Author's Note:I went to the beach and broke my laptop. It isn't fixed, but .x.X..x.X.x. gave me the extra push I needed to write this anyways. Thanks.

Disclaimer:Yes. No. Maybe so. What's the answer? You'll never know! (The answer's no.)

Warning: Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash.

(***Ronald Weasley***)

Ron sat in his Divination: The Final Chapter class with a scowl. Sure, he would get the duel with Harry in front of tons of people and undoubtedly kick his arse, but what if Hermione still felt sympathy for Harry after that? What if she didn't realize that she loved Ron until it was too late? What if she realized it after Harry got her pregnant. His face twisted a bit more at that. No. That wouldn't happen. Harry probably couldn't even get it up, anyhow. He was just that stupid. Yet Ron was the Hermione-less one right now while Harry got to sit beside her and Transfigure things. He hadn't taken the class because he had been Transfigured into a dung beetle for three whole days last year because no one could find him. After that, he had sworn off of Transfiguring.

"And what do you see?" Miss Trelawny, with her huge glasses and to small face, was right next to Ron. He glanced up from the tea cup that he'd been glaring into to see the whole class staring at him.

"Um, death?" Predicting bad things always got him good grades. She gasped, quickly snatching up his cup to see for herself.

"Oh, my… You are in terrible danger!" She looked up at him, her eyes seeming ten times bigger than they really were under her too-large spectacles, before slowly setting his cup down. "We are all in terrible danger!" The small woman scurried around the room, picking up every cup and going faster every time. As she looked into the final cup, her body went rigid. The small glass fell from her hands almost in slow motion, crashing to the ground and splashing the tea leaves on the hardwood floors. She slowly raised her head, eyes looking fearfully at Ron. Red orange hair stuck out at every angle, curly and fluffy and unkempt. She looked less like a madwoman and more like a grieving widow when she stared like that. Slowly, voice trembling, she spoke.

"What have you done?"

(***Bellatrix Black***)

She hated the name Lestrange. She hated having to pretend to be married to a Lestrange. Yet, it was what her master wished of her, and she would do anything to please him. So there she sat, next to Rodolphus Lestrange, watching him read a book. She didn't care that he had saved her from Askaban! Surely the Dementors would be more fun than him!

"We should-"

"No." It was a simple cut off that had Bellatrix brooding all over again. He hadn't even listened to what she wanted to do! So, as her pout turned into a slightly less than sane grin, she continued.

"We should go see the-" Again, without looking up from his book, Rodolphus cut her off.

"No." Bellatrix paused, her lips pursing into a straight line. She didn't care that he had an amazing body. She didn't care about the way that his perfectly kempt hair was tied to the name of his neck with a small black ribbon, making him look regal. She didn't care about the way that his chocolate brown eyes swept uncaringly over the pages. She didn't care that he was seemingly ignoring her, even though she knew that he was acutely aware of her every move. He was the perfect pure blood, next to the Dark Lord, of course, and she didn't care. All she cared about at the moment was becoming close to her lord once more. And her lord was going to that tournament. She wanted to go to the tournament. Again, her face was overtaken by a grin. Bellatrix wanted to go, so go she would. Whether Rodolphus liked it or not. Under the watchful not-gaze of Rodolphus, Bellatrix broke into a stream of insane giggles which would have sent cold chills up any sane man's spine. Rodolphus didn't even blink.

(***Harry Potter***)

Advanced Transfiguration of the Human Body was much harder than Harry had expected, but not so hard that he actually struggled, like the rest of the class was doing at that very moment. Hermione chanced a glance over at him.

"You're finished already?" Green eyes glanced down at Hermione's quiet inquisition, landing easily on his now transfigured hands.

"I believe so, yes." Magic had always come easily to him.

"Mr. Potter. Do you really believe that you have completed the task already?" Professor McGonagall's tight voice sounded from the front of the room. Harry held up his claws before nodding and repeating his earlier statement.

"I believe so, yes." His voice, apparently, had carried throughout the room, catching the other students' (Ravenclaws and Gryffindors) attention. The Ravenclaws seemed torn between glaring jealously and asking for help while the Gryffindors held their heads up in pride, chalking up Harry's accomplishment as a win for the House. She narrowed her eyes in his direction, before giving the smallest of smiles and a nod.

