"Merlin, Cal, you look terrible," Harry said, the next morning, despite the fact that his own hair looked like it was on the losing end of a tussle against an electrical outlet. "Did you even sleep last night?"

"I -"

"Wha' are you - Whoa, Merlin! Harry wasn't joking," Draco cut in, as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. "Merlin's beard, an inferius would look flattering next to you." He shuddered delicately. "This is almost too much, this early in the morning. I'm not sure there are any spells I know that can fix -" he made a general gesture in Callidus's direction, "that."

"I -" Callidus began again, feeling like he had a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue, but his mind felt like it was stuffed full of scratchy wool, and were those bugs crawling all over Draco's face? He blinked, and the black dots vanished. Not bugs after all. Merlin, he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and -

"C'mon, Cal, or we'll be late for breakfast." Harry padded over towards him, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.

"Nhhuh -" Callidus groaned.

He heard a puff of laughter escape Harry's lips. "I don't think I've ever seen you like this." Harry examined his face. "Those fifth years didn't do anything to you, did they?" His green eyes narrowed.

It took several moments for Callidus to make sense of the words, but eventually, he shook his head.

"Oh. Good." Harry's protection expression slipped into an affectionate grin. "C'mon. Get up. We've got a spare block after lunch and you can come back and nap then. But I don't think you'll be happy with yourself if you miss classes."

With another groan, Callidus dragged himself out of bed, wobbling on his feet. Only the fact that his weight was half-propped against the bed kept him from toppling over. He made his way towards the shared bathroom and managed to straighten out his hair, though the idea of using the Grease-B-Gone potion felt like far too much work.

To his side, he heard Draco muttering something, and he was vaguely aware that Draco's wand was pointed at him. Moments later, he felt a refreshing feeling on his skin that reminded him of mint, and then Draco declared: "Better. At least the sight of your face won't traumatize the first years now."

Callidus narrowed his eyes at Draco. It was too difficult to sort out whether Draco was being an arse, or if Draco was being helpful, so he just remained silent, causing Draco to roll his eyes.

"We had better get down to the Great Hall. You might have a halfway functioning mind if you, you know, eat something."

"Yeah," Harry piped up. "You're going to scare all our professors if you go to class like that." He grinned. "Considering the fact that we're Slytherins, they'll probably assume we spent the night torturing you."

Draco snorted. "They would, wouldn't they. Prejudiced, the whole lot of them."

Callidus didn't feel hungry, but he was in no state of mind to argue with his friends. Besides, moving around was making him feel a bit more awake, and he recognized the wisdom of trying to act normal, rather than drifting around like a mindless ghoul.

Down in the Great Hall, Callidus's mind turned all the sounds around him to a blurry hum that was thankfully easy to tune out. But as he spotted Hermione, Caiside and Ginny at the Gryffindor table, he was reminded that he wanted to tell them something. Something about - Mind magic! That's what it was.

It took him a few seconds to realize that the girls were giving him puzzled and worried looks, and when he felt Harry tugging at his sleeve, he realized that he had probably been staring at them in an awkwardly mindless manner. Good thing he was too dazed to be embarrassed.

Somehow (probably with the help of his friends), he made his way over to the Slytherin table, and managed to force a few bites of food down his throat when the owl post arrived. A letter swooped down to land on his lap and he flinched. Peering down at the letter, he missed the funny looks that the other second years were giving him from flinching due to such an ordinary occurrence as receiving a letter.

He felt Harry leaning towards him, their shoulders pressing. "Who is it from?"

Callidus held up the letter. "Wystan."

Harry hummed as Callidus broke the seal to the letter. Reading was no easy feat in Callidus's exhausted state. His eyes followed the lines of script but it took more than one reading for the meaning behind the sentences to sink in. But it was the last sentence in Wystan's first paragraph that caught his eyes, and sent a jolt of wakefulness through him.

Some of what I'm writing to you is, well, not speculation, but not verified fact either, Wystan wrote. It's something one of my researcher friends has stumbled upon. Either way, it might be best if you read this letter when you're on your own, rather than in the Great Hall, like I'm imagining you doing, with Harry and Draco peeking over your shoulder (not that I don't trust them.)

