to run free was anger. I boiled with it, and the heat of rage helped to stop the iciness of despair. I'd pushed everything under my control for Harry's sake. I had to be strong for Harry. I had to do what he would do, and not falter. I pounded down the stairs, the girls on my heels.

Thankfully, Professor Snape was in. I barged into his class of first years without knocking. He looked up, annoyed. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"We have to see Professor Dumbledore," I told him, quietly enough so that the first years wouldn't hear. "Immediately!"

"And why do you have to see the Headmaster?" Professor Snape asked coldly. He stood, looming over me, but I was angry enough not to care.

"Harry's hurt. He's somewhere under the Ministry of Magic, badly hurt. I need to tell Professor Dumbledore!"

Professor Snape might be irritating, cold, unapproachable, and just generally a mean person, but he's a good man to have in a crisis. He wasted no time on emotion, but dismissed his class and strode out of the dungeon. The three of us followed. I had to run to keep up with his long strides, and by the time we reached the gargoyle outside Dumbledore's office, I was badly out of breath. Professor Snape spoke the password (Gummy Worm) and we ran up the winding stairs. We burst into Dumbledore's office, to find him talking with Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore looked at us in surprise.

"Severus," he said, nodding to Professor Snape. "What may I do for you?"

"These students insist that Potter is injured in the Ministry of Magic," Professor Snape said. "They insisted on coming to speak with you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. "Minerva," he said quietly. "Alert the Ministry staff who are on our side. Where is he?"

"He's in the catacombs," Cassandra said. "I couldn't pinpoint exactly where. I could try, if you like."

Professor Dumbledore nodded to McGonagall, who threw a pinch of floo powder into the hearth and stepped through. "Severus," Dumbledore said. "Fetch Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. This is something that they should hear, I believe."

Professor Snape nodded stiffly and swept out of the room. Dumbledore turned to the three of us. He raised an eyebrow at Cassandra. "Something a little less dramatic, I believe, might be in order, Miss Newman."

Cassandra sighed, and moved gracefully over to the mirror. She closed her eyes, and frowned. She seemed to shrink a little, and the awkwardness returned to her posture. Her hair grew even longer, until it brushed the floor again. Its dead straightness remained, but the color shifted subtly to a warm brown. Her skin regained some of its color, and a slight dusting of freckles popped up. She opened her eyes, and I saw that they were now green again. She glanced at Dumbledore, who shrugged. "I simply thought something that did not imply dark powers as much, Miss Newman," he said. "Attractive as the look is, it might not be properly appreciated in the present circumstances."

Cassandra nodded, then reached back and carefully parted her hair in two. She conjured up a brush and muttered some charm to enchant the brush to untangle her hair. She stood impassively as the brush did its job, then placed it in her pocket and pulled two hair ties off her wrist. She quickly bound her locks in two efficient pigtails, which stopped at about her ankles. She shook her head experimentally, then seemed satisfied.

Pansy had been watching enviously, and when Cassandra sat down, the two of them became engrossed in a discussion about the benefits of straight or curly hair. I could care less, and I turned to Dumbledore. He was watching me fixedly, and I knew that I was going to have a few questions to answer. He seemed to understand my reluctance to talk in front of the girls, because he stood and drew me into the shadowy corner of his office. "Mr. Malfoy," he said seriously. "I must ask you, what motivated you to give us this information?"

"You don't know the entire story yet, Professor," I said. "But I told you because I care about Harry and I want him to be safe."

I appeared to truly have surprised him. He looked at me closely for a moment, then asked carefully. "How long have you… cared about Harry?"

"Always," I said simply.

"And does he care about you?"

"I suggest you ask him that, Professor," I said. There was no way I was going to talk about me and Harry, not even to Professor Dumbledore. Especially not to him. I got the feeling that he knew far too much as it was.

"I shall do so," he said gravely. At that moment, the door opened again, and Professor Snape pushed Granger and Weasley into the room. Weasley glared at all three of us, and Granger looked suspicious, but a little worried. She didn't look directly at me, for which I was grateful. After she'd stopped our communication, we hadn't spoken in any way, and I knew that she was a bit uncomfortable around me. Of course, she was dating Weasley, which would account for some of that. If – heaven forbid! – I were dating Weasley, I would do my best not to interact with the public simply to save myself from the humiliation that he would cause.

Dumbledore nodded to Professor Snape, who moved to the back of the office and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't look ready to move. "Have a seat," Dumbledore told all of us. He flicked his wand, and three chairs appeared to sit next to the ones already containing Cassandra and Pansy. Granger and Weasley took the two next to each other, and I sat down next to Pansy. "Did Severus inform you why I wished to see you?" Dumbledore asked the two Gryffindors.

Granger shook her head, but Weasley demanded, "It's about Harry, isn't it? Something's happened to Harry."

Dumbledore nodded, and Weasley shot a burning glance in our direction. Pansy glared right back at him. Dumbledore seemed to ignore that, and he looked at Pansy. "Miss Parkinson," he said. "May I assume that you were the anchor?"

Pansy shook her head. "Cassandra was," she said.