"Very well then, perhaps you would like to help the rest of the class?" Harry smiled at her not-so-subtle question, giving a small nod before standing. The first thing he did was turn to Hermione.

"Pick an animal you like. It's the only way thast this'll work. Remember, it isn't like an Animagus form. You have control over this. People can only willing turn into something that they're fond of. Otherwise, your body will fight against it. At least, until you mater the art of Transfiguration it will. Alright?" Sparkling brown eyes widened in realization.

"Thank you, Harry!" Immediately, Hermione's attention turned back to her hands, her magic. Harry turned to the rest of the class, spotting a rather large Ravenclaw girl with her hand shyly in the air. Harry walked over to her, ignoring the eyes on his back, ignoring the eyes on his claws as they changed back into hands. He could have easily made a quick transition, but then McGonagall would have been suspicious. Transitions, both to and from the original form, were the hard part, not actually keeping whatever creature's figure you were going for. The class drug on, some people catching on, others... not so much. Either way, Harry was having fun. He loved helping people. By the end of class, Harry was sure that nothing could ruin his day. And then he ran into Ron. Literally.

"What is wrong with you!" Ron didn't sound happy.

"Nothing. Sorry. I dazed." Harry quickly tried to make amends, knowing that the red head would make a scene. His seemingly sincere apology did nothing as said red head continued as if Harry had said nothing and, of course, made a scene.

"You bloody dazed! How are you going the defeat You-Know-Who if you can't even walk down a bloody hallway? You're not! Why don't you just give up and leave the job to someone who actually stands a chance already?" Ron sneered down his nose at Harry, having no idea that he just looked stupid. Seriously; Harry had withstood the glare of Voldemort. What made Ron think he was any scarier? Still, Harry wasn't too fond of including himself in Ron's little spectacle.

"Ron, I said I was-"

"He's right, Potter. You should just give up now. Or give in, even. I'm sure the Dark Lord would welcome you if you begged on your hands and knees for a couple of hours." Pansy Parkinson interrupted. Green eyes turned to glare at the small, brunette girl. It seemed that she had lost quite a bit of weight over the summer. If there was one thing that he would never do, it was grovel.

"You would know, wouldn't you? I bet you've had plenty of practice on your hands and knees." The insult could be taken a million ways and Harry knew it. Draco, who would usually step in right about now, simply leaned against the stone wall and watched in amusement as Parkinson, like a true Slytherin, tossed Harry a smirk.

"Not as much as you, I bet." Her words held a sexual innuendo, one that could be taken no other way. Harry didn't have to force the smirk which appeared on his face as he fell into his normal banter with the Slytherins. Confidently, he took a step closer.

"You'll never know." Harry's voice was sultry, insinuating exactly what she accused.

"You're a bloody fag!" Ron's disbelieving voice broke the metaphorical spell that their banter had cast. Harry turned to Ron and coolly cocked a brow. He didn't bother correcting Ron by telling him that the Boy-Who-Lived was basically nonsexual. He had never held an interest beyond friendship before, or even the urge to jack off! Still, there was no need for Ron to know that. He would be spreading the rumors either way.

"Aren't Fred and George gay?" Surely he didn't condemn his brothers. They weren't with each other, but they were gay. The twins had never had enough narcissism in them to find each other sexually attractive. Ron's lips turned downward in a frown.

"They're not gay. They're just…confused. No Weasley is gay." He looked as if he would gag on the word, as if it were contagious. Harry simply shrugged.

"It's a possibility." It was a very strong possibility that the twins insisted was true. Molly and Arthur accepted their sons' sexuality with love and understanding, just as Harry had done. The twins were his friends, no matter their orientation. Percy had been appalled, completely cutting himself off by them while Bill had thrown them a party. He always believed in being true to yourself, no matter what. Oh, and he had made a bet with Fleur the year before. She had made him a very happy husband that night as she made good on her part of the bargain. Ron scrunched his nose up in disgust.

"No it isn't! So are you a fag or what?" It was apparent that Ron wasn't going to be deterred. Harry gave a glance at his now captive audience, which he noticed that Blaise had joined at some time or another. Merlin, why hadn't he just agreed to go to the library with Hermione instead of travelling on his own to lunch? Which Harry still hadn't gotten to, much to his dismay. Harry have a nonchalant shrug.

"I'm not really sure. Maybe." Without waiting for Ron to sputter out a response, Harry walked around him and towards the Great Hall. Quickly, the Three Slytherins caught up to him.

"Wouldn't Witch Weekly love to hear about that? I can see it now! The-Boy-Who-Lived-to-Be-Gay! They would have a ball!" Pansy sneered at Harry, only getting a cocked brow in response.

"I said that I wasn't sure. Wouldn't that make me The-Boy-Who-Lived-to-Be-Bi? Or confused. Either of those would be true and the press would still have fun. You might as well make it true so that I don't have to discredit you." He would get over whatever the press had to say. The Pure Bloods were much more vulnerable to hurtful words. Or maybe they were less vulnerable? Harry wasn't sure. He had never been a Pure Blood before…

(***Draco Malfoy***)

Potter was bi? That was a new twist. He had always assumed that the obnoxious boy was with the Weaslett. It didn't really matter that Potter was bi; he was still the same obnoxious, cocky boy who had been pampered by his muggle family because he had magic and then pampered by the rest of the wizarding world because he had somehow managed to survive the killing curse. Perhaps he had just decided to become bi to appeal to the public. He wanted to be loved by all, in all ways. With a small sneer, the youngest Malfoy admitted, if only to himself, that he was impressed.

"Why did you say that with us there? You could have easily lied, and we wouldn't have thought otherwise." Blaise, always the logical one, which Draco thanked Merlin for. He was too analytical to keep questioning after one interesting answer popped up. Potter simply smiled at the question.

"Because I have a feeling we'll soon be hanging out quite a bit more, and my instincts have never been wrong before." With those words, Potter left them standing outside of the Great Hall, pondering over his words.

"Do you think he knows?" Pansy's hushed voice questioned him frantically. Her short brown hair moved with her as she looked between Draco and Blaise, light brown eyes widening just a bit. It was almost surprising how many emotions she showed when others weren't around. Blaise's dark eyes held a thoughtful look for a moment before becoming unreadable once more.

"No. Potter's just… Potter. It could just as easily be him trusting his instincts as it could be the fact that I'm pursuing Hermione. You can't tell with him." Blaise seemed to be finished, but Pansy certainly wasn't.

"You're what?" Pansy's tone was blank, showing that it would take a bit more time and explaining for her to fully comprehend one of her best friends going after the Granger girl. If Draco hadn't seen the signs beforehand, he'd probably have had the same reaction himself. With a quick glance at the closed doors of the Great Hall, Draco turned towards the dungeons and began to walk. They needed to talk.

(***Sirius Black***)

Sirius was nearly bouncing around the room, loving the fact that in a day and a half he would see his Godson again! Oh, this was amazing!

"Sirius, calm down." Remus's soft voice was lightly reprimanding, but held no anger. Serious just gave a wild grin. He had shaved, brushed his hair, brushed his teeth, the entire morning routine, six times now. He was just so excited that he couldn't think of anything else to do!

"I can't calm down, Moony! We're going to see Harry!" Sirius had the incredible urge to break into a series of summersaults. And he would go through with that urge, too, if he knew how to do a summersault, that was. Yes, that would definitely help. He grinned as Moony set the table for dinner. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place hadn't been the ideal place for them to live, but there had been nowhere else. If it weren't for the fact that only someone with the blood of a Black could own the place, he would have given it to Moony and been rid of it. Yes, Remus was a completely different story than Sirius. He absolutely loved the house. Even Kreacher had taken a liking to the wolf, which was strange considering that he was about as far away from being a Pure Blood as one could get while still being a wizard, but oh well. Whatever floated his boat, right? The dishes stopped clattering for a moment, making Serious turn towards his best friend. Sirius furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Moony?" Remus had that look on his face, that worried, thoughtful look that never meant anything good for Sirius.

"I think… I think we need to see the Malfoys once more, before Harry." Steely grey eyes widened. He what now? Was Remus coming down with something? Like, oh, say, The Crazies! Why would they go and willingly see the Malfoys? They were a bunch of soul-sucking Pure Bloods bent on world domination!

"Why? Have you lost your mind!" Sirius wouldn't go see them if Remus begged.

"Because where they are, Voldemort is sure to be. Even if he's not there, they'll know where he is." Okay. Remus didn't want to see the Malfoys. He wanted to see Voldemort. Sirius couldn't decide which one of those was worse. Quickly, Sirius flipped over the couch and ran to Remus, putting the inside of his wrist to the werewolf's forehead.

"You don't feel sick. Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?" Sirius thrust three fingers up against Remus's nose. The younger man gave an almost chuckle before shoving the fingers away.

"I'm not sick, Siri. But, if Harry makes a decision to follow him, I want to know it's the right decision. I want to see him first." Remus had a determined tone to his voice that Sirius knew from experience that he couldn't ague with. With another sigh, this time of defeat, Sirius looked into Remus's eyes.

"When?" Remus gave a soft smile at his obvious victory before responding.

"Tomorrow afternoon, do you think Narcissa would mind having us over for lunch?" It wasn't a serious question, but it still brought Sirius's distant cousin to mind. She wouldn't deny them access, but he didn't think that she would lead them straight to the Dark Lord. She had too much of a heart to do that. Well, if she was still the cousin that he had sort-of known and sort-of liked then she did. Then again, she had spent the last seventeen years surrounded by Malfoys. Who knew what they had done to her mind in that time? With a role of his eyes, Sirius sat down at the dinner table. If Remus insisted on dragging him to his doom, then Sirius insisted on having fun while doing it.

"Hey, Remy?" Remus turned, the shock in his eyes most likely forming because of the seriousness that Sirius had said his nickname, though not his usual nickname, with.

"Yes, Sirius?" Remus spoke as if Sirius had been the one to suggest that they go met Voldemort: with complete confusion. With a voice that suggested complete seriousness, the Animagus inquired:

"Do you think they'd still take us to see old Voldy if I turn Malfoy's hair pink?" Remus's soft laughter followed the question, echoing throughout the large house.

(***Hermione Granger***)

Hermione looked around the sleeping dorm room unsurely. She was unsure because it wasn't her dorm room. It wasn't even a Gryffindor dorm room! She was abusing her power as Head Girl and felt horrible for doing so, but it was necessary. If it weren't for her years of rule breaking with Harry, she probably wouldn't have even been able to work up the nerve to do it. In moments, she reached her destination: Blaise Zabini's bed. With Blaise Zabini in it. Quietly, she reached out to shake him awake. A tanned hand grasped her wrist before she could grasp his shoulder. With a quick tug, Hermione was suddenly in the bed, under the covers, under a toned, nearly naked Italian. A warm hand covered her mouth before she could make a noise. How had he done that? He was pressed close to her, close enough for her to feel every muscle in his body, at least, the muscles that her shorter body could reach. His long legs pinned her own and she felt something hard pressing against her lower abdomen. In the back of her mind, she thanked Merlin for boxers. A dark brow rose in question.

"Is there something you needed at, what time is it?" Hermione smiled sheepishly at the question, keeping her eyes on the ceiling above his head as she answered.

"It's around one in the morning, but um, listen. I didn't mean to- I just- Um, I needed to talk to you in private." Her voice was less than a whisper, but she was sure that he had heard. His hair may still be mussed up – looking increasingly like he had just had a good shag with each moment that Hermione tried, and failed, not to look at him – but his eyes were as sharp as ever. With a small, confident smirk, Blaise nodded. Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew that the smirk had meant that Blaise had come up with some sort of plan or scheme or something of the like. Fred and George had always said that Gryffindors planned, Slytherins schemed, Ravenclaws plotted, and Hufflepuffs tried to figure out which side to choose because they were too loyal to change if things went south.