Callidus looked to his left, and indeed, Harry was peering down at the words. Callidus shook his head, lips crooked upwards in amusement. Nonetheless, he decided to heed Wystan's advice, and folded up the letter, raising his eyebrows at Harry as he did so, as if daring Harry to comment. But Harry only mirrored his motions before giving Callidus a grin, and returning his attention to his hearty breakfast with his usual enthusiasm.

The day passed by at a crawl, with Callidus barely able to focus on any of his lessons. He was grateful for both Harry and Draco, who were willing to give him a sharp jab of the elbow whenever his eyes started to glaze over. It was good fortune that he didn't lose the Slytherins any House points for carelessness. He even remembered to send a note off to the Gryffindors about mind magics and the Janus Thickey ward at St Mungos, once he had a much-needed afternoon nap.

By the end of the day, had forgotten all about Wystan's letter. It wasn't until the following day, when he felt the crinkled texture of parchment in his pocket, that he remembered.

Callidus finally found the opportunity to read the letter in History of Magic. It wasn't ideal; after all, it was hardly private. But both Draco and Harry had dozed off, and anyone who was able to resist the soporific effect of Professor Binns voice were either at the front of the class attempting to take notes, or were preoccupied with their own activities, like whispered gossip, note-passing, or doodling funny little designs on parchment.

With a mistrustful glance over his shoulder to ensure his privacy, Callidus pulled out the letter and unfolded it. He skipped over the greeting. Somehow, despite the passage of months, Wystan managed to remain just as cloyingly enthusiastic about Calypso as he had months before. It was about halfway through the letter that he caught a hint of anything that wasn't Calypso related.

The situation with the Orange Madness has been growing progressively worse. I'm sure you've read about it in the Prophet. There's no better time to stoke fears than now (I'm assuming you know about the bill that's being proposed? Of course you do. Silly of me to even ask.) What are your thoughts on it? I'm curious to know. Slytherins who don't conform often have the most interesting opinions, don't you think?

I admit that I'm troubled by it. Well, of course I would be. Calypso is a muggleborn. I shudder to think of what she would have to suffer if the Ministry forced her to register herself, and when I consider the sort of people who would use such information, well, it's an all-round poor idea. But for all my connections (even the ones in powerful places), I find my opinion in the minority - at least among pure-bloods. And, hardly a surprise, it's either the rich or the pure-blood who hold most of the power in our world. I'm trying, in my own way, to speak out against it, but it's rather like shouting in a thunderstorm. Times like these make me feel rather cynical about the state of our world. I hate to be such a person.

But there are other things that hint at greater troubles. I hesitate to put this to paper. As it stands, it's barely a step up from conjecture. And you can't tell anyone of this (anyone had been underlined for emphasis). I'd be in a world of trouble for spreading what some would consider an outlandish and dangerous idea. It's only that I trust you, and trust your analytical mind, and your unique perceptions, that I mention this to you. From the moment we met, I had a good feeling about you, and my sense of people has never really led me astray (I may be bragging a bit here).

I've mentioned before that my advocacy group, FLAME, has put me in touch with a wide network of connections, and that we have researchers exploring ideas that magical society hesitates to explore. One of the teams connected to us has learned something disturbing. We've yet to do repeat tests to prove that it's true (and I've a feeling that some of us feel it's better to let this alone.) We may have stumbled upon something greater than ourselves.

Bear in mind that this isn't a firm fact. But we have reason to believe that the Orange Madness may not be a natural disease - that it may have been created. If this is true, the implications are horrifying.

Callidus paused his reading, his mind racing with questions. Who? And Why? Could it be true? It seemed like a conspiracy - a cruel one - but who had the most to gain from it? The immediate answer was purebloods, but his mind shied away from the thought of painting purebloods with the same broad stroke. If he had learned anything from being a Slytherin, it was that purebloods were, in many ways, just like everyone else, with the same ordinary and everyday concerns and desires. Only a naive Gryffindor would believe that pureblood Slytherins spent their days plotting the downfall of muggleborns and their ilk.

