On the Third Floor Landing
POV: Draco Malfoy

Katie's not dead! Thank Merlin! What happened anyway?! How could it have gone so wrong? I told her to wear her gloves and not to touch anything! Bloody Gryffindor! Can't even follow direct orders when under the Imperius!!

I silently watch that giant oaf, Hagrid with Mdm. Pomfrey leave the area with an unconscious Katie Bell levitating between them. There are four people left below, the Head of Gryffindor House and the Golden Trio.

My eyes widen and I swallow the lump in my throat that forms as I witness Granger, and Weasley, of all people, move in and start to protest my innocence as soon as Potter opens his big fat mouth to file his official, and might I add, baseless, complaint against me to the Deputy Headmistress.

Professor McGonagall's voice echoes up to the third floor landing as she lays into Scarhead for accusing me of bringing on Katie's torture. I continue to scowl at the recent memory of Potty's annoying self-confidence when presenting his accusation.

There is a guilty warmth that steals over me as I spy Granger smiling behind her hand when Prof. McGonagall informs The-Boy-Who-Would-Do-Everyone-A-Great-Favor-By-Just-Dying-Already that I was with her all afternoon - serving a much deserved detention.

Although I wasn't…

I try not to feel too terrible for tricking the old bat, but even my tried and true Malfoy compartmentalization of all feelings and emotions fails me when I dare another glance at Granger.

I feel the unfortunate, heavy weight of my lie in the deep recesses of my loose robe's pocket. Therein lies the bottle of mead that I still have yet to put in my trunk while I figure a way to get it to Slughorn to handover to Dumbledore.

If the necklace was that deadly, I shudder to think what the special holiday spirit might contain.

I decide immediately that maybe I'll keep this particular bottle of mead hidden away in my quarters until I can think of a better plan to save myself the trouble of completing the Dark Lord's mission. It's no wonder I haven't had any sort of decent rest. My preoccupation has been spent on thinking up a solution that would keep me from having to cast the Killing Curse, while keeping my parents and myself from getting killed in the process.

I'm still leaning over the banister, peering down, when Granger unexpectedly sweeps her gaze up at me. For a long moment, we silently stare at one another.

Then, when I can stand her scrutiny no longer, I do the only thing I can think of.

I look down at her bushy head and nod, acknowledging that I've seen her.

Swiftly, I turn away.

Gryffindor Common Room
POV: Harry Potter

"How can you two continue to defend him?" I shout at their backs as we make our way through the portrait hole and into our scarlet and gold common room. "Hermione, just because you spend a few hours a week with the Ferret doesn't automatically make him a decent human being! I understand your need to be compassionate to all unfortunate creatures, but befriending Malfoy is simply not acceptable, Hermione!"

"Harry, stop shouting. What is this really about?" Ron asks, interrupting my now all too familiar tirade against my closest female friend and her continued defense of the Ferret. "We all think Malfoy's a right git, but seriously, mate, you haven't got any proof that he's what you think he is. Honestly, we've all grown tired of your ranting! You've been going on about this all year!"

"Accusing someone of having the Dark Mark and being a Death Eater is really serious, Harry," Hermione chimes in, strengthened to have Ron on her side. "Even Ron knows that! You just can't go around calling Malfoy a Death Eater whenever you feel like it! It's like him calling me a Mudblood all the time. It's insulting."

I scoff at her comparison of the two terms and her consideration of something as non-existent as Malfoy's feelings.

"If either of you care enough to remember, that nasty piece of scum bashed my face in on the Hogwarts Express our first day back! Then, he left me there under the Invisibility Cloak to bleed to death!" I shout this reminder, absolutely affronted that my best friends have forgotten the vileness that is Draco Malfoy. "If it hadn't been for Tonks…. ugh!… Hermione, you're not making a bit of sense comparing the words Death Eater to Mudblood!"

My voice is growing louder and louder. I sense that my anger has helped clear the room of all the younger students. The remaining Sixth and Seventh Years stay put, eagerly entertained by the unusual sight of the three of us hollering at one another.

"Oh, right, Harry. And it isn't as though you hid yourself in his compartment, going against all of our sensible urgings that you leave off," Hermione begins the sanctimonious argument I'd just been waiting for her to use. "Oh, no, not the great Harry Potter! You simply had to put yourself in danger, knowing that he'd hex you if he found you. Which he did, because he's… he's Malfoy!" She stops to take a breath. "If you haven't noticed, you're not little boys anymore, Harry! You knew he'd retaliate, and fiercely! You'd have been just as enraged if the roles had been switched! So, don't go around claiming yourself the victim here! You know you'd have done the same to him if he'd had the nerve to come and secretly spy on us in our compartment!"

