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: Thank you so much for all your reviews! I really appreciate everyone that took the time to comment on what they liked, didn't like and left me concrit for the last chapter. Thanks so much!

I know it's been forever and I could write a million valid excuses here, but that'd be just a huge waste. I'm just glad that you guys stick with me even during my sporadic updates and hope you understand when I can't update frequently, even though I want to.

DEDICATION: For Plush, who's crazy review filled with crazy ideas pulled me out of my crazy writer's block. *huggles Plush* Aww, thank you, this is for you (though I toned down the craziness ... a little bit :D)

So, happy reading! By the way, long chapter is long.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: A FEW ANSWERS AND A HELLUVA REVENGE

'Harry, we know who took that picture of you and Malfoy.'

Harry stared at her best friend in blatant surprise and shock as his words gradually sank into her mind. A mixture of anger and curiosity, both vying for dominance, rose within her and she demanded hoarsely, 'Who is it?'

'See for yourself.' The dry, sardonic tone of Ron's voice sent Harry's interest soaring and she, along with Ginny and a still silent Hermione, quickly followed him as he led them up the stairs to the seventh year boy's dormitory.

'Neville and the boys were kind enough to hold him here for us,' explained Ginny upon seeing the mildly surprised look on Harry's face.

Ron nodded and threw open the door.

'GAH, HARRY! I'M SO PROUD OF YOU!'

She had barely crossed the threshold when what looked like a blurry tornado flew across the room and engulfed her in a rib-cracking, suffocative hug...

Seamus. Of course.

'You are the epitome of brilliance!' Seamus continued to shout enthusiastically in her ear, taking no notice of Harry's struggles to free herself. 'That picture was an excellent idea! You showed the whole school what it's like to interact with Slytherins with no shame –!'

'Er, Seamus?' Ron said pointedly.

'– and what an example you set by publicly befriending your worst enemy! Showing everyone how you were willingly with Malfoy – it made my attempts at Inter-House Unity look so pathetic –!'

'Seamus.'

'You're my new idol! I swear, Harry, from today onwards, I shall take a leaf out of your book and –'

'SEAMUS!'

'What?' exclaimed the Irishman from where he had Harry in a near-headlock and was fondly mussing her hair like an uncle congratulating a favourite niece (and taking that image to a whole new extreme).

'You might want to keep your idol alive by letting her breathe,' Ron said, rolