DISCLAIMER: All canon characters and the Harry Potter-verse belongs to J K Rowling, and all "Malfoy Ambition" related things belong to Goddess Blue. Everything else belongs to me.

WARNINGS: Female Harry, Draco/Harry pairing, spoilers from possibly all the Harry Potter books, slight OOCness, cliches, and a bit of coarse language that will appear here and there.

A/N: *le gasp* Look who's finally updating!! ::dodges all the sharp, pointy objects::

Seriously though, I'm really sorry. But school demands a lot of my time. (While we're on the subject of school, can anyone please tell me the name of the jerk that invented exams? Because I want to go after him with a fire poker! And no, the guy being already dead is not an issue :P)

Anyway, enough of my ramblings. Now go go read read! xD

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: A NEW BEGINNING

Harry's breath came out as a shaky gasp and she clenched her teeth, unable to tear her eyes away from that damning photo. Her hands, which had balled into fists, shook slightly and Harry was horribly aware of the silence that had pervaded the atmosphere of the Great Hall. It was oppressive and suffocative, as if everyone present were holding their breaths, waiting for her reaction.

Finally, after several tense seconds, she slowly raised her eyes from the Daily Prophet only to be met with Hermione's concerned gaze across the table. She was vaguely aware of Ron, silent and rigid, sitting beside her, but at that instant, the only person on whom she could focus was her female best friend. She watched her mutely for a long minute and, if the stricken expression that passed across the brunette's face was anything to go by, Hermione clearly understood the look in her eyes:

This is your fault ... Why did you have to send me there...?

There was no real passion behind the nonverbal accusation, however; no deep fury behind it, though Harry dearly wanted to summon some anger. She wanted to rage at Hermione. She wanted to treat that photographer – whoever it was – to the most gruesome murder her brain could concoct, and also introduce Draco Malfoy to Hagrid's little pet, Fluffy, just for good measure. But all the fire had seeped out of her and Harry merely felt numb and defeated.

Can I never escape this thing? She wondered, dropping her gaze back to the Prophet. She watched as the Malfoy in the photo carded his fingers through her black tresses as he kissed her, and blinked owlishly. Huh. She had not even noticed back then that he had been stroking her hair. Had she really been that distracted by the ardent ministrations of his lips? A heated blush suffused Harry's cheeks at the thought and she prayed fervently, Please, just let this be a nightmare that never happened.

Sadly for Harry, it became apparent that there was going to be no answering of prayers anytime soon since, at that second, someone chose to break the profound silence – with a very loud and equally suggestive wolf whistle.

And all hell broke loose.

'Gosh, Harry, is that picture real?'

'Dang it, you're lucky!'

'Oh man, you seriously kissed Malfoy? That's just gross, mate; no offence!'

'I wanted to kiss him –!'

'So, how long have you two been getting all naughty-naughty behind the changing rooms, eh?'

Harry only faintly registered their over-lapping remarks as she blearily looked around at them. People from the other tables were approaching the Gryffindors, vying for her attention as they shot their questions at her. Their excited voices beat down on her ears, overwhelming her, and Harry closed her eyes, trying to drown them out.

'C'mon, Harry, spill!'

'Ha, I always knew Potter and Malfoy had a thing for each other –'

'Yeah, check out that snog-fest!'

Without a word, Harry stood and turned to leave. She caught a glimpse of the subdued Ron and Hermione, the only two people at her table that had not assaulted her with questions and comments. They made no move to follow her and she did not ask for their company as she began to force her way through the resistant mob of students that were still screeching her ears off. Most of them tried to stop her, eagerly demanding answers, but she did not oblige. Nor did she look at the Slytherin table on her way out of the Hall.

She did not want to know.

Draco was in the process of finding some choice words with which to curse his broken alarm clock (which, admittedly, he had forgotten to repair the night before), and also fumbling with his tie that simply refused to be tied into a decent knot when the dormitory door banged open and Blaise came marching inside. Draco persistently continued his futile battle with his pig-headed tie – yes, inanimate objects can be pig-headed, don't you know – and spoke without glancing up,

'I know, I know; I'm late. You didn't have to come here to mother-hen me just because I'm about to miss breakfast –'

'On the contrary,' Blaise drawled as he propped himself against his bedpost, 'I'd say that you are one lucky bastard to be missing breakfast today.'

'Blame that accursed alarm clock! And couldn't you have woken me – wait, what do you mean, I'm lucky?' Draco looked up abruptly.

The brunet shrugged. 'Just that it is a good thing that you didn't have to face this in front of the whole school during morning post.' He held up a newspaper he was carrying so that the front page faced the blond. 'I doubt you'd have enjoyed that particular experience. Harry certainly hated it from what I could see.'

It took a moment for Draco to compute what he was seeing and, when he did, his immediate reaction resembled the effects of a full-body Petrificus Totalus. Paralysed with shock, he stared incredulously at the photograph that was baring his – no, their – secret for the entire world to see.

'What ...?'

'You're really something, Malfoy,' Blaise said dryly. He threw the paper onto Draco's bed where it landed face down. 'I know I urged you a lot to go and see her, but that was a bit much, don't you think? Or ...' A knowing leer crossed his face. 'Was that just a spur-of-the-moment kiss, perhaps?'

Draco did not answer. His mind had completely blanked and his eyes remained locked on the Daily Prophet that lay innocently on his bedspread.

'Snogging the woman was not what I had in mind for you, but I won't condemn you yet as I don't know the details,' the other Slytherin continued breezily, undeterred by his friend's dumbstruck state. He tilted his head to the side curiously. 'So, tell me, what exactly prompted you to act so rashly and how did Harry take your, eh ... advance? And don't tell me that she gave a kick to your lower extremities this time – though that does sound pretty understandable.'

Slowly, Draco came back to his senses and Blaise' words sank into his mind. He gaped at his friend. 'Zabini ... some good-for-nothing little sonovabitch took a picture of something extremely personal and private to me and had it splashed all over the goddamned newspapers ... and all you can think about is whether or not my fiancée kicked me in the bal –?!'

'Hey, hey, look now,' Blaise raised his hands in surrender. 'I'm simply more curious about the development of your relationship than the Daily Prophet.'