I try to imagine what I'd do if Malfoy had spied on us as I'd done to him and his so-called friends. I don't like thinking that I would have punched and kicked him. I'm fairly convinced I wouldn't have. I do know, however, that I would have hexed him. Without a doubt, he would have been lying on the ground just as helpless as I had been.

I can't believe I'm even thinking about what my traitorous best friend is suggesting!

"Hermione, you've been spending far too much time with Malfoy. I can't believe you're siding with him! I. DON'T. LIKE. IT!" I shout, completely exasperated, my face, red and mere inches from hers.

"Stop it! The both of you," roars Ron, grabbing Hermione's shoulders and pulling her away to his side while he pushes at my shoulder telling me wordlessly to keep my distance. "Hermione! Harry! Malfoy is not worth this! Stop fighting!!"

I turn to stomp over to the sofa. I can hear Hermione's ragged breathing. I choose not to heed Ron's exasperated request because I have one last thing to say.

"Hermione, I do believe that if Malfoy was known around these halls as a Death Eater, he'd rather enjoy the notoriety!" I yell, throwing myself on the couch, arms crossed, mouth turned down into a scowl. "I wonder if you wouldn't fancy that!"

Ron makes an audible sound of distress, sobering me instantly. I hadn't realized how hateful and jealous I sounded, until I heard my accuastion with my own ears. Now, I've accomplished what I'd set out to do… lay it all out on the table and get her to deny that she fancied the ferret. As expected, Hermione is now flaming mad. Her eyes flash at me and I fear for a moment that she'll curse me for my audacity to suggest something as deceitful and vile as her wanting to be with that…. that… bigoted wanker.

"You know what, Harry?" she says, her voice so calm it's frightening. "I think the Half-Blood Prince's book is truly possessed! You are not acting at all like the good and decent human being I know you are. Ever since you got your hands on that textbook, you've been obsessed with Malfoy. You're not the least bit objective when it comes to him. You're ordering me around as if you have some sort of right to, and you don't seem to be able to trust your two best friends when we say that you are wrong!"

It seems like she's ready to turn and go, but she stalks even closer to me, pointing her index finger at my nose as though it were her wand. I thank my lucky stars she hasn't gone after it yet. She's glaring at me now, though her voice is still unnaturally calm. "I'd even bet that you still haven't gotten rid of that stupid book, even though we've asked you millions of times since you cooked up your first successful potion!!"

Ron's eyebrows are raised. He does not back up her accusations, nor does he come to my defense.

I mentally remind myself that he and I still have to have a very important conversation.

Both of my friends are now looking at me accusatorially.

I can't believe they've turned it all around and have made this whole argument my fault!

There are far too many people looking on to consider it remotely wise for us to continue. I try to calm myself down so that we can diffuse the situation before it gets any worse.

But, just as I'm about to push Hermione's finger out of my face and suggest we forget it, to simply agree to disagree about the whole business, the portrait hole bursts open. All I see is a whole lot of curly blonde hair and purple ribbons launching its way into Ron's arms.

"Oh, Won Won! I haven't seen you all day! I've missed you!"

I turn to look at Hermione who has averted her eyes at the whole disturbingly public display. I deepen my scowl even further to show my own dismay at Ron for aggravating Hermione this way.

At least I have a perfectly legitimate reason for upsetting her!

Ron, to his credit, appears absolutely shellshocked at finding himself with an armful of girl. Lavender Brown, to be exact. He clearly had not been expecting her, nor did he seem to know what to do with her now that she was busy smothering him with kisses.

Hermione sends a disdainful glare at Ron, but it lasts for only a moment. Ron's returned gaze, meant for the both of us, is utterly repentant. While the look she sends to Ron is one of extreme disgust, the look that Hermione reserves for me is one of deep and profound disappointment… oh, and, yes, barely contained fury.

She clears her throat loudly before announcing that she's leaving.

"Well, I have an appointment to study with Malfoy. I was going to ask one of you to go to Slughorn's Party… but clearly, neither of you would make an appropriate date, since I can't stand the sight of either of you right now."

Lavender stops her tribute to the temple of Ron for a moment to stick her tongue out at Hermione. Ron sends us both a mouthed, "I'm sorry."

"Come to think of it, there are a number of other boys who I'd much rather go to the party with. I may just ask Zabini!"

I send her a look of absolute horror. Zabini?! Merlin, was she stark raving mad?!

"Or maybe, I'll ask Cormac. After all, he was the one who caught me up in Ravenclaw Tower!"

Ron utters a gurgling gasp to protest the idea of her spending any sort of time with Cormac.

"Oh, that's right, it wasn't McLaggen who caught me. Right, Harry?! It was Malfoy, the scary Death Eater! Maybe I'll ask him! Even spending that much time with the Ferret would be an improvement over having to be in the presence of the likes of you two!"

I jump up to exclaim my immediate outrage, but she throws me a murderous glance. I decide to keep my mouth shut for the time being since I'd noticed her fingers finally inching toward her wand.

I look away from her infuriated glare, complete with girlish foot stomp, and, instead, end up throwing daggers at Ron for not doing something to stop Hermione from going through with her childish temper tantrum.

Malfoy?! And here I thought the idea of her with Zabini or Cormac was utterly outrageous!!

As I continue to fume, Ron is busy in the corner attempting to fend off Lavender to notice my look of disapproval. I frown my annoyance. I turn back to Hermione, but all I see is a corner of her robe and the back of her knapsack as she storms out of the portrait hole.

Room of Requirement
POV: Hermione

Head down, shaking in fury, I make my way into the Room of Hidden Things where Malfoy is already waiting, sitting on a bench in front of the vanishing cabinet.

I try to hide my distress from the earlier argument by pasting on an intrepid smile, but Malfoy's not one to be easily fooled.

"Granger, you look like you've just been made to snog the giant squid."

Great. Just my luck! Going from The Two Gits of the Year, to finding myself alone with The Biggest Git of all Time.

"Let's get on with it, Malfoy. You don't care about my life, anyway."

He raises an eyebrow and says nothing. He turns to his knapsack, pulls something out, and hands it to me.

"Well, maybe this will wipe that horrendously gruesome look off your face,"' he pauses, cocking his head at me. "You are aware, Granger, that wearing such a dour expression severely detracts from what precious little you currently have to work with?"

I narrow my eyes at him for the insult and reach out to snatch at his offering. He pulls the item out of my reach, until I sigh an irritated, "Please," and hold my hand out, waiting impatiently for him to at last decide to bestow it upon me.

"You should watch that sneer, as well, Malfoy. It says loads about your character, which leaves a lot to be desired, and it also serves to highlight the pointy angles of your offensive face," I say offhandedly as I regard what he's given me. It's thin and wide. It looks much like the panoramic Muggle scrapbooks my mother has been enamored with putting together lately.

"Be nice, Granger. You'll soon realize how ungrateful you're being once I tell you what that is."

"Malfoy, it's a book."

"Why, yes, Granger, it is a book," he remarks snidely. "Now, aren't you the fabulously brilliant one today?"

"Ha. Ha. Malfoy. What am I supposed to do with it?" I wonder aloud, turning it over in my hands. I run my fingers over the cover and against the spine, in search of an apparently non-existent title.

"My mother sent it from the Manor," he says with a shrug. "I thought you might find it useful in your … ah… research. You requested my assistance, if I'm not mistaken."

I stare at him, stunned that he'd even remembered that day when I'd slinked away, having felt extremely moronic for having lowered myself to grovel for his help.

"But, how will this help?" I ask, opening the book up only to find about 10 blank sheets of parchment.

"Magic," he says, a twinkle in his silvery grey eyes and a small, teasing smile playing at his lips.

I send him a wry look.

"Care to show me?"

"Of course, Granger, if you'll allow me."

Malfoy holds his hands out and I return the book to him. He is holding his wand and is looking at me, an open invitation on his face for me to sit beside him as we explore the book together.

I hesitate for a moment.

Ever watchful, Malfoy notices my reticence.

"I assure you, Granger," he says testily, gesturing toward the empty space on the bench beside him, "It is much more a sacrifice for me, than it is for you."

I narrow my eyes in displeasure at his remark and obnoxious sneer. My curiosity, however, gets the better of me as he opens the book's cover. I gather my robes closer to me as I take a seat next to him, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, all the while looking down at the blank page.

I take note of a barely visible line at the top of the page. I watch him tap it four times with his wandtip and say,

"I deeply desire to see…
one particular family tree."

