Life advice: Don't promise to update things when you have assignments due. And then don't avoid doing those assignments by spending far too much time on thehexfiles. And definitely don't make unreasonable promises to update your wattpad stories too, still while ignoring your assignments. And then don't get to a week before the assignments are due, panic, and install a website-blocker plugin to force yourself to stop procrastinating. Actually, do that last one, but don't get into a position where you have to do that… Basically, guys, just do your damn homework.

Harry passed through the wards outside his apartment, barely noticing as they rippled over his skin, and made his way inside. A note whizzed past his head as soon as he had shut the door behind him. He plucked it out of the air.

Sorry, mate, Harry read in Ron's hasty scrawl. We're going to have to cancel tonight. 'Mione's feeling sick. Did you know it can last all day? Why do they bloody call it morning sickness if it lasts all day? We'll have dinner another night though, yeah? I'll owl you.

Harry crumpled the note and threw it in the bin without looking. He hadn't been particularly looking forward to dinner, so he couldn't say he was upset it had been canceled on him, but now that the night stretched ahead of him with nothing to fill it, he couldn't say he was looking forward to that either.

He pulled out a bottle of Ogden's Old and poured himself a glass. He downed it quickly and cast a glance at the clock, wondering if six o'clock was too soon to go to sleep. Unfortunately, the answer was a clear 'yes'. He poured another glass and took it into the living room. After several minutes of silence overpowered by the ticking of the clock, he muttered a quick "accio" and caught the book that whizzed into his outstretched hand.

At first glance, it looked like an ordinary cookbook. A little dated, filled with quick and easy recipes, most likely gifted to someone for their first venture out of their parents' home. Certainly no longer necessary for an experienced twenty four year old. If you were to look inside it would appear much the same, except you would have a sudden and overpowering urge to do the ironing. Or the laundry. Or anything that meant you weren't there, right now, reading that book.

Harry was rather pleased with how his cloaking spell had worked. Even as he felt the leather case beneath his fingertips and turned the spidery pages of the spell-book, he felt a vague compulsion to do the dishes. He shook it off and turned to where he had last stopped reading: Cruciatus And Its Variants.

He had discovered the spellbook in Grimmauld place when he had spent several months moping there alone. It was around the time of his third year working for the Ministry, just before he had been assigned to work with Malfoy and bought his new apartment. It was during one of his first major cases - since his first two years of work were comprised of academy training - and he had been moping because the case had shocked him more than he was willing to admit.

At the time, Voldemort's reign of terror was recent enough that there were still a number of pockets of Death Eaters plotting to continue his work, and it had been just such a case that had nearly tipped Harry over the edge. It wasn't the Death Eaters that had shocked him - Harry figured very little could shock him in that respect - it was how the Ministry had handled it. Instead of investigating what the Death Eaters were working on, they had quarantined it, dismantled the spells without looking closely at what they were, and closed the case. When Harry had questioned why no one was making sure nothing further could come of the Death Eater's work, he had been politely but firmly told that the study of dark magic had no place in the Auror department. If there was reasonable cause to believe that the plot was bigger than the evidence before them, they could call in the Curse Breakers who could compile a report for a Dark magic expert. However, due to the infrequent need for such an expert and the necessity for the expert to be under constant surveillance to ensure they had not succumbed to the thrall of their dark magic, there were few available in Britain. Harry was informed that this case was not high profile enough to require such a complicated procedure.

So he went home and sulked. How could the Ministry hope to control what they didn't understand? And where was the trust? Surely if more people were aware of how dark magic worked, there would be less secrecy and less temptation? Learning about the spells wasn't the same as learning how to cast them. But he had known he would get nowhere with that particular argument, and so he hadn't bothered.

It was as he was sorting through belongings in the attic, trying to find items that had belonged to Sirius and items that could be discarded entirely, that he had stumbled on the book. Typically, there had been no attempt to hide it. Why would one hide a dark artifact in a house of Black? It had been simply tossed at the bottom of an old chest along with a number of magical items and forgotten. It had no title, but when Harry opened it he quickly realised it held a collection of spells that were beyond dark. Accounts of forgotten rites - performed by long dead ancestors - blood magic, and variations of the Unforgivables that spoke of a level of finesse that Harry was certain only Voldemort had held. Like a form of cruciatus that could be contained to singular organs, so the victim was forced to watch as their intestines dribbled slowly from between their legs.

Harry had quickly realised that the Dark Arts they had learned about at Hogwarts was child's play. And yet, as an Auror, he was expected to know nothing about the kind of curses he could be subjected to. And worse still, he was expected to turn a blind eye to anyone with dark magic potential, unless he could prove that they posed a threat on a national scale. And even then, he was expected to turn the evidence over to some crazy kook who spent their lives under strict Ministry observation.

Harry had spent the last four years quietly researching as much about the Dark Arts as he could without drawing attention to himself. It started out of righteous indignation, followed quickly by curiosity, until soon he found himself unable to stop collecting dark paraphernalia. His apartment was littered with so many cloaking spells and concealment charms that it was a wonder people could step foot inside with feeling an overwhelming desire to run home and sweep.

He had never told Ron or Hermione about his collection, because he had known they would worry about his health in such close proximity to so much dark magic, particularly after the effect the Horcruxes had had on all of them. Harry was sure it was perfectly fine - for starters, none of the items contained anyone's soul - but he didn't want to have that argument. And even when he had become friendly enough with Malfoy to feel comfortable talking about something like this, he hadn't mentioned it. Mostly because if the Ministry discovered that Malfoy had anything to do with the kind of items Harry carried, Harry was sure Malfoy would end up with a life sentence in Azkaban. But also because, by that point, the secrecy had become a habit. He liked having his books and artifacts to come home to, knowing that they were his. Only his. It gave him a thrill when nothing else seemed to anymore.

He had to admit though, after hearing Malfoy's knowledge about those potions, he wished he could discuss it with him. Potions was something he had never looked into deeply, and Malfoy seemed to know a lot about it, naturally.

A shiver suddenly ran through Harry as he felt someone trying to enter his wards. He recognised Malfoy on the other side and let him through the Floo, quickly sending the book back to the bookshelf where it rested innocuously among the other recipe books.

Malfoy stepped through and dusted ash from his pants. "Living it up, I see, Potter," he said casually as he finished brushing the now imaginary dirt from his clothing. "I thought-" he stopped suddenly as his eyes came to rest on Harry. His gaze became aware in a way that Harry realised - to his discomfort - he hadn't seen in years. "What are you doing?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry snapped, thinking warily of the book. There was no possible way Malfoy had seen him shelve it, and Malfoy had been to his apartment several times. There was no reason for him to detect the concealment charms now.

"You're hiding something," Malfoy said, looking around the room as if he could spot the offending item. To Harry's relief, he couldn't. After several long seconds, Malfoy turned back to Harry, his eyes narrowed.

"You're mental," Harry said lightly. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Malfoy paused for another beat before preening. "I came to tell you that I'm already ahead of you on the score board."

"What?"

"I'm on a date, Romeo."

"Why, Malfoy, I had no idea," Harry said lazily, stretching back in his chair. "You should have told me this was a date. I would have bought you flowers."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Please, stop, you're killing me," he said drily. "We're meeting at the restaurant now. I just thought I would drop by to tell you that you're already failing miserably."

"I appreciate the thought," Harry said. "But I've got a date too."

"Oh, really?" Malfoy said, one eyebrow raised. "My mistake, I thought your right hand already had plans this evening."

Harry smirked and casually flicked his wand. "Diagon Alley at seven?" he told the silvery stag before it galloped away.

"That is inappropriate use of a patronus, Potter."

Harry made a rude noise with his lips. "It's convenient."

"Well I'll leave you to pine for your imaginary date, shall I?" Malfoy said with a sneer, just as silvery hare bounded enthusiastically into the room.

"That sounds lovely, Harry," the hare spoke with a gentle and attractive female voice. "Heels or flats?"

Malfoy frowned. "That voice sounds familiar," he muttered.

"Don't you need to be somewhere?" Harry asked.

Malfoy swore and jumped back into the fire. "Have fun on your date, Potter," he said with a smirk, although he still looked annoyed that Harry had pulled a date so quickly.

When Malfoy left, Harry quickly changed, ran a comb haphazardly through his hair, and apparated to Diagon Alley to meet Luna.

It didn't take long to spot her. She was wearing a short green dress with several layers of ruffles matched with bright purple heels. She also had a pair sneakers laced together and slung around her neck.

"Hiya, Harry," she said with a smile, waving and walking over to him. "You didn't specify, so I brought both."

Harry smiled, unable to help himself. "I think the shoes you're wearing on your feet look great," he said. "Unless they're uncomfortable. The sneakers are quite nice too, and I thought we'd have a relaxed dinner, not too fancy, so it'd be fine to wear them."

"Wonderful," Luna said, waving her hand and vanishing the sneakers. "I'll keep the heels for now. I can always switch later if my feet get sore. How have you been, Harry?" She linked her arm through his and let Harry lead them down Diagon Alley to a small restaurant he liked to go with his less snobbish dates.

They settled themselves in a corner, Luna complimenting the old oak tables, and ordered dinner and wine. Harry filled Lunda in on the case and Luna described in great detail the unsightly rash that was spreading through St Mungoes.

"But it's nothing to worry about," she assured him. "None of the Healers have caught it yet, so I'm sure I won't pass it on to you."

"Glad to hear it," Harry said faintly, contemplating whether he wanted to continue eating his steak and kidney pie. He decided he did and took a big mouthful.

"But, Harry," Luna said, gazing up thoughtfully at the chandelier which was glistening in the candlelight that emanated from the many tables. "You still haven't told me what's bothering you."

Harry grinned ruefully. He should have known Luna would guess something was wrong. "Malfoy thinks that someone at the Ministry might have something to do with these potions," he said, explaining briefly about the way the potions had acted at the Ministry building when there shouldn't have been any other smuggled goods there yet. Not to mention the forty-nine flying immunity potions that mysteriously joined the one from the car. "We're not really sure where to go from here."

"You could always check the secret passageways?" she suggested. "If I were hiding smuggled goods in the Ministry, that's where I would hide them."

Harry stared at her. "What passageways?"

"Oh, haven't you heard of them?" Luna asked, turning her attention away from the chandelier and back to Harry. "The building is full of them. You see, the building belonged to the Wizards' Council until 1707 when they were replaced by the Ministry of Magic. And it wasn't until ten years after that that the Ministry officially declared the Unforgivables as Unforgivables and closed down the departments dedicated to dark magic. But-"

"Dedicated to what?" Harry burst out.

"Dark magic, Harry," Luna said patiently. "Not to practice, of course, but to research and develop counter spells and shields. In 1707 the Ministry declared the work of the Dark Magic departments complete. They thought we had enough defensive spells, and there was therefore no reason to keep the departments open any longer. So they shut them all down, but the old members of the Wizards' Council complained that their work was being destroyed and kept working in secret, even when the departments were bricked up and locked away by magic. Of course, the Ministry eventually realised what they were doing and banished them, but no one ever found the passageways."

Harry shook his head slowly. "And what makes you think I will?"

"Well, someone already must have if they're hiding things in them," Luna said calmly. "And you found the Chamber of Secrets. I think you have a decent chance."

Harry laughed, still shocked. "How do you know all this?"

Luna's eyes widened innocently. "I thought everyone did."

They moved onto other, lighter topics and finished the meal.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Harry," Luna said, giving him a kiss on the cheek as they prepared to apparate back home.

"You too, Luna," Harry said, smiling warmly. "I had a great time."

Luna nodded thoughtfully. "I think you did," she said. "Although you still haven't told me what's bothering you."

Harry frowned. "Yes I did," he said.

Luna shook her head. "You thought you did, but that wasn't it."

Harry shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable under Luna's watchful gaze. "Maybe it's wrackspurts," he said lightly.

Luna laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry. No wrackspurt would go anywhere near you when you're feeling like this. You're far too negative, even for a wrackspurt." She patted his arm gently. "But don't worry, I'm sure you'll figure it out. We should do this again soon, it was good to see you."

"Yeah, you too," Harry muttered, his head suddenly feeling fuzzy and uncomfortable.

Luna disapparated, leaving him alone in Diagon Alley. He disapparated quickly home and tried to forget the gentle concern in Luna's voice and the disturbed sensation it had left in him. He eventually succeeded enough to fall asleep.