'Ugh, fine. Yes, I kissed her on impulse and she took it differently than I expected (which did not involve her kicking me between my legs, since you're so desperate to know). There. Question answered?'

'Not really...'

'But what I want to know,' Draco went on, leaving shoe-shaped indents as he began to stomp back and forth across the room, 'is how that photo ended up on the news! Who wrote it? And took the picture?!'

Looking infuriatingly calm and collected considering the circumstances, Blaise sat down on Draco's bed and picked up the Prophet. 'If you ask me, those should be the least of your worries for now.'

'Oh yes? And exactly what could be more pressing than that?' Draco snapped, vaguely noting the interesting tattoo his pacing route had inadvertently left on the ground.

'Hmm. How about the fact that this article proposes quite the scandalous question: Is Harry Potter the secret fiancée of Draco Malfoy or is she ... "the other woman"?'

The Malfoy heir froze in his tracks. 'Excuse me?' he breathed in a low tone that practically screamed danger louder than a rampaging Manticore.

Blaise looked apologetically at his friend. 'I'm sorry, Drake, but it's true. And, reading between the lines, it implies that Harry is probably the latter.'

'WHAT?! Draco exploded, barely listening. The very thought sent waves of anger crashing over him. 'What do they mean, the other woman?! How the hell did they conceive such an idea? What do people take me for, a womanizing two-timer? And Potter. What, they now think their precious Chosen One is nothing but a gold-digging whore?'

'I think I understand why they might think so.'

'Oh, you do, do you?' Draco's eyes could have frozen crude oil, so cold was the contemptuous look he threw at his friend. He crossed his arms over his chest. 'Then do explain how these people's twisted minds work. I mean, for Merlin's sake, why would I kiss Potter if I were engaged to someone else –?!'

'Well, look at it from their perspective,' Blaise spoke up in a reasonable voice that counter-productively served to only stoke Draco's fury. 'Everyone here has seen nothing but you two going at each others' throats since the first day. And, if I remember correctly, you helped Rita Skeeter write a couple of articles about Harry before – and the information you provided was not flattering. '

Draco's outrage abruptly subsided as memories from his fourth year arose at Blaise' remark. With a wince, he turned away, trying to bury the shame and guilt that had begun to take hold of him.

Taking no notice of his best friend's discomfort, Blaise went on seriously, 'You can see what sort of image people have of you both due to all that. They can't really imagine Harry as your "perfect bride", can they? So, naturally, instead of thinking that she's your betrothed, they'd lean more towards the other woman theory, even though that too must seem rather odd considering you're supposed to loathe her and everything.'

For several seconds following Blaise' words, Draco simply gazed at his friend, not knowing how to respond. He tried to ignore the inner turmoil in his mind. It had not been a day since he had talked to his fiancée in hopes of solving everything; afterwards, he had not even got the chance to see if he had made any progress, but already everything had been turned upside-down! Now what was he supposed to do?

'Please,' he finally said, suddenly feeling exhausted, 'please tell me you're just playing a sick joke on me.' A stupid thing to say, really, but that did not stop him from desperately wishing that it were true.

Blaise was sympathetic, but brutally honest. 'If only I were, Draco, if only. But never mind that now. Think about Harry. You have to come to an understanding with her sometime soon. Else, everyone's probably going to end up believing that you're an unfaithful fiancé and that Harry's a scarlet woman.'

Lunch hour found Harry in the confines of an empty corner in the library. With a relieved sigh, she deposited her bag on the floor and sat down heavily at a table, burying her head in her forearms.

Double Potions that morning had been absolute torture. Only the thought of the project that she and Blaise had worked so hard on and her final NEWT grades had encouraged Harry to go to class, and even then, she had walked in at the last minute. The sight of nearly everyone watching her like hawks had given her the urge to gouge their eyes out, and even Slughorn – though he apparently had enough tact and sense not to gush over her like he generally did – had been glancing discreetly in her direction while he explained the lesson.

As for Malfoy, Harry had not even looked to see if he was present or not. The last thing that she wanted was to see his face (his lips, her mind whispered with a wicked smirk).

The only person who had acted even remotely normal was Blaise. Since she had completely ignored her partner while they quietly worked on their potion, he had returned the favour. Harry was thankful for that since she knew he had merely been considerate of her feelings. Now, if only the rest of the world would pay her the same courtesy...

Harry turned her head and made herself more comfortable. Her stomach was rumbling since she had not eaten any breakfast, but there was no physical need strong enough to make her leave the solitude of the Library. She had no desire to face that earlier humiliation in the Great Hall again. In fact, she did not want to face anybody right now...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat, and then a familiar, masculine voice said rather uncomfortably, 'Here. Thought you might fancy some of these.'

Harry looked up to see Ron sliding into the chair across from her. He dropped a large, paper bag onto the centre of the table.

She gazed at him mutely, not knowing how to respond to his sudden arrival. He had yet to reveal his opinion regarding the picture in the paper and Harry did not want to contemplate what he was currently thinking about her. An image of his long-time enemy snogging his best friend would not have gone down well with him. But when he gave her a tiny smile despite the obvious awkwardness in his eyes, Harry dropped her guard a little and attempted to smile back.

'What is it?' She nodded at the bag in front of her.

'Chocolate éclairs, with compliments from the house elves.'

Harry gave a small chuckle. 'Madam Pince will skin us alive,' she warned him, remembering that time in fifth year when the vulture-like librarian had caught her and Ginny eating Easter Eggs in the library and had promptly chased them out.

'Better make sure she doesn't see us then,' Ron answered with a conspiratorial grin as he fished an éclair from the bag which he then proceeded to eat. 'Help yourself,' he added when Harry did not follow his example. 'You weren't in the ... er, I mean, you must be pretty hungry.'

She frowned. So, her absence from the lunch table had not gone unnoticed like she had somewhat childishly hoped for. Were there many others who were looking for her as well, maybe hoping to hold a cross-examination concerning that darned kiss?

But in spite of that, she was quite touched that Ron had taken the trouble to find her and had also brought an impromptu lunch along with him. It was a heart-warming gesture that she had not been expecting and she flashed her best friend a warm smile in gratitude as she unwrapped one of the cream cakes.

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, sharing the éclairs between them. Harry suspected she would probably get an upset stomach later on from all the chocolate, but she did not care. They sated her hunger and she preferred eating with Ron to dining with everyone else anyway. The thought abruptly reminded her of her other best friend and she looked questioningly at the redhead.

'Where's Hermione?' There was a tight edge to her voice that she could not hide.

Ron quickly looked round at her. His relaxed face had tensed again.

'Great Hall, I guess.' After an uncertain pause, he ventured, 'She actually wanted to come with me, but I didn't let – I ... I mean, I reckoned, after what happened, you wouldn't want to ... you know ...'

Harry nodded sombrely. Ron had understood that part correctly. After what Hermione had done, she honestly did not feel like talking to her. At least, not yet. Yes, Harry did know that Hermione would not purposefully do anything to hurt her, and she realised that her friend probably had her reasons for sending her to meet Malfoy, but that did not mean Harry was ready to forgive her yet. Because it all boiled down to the fact that none of this would have happened if it were not for what Hermione Granger had done.

A large amount of her resentment was aimed at Malfoy, too. Admittedly, what he had said the day before had considerably lessened her previous anger towards him. Harry had even allowed herself to wonder if there was something far deeper and significant behind their engagement, and, maybe, even his feelings towards her. That was before he had crushed his mouth against hers and her sense of logic had gone haywire.

But even still, she might have honestly given serious thought to his words and proposition if not for what had happened this morning. Now, her anger at him was slowly bubbling up again. It had not flown off the handle yet, but throughout the course of the morning, Harry had wondered more than once if that picture had anything to do with Malfoy. Could he have deliberately planted a photographer near the changing rooms? The notion completely contradicted everything he had confessed to her that day, but Harry still could not let go of that possibility...

Ron cleared his throat and Harry directed her attention back to him.

'So,' he began, looking uneasily at her, obviously about to address the issue he had been putting off all that time. 'About this morning...'

Bracing herself for the confrontation, Harry straightened in her seat.

He reached into his bag and extracted a copy of the Daily Prophet which he dropped in front of her. Harry glared at it.

'Did he force himself on you?' Ron asked in a hard voice, indicating the picture.

Not having been expecting to hear such a thing, she stared at Ron, taken aback. His expression was one of righteous anger and his eyes held a ferocious, protective glint. He did not think she was at fault, Harry realised, but only Malfoy – and that surprised her. She had rather imagined that Ron would assume she was "fraternising with the enemy" or something of that sort because of his fierce disapproval of their engagement, but obviously his thoughts ran on a different tangent. Now she felt a little guilty for having made such a presumption, but she still dreaded answering his question.

'I – I don't know,' Harry said, avoiding his eyes. 'I mean, he ... he was the one who started it –'

'Effin' bastard!'

'But I didn't push him away. I let him do it.' The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush, as if desperate to be voiced before she lost her nerve.

Ron gaped at her, but did not say anything. Biting her lip and feeling ashamed, embarrassed and muddled all at once, Harry sank lower into her chair. The silence that had fallen between them lingered on and, when it finally became too uncomfortable, Harry said desperately without thinking,

'And please don't ask me if it was "wet" or anything!'

A look of utter disgust spread across Ron's face, but then he snorted. They looked at each other for a few moments, and then promptly burst into raucous peals of laughter. They guffawed so hard that Madam Pince soon appeared at Ron's shoulder and furiously hissed at them to quiet down. Chortling out apologies, they waved away the librarian who glowered at them and left, leaving the two Gryffindors wheezing and gasping for air.

'Where did that come from?' Ron demanded, still snickering.

'No idea,' Harry replied sheepishly.

'Uh huh. So ... was it wet?'

'Oh, shut up!'

They grinned at each other and Harry felt satisfied, glad that the earlier tense atmosphere had vanished. Nor did it return (at least, not in full force) when they grew serious again and Ron, palpably trying to sound as neutral as possible, asked with pressed calm,

'So, if Malfoy didn't force you – does that mean that ... you do like him after all?' His eyes betrayed his aversion to that concept.

Harry bit her lip, considering his question deeply, her thoughts leading to the happenings of the day before. At length, she answered,

'Before, I would have said no, but now ... I'm just so confused.' Meeting Ron's gaze, she struggled to explain herself upon seeing his mystified expression, 'Yesterday, Malfoy – before he ... you know, did that – he told me some certain things that I haven't really given much thought to yet. But from a lot of what he said, I feel that I might have to ... I dunno, do a bit of re-evaluation or something on Malfoy. You get what I'm trying to say, right?'

'Uh huh.' Ron nodded, looking as baffled as before.

Frustrated, Harry continued, 'You see, all this time, I thought Malfoy hated me! But yesterday –'

'Let me guess. He said he didn't hate you?' Ron asked sceptically.

'Something like that. And people don't usually snog their enemies, do they? I mean, the way he kissed me –!'

Ron coughed loudly, shooting her a pained look that clearly said too-much-info-shut-up. Harry blushed, realising what she had been saying and quickly closed her mouth. They sat awkwardly like that for sometime before Harry tried again,

'So, what I'm saying is, I'm starting to wonder if everything about Malfoy is ... well, not what we thought they were. I need to really think about what he said, especially about a certain request he made. And ...' She looked hesitantly at her best friend. 'I have no idea what conclusion I'll come to, Ron. It's all so confusing right now. But I want to know, if I come to a decision that ... you don't approve of ... will you...?' She left the question unfinished, apprehensively waiting for her best friend's answer.

Ron ran a hand through his hair, not looking at her. He took a few deep breaths and rubbed at his temple, clearly searching for words. After several heartbeats, in which Harry grew increasingly anxious, he replied in a low, fervent tone,

'Harry, you know I don't like Malfoy. And I don't trust him – at all.'

She nodded slowly in understanding.

'But that doesn't necessarily mean I don't trust your judgement.' Ron's eyes burned with a strange emotion she had never seen before. 'I've already made the mistake of not trusting you before, Harry, more than once. And ...' He glanced away, looking uncomfortable and rather shamefaced, 'I'm not proud of it and I won't do it again. Whatever decision you come to after your "re-evaluation" of Malfoy, I'll support you, even if I don't like it as you said.'

Harry looked at her best friend with overly bright eyes; a strange lump had formed in her throat. His words, though short, meant more to her than she could say and Harry reached forward and grasped his hand briefly, trying to convey the depth of her gratitude through her touch.