"Then would you care to tell us about what you saw?"

Pansy took a deep breath, then recounted what she'd seen in Cassandra's orb. Granger and Weasley looked progressively more horrified as she went on, and when she finished, Granger was as white as Cassandra had been. Weasley, on the other hand, was turning bright red. I'd gotten him angry often enough to know the danger signs, and Weasley was very close to an explosion. And I was very certain who he would explode at. Sure enough, "Why's he sitting here?" Weasley demanded, pointing angrily at me. "He should be sent to Azkaban!"

"That's not fair!" Pansy said, coming to my defense. "He's the one who thought of actually telling anyone. We could quite easily just have hidden the facts until Potter died down there!"

"You're not brave enough to do that, Parkinson!" Weasley shouted. "When people found out what you'd done, they'd kill you!"

"But your Poster Boy would already be dead by then, wouldn't he?" she countered.

"And that has nothing to do with me," I added, feeling that I should talk for myself. "If the Dark Lord killed Potter, it wouldn't be my fault!"

"They were your parents!" Weasley bellowed. "If you hadn't screwed up so much, then You-Know-Who wouldn't have been able to get at Harry!"

"What my parents do has nothing to do with me!" I screamed back. "I wasn't there with them, was I?"

"Maybe you should have been! Then maybe he'd have killed you instead of Harry!"

There was a dead silence when everyone realized what Weasley had said. Very quietly, Granger asked, "He is alive, isn't he Professor?"

"He's alive."

The voice made all of us turn with a start. McGonagall had come into the room. She looked weary and disheveled, but she held herself as erect as usual. "We found him where Miss Newman said he was, Albus," she continued. "Arthur was the only one I could find on short notice, and he's taking the boy to St. Mungo's."

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said.

"What shall you tell the students?" McGonagall asked.

"I do not know yet, Minerva," Dumbledore said tiredly. He turned to us. "Need I ask you not to mention this to anyone?"

All of us shook our heads. "When will we be able to visit him, Professor?" Granger asked.

"That is up to the Healers, not me, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said gently. "I am sure that Mr. Weasley will send you news as soon as he has it. Severus, I think you should escort you students back to their dormitories. I have still have things to say to Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley."

Professor Snape nodded, then walked out of the room. Scowling ferociously, Pansy, Cassandra, and I followed him out onto the landing.

Hermione watched Snape lead the Slytherins out, absently admiring the way he moved. She was no longer embarrassed about her attraction to him, though she was nowhere close to admitting it to anyone else yet. When the door had shut behind them, she turned back to Professor Dumbledore. He was watching the two of them intently. Professor McGonagall had slipped out while Hermione wasn't looking, and she was left alone with the two males. Ron was still fuming from his confrontation with Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. Dumbledore waited for a long moment, then said quietly, "I had hoped that you would have put House grudges out of your minds by now."

"It's not just a House matter, Professor!" Ron said defensively. "Malfoy's always hated us!"

"But you did nothing to break the cycle of hate," Dumbledore chided gently.

"Neither did he," Ron said sulkily. Hermione looked down, and stayed prudently silent. Unfortunately, Dumbledore was smarter than she was, and he turned to her.

"And you, Miss Granger? Do you believe that Mr. Malfoy hates you?"

She bit her lip, wondering how she could answer diplomatically yet truthfully. Finally, she said, "Well, Harry and Malfoy don't seem to hate each other as much as they used to." It wasn't quite an outright lie, more an outrageous understatement.

Ron looked mutinous. "Malfoy's still a git, though," he said.

"But you must admit, Mr. Weasley, that Mr. Malfoy did a very courageous thing in speaking up. Many would not have, and Mr. Potter would be dead at this time."

"He was only afraid of getting in trouble," Ron said darkly.

Hermione, hoping that Ron would forgive her, waded into the fray. "He could just have run off and joined You-Know-Who, though," she said. "He might have wanted to try and avenge his family name, but he didn't."

"Oh yeah?" Ron demanded. "His parents are dead! He can't really go up to You-Know-Who and say, 'Oh, hi. Do you have any vacancies?' You-Know-Who'd probably do us a favor and kill him too."

"Yes," Dumbledore said gently. "Or he would have embraced Mr. Malfoy and turned him into his most loyal supporter."

"But Malfoy wouldn't go to You-Know-Who," Hermione burst out again, unable to control herself.

"How do you know?" Ron demanded.

She took a deep breath. "We wrote to each other for a while," she said. "I'm sure you remember." Ron made a face, indicating that, yes, he did remember quite well. "You can tell who someone is through their letters. And, well, Malfoy was most definitely not someone who was going to run off and join the Death Eaters. He hates them as much as we do. And do you really think that You-Know-Who's killing of his parents is going to make him more eager to join them?"

"Why are you defending him?" Ron demanded.

"Because he doesn't deserve your bigotry, Ron," Hermione said tiredly. "And I'm not saying that I want to become his best friend. I'm just saying that I doubt he's going off to join the Death Eaters."

Dumbledore nodded wisely. "Well said, Miss Granger. And now, I must ask you. What do the two of you know about Mr. Malfoy's relationship with Mr. Potter?"

"They hate each other," Ron said instantly.

Dumbledore looked at both of them, and Hermione could have sworn that his expression was almost disappointed. She wondered just how much he suspected. Did he know? Hermione herself was not going to tell him, if he didn't. Unfortunately, he wasn't asking her, he was commanding her. "Miss Granger?"

She sighed. "I suppose they must have learned to tolerate each other, or they'd never leave the hospital wing again."

Dumbledore nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "And when you communicated with Mr. Malfoy, what did you talk about?"

Hermione ground her mental teeth. He was trying to test her, and she didn't like it. But two could play at ignorance, and she answered, "Books. History. Muggle culture. Wizard traditions. Things I can't discuss with the boys." She shot a glance at Ron, who refused to meet her gaze.

Dumbledore sighed, and said, "Very well. I am sure that Mrs. Weasley will be coming to pick the two of you up and take you to the Burrow. We will speak again later. I suggest you start packing."

It was clear that they were dismissed. Both of them stood and left the room, leaving Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, his hands steepled and his eyes closed.

She should have been expecting it. It should have been totally obvious. But it wasn't. She hadn't been. And so the summons from Snape caught her completely by surprise. Ron, reading over her shoulder, groaned. "You're going to spend more time in that basement?" he said.

She shrugged. "I can't very well write back and tell him no thanks, I'm not interested, can I?"

"I suppose not. But try not to be too long, okay? Mum's going to be picking us up around four."

She rolled her eyes. "Ron, it's eleven o'clock. I'll be done long before four. I'll see you at lunch."

She slipped out of the Great Hall, and walked slowly down to the dungeons, trying to control her thoughts. He was probably just telling her that her project was finished and that he had no more need of her services. There was no reason for her to feel like this. But she did. Every single time she walked down these hallways, her heart would speed up, and she would spend her time fighting a blush. She'd told herself over and over again that it was nothing but a schoolgirl crush, but it never helped. She supposed that she should be glad that it was almost summer. At least she'd get away from him.

When she finally arrived at the door to the classroom, she was as composed as she was ever going to get. She raised a hand and knocked on the door. A muffled voice told her to come in, and she pushed the door open and stepped into the familiar room. She looked around as she waited patiently for him to finish grading whatever paper he was on, reflecting, a little sadly, on how this had become one of her favorite areas of Hogwarts. Ron and Harry would think her insane. But there was something soothing about being underground. She liked the feel of the slightly damp air of the dungeons, and the stone walls made her feel safe.

When he finally looked up from his paper, he scowled. "Are you waiting for something, Miss Granger?"

"You sent for me, sir," she replied, fighting not to get angry. Just because she had a crush on him didn't mean that he didn't aggravate her, even after all this time.

"I expected you simply to barge in and demand my presence."

"You trained me out of that. Are you saying that you don't want me to follow your training, sir?"

He didn't answer, only gestured shortly for her to take a seat. She did as he suggested, and tried to stop herself from asking why he wanted her here. He would tell her on his own time, and she hated giving him excuses to ridicule her.

At long last, he said, "I suppose you realize that your project with Mr. Malfoy is now finished?"

She nodded.

"And am I correct in supposing that you both wish to leave it where it is and not continue to experiment?"

She nodded again.

"Have you lost all capabilities of speech, Miss Granger?"

She started to shake her head, then caught herself, and said, "I am quite capable of speech, Professor."

"Good. Now, there is one thing left undiscussed. What will you do next year?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure that I understand, Professor."

He snorted. "I am sure you understand perfectly well, Miss Granger. I do not wish to repeat myself."

"I intend to come back for my seventh year and sit my NEWTs, sir," she answered slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"You will not go off with Potter?'

She sighed. "I don't think so. Harry's my best friend, but I don't think that I could bear to go off like that. My education's too important for me."

He sneered. "As usual, Miss Granger, you fail to see the entire picture. If Potter does not defeat the Dark Lord, do you think passing eleven NEWTs is going to affect your survival chances?"

"Are you telling me not to finish my education, Professor?" she asked carefully.

"I am telling you to consider the future of the world, not simply yourself," he snapped. "Personally, I have no preferences at all."

She carefully refrained from sighing. He wasn't done, though. "If you do choose to return, however, you will find a spot as my assistant has opened up. I would advise you to take it."

"I would like that, sir."

She got up to leave, wishing that she could think of a way to thank him properly for everything he'd done for her. He'd taught her more in this one year than she had ever imagined learning, and accepting a position as his assistant didn't seem like enough.

"Do you want something more, Miss Granger?" he asked sharply.

"I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for us this year," she said, secretly pleased at the thunderstruck expression that flickered across his face.

"I have done no more than any other year, Miss Granger."

"You taught me more than I could ever have hoped to learn on my own," Hermione pointed out.

"I am a teacher. I was simply doing my job."

"Even so, thank you." She walked out of the room before he could think of something else to say, shutting the door behind her. She leaned against the door, finally allowing a grin to spread over her face.