Blaise stood, getting out of the bed as silently as he had pulled Hermione in. He walked across the floor without making a single sound; gaining the envy and admiration of Hermione. It had taken her twenty minutes to get across the room! As he reached the door that would lead to the Slytherin Common Rooms, he glanced back at Hermione, still lying in his bed. Blushing, Hermione started to scramble to get out of the soft, entirely too comfortable bed; started and then stopped. She had to be quiet! Slowly, she untangled herself from his covers and crept over to him, freezing up every time someone stirred in their slumber. She swore to Merlin that if it weren't for her fear of waking up the rest of the snakes, she'd have wiped that smugly amused look right off of his face. Once they had gotten out of the dorm room, the rest of the trip out of the snake pit was easy. Finally, as they got out from behind the sleeping portrait which guarded the Slytherin dormitory, Hermione allowed herself to sigh and slump against the wall.

"Well?" His voice held a bored impatience to it that Hermione was sure wouldn't be there if he didn't want it to be. She lifted her head to glare at him, immediately regretting it. He looked like one of those foreign underwear models that the muggles she had grown up with were always pinning to their walls and fawning over. His cool, calculating gaze made her feel as if he had somehow taken her clothes and discarded them to the same place that his own had gone.

"Um, I just, I'm sorry but-" Her eyes travelled down his body against her will and she quickly forced them away, away to the cold dungeon wall she was currently leaning against with a blush. The next thing she knew, warm fingers were curled under her chin, lifting her head to look into beautiful dark eyes. The smirk on his perfect lips didn't escape her peripheral vision either.

"You woke me up from a particularly good dream, Hermione. I can't be blamed for the," Blaise pressed himself closer, pressed his hard length against her, "affects it's had on my body. Now, what is it you disturbed my wondrous dream fo-" Hermione closed her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the sexual temptation that his voice continued to present before interrupting him.

"Harry needs your help!" The words came out in a rushed whisper that Hermione herself had trouble understanding, but, as she cracked one eye open, Hermione knew that Blaise had gotten the message. His incredibly dark brown eyes had gained a glint of malice, a glint that blinked out of existence the moment that Hermione spotted it.

"You woke me up for Potter?" He sounded less than happy, and Hermione rushed to explain.

"The duel that's going to happen on Friday, you can't judge Harry for it. Try to convince the other Slytherins to do the same." Hermione pleaded with him, hands gripping his shoulders lightly. Blaise looked at her with only slight confusion.

"He's really that bad at-"

"No. No, no, no! He's amazing at dueling, better than anyone you've ever seen; maybe even better than Voldemort! And people will hate him for that. Just listen to me for a moment, Blaise. If you have to face him, throw a curse or two and back down. Because you don't stand a chance. No one does." Hermione had tears in her eyes as she warned him. There was no reason for her to be so emotional; to warn him; to do any of this, but she had. Hermione liked Blaise. If she was being truthful with herself, she had liked Blaise for a long time now. He looked her in the eyes, wiping a tear away before it truly got the chance to fall. Lightly, their foreheads touched.

"You know, I don't think that Draco will give into your plan as easily as I am." Hermione couldn't help the laugh that bubbled its way out of her throat at his acceptance of her warning.

"I don't expect him to." And then his lips were on hers. They moved together, his far more expertly than hers, but she still put what little experience she had to good use. The few make-out sessions she'd had with Viktor came in handy after all. His tongue prodded her mouth in such a dominantly gentle way that Hermione didn't even have the chance to think about whether or not she would accept him. Her mind went completely blank. Slender hands gripped tightly at his shoulders as his hands slid down to her waist, wrapping around to pull her closer. Minutes passed before her breath ran out, forcing her to pull away. She felt dazed as the air rushed back into her lungs. That had been phenomenal.

"I'm glad you liked it." Blaise's sultry voice slipped through her hazy train of thought as he kissed at her neck. Had she said that out loud? He gave a soft chuckle against her neck before nipping, forcing Hermione to suck in a gasp. "Yes, Hermione, you spoke aloud." His accent wrapped around Hermione's name like the finest silk would around her body: perfectly. She had done it again. Why wouldn't her thoughts stay in her head? Swiftly, knowing that it would get too far if she didn't, Hermione pushed him away.