'Thanks, Ron,' she murmured and he smiled softly at her. After a few moments,

'But it's bloody weird to think that one day, you'll come up to me and say you like ferret-face,' he said in a chipper tone, trying to make light of things.

Harry laughed a little shakily. 'Not so fast. I might decide I do hate him after all. Who knows?' Her eyes fell on the newspaper. 'Especially if it turns out that that stupid photo was his plan all along. I'll string him up by his intestines then!'

She expected Ron to laugh and make a witty remark, but instead, he frowned slightly at her. 'I'm not so sure about that, Harry. Haven't you read the article yet?'

'No.' Raising her eyebrows, Harry picked up the Daily Prophet and glanced at the by-line.

'"Rita Skeeter." Why am I not surprised that she wrote this?' Harry growled, turning contemptuous. She shoved the paper towards Ron. 'That cow! Going around taking pictures with her stupid photographer; isn't she bloody banned from Hogwarts grounds?! Now I seriously want to tell Kingsley that she's an unregistered Animagus! Let's see how she enjoys Azkaban.'

'I'm with you on that, mate,' Ron agreed, opening the paper to the rest of the report. 'But it's a little more complicated than that. See, Skeeter only wrote it, Harry, but it says here that she got the photo from an "unknown source." And, I dunno ... the way she writes, it kinda implies that neither of you knew about this so-called unknown source.'

'What?' Harry said blankly.

Ron looked grimly at her. 'Someone was out there taking pictures of you two going at it.' – Harry inwardly flinched at his choice of words – 'And Skeeter-cow makes it sound like Malfoy had nothing to do with it (though I wouldn't put it past him).'

She stared at the moving photo. 'But ... who ...? No one apart from us even knew I was meeting him!'

'Could it have been that crazy kid with the camera?' Ron asked thoughtfully. 'You know, the one who practically licks the ground you walk on?'

'Colin Creevy?' Harry looked gravely at him. 'He's dead, Ron. He died in the Battle here...'

Ron looked shocked and mortified. 'Sorry, didn't know,' he mumbled quickly, turning red.

Nodding understandingly, Harry focussed on the Prophet again. Who took that picture?

By the end of the day, Draco could appreciate the horror Hariah Potter must have faced in the Great Hall during breakfast.

Though the idea of taking a sick day and staying in bed had greatly appealed to him after seeing the Daily Prophet that morning (no, that does not count as hiding! Malfoys do not hide), he had forced himself to attend all his lessons that day (which had no connection whatsoever to the suspiciously Blaise-like voice in his head that had hissed, 'Wuss' at him).

The experience had been far from pretty.

Left and right, people had been either loudly exchanging thoughts about the article in front of him, or unabashedly coming right up to excitedly demand answers. Not even his death glares could discourage the gossip-loving airheads that dominated the corridors of Hogwarts. Over and over again they asked whether he was truly engaged to Potter and each time he had brushed past them with a glower or muttered a sullen, 'No comment.' It was a nightmare whose horror level, in his opinion, tallied with the prospect of the Dark Lord coming back to life and spontaneously deciding that it would be Draco Malfoy's sorry ass that he would dedicate his life to chasing all over the continent this time.

To his irritation and anger, Draco had also discovered that Blaise had been right about people believing Potter to be a "scarlet woman". His ferocious glares still had some effect to the point that the students did not mention this particular theory to his face or ask if he was cheating on his "actual" fiancée with the Chosen One, but he had picked up their whispered mutters in the hallways and classrooms. Their words awoke a deep and intense hatred in him every time and, more than once, he nearly ended up driving his fist into the faces of the gossipers for daring to slight Hariah Potter's honour.

He lost self control at one instant when a seventh year Hufflepuff, upon seeing Draco passing by, had loudly hissed in a mocking voice, 'Well, look who it is: Draco "inamorata" Malfoy. Wonder where his little concubine is.'

More overwhelming was his outrage at hearing Hariah Potter being referred to as a hussy than at the insult directed at him. Draco had actually moved to physically attack the surprised Hufflepuff (whose name he was pretty sure started with a Z) when Blaise, who had thankfully been present, had grabbed him by the upper arm and hauled him away.

'Don't make a scene, for goodness' sake!'

'Damn it, Blaise, let go of me! Didn't you hear –!'

'Of course I heard! What, you think I appreciate hearing two of my friends' being insulted? But you need to calm down! Things are already in an uproar as it is. The last thing you need is to start a fight now.'

Reluctantly, Draco agreed, but he considered himself lucky to have made it all the way to dinner without committing murder. Even the teachers – who obviously were as much notorious gossipers as any other student – had been staring all day, either out of interest or disapproval. This led Draco, for the first time in his life, to appreciate the epic wonderfulness of certain teachers, like Professor McGonagall who had merely barked at her students to finish off transfiguring their ferret-turned-weasels back to their original forms and left it at that; she had barely spared him more than a glance. Only a very few professors, like the tactful Flitwick, had channelled her teaching spirit instead of giving him the eye all throughout their lessons.

Draco was also concerned about how Potter was dealing with it all. However, he could not find out much about her. During the classes they shared, she maintained an emotionless visage and merely did her work quietly without speaking to anyone, not even her sidekicks. Nor had she looked his way at all and that made him feel rather uneasy. He also did not know how she was handling all the gossipers because not only did they have the good sense to shut their intolerable mouths during lessons, but he did not see much of his fiancée outside of his classes either.

Blaise was no help there. He simply shrugged and said, 'She didn't talk to me,' when Draco nonchalantly asked how Potter had been during Double Potions. (Strangely enough, Weasley said nothing to him during Potions either, though he did treat him to a murderous glare when Draco first approached their shared table.)

Finally, thoroughly annoyed, humiliated and somewhat worried, Draco went on one of his customary walks directly after dinner that night. To avoid the odd, wandering student, he climbed upstairs to the upper floors that normally stayed deserted even hours before curfew. Once he reached the seventh floor, he shrugged off his outer robes, slung them over his shoulder and slipped his hands into pants pockets as he strolled along the cool, dimly lit corridors. He tried to drown himself in the rhythm of his walking and empty his mind, but his thoughts refused to leave him alone.

His face twisted into a scowl as he thought about the article once more. Rita Skeeter. It was just typical that she was the one that had written it, as he had learnt earlier. But more than the reporter, it was the mystery photographer that really made his blood boil. Oh, if he ever got his hands on that filthy little blighter!

Not to mention those idiots saying that he was going behind his betrothed's back with Potter, the other woman! Draco's frown deepened. Why, Potter was his betrothed. He had every right to kiss her if she had no objection to it.

Cheating, indeed. He scoffed contemptuously. Whatever they thought, he had never cheated on his fiancée, because it had been Hariah Potter all along...

Wait a moment.

Draco's steps slowed as a sudden thought occurred to him. Before he had found out the truth about her, back when he had still been searching, he had entertained some not-so-very-innocent thoughts about Potter ... hadn't he? With a cold, uncomfortable feeling, he hesitantly recalled the night when he had sensually teased her outside the Headmistress' office. He had felt attracted to her then; and for days afterward, that incident and Potter were all he had been able to think about. He had as good as forgotten about his engagement during that period, ever since the moment she had taken over his thoughts.

Why was that a problem? Draco chided himself. There was nothing wrong with feeling that way about Potter! She did get his ring, after all, so he had been attracted to his fiancée the whole time. He simply had not known that back then.

But ... wasn't that almost as bad as cheating on his betrothed? He had been having certain thoughts about Hariah Potter without knowing who had got his ring. He had not even thought about it. So, in a way, hadn't he been unfaithful to his unknown fiancée at the time...?

Draco groaned out loud. Oh, joy. Now he was feeling guilty about something he had not even realised before back when it had actually mattered! At this rate, he would soon be going backwards.

It's no longer an issue, he told himself sombrely and pushed those ramblings to the back of his mind. He now knew that Potter had the ring, which was all that counted. He had other more important things to focus on anyway. Blaise had been right about Draco needing to solve the current dilemma with the Daily Prophet soon.

But that's just the problem, he thought gloomily. When it came to Hariah Potter, nothing was easy as had already been proven before. The word "soon" did not exist in the Malfoy-Potter-complex dictionary, because, with Potter, he needed time to work things out. He had to allow her to approach him at her own time, in her own way. To rush things would mean instant failure.

However, thanks to the nosy Daily Prophet...

He cursed them in his mind. Skeeter and that picture! They might have already ruined everything! With a sour look on his face, Draco sullenly wondered if Potter had given any thought to what he had told her the day before; but even if his sincere words had warmed her attitude towards him (which in itself would be incredible!) it seemed pretty darn inevitable that the newspaper would have set her anger off again.

Sighing, he rounded a corner, intending to complete one round of the seventh floor before returning to the Slytherin common room. He stopped short, however, upon seeing a small figure huddled on one side. It took a moment for him to recognise who it was and when he did, Draco felt his heart skip a beat.

Hariah Potter sat with her back leaning against the wall. Her legs were drawn close to her body and her arms were propped up on her knees. The moonbeams streaming in through the large windows facing inside bathed her in an otherworldly silver glow and the lit torches along the corridor added a tint of gold to the radiance, making her look ethereal.

Draco took an involuntary step towards her, but immediately stopped for his fiancée was abruptly joined by someone else.

It was with relief that Harry was able to escape the suffocating crowds of students that had ceaselessly surrounded her throughout the whole day. As soon as her classes were over, she fled to her dormitory to retrieve her Invisibility Cloak and, finally feeling free to actually breathe, she took off for the invitingly isolated corridors instead of the Great Hall which was sure to be packed with students having their dinners. Harry, too, felt hungry, but she had no appetite. Besides, she needed to think anyway.

Malfoy and his request were her top priorities, of course, but instead, Harry found her mind assaulted with the whispers and mutters of her fellow classmates she had picked up earlier. She bit her lip as she wandered along the long hallways that were illuminated by the fading light of the setting sun.

I still can't believe it. If she had ever tried to envisage how people would respond to seeing her and Draco Malfoy snogging, then she would have thought the general reaction would be just shock and disbelief. And that they would inevitably join the dots about the two of them being engaged – which, obviously, she did not want yet. As expected, astonishment and incredulity certainly had been part of the result, but what Harry had not anticipated was the sheer amount of people who were more concerned with ... something else.

'Hoochie mama,' Harry mumbled under her breath. She had actually heard some students calling her a hoochie mama! Before today, Harry had never heard the term in her life, but there was no question that it was just another derivative of hooker, floozy and even "engagement wrecker" – all of which had been aimed at her back during the course of the day.

And those were only the more polite ones, mind.

'Morons.'

It was bad enough that people had been asking to her face whether she had anything going on with Malfoy, but being accused of being a nympho behind her back – and loud enough to be overheard too! – was the rotten cherry on top of the appalling-things-that-gossip-loving-airheads-would-do pile.

Especially when she discovered that Skeeter's article actually hinted at that same thing! Typical. Of course the woman would try to make her precious articles as juicy as possible – at the cost of other people's reputations and grace.

'Why couldn't have everyone just realised that I got that fricking ring and be done with it?' Harry complained out loud. There was no one present and her disembodied voice sounded eerie in the darkening corridors. Strangely, it felt good to voice her frustrations aloud and, gathering steam, she went on heatedly, 'But, no. They had to make this mess even more complicated and decided to believe that I'm a bloody strumpet and Malfoy's cheating on his "fiancée" by having an affair with me! What the hell, what is so hard to believe about me beingthe one he's engaged to??'

She paused for a moment, thinking over her last words and then sighed. 'Alright, so maybe it might be a little hard for them to believe,' she allowed grouchily. 'Rivals for seven years and all that. But isn't it just as unlikely that two enemies would actually have an affair? How are they using their brains –??'

Still grumbling about the events of the day and the fact that she had another name to add to the list of titles she had already been called throughout her long years at Hogwarts (The-Girl-Who-Lived, Slytherin's Heir, Parselmouth, cheater, The-Girl-Who-Lied, The Chosen One, Our Heroine, and now Hoochie Mama – quite an impressive list), Harry continued to stomp along the deserted corridors until, at length, she collapsed against the wall and pulled off her Invisibility Cloak. Sighing, she made herself comfortable and quietly stared out of the huge windows opposite her which depicted a gorgeous twilight sky where the first stars were already coming out. From her position on the floor, she could make out a dim light towards the horizon and realised that the moon would soon rise.

Harry allowed herself to drown in the beauty of the scene and concentrated solely on the deepening blue and purple hues of the sky and the twinkling pinpricks that shone more and more brightly. But the distraction could last for only so long before Draco Malfoy filled her thoughts and, wearily, she prepared herself for a long and draining mental debate with herself. Trying to come to a decision on Malfoy's appeal to "get to know each other" would be no piece of cake; there were a lot of things that she had to come to terms with.

Starting with how Draco Malfoy actually felt about her –

'Well, if it isn't the little Chosen One.'

Annoyed, Harry whipped her head round to her right to glare at the intruder, irritably wondering why people found it so difficult to understand the plain concept of minding their own business. Her irritation was replaced with surprise, though, when saw the last person she was expecting.

'You ... why are you here?'

Glowing eerily white in the dim light, the ghost that had interrupted Harry floated down the corridor elegantly towards her and hovered to a stop a few feet away. Helena Ravenclaw. The Grey Lady, Ghost of Ravenclaw Tower. Her now familiar transparent face still sported the rather haughty expression the Gryffindor had seen when first they had spoken during the Battle, and she wound her insubstantial fingers through her long tresses as she answered coolly,

'I have the freedom of this castle. The question is better applied to you. Why are you here, Hariah Potter?'

'Wanted to be alone,' Harry said with a shrug and turned away. She was not in the mood for small talk with ghosts.

'Is that so.' It was a statement, not a question.

For several seconds, they both stayed silent, Harry wishing that she would leave, and the ghost simply watching her expectantly. After a long minute, when The Grey Lady stayed put, the Gryffindor raised her eyebrows and said impatiently, 'Yes, well, if that's all, could you please leave? I have a lot on my mind right now.'

Helena Ravenclaw scoffed and waved a delicate arm in Harry's direction. 'I was waiting for you to tell me what you did with my mother's diadem.'

Harry blinked, taken aback.

Rolling her eyes, The Grey Lady lowered herself closer to the ground and folded her arms. 'You already know that you are the only one to whom I revealed my past and the diadem's location apart from ... him.' A strange expression, almost like shame, crossed her face momentarily. 'I want to know how you put that information to use. After all, I doubt that he did anything for the greater good of people when I told him where it was ...'

'Hey,' Harry said quickly, a little miffed at her implied allegation. 'I did nothing bad with it, alright? Unlike Voldemort, who, like you said, only used it for himself and turned it into one of his Horcruxes.'

The Grey Lady was obviously familiar with the term for she looked shocked.

'Yes, he did.' The young witch nodded grimly. 'And he hid the diadem here at Hogwarts. I found the Horcrux and destroyed it.'

Helena's shock was overwhelmed by a sudden rush of indignation and horror. 'You actually...!'

'I didn't have a choice! It contained a part of Voldemort's soul! We couldn't have killed him without destroying the diadem first.'

That pacified the ghost somewhat, but her dismay at hearing the fate of Ravenclaw's most valuable possession did not completely vanish. Still frowning, she gave Harry a brief once-over and asked abruptly, changing the subject,

'And now what, Chosen One? Do you have some other Dark Lord and his Horcruxes you need to vanquish?'

'Huh. What?'

'I ask because, this evening, you look just as desperate as when you came to me earlier this year asking about my mother's legacy.'

'Heh, no,' Harry answered, her lips twitching up in a humourless smile. 'If only that were so, because dealing with psychopathic, blood-purity obsessed lunatics that are after my skin seems so much simpler than handling egotistical men asking for my hand in marriage. At least I have more than enough experience when it comes to said lunatics.'

Despite her heavy sarcasm, her remark seemed to interest The Grey Lady somewhat. With a 'Hmm', she floated over to the window and, gazing at the rising moon, said fervently,

'I can sympathise with you in that respect, Chosen One. In my short life, I had my share of egotistical men and The Bloody Baron whose narcissism puts all the rest to shame, even now as a ghost in chains.'

'Right.' Harry could not help but chuckle at her derisive tone. 'But in my case, it's a little more complicated because now I'm wondering if this person really is so egotistical after all.'

The Grey Lady looked shrewdly at her with narrowed eyes. 'You are weakening and succumbing to your wooer?' She sounded almost accusing and Harry had a sudden mental image of a leering Malfoy pulling her to him with a lasso and evilly hissing, 'Come ... SUCCUMB TO ME.'

Well, damn. That was just disturbing. And plain creepy.

'You should not surrender to unworthy courters,' the ghost continued severely. 'Nothing good will come of it.'

'I don't know about the unworthy part. But, his ... I suppose you could call it "confession",' Harry fidgeted, feeling uncomfortable about voicing such things, 'it sounded quite sincere to be perfectly honest.' The words sounded strange coming out of her mouth and Harry realised, for the first time, that she was actually admitting to herself that Draco Malfoy had seemed honest the day before.

Helena Ravenclaw, however, was unmoved. With a scoff, she said bitterly, 'The Bloody Baron, for all appearances, was sincere in his pursue of me, but you know what the outcome of that was.' She pulled her cloak closer about her and Harry avoided looking at her chest where, she knew, was a concealed knife wound.

After a few awkward seconds, Harry said quietly, 'This is different.'

'How so?'

In spite of the aloof, sceptical look on her transparent face, The Grey Lady was genuinely giving Harry her full attention and the Gryffindor had to wonder how she had ended up talking about this with a ghost – and Helena Ravenclaw at that – of all people. But, without really knowing why she was doing so, Harry hesitantly began to tell her tale.

Withholding her "wooer's" name, she kept her narration short and to the point. Starting from the first impression she had of Malfoy years ago in Madam Malkin's, Harry briefly explained the hostile and caustic relationship they had shared all through Hogwarts and further added a few details she knew about Malfoy's short-lived but unpleasant Death Eater days. Then, having no other choice, she admitted that she had been "forced into an engagement" with her rival.