My eyes widen at the slow appearance of a drawn tree with many branches slowly emerge. It looks very much like the background of the tapestry hanging at Grimmauld Place.

"Book of Wizarding Family Trees, show me the lineage of Salazar Slytherin, please," requests Malfoy politely, tapping the top branch of the tree.

On the line at the top of the page, the name, Slytherin, gradually appears, showing the most intricate swoops and swirls, as though being written by a practiced hand using a special calligraphy quill. The magic in this book reminds me of whatever enchantments were involved in making the Marauder's Map. The words first appear in black, but before my eyes, turn a sparkling gold.

I snap my face up to stare questioningly at Malfoy.

"I believe there is some sort of color coding," he explains quietly, answering my question before I can ask it. "Pureblood surnames show themselves in gold after about a half a minute of setting itself in black."

I arch my eyebrow in interest, running my finger against the golden lettering.

Amazing!

I follow the tree trunk up to where Salazar Slytherin and a woman's name, also gold, but unknown to me, rests on top. I trace the trunk down to the next level of branches. Names appear in pairs, joined by a single leaf that has offshoots twining into the last and first letters, conjoining the couple's names written in gold, their magical children's names are on the branch below theirs.

It's all quite breathtakingly beautiful.

"Malfoy, they're all pureblood! This isn't going to help. You said yourself that the name I'm looking for isn't pureblood," I say, disappointed. The parchment continues to lengthen, touching my lap now, a physical barrier between Malfoy and me.

"That we know of, Granger," his voice holds barely contained excitement, a tone I am unused to hearing from the boy beside me. "Besides, we can manipulate the information to meet our needs."

"What do you mean, Malfoy?"

"Mother says that this book has the capability of showing us the family trees of all sorts of families, not just pureblood. As long as we know the precise names of those who are Muggleborn or half-bloods, this book will show us those who are married and have magical children."

My heart stops for a second.

"What if a pureblood marries a half-blood, or a Muggle, and has a child that isn't magical? Will those names show up? Because you know, that happens sometimes."

"Unfortunately, yes, I do," Malfoy says with a critical eye, but thankfully does not elucidate. "Non-magical people, attached to magical ones show up as long as we know their exact names and have a working wand. Muggle and squib do show, particularly if they are registered with the Ministry. Though we can make their names appear, they do not show automatically at the revealing of the tree. They also don't show a different color. They will remain black."

I want to ask how he knows this, but figure he'll be showing me shortly.

In any case, he seems more intrigued by the family tree that continues to unfold between us. The page of parchment, previously contained within the cover of the book, rolls on for what seems like maybe four meters. I stand up to clear the way on the floor so we can stretch out the magical parchment and see the whole of it.

Salazar Slytherin seems rather prolific.

With an academically greedy gaze, I follow the pairs of golden names upon golden names. Each couple's names is intertwined with a tiny golden leaf that holds the names together. Occasionally, there's a small snake wrapped around the front of a male's name, or the end of a female's name. The miniscule snake seems a rare decorative mark, whereas the tiny golden leaf that is curled to join the names of spouses is far more common. It's all quite beautiful, actually, that is until the end…

Head tipped, I ponder over a peculiarly shaped branch on the tree, one close to the bottom, where there lies two golden names of siblings. One has a leaf, but lies alone. The other has a snake wrapped around the first letter.

"You see these two names?" Malfoy points at the very ones I'd been curious about. "Interesting, yes? They are Morfin and Merope, and appear to be the end of the direct pureblood Slytherin line."

I nod, wondering where he's going with this.

"Well, not really Granger," his tone is one of self-importance. "Take a look at some things I learned from the book we'd been fighting over in the library."

I watch him touch the little leaf clinging to the artful swoop of the "M" in Merope's name as he says a name I would never in a million years have thought to suggest.

"Riddle, Thomas Sr."

My heart pounds as I realize what Malfoy is showing me.

I watch the name of Thomas Riddle Sr. appear, written again by an invisible talented hand next to that of Merope's. I emit a strangled gasp.

"Surprise, Granger," he murmurs, well pleased at my shock.

I see that the name is written in black and stays black.

I look to Malfoy.

"A Muggle or a squib, then?" I say, now understanding the color coding.

"Muggle," he nods. "l looked it up. No pureblood or half-bloods in that family prior to him marrying into the Gaunts. Rich as Creosus, though, and born of what Muggles consider noble blood."