But then, what about people like the elder Malfoy? People who write up bills in order to limit the rights of muggleborns? Callidus shivered.

He scanned over the rest of the letter. But aside from offering more details about his work at FLAME, Wystan had provided no more information. It was frustrating. Callidus wanted details. But he could understand why Wystan would be uncomfortable relaying such details in a letter.

With a sigh, he folded up his letter, and set it aside with all his other letters from Wystan. (It wasn't that Callidus was sentimental; but Wystan often offered interesting facts and tidbits in his letters that Callidus wanted to remember.) As interesting as the information was, he hoped it wasn't true. He hoped there weren't people out there calloused and cruel enough to inflict a disease upon others, because as much as Callidus acted as though he believed the worst in people, this was a new and despicable low.

Wystan's speculations soon proved to be impossible to chase from Callidus's mind. He worried at it, his thoughts flowing over rough edges like water over stones. But he couldn't bring himself to share the information with his friends. It felt too much like a Pandora's box, and like Wystan, it was something he dared not let loose.

He watched the people around him, realizing that while it was unlikely that they might have anything to do with the disease, they might know someone who knew something. The wizarding world was certainly small enough that that was more than probable.

At the trio's next ARMED meeting, the idea, like a veil across his eyes, had suffused Callidus's perception to the point that he found himself paying far closer attention to Rowle's words than usual. Merlin, was she ever hateful. Of course, Rowle was careful to couch her words in terms that, on the surface, made her seem moderate; kind, even. But it was as if she carefully chose her phrases with the very purpose of inciting the others, of flaming their hate.

"I'm sure the muggleborns don't intend anything," Rowle was saying, as the older students grumbled about the Orange Madness, prior to the start of the actual meeting.

"They don't even have to intend anything for their terrible presence to harm us!" one of the boys growled. "Their very existence is a threat. A terrible, terrible threat."

"And yet, I'm sure they don't realize it," Rowle said, falsely placating.

"That just makes it worse!" a seventh year girl cried. "They're like - like sick plague beasts, carrying their horrible infections wherever they go!"

"I imagine they don't want to be thought of as beasts," Rowle mused.

Next to him, Callidus heard Harry make a low and angry sound. He glanced over at his friend, whose jaw was clenched tight, and whose temple seemed to throb.

"They probably think that they are just like everyone else," Rowle finished. "How could they know any better, or see any different?"

Callidus wondered how it was possible for a person to be so condescending. He could imagine a person like Rowle wanting to create a disease for the purpose of wiping out muggleborns. He could easily see how someone like her would think that what she was doing was 'for their own good,' that she was somehow helping to strengthen and better the wizarding world. But at the same time, Rowle also struck him a being more cunning than bright. Callidus couldn't envision Rowle as a person with the theoretical knowledge to make a disease that predominantly affected muggleborns. But he could imagine her knowing people who might. Narrowing his eyes, he decided to take note of Rowle's connections. It could prove to be important.

His thoughts gave him the means to decouple his feelings from the situation. His thoughts were more plans than mere thoughts. But as Callidus glanced over at Harry once again, it was clear that Harry wasn't distancing himself from the scene before them. If he didn't know Harry - if he didn't realize that Harry had one of the most generous and kind hearts in all of Slytherin - Callidus would have described the look in Harry's eyes as being murderous. It made his hairs stand on end.

He lightly elbowed Harry's side, causing Harry to start, and turn his bright green eyes upon Callidus, brows drawn and expression still dark. Callidus didn't know what to say to diffuse Harry's anger. Words like: 'don't take her seriously' sounded trite. Instead, he looked over at Rowle, before looking back at Harry and rolled his eyes.

Harry stiffened, but moments later, the tension in his muscles uncoiled, and he gave Callidus a half-hearted smile.

"She's never going to see her humiliation coming," Harry said, soft enough that only Callidus could hear. Callidus nodded in agreement, though it was more from relief that Harry was only planning humiliation and not anything more brutal and final, as his face had earlier suggested. He felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn't been helping Harry with any plans to prank Rowle - there were other, more pressing issues that demanded his attention - but he could at least show his support.

Once everyone was gathered, the ARMED meeting finally began. The meetings had been increasingly challenging in December before their break. The Forbidden Forest was dangerous enough, and the weather harsh enough that the trio hadn't had any opportunities to practice the new magics they were learning in their meetings. With every new meeting, they felt as though they were falling behind, as though each new topic was a wave of information coming so fast that comprehension was being drowned.

But their Christmas break had offered them a much-needed respite. Though under-aged witches and wizards technically weren't permitted to practice magic outside of school, they all stayed in magical homes, and were free to practice to their heart's content. This meant that they finally had a chance to try out the multitude of spells that had been offered to them in ARMED meetings. Which further meant that when they returned to Hogwarts, they finally felt prepared to face the storm of information that Rowle threw at them.

At the end of their meeting, Harry's words mirrored his thoughts. "As much as I hate Rowle, ARMED meetings have been a lot more fun lately."

"When are we finally going to find this supposed secret chamber of yours?" Draco demanded. "It's intolerable to think that a Malfoy would be disadvantaged in anyway, and not being able to practice our spells in secret, well -" Draco scowled, as though not daring to put to words the idea of a Malfoy actually being disadvantaged.

Harry glanced upwards and chewed at his lip. "Well, we're almost finished searching the entire first floor. We can start looking on the second floor soon. But -" he knit his brows.

"But?" Callidus prodded.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. I -" he paused to sort out his thoughts. "For some reason, I can't shake the idea that the secret chamber is below ground. I was so sure that we'd find the entrance in either the basement or first floor. The higher we search, the more I start to -" he pursed his lips.

"You're not having doubts now, are you, Harry?" Draco asked, dismayed. "After all the time we spent searching because you were so sure?"

Harry stopped in his steps, and both Callidus and Draco turned to look at him, trying to read the many expressions that flitted across Harry's face. In the end, a look of resolve seemed to win the emotional battle.

"I'm sure it's there," Harry affirmed. "It has to be."

-o-

The weeks of January flew by with a hazy indistinctness that came from having too many things to do, and too little time to do them. Callidus had told his Gryffindor friends about the link between Rosalind Hoyt, the Janus Thickey ward, and mind magic, which had caused Hermione's eyes to alight with an intense and unbridled fascination. It had almost been amusing, watching the way she made lightning fast connections in her brain, as well as the moment she realized she was being insensitive, and attempted to shutter her enthusiasm, as if it would spare Callidus's feelings. Instead of being upset, he had just smirked at her, and made a gibe about the sorting hat's mistake of putting her in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw. And though Hermione still hadn't found any answers, she agreed that Callidus should diligently practice his meditations.

He was also slowly working through the ingredients that Madam Filodoxos had given him, but his owl-sight experimentations only served to make him dizzy, or worse, disoriented and nauseated (and on one occasion he blacked out for a span of ten minutes, but thankfully he had been alone in his lab and no one had witnessed his embarrassment). The situation of the Orange Madness, the sense of urgency he felt about the new bill, the fear in people's eyes - all these things only served to drive his impatience, and push his risk tolerance. Callidus knew he wasn't necessarily making good decisions, but it was hard to stop himself. He felt like he had accomplished more with himself last year than he had thus far this year. Shouldn't he have been making progress? Pushing the limits of knowledge? Yes, he had figured out how to effectively vapourize potions, but that hadn't actually been an original idea; it simply an idea that other researchers had abandoned, which he willingly picked up. Callidus's passion for potions remained strong, but he was disheartened.

It was already mid-month. Callidus and Harry were walking through the long corridor that led towards the west tower of the Owlery, absent Draco, as usual. For reasons that Callidus had yet to understand, Draco seemed to have an aversion to walking beyond those steps that were necessary to get from here to there. It wasn't that Draco was lazy. Callidus's brows formed a furrow, and he decided that nevermind, Draco was rather lazy. If Draco could have replaced all the chairs and desks in the school with sofas, then he'd likely spend his days in contented indolence. If it was considered socially acceptable to traverse the halls on his broom, then Draco would have done so. A smile curled his lips.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry asked, as though sensing that some amusement was being kept from him.