"I have to go." She tried to explain, but he pulled her back, mashing their lips together in another heated, perfect kiss. Once more, Hermione struggled to regain her mind. When she did, she pushed him back and slipped out of his arms, backing up a few feet as an extra precaution. "I'm sorry. I'll explain it all as soon as I can!" She promised him, promised herself, in a still hushed voice. He nodded, and she turned to go, making sure not to glance back. For if she did, there was no promise that she would be able to turn away again.

(***Blaise Zabini***)

He watched her walk away with his boxers feeling tighter than they ever had before. If only she knew the effect that she had on him. He had been telling the truth when he said that she had woken him up from a good dream; a sexual dream. He had just left out the small fact that she was the star of said dream. Deciding that it was too cold to be in the dungeeons in his boxers without another body to keep him warm, the Italian muttered the password (Gremlin Ears) and walked into the Commons Area. He wasn't the least bit surprised to see Draco leaning back on the couch, waiting for him. The taller boy had awakened when Hermione had entered their dorm, just as Blaise had. She was lucky that Draco was so like the snake their House represented; watching and waiting; observing before making the final strike. She was also lucky that no other Seventh year Slytherin was trained enough to awaken at her light footsteps.

"Care to explain?" Draco didn't have any emotion in his tone, but the curiousity showed through almost blatantly when it came to his eyes. Blaise gave a nonchalant shrug before taking a seat beside of the youngest Malfoy.

"She wanted to warn me." He didn't continue, knowing that Draco would take the bait. Minutes passed in silence.

"Warn you about what?" Bingo.

"Potter. Apparently, he's got the dueling skills of a master." Draco gave a scoff, but Blaise knew better. The Dark Lord didn't take an interest in losers. Even if said Dark Lord thought he did. This only strengthened his views. Draco could do what he wanted. Blaise wasn't going to fight Potter. Draco looked at him strangely, letting his guard down a bit, even though he didn't mean to.

"Potter? You're kidding, right? I've been trained by the best!" Yes, Draco had been trained by the best, but Blaise had been trained by the better, and he still didn't want to face Potter. If the Dark Lord had given them some one-on-one training, he would be more confident, but the Dark Lord hadn't, and he wasn't.

"Yes, Draco. I know." Blaise didn't give Draco any reason to get angry; to have any suspicion that he thought Draco stupid for being so closed-minded. Without waiting for a response, Blaise stood and walked back to the dorm, intent on continuing his dream where he had left off in the hallway.

(***Albus Dumbledore***)

Albus leaned back in his chair with a soft smile as he watched the sun rise from its slumber. It was a magnificent sight. It was almost as terrific to watch as the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry had grown up wonderfully; so wonderfully, in fact, that Dumbledore couldn't have raised the boy better himself if he tried. It was unheard of for a boy to be born with pure magic and keep it. It was impossible, nay, implausible, but it had been done, and just when Albus had needed it, too. It had been one hundred and seven years since the last time he had found someone with pure magic, and that person had been eighty years old, had just purified his magic. He wouldn't have lasted the nineteen it took to sustain the body anyways. The only other person besides Harry that had pure magic at the moment was Ollivander, and Dumbledore had found that out too late. The wand-maker's magic had already set in. The man had become immortal mere days before Dumbledore had found out. It was disappointing to know, considering the closer the magical core grew to its completion date, the more powerful it became. If he had found out a few simple days sooner than he wouldn't need Harry now. Of course, he would probably do it anyways, but it wouldn't be nearly as necessary.

"What do you think, Fawkes?" His voice, the voice of a sweet old man, questioned his Phoenix gently. The large fire-bird cawed in response, earning a soft chuckle. Fawkes was Dumbledore's inspiration. What other creature could live forever, being reborn with the same knowledge every time? He wasn't sure what awaited him in the afterlife, but he knew that even if he were reborn, he wouldn't have all of the awareness that he had earned throughout his years of living. If he died, no one would be able to stop Voldemort, for no one would know about the man's seven – now five – Horcruxes. Harry had survived the killing curse by using the love of his mother as a shield. Nothing else about the boy was special. Nothing but his magic, of course. Soon enough, that magic would reach its peak, and Dumbledore would make his move. After all, it was for the Greater Good.