I knit my eyebrows in confusion at Malfoy's acknowledgement that there might even possibly be such a thing as noble Muggle blood.

But then it hits me at last.

"Tom Riddle Jr., Voldemort, orphan, persecutor of Muggles and Muggleborns everywhere, is a half-blood?" I whisper incredulously.

"It appears so," Malfoy intones gravely. "That vindictive psychopath has fooled every pureblooded wizard and witch who's ever believed in and followed Him. No one knows about his ancestry, except me, because I bothered to dig it up… and well, now, you know, too."

His words rattle against my steadfast belief in the limited role this awful boy plays in my life. Here he is, this pureblooded, bigoted prat, railing against the evil being who'd catalyzed the very horrid ideas Malfoy still uses to make my time at Hogwarts difficult when he and his ilk are nearby. He'd targeted me all these years simply because of the kind of blood that runs through my veins. I silently watch his torment at sharing this secret with me.

I don't know what to do as he reaches toward his inevitable, but longtime-in-coming, epiphany that blood doesn't matter.

It's crystal clear that attempting to hold my breath until Malfoy realizes his bigoted ways is clearly suicidal.

So, instead, I decide to take some of this time to closely peruse the parchment. Malfoy, in the meantime, continues to mutter angrily to himself.

I notice the "r" in "Sr." has a little winding offshoot that now is part of the lone leaf that had been clinging to Merope's name. Between the couple's name, the leaf now points downward, as though attached to an invisible branch. Another invisible generation beneath this couple's name… obviously.

Malfoy leaves no question as to the name that will inevitably show itself beneath the couple. His mouth is curled into a snarl as he touches his wand to the leaf.

"Riddle, Thomas Jr."

A branch attaches itself to the leaf joining the two parental names and beneath, centered between them, the flourish of a T begins to form. I put my wand to it, watching the rage build in Malfoy's face with each new swoop and swirl that appears on the parchment.

"Confuto!" I incant. My quick and rather shoddy spellwork magically halts the name in mid-formation. For whatever reason, I know that Malfoy seeing it fully unfurl would not be a good thing.

What's the point, besides? We already know who we'll uncover.

"I don't need to see it. I believe you, Malfoy," I rush my explanation for stopping the writing, saying words I never dreamed of using with this particular boy.

He blinks at me. "What?" His pewter colored eyes seem to take measure of me as he apparently has to take a moment to fully comprehend my pronouncement, too.

"Don't make me say it again," I moan. I thrill to see the anger evaporate from his face, but am troubled to see what settles there instead. He shrugs.

"If you'd let it fully form, I think you'd see that it would have turned silver, Granger," he claims without his usual bravado. "That's my guess, anyway. I haven't wanted to look at the full name either. But I imagine your reasons for not wanting to see the completed tree are far different than mine."

"Not so different," I reply quietly, turning to look into his face, my eyes widening at the serious expression gracing his features which… I realize suddenly… would be quite striking had it not been for ever present severe scowl.

The silence between us is deafening.

"Why do you want to share this with me, Malfoy?" I wonder aloud. "Why show me?!"

"Obviously, I can't share this secret with a Slytherin, Granger. But, even I have to bring light to the absolute hypocrisy of it all! I was sitting here waiting for you and I thought it would be rather ironic to reveal it all to you. I found it oddly amusing at the time. Besides, I had to tell someone, even if that someone is… you," he says with what sounds like severely pent up frustration. "Feel free to eviscerate me now for my ignorant parentage."

"I wouldn't do that, Malfoy," I say, irked at him for thinking so little of me. "Don't assume I'd treat you as a Slytherin would. I'm not you."

I look to him expectantly, waiting for him to slide into our comfortable belittling banter.

"Sodding Gryffindor," he mutters. His long, elegant fingers comb through his hair as he brings himself to standing. The back part of his hair sticks up. I find myself mortified that I want to reach out and smooth down the cowlick.

Malfoy seems clearly agitated that he can't stop his show of feeling in my presence. It's no wonder, since it's as though he's lost all control over what is coming out of his mouth. He's talking, rather, ranting, and not looking at me.

"My father… Granger… if he knew he'd gone to Azkeban for a half-blood… A. HALF. BLOOD! Merlin!… All of Riddle's followers, ignorant fools, the blasted lot of them!… Putting their lives on the line for some half baked ideology!"