"Draco's laziness," Callidus answered.

Harry grinned. "Well, he sees his owl all the time in the Great Hall. He hasn't got a reason to go to the Owlery. Besides, I think he said he wanted to visit Norberta. I think it makes him a bit cross that we don't love her as much as he does. But unlike Norberta, at least Hedwig isn't liable to burn me to a crisp. And, Hedwig actually lets me touch her."

Callidus smirked. "Vanity, Harry. Draco is vain. His name means 'dragon.' Norberta is a dragon. And by the miracle of Draco's enormous ego alone, he has successfully manipulated his own love for himself into some sort of narcissistic affection for the dragon."

Harry's lips twitched upwards and he rolled his eyes. "Or maybe, Draco just loves dragons."

Callidus said. "As I said. Self love. You've seen the way he gazes at himself in the mirror. Can you deny it?"

"Yeah, but that's just Draco." Harry shrugged cheerfully. "It's who he is. And besides, I know you don't actually dislike Draco for it."

Callidus didn't answer. He wasn't about to openly admit that Draco's quirks were endearing. Callidus didn't find things endearing. Just tolerable. Or so he told himself.

After a turning a corner, and climbing up a flight of stairs, Harry said: "I do wish that Draco would think of nicer pranks."

Callidus arched his brows. He had heard Harry and Draco bickering, but months upon months of practice had enabled him to perfect the useful art of tuning them out.

"People are scared and anxious because of the Orange Madness," Harry continued. "How is it going to make anyone feel any better to erupt in hair, or be bitten by their course books, or - or have their eyes fall out?"

Callidus's eyebrows shot up. "Eyes fall out."

Harry huffed. "Draco said it wouldn't be painful. Their eyes would just dangle for a while and then after a time, pop back in."

"Everything I hear just makes it sound worse. Does Draco have some unspoken desire to be expelled?"

"I don't know!" Harry cried. "He almost made it sound funny when he described it. But when you put it like that -" he trailed off, worrying at his lower lip.

"Draco's upbringing makes it hard for him to see things from others' perspectives," Callidus said, just as they stepped into the Owlery, his nose wrinkling at the familiar earthy odour, and the feeling of bird dust on his skin.

Harry called for Hedwig, as Callidus pulled out a reply to Wystan's letter to give to one of the school owls. Wystan had been persistently tight-lipped about revealing more details regarding the possible man-made nature of the Orange Madness, but Callidus still enjoyed corresponding with him. Despite the gap in their years, Wystan never treated him as anything less than an equal, and Wystan offered an interesting insider perspective on the outside world. Beyond that, Wystan was one of the few people who could patiently listen as Callidus ranted about his potions progress (or lack thereof.)

"So, no ideas for our next prank?" Callidus asked, once the school owl had departed, letter firmly secured.

Harry looked up at Callidus, his hand pausing from scratching Hedwig's head, before starting again when she insistently butted at his fingers. "I don't lack ideas," he eventually said. "But having an idea, and having an idea that's doable isn't the same thing."

Callidus nodded sympathetically.

"I mean, I was thinking -" Harry abruptly cut himself off, freezing like a victim petrified by a gorgon.

Worried, Callidus took a step towards his friend. "Harry?"

Harry blinked. "It worked!"

Brows knitted, Callidus asked: "What worked?"

"A spell I found over the break when I was looking through the Malfoy library."

"You willingly spent your break in a library?"

Harry scowled good-naturedly. "I don't mind books. I just prefer interesting ones. Ones that are useful for pranking."

Callidus's lips tilted in an amused smile. "Ah. Of course."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Anyway. I found an old an obscure spell called Spider Ears." He paused. "Did you know that spiders don't actually have ears? They hear using the vibration of the hairs on their bodies."

"That's a - very Hermione-like tangent."

Harry grinned, taking the remark like a compliment. "It's true! Anyway, I can sorta understand why the spell isn't very popular. Spiders' sense of hearing is like trying to listen to a conversation in another room by pressing your ears against a wall. Gives you a bit of a headache. But it seemed like a useful spell."