Though she had not said a great deal by then, Harry was feeling more at ease because talking about her dilemma with someone who was completely impartial felt greatly refreshing and seemed to lift a huge load off her chest. With a little more spirit, she continued earnestly,

'So, you can see what it was like. We hated each other before and when he refused to call off the engagement, I thought he was being an arse like always and wanted to control me. But then yesterday, my best friend tricked me into meeting him –'

Helena, who had not interrupted her till then, raised her eyebrows cynically and said, 'Your closest friend tricked you? Perhaps you should consider finding better and more considerate acquaintances.'

'Hermione meant no harm, I'm sure. I mean, she's Hermione!' Harry argued half-heartedly. She deflated when the ghost shot her a pointed look, and glumly admitted, 'Alright, so I'm not exactly happy with her. I haven't talked to her since yesterday actually. But that's not the point.

'What I'm saying is, I met this person yesterday and he ... said and did some things that, you know, you don't normally say or do to your rival. Also he did imply that,' she paused, remembering Malfoy's passionate kiss. Harry was not well-versed with romance, but even she felt that his unexpected embrace had been driven not by unwilling force, but by actual feelings – and, judging by how undeniably intense the experience had been, his feelings were deep and firmly rooted.

It felt incredible to be even thinking such things about Draco Malfoy!

'Yes?' prompted The Grey Lady, shaking Harry out of her thoughts as she floated towards her.

Inhaling a little shakily, Harry answered in a low voice, 'I think he was trying to tell me that he doesn't hate me ... and, for some reason, I'm beginning to wonder if he ever actually did hate me...' Because, Harry reasoned, if his feelings for her (if they really did exist; she still could not bring herself to believe it) were as intense as his kiss had been, then they could not have developed over a mere fortnight. It had to have taken so much longer; years, maybe. The thought sent a shiver down her back.

Looking unimpressed, the ghost asked dryly, 'And what exactly did this young man say or do to make you doubt the hatred you were convinced he harboured for you all these years?'

Harry shook her head slowly and hugged her knees closer. 'Let's just say he seemed pretty honest. He ... felt honest.'

Helena's eyebrows shot up at the last part. Floating over to the moon-bathed window again, she commented nonchalantly, 'Well, it appears you were quite right. Your problem concerning young Malfoy is different than mine with The Baron.'

'Yes, I told y –' Harry froze. Slowly, she looked up at The Grey Lady. '... I never said it was Malfoy.'

Something like a smirk flitted across the ghost's pale face. 'We ghosts are quite knowledgeable of the happenings within this castle. And though I never had much interest in the lives of students, your notorious battles with Draco Malfoy throughout the years were impossible to ignore. So, did you honestly think I would not guess your fiancé's identity when you mentioned he was your rival? Especially considering the uproar that the newspaper put this school in today?'

It took several moments for Harry to realise that her mouth was open. She shut it quickly and scowled to mask her embarrassment. It should not be surprising that even a ghost she had spoken to only once before knew of her engagement, but it reminded Harry again of how much her privacy was exploited.

'Well, enough of that,' Helena Ravenclaw said airily. 'Focus on your main problem. What do you intend to do about the Malfoy boy? Since you seem to believe that he is sincere, are you going to accept his hand?'

Dropping the scowl, Harry answered quickly with a nervous chuckle, 'No, no, he said yesterday that this engagement isn't about marriage! He actually wants us to, er, get to know each other first. If it fails, then we separate. But if it works well, then ... um, the marriage part comes...'

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, feeling awkward again. Now that she was thinking rationally, Malfoy's proposal actually did make sense. Getting to know each other – wasn't that the base of every relationship? And, come to think of it, she herself had said during the Welcome Feast that Slytherins should be given a chance at friendship before they were condemned! That was basically what Malfoy was asking her to give him; a chance to learn about each other.

But it was still different because, not only did she suspect that his feelings towards her were very different from what she believed them to be, but also due to the fact that if the engagement actually worked out ... then he would ask her to marry him ... wouldn't he? Such a thing happening was impossible to imagine and Harry could not conceive of marrying into the Malfoy family, but she had to accept that the possibility of that future did exist. It all depended on her choice.

She closed her eyes, trying to calm the turmoil in her mind. She had to come to a decision; there was no way to escape. But she had to choose carefully because it was so much more than just friendship that Malfoy was asking of her.

And there was still the question that, if the engagement miraculously turned out for the better and Malfoy really proposed to her (still unbelievably hard to picture) – what would be her answer? Would she accept him? Could she really spend her life as Malfoy's wife and the mother of his children –?

Alright, stop. Harry quickly opened her eyes, perturbed. She had looked a little too far into the future that time! However, she could not help but smile wryly when she suddenly remembered Ron's comment during the train-ride:

'You want to spend the rest of your life married to Malfoy and have a dozen or two of his little blond, smirking babies ...?'

The scary thing was that such a future, however minuscule, was there in front of her. (OK, maybe not a dozen babies, but still.) All I have to do is say yes...

'Ahem.'

With a start, Harry remembered that The Grey Lady was still present. She looked a little annoyed at being ignored, but upon regaining Harry's attention, the ghost raised her eyebrows expectantly at her.

Harry hesitated, still torn in two, but tried to answer the nonverbal question nevertheless, 'This is hard for me. To think that so many things I believed are only the opposite in reality ... but, I still can't deny what happened yesterday and I'd be a hypocrite to push him away without giving him a second chance ...' Nervously, Harry wrung her hands and attempted a smile that fell flat. 'So I think ... I mean, it can't hurt to ... spend a little time with ... Malfoy, right? I mean, who knows? It might go well or maybe not, and we ...' She stopped, realising that she was rambling.

Stalling, Harry glanced at her left hand. After the fire-incident during Potions, she had replaced her burnt glove with another one though she had not severed the fingers off this time. She pulled it off, exposing the white gold ring and stared at the sparkles the central diamond gave off in the moonlight. Though a gorgeous gem, underneath the beauty also was strength and solidity – and that was something Harry did want to achieve. She could not afford to remain uncertain and insecure.

For a long moment, Harry sat in silence, eyes locked on the ring before; at last, she forced herself to make up her mind. With a more determined look, she turned back to the ghost.

'I'll do it.' Her voice came out hoarse as if there was some residue reluctance within her. Grimacing, Harry cleared her throat and repeated more strongly, 'I'll do it. I don't know what will come of it, but I know it's only right to give him this chance. Else I'll only be a liar.'

The Grey Lady gazed expressionlessly at Harry. Her eyes had a touch of what looked like amusement, but she did not say a word. Instead, she turned her head very deliberately to her right and focussed her attention on...

Harry went cold. Her hands grew clammy and her clothes suddenly felt too tight. Involuntarily holding her breath, she glanced to her side, fearing yet already knowing what she would see.

He was several feet away, leaning sideways against the wall with his feet crossed. His robes were slung over one shoulder, the Slytherin green tie around his neck was loosened and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone. Harry could not say what made her take note of his attire – maybe she was not ready to see his expression – but the casual yet charming image he presented would stay with her for a long time.

When she finally focussed on his face, goosebumps rose up her arms. Through the fringe of white blond hair that flopped down over his forehead, Harry could make out his eyes. Despite the distance, she could see them glinting silver in the moonlight and they were as intense as just before he had kissed her the previous day. But more than that, what really struck her was the upturn of his lips. They were curled up slightly and his face was not vacant as usual, but looked warm and almost ... happy?

A smile. A warm, pleased smile – at her. Her heart fluttered strangely.

It was then that Harry realised that Draco Malfoy had heard every word she had said.

'You look happy,' Blaise remarked bluntly when Draco entered their dormitory that night. 'That's strange. I was expecting your anger at the Daily Prophet to last a pretty long time. At least a month, give or take a couple of days.'

Draco did not answer, but the small smile on his face did not fade as he flopped down on his bed. Not even reminders of Skeeter's article could drain the happiness and content he was feeling inside.

She agreed, he thought, still awed at what he had overheard. Seeing Hariah Potter conversing about him and their engagement with a ghost was quite unanticipated, but he really did not care or mind. All he could think of was his fiancée. She had actually said she would give him a chance! And, on top of that, her words about him had not been laced with anger or revulsion. They had been accepting ... even almost kind, despite her obvious uncertainty and hesitance.

He closed his eyes, completely in bliss.

'Draco?'

'Hmm?'

Blaise sounded amused. 'You look too happy. By chance, did you get another kiss from Harry?'

Even better, though that would have been a nice bonus. In fact, he had been tempted to take her in his arms back then, but for some reason, it felt too forward. He had been satisfied to just stand there, looking into her surprised, green eyes and know that things were slowly but surely falling into place. They had not exchanged any words. There had been no need to.

His thoughts were once again interrupted. 'Draco...'

Sighing, the blond sat up. 'What is it?'

Blaise aimlessly flipped through his Ancient Runes textbook as be answered vaguely, 'I'm not sure how to say this. You seem quite content and I would hate to burst your bubble –'

'Must you always speak like that? Get to the point!'

The brunet looked up, lips twitching. 'All right. Your parents sent you mail.' He threw a red envelope at his friend who quickly caught it. 'I suspect it has something to do with today's newspaper article.'

Frowning, Draco raised the red parchment. His frown immediately transformed into a look of horror when he saw the corners of the envelope beginning to smoke.

Oh, great Merlin, no!

A Howler.

Harry's mind was still full of Draco Malfoy's eyes and warm smile when she finally returned to the Gryffindor Common Room. She could not forget the look on his face. He had looked happy, really happy even if the smile had been slight. Did her acceptance of his request really mean so much to him? If so ... it makes it sound like he really wants me, Harry thought, feeling a little uncomfortable and yet oddly content.

Distracted, she climbed in through the portrait hole and was automatically about to climb the staircase to her dormitory when a voice called her name.

With a start, she turned to see Ginny Weasley approaching her, Ron and Hermione following in the background.

'What is it, Ginny?'

The Weasley girl came to a halt in front of her and, with a sly, triumphant smile, said, 'Listen, that picture in the Prophet today was pretty darn amusing and all –'

Harry's mood immediately soured and she frowned. Before she could retort, however, Ginny continued,

'But I guess you couldn't really appreciate it –'

'No, really?' Harry said sarcastically.

'So, when I overheard a certain little attention-seeker excitedly talking about how they got their prize photograph printed in the news and was paid handsomely for it, I figured you'd want to know about that.'

The words sank in slowly. The black-haired girl gaped at Ginny, wondering if she had heard right. 'Wait, what?'

'I said –'

'Ginny,' Ron rolled his eyes. 'Just say it straight. Harry,' he looked grimly at his best friend, 'we know who took that picture of you and Malfoy.'

A/N: Did I just accomplish a double cliffhanger? (If yes, then I beat you, SK!! Ha ha, take that! :D)

Right. Ahem. So, who do you think took the picture? And yes, Colin Creevy really is dead. He died in Deathly Hallows. So, he's not an option. Poor guy.

Also, a little word about the Harry-Ron interaction here. I guess some of you might think it OOC for the way Ron acted in the library (God knows how many people imagine him flying off the handle and breaking off his friendship with Harry for being with Malfoy), but this is my interpretation of his character:

Throughout the series, he's shown to be immature and insensitive, but he does grow up even if it is slow. I see him as someone who learns from his mistakes. Like, in Goblet of Fire, his jealousy gets the better of him and he doesn't trust Harry enough to believe him about not putting his name in the Goblet. But he eventually accepts he was in the wrong and trusts Harry faithfully after that. It can be argued that he abandons Harry again in Deathly Hallows, but it is revealed that his negative emotions were amplified by the Horcrux which establishes that he wouldn't have left if he hadn't been wearing the Horcrux at the time. Also, Ron immediately regrets leaving and goes to great lengths to return. He always redeems himself and shows fierce loyalty to Harry.

So, Ron really cares. He's not approving of Malfoy, but the way I see it, in a serious situation where Harry may decide on something Ron may not specifically like, he will still support his best friend because he's learned to have faith in Harry. I don't see him as someone who will abandon Harry because of something so trivial as Harry choosing to be with Malfoy. He's matured and grown up (finally!). Also, like JKR said, Ron is flawed and has weaknesses, but "that's what makes Ron a man", which is what I tried to portray here.

OK, I hope that monologue made sense. So, please click that pretty little REVIEW button and share your thoughts! I'd love to hear them! :D

NEXT: CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: A Few Answers (Still can't guarantee frequent updates, I'm afraid. But I'll try.)