I don't know what to do about Malfoy's sudden show of feeling and unexpected cursing of Voldemort, his dark lord. I find myself wanting to reach out to him in sympathy, but instinctively know that Malfoy will not take kindly to such comfort from the likes of me. So, I do nothing, unable to look at him as he unintelligibly rages on about his family, secret missions, the Dark Mark, Malfoy Manor, their future, and his lack of one.

I give up trying to follow his outraged tirade and simply watch him pace the length of parchment, reminding me of a caged panther, suddenly shaking in his need to restrain the anger he's showing, trying in vain to stem the flood of words pouring from his lips. He seems to finally realize himself which causes him more distress, apparently losing it in front of me is not something allowable in Malfoy's little world.

I put on my most placid expressions. I am not fearful, just perplexed, because for once, this fury, emanating from his every pores, is not aimed at me. And I realize I feel much as I do when Harry has one of his breakdowns and I am the only one there to comfort him.

Except, this is not Harry. And I am stunned to find myself desirous to know what comfort means to Malfoy.

As his back is turned, I work to recover from my own shock at his secret sharing, even though I'd only understood a fraction of it, it seemed the dam burst was a longtime coming. I don't wish to examine why a warm feeling of satisfaction steals over me knowing it was me he'd opened up to.

After a few minutes, when I've just about composed myself, Malfoy comes to sit beside me. I can smell that same, newly familiar cologne and feel the strands of my hair flutter at his intake and outtake of breath. It is this wayward movement that makes me notice how closely on the floor he and I are situated.

At the dawning realization, I immediately scuttle over to the other side of the parchment. He looks on, seemingly confused at my response to his disturbing nearness. I watch him warily. He might have shown a different side tonight, but it wasn't a compassionate or kind side. And I am not fool enough to think that one night of soul baring might change the fact that he is an insufferable, intolerant prick. I wait and busy myself with inspecting the parchment more closely as I try to sort through my confused feelings regarding Malfoy and his cathartic outburst.

I find I am unable to seriously process how I feel while he's in the same room, so I move the discussion to more solid, sterile ground.

"Look here, Malfoy," I say loudly so as to cover my discomfort. Pointing with my wand, I direct him to look at the single names on the tree's branches. "Why do you suppose these names have little snakes attached to them? Do you think they work the same as the little leaves?"

He peers at me. I watch as he turns his gaze to the parchment, reaching out to touch a little snake that's coiled around the "M" in Marvolo's name. There is no leaf that's attached to it.

"That's quite a theory, Granger," he replies with some admiration, his anger at last dissipating in favor of more mystery solving. "I suppose I'm so used to seeing snakes as decorations it hasn't occurred to me that they might have another use."

He touches his wand to the four snakes on the parchment.

"Granger, I'd forgotten to mention to you that my mother says this book can show the parentage of a magical child even if his…"

"or her," I interject.

"… or her…" he adds reluctantly, "parents are not married. So, maybe the snake means that wizard or witch had an illicit affair that produced a magical child."

I sit, cross-legged with my hand in my chin staring at the bottom branch.

"I wonder who had Marvolo Gaunt's two children?" I continue as I reach my hand out, placing it close to Malfoy's, to touch the bottom branches.

"Let's just say they didn't have this book when they thought about him… procreating," Malfoy responds, making a face filled with disgust. Confused by his tone, I look at him, wondering what he could possibly be thinking to trigger this look of profound repulsion.

He moves his finger again to touch another little snake curled around Morfin's name. I hear Malfoy make a small sound that might have indicated surprise.

"Mother said, in order to show unmarried couples who had children, you must provide the paramour's specific name, pureblood or not, unless already revealed as a pureblood in the same family," Malfoy's voice seems shakier, as though he can't decide between being excited or shocked at sight of the tiny serpent beneath his hand. I try to process his words. It bothers me that his finger still hasn't left the snake that's attached to Morfin's name.

I crinkle my brow. It must take a lot of effort to ensure blood purity, I think to myself. Though I might disagree with the reasoning, I consider it very inventive of such families to go to such magical lengths. I look down to study the parchment again.

"If there is a child made of that forbidden couple," he continues in a pre-occupied half-whisper to himself, "only a pureblood child will show up at the uncovering of the lover's name."

"I wonder why Marvolo's children appear under his name, even though we haven't uncovered who the mother is?" I ask, trying to follow Malfoy's line of thinking.