"Has Draco been using the spell as well?" Callidus asked. Just how much knowledge did Harry have squirreled away behind that guileless smile?

A shadow of uncertainty crossed Harry's face. "He - erm - doesn't know."

Callidus's eyes widened. "You haven't told him?" Though it was a wise choice (Draco couldn't help gleefully trying to abuse power, whenever he had the opportunity), Callidus hadn't thought Harry would be the sort to keep secrets.

Harry shook his head, lips pursed miserably. Callidus decided not to push him. He trusted Harry. Trusted Harry's intentions.

"So. I'm guessing you used the Spider Ears spell."

The cloudiness of Harry's expression cleared and Harry nodded. "Yeah. Actually, it was to help you."

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't easy - you can't just order a spider to go where you want, or listen to what you tell it to. Spider's just - erm - do their spider thing. Make webs. Eat bugs."

Callidus's eyebrows lifted as he patiently waited for Harry to meander around to the point.

"So I've been fiddling around with the spell since I found it in December," Harry continued. "You know, people are actually really quite boring. They spend far too much time talking about due dates. Anyway, I had to use two spells in the end. One to be able to hear what spiders hear. And the other to identify my targets." Harry's eye's met Callidus's. "The fifth years were my targets. The ones that have been bothering you."

Callidus's eyes widened. "You've been listening in on their conversations? Have you - What have you learned?"

Harry gave him a rueful smile. "First, that Rosalind girl is really bossy. And that Alphie person is really creepy. Really. Creepy." An exaggerated shudder coursed through Harry's body. "But honestly, most of the time they talk about school, or gossip about other fifth years. And whinge about McGonagall. I don't think any of them are much good at Transfigurations."

"So, they haven't said anything about me?"

Harry shook his head. "Not really. Though -" his brows wrinkled, "that Alphie person is always asking the Rosalind girl 'when are we going to do it?' I'm not sure what he means by 'it.' It doesn't sound like - erm - girlfriend boyfriend stuff, since he usually asks the question when the four of them are together."

Callidus furrowed his brows.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "the spell activated just then. It took ages to figure out how to get it to activate to the voices of those fifth years. And they said something. Maybe it means nothing. But -"

"But?"

Harry's eyes met Callidus. "They said something about 'doing it.' Tonight."

Callidus's inhaled sharply, a burst of anxiety causing his guts to lurch. It took him a moment to realize Harry's intent expression on his face.

"Cal. That day a week or so ago, when you were really tired. Were you staying up all night?"

Callidus looked away, and nodded.

Harry's eyes widened. "So -"

"They didn't do anything to me," Callidus interrupted. "But I suspected they might, so I didn't sleep."

Harry paused to turn the words over in his mind. "So, do you dream about them or something? Or are they doing something to you in your sleep."

Callidus exhaled. "That's the odd thing. I've never dreamed about them. I don't know what they've done to me. Aside from the connection to mind magics, I haven't been able to make sense of anything. I didn't even realize I was avoiding Hermione and that lot until Caiside confronted me about it." He shook his head, frustrated with himself.

A few moments later, Harry said: "I think I've heard them reference dreams before. But they didn't say anything very meaningful, so it might not have been related. I'm sorry, Cal."

Callidus shook his head. "Don't be. If anything -" his eyes met his friend's, "Thank you. You've done far more than I would have expected."

Harry only rolled his eyes, smiling now. "You act like you're surprised that I'm making an effort to be a good friend."

Callidus shrugged, now smiling as well. "You have to admit, you're not the most Slytherin Slytherin in our House."

"Maybe it just means that I'm full of unseen depths?" Harry suggested impishly.

Callidus paused before answering. Harry may have given the impression of artlessness, but as a friend and brother, Callidus knew that Harry had depths that even he didn't understand. With a smile, he said: "Maybe."

A/N: I really appreciate the reviews and encouragement! This story may not be as structured and tight as I would like, but it's still been a pretty fun ride, even if the path has been rather meandering :)