"I think, Granger, we already have." Malfoy's hand sweeps to the many female names on the same generational tier as Marvolo's. Right next to his branch, another branch has just grown, revealing the name of a female first cousin. I see now that the little snake that had its tail curled around the decorative "M" in Marvolo's name has grown much longer, connecting itself to this recently revealed witch's name. A small branch is reaching out beneath it to claim both Merope and Morfin.

Oh gods! A shudder runs through me at the sight of it.

I look to the rest of the parchment and see that two more snakes have uncurled to reach out and capture other names fully formed on the page. The sight of it is quite vomit-inducing.

Incest.

I suppose that explains Malfoy's previous facial expression. I cast him a twin look of utter disgust.

"And you Purebloods have the nerve to call us, Mudbloods, loathsome and vile?" I mutter spitefully.

He looks at me thoughtfully without answering. When I receive no snide rejoinder from him, I look to the parchment again.

I really don't want to think about who exactly gave birth to Merope and Morfin. The idea of first cousins being that…intimate…set my stomach churning. I look away, stopping a moment to think.

"Malfoy, what if the resulting child of an illicit affair is not a Pureblood? For example, if you already know the child's name and one of the parents, can you make the name appear without the other parent's name?"

"Individual names of half-bloods, squibs and Mu-ggleborns must be known for them to be displayed. That's according to Mother. She didn't know if both first name and surname had to be used to uncover names. She also didn't say if children's names had to be attached to both parents names. And before you ask," he looks narrowly at my mouth which is already beginning to form the word, why.

"Don't you ever give it a rest, Granger?" He smirks and continues, "In any case, non-pureblood names don't automatically appear because this book was created for the sole purpose of researching the eligibility of pureblood families for arranged marriage."

It is my turn to contemplate him. Malfoy's parents must have already been deciding on his marriage for him if they were in possession of this book. I don't know why I'm shocked. I stare into his face, one of aristocratic elegance, despite the dark circles that indicate he still isn't sleeping well. I wonder if he feels so bound by duty that he'd never even think he could have a marriage that is a love match.

Did he even know love at all?

Then something else occurs to me.

"What about adoptions?" I ask, trying to appear simply curious, but not overly so.

"What?"

"Uh… like in Harry's case, or Neville's… or…" I realize that I am at a complete loss. I can't think of another magical child, or any child, being adopted into a magical family. Except for one obvious exception that I wasn't about to share.

"I've never heard of that, Granger. I suppose we could try it... if you have someone particular in mind."

I shake my head vigorously, hoping for once that his sharp senses don't catch onto my ultimate fear that he'll discover the secret I've been successful at hiding so far this year.

"No! No… I was just curious, that's all," I say in such a rush that Malfoy sends me a mystified sideways glance. I turn away and continue talking before he calls me on my lack of artful deception.

"It would seem, then, Malfoy," I say while on my knees, touching the various snakes scattered among the vast family tree, "if you were seeking the identity and heritage of families that are pureblood, knowing more names would make it vastly easier to unlock the next generation of legitimate purebloods that come from an encounter that is out of the bounds of marriage."

I stop my thinking aloud to acknowledge his silent nod of agreement. Now I understand his vast knowledge of Pureblood surnames. I also notice his finger still rests on Morfin's name. The snake here is still tightly coiled around the name. Malfoy appears to be in deep thought about something.

This is fantastically clever, isn't it?" I state wondrously, my voice managing to snap him out of whatever trance he'd fallen into.

He shifts his head to look at me, mouth slightly agape.

"What, Malfoy?" I say with a wary smile.

"Granger, I never thought I'd live to see the day you'd call something like this book, clever."

He shakes his head.

"You don't make a bit of sense, Granger. This book is all about families maintaining blood purity and you're praising it. I'd have thought you'd want to burn it, or something like that."

I smile ruefully, realizing this is the second time tonight someone's said I don't make a bit of sense. I stare at him before addressing his comment.

"Well, Malfoy, I may be a Mudblood, but when I see something like this, I have to call it what it is."

"And what is that?" he asks truly curious, a little surprised at the way I'd taken the abusive word and made it my own.

"Magic," I say mimicking his teasing tone from earlier and purposely send him the grin he'd only hinted at. "Bloody, brilliant magic, Malfoy!"

He gazes at me, taking in my delighted excitement over the discovery of the awesome magical capacity of the book.

I watch his lips begin to twitch in what I can only guess is amusement.

"Besides, Malfoy," I sniff, eyeing him coyly. "I'm the infamous Gryffindor bookworm, aren't I? The idea of me burning a book?! Perish the thought! No matter how vile, I would never incinerate a book! Perhaps, however, I would have no qualms about tying you to a stake and setting you aflame. But a book? Never!"

My smile has grown impossibly wider as I watch Malfoy fight the urge to laugh at my self-deprecation. To my merriment, I discover that my playful tone makes it a fight he eventually loses. A bemused chortle escapes him and I watch in amazement at the sudden transformation of Malfoy's usually sullen face to one that is breathtakingly handsome.

My overactive imagination chooses this moment to imagine him tied to a pole, swearing colorfully while dancing atop a pile of smouldering logs. The visualization has me smothering a shriek of laughter.

He notices my amusement and playfully wiggles his eyebrows. With a suggestive smirk he adds, "Come to think of it, Granger, you tying me up would definitely be hot."

His randy interpretation of my earlier words upsets my equilibrium, but not necessarily in a bad way. His comical, flirtatious tone draws a nervous giggle out of me and pulls color into my cheeks.

It occurs to me that despite having males as best friends, no boy's ever engaged me in this sort of frisky banter before and it's surprisingly empowering to be thought of as an attractive girl.

"Someone should lock you up and throw you the key for that mouth of yours, Malfoy," my nerves cause the slip of tongue in my less than smooth retort. I'd been attempting smart, but sounded more coquettish.

Now it's Malfoy's turn for mirth at my unexpectedly positive, but tongue-twisted response.

"Can't say I wouldn't mind that," Malfoy's booming laugh catches me off-guard with its deep, rich sound. "Having my own prison key would be most helpful, Granger, especially if you were the one tossing it."

For the very first time, in the six years of complete and utter loathing for this boy, I find myself, not incensed at his guile, but tickled by his response to my joking. The sight of Malfoy losing himself to genuine laughter causes my heart to stutter. His unabashed grin now mirrors mine. I'm astonished by my undeniable need to join him in his joviality.

Our eyes lock as I'm trying to smother another giggle at his ludicrous suggestion, but what has me at last expelling the bottled up snigger is the insanity of my unintended jest. He makes a face at me as he tries to hold in another chortle, but it ends up bursting out of him through an indelicate snort. This sends me into gales of laughter with him readily joining in.

The unlikelihood of Malfoy and me laughing uproariously over something so silly, makes me hoot even harder at the impossibility of this moment coming to cosmic fruition.

We each attempt gasping speech, but fall back into our cacophony. By the time I finally accept this strange reality, he and I are bowed over, clutching at our sides, crowing and cackling in a hilarious duet over our outlandish behavior. Not at any one point does it escape my awareness that just minutes ago, Malfoy and I would have been unanimously voted the two least likely in our class to share something as precious and wonderful as a whole-hearted, belly-aching laugh.

By the end of our gleeful outburst, we're each lying down, face up to the ceiling, holding our middles with wands in hand, trying desperately to catch our breath. The parchment lies between us. Malfoy reaches out and drunkenly waves his wand over the parchment toward me, trying to draw my attention to what he's attempting to say as he fights against chuckles in favor of much needed breath.

"So, Granger," he manages, as our stress relieving chortles peter out. "Are you ready to find out what we can about Sengue?"

"Sengue?" I ask, trying to sit up. "No, Malfoy, not Sengue. It's Senguis, remember?"

"Oh, right," he says, at last pulling himself up, accidentally jabbing his wand into the parchment in the process. "Sengue was the name I remembered that sounded the same as your squib's name."

I don't look at him, correct him, or anything. It's better for him to think this of Emmanuelle. He fails to notice my discomfort because he uses this moment to look down at his wand, now resting on the parchment. I watch his face go from relaxed joy to one of absolute shock at whatever he is reading on the page.

I scramble to sitting in order to see what he sees.

Beneath his wand tip, which happened to land on the snake that was wrapped around Morfin's name, the name of another was just then being drawn in black ink…

We both watch, holding our breath.

The name that appears is…

Miranda Sengue.

I hear Malfoy make a strangled gasp as we both watch the black ink turn golden and a new branch weave its way down below the two names now joined by a slender coiled snake.

Fascinated, I witness another name form in black and magically turn to gleaming gold at the end of the branch… The new pureblood name that reveals itself leaves me gasping at the sight of it.

Catherine Senguis neè Sengue

And I can't help but notice that a pretty little golden leaf clings tightly to the "C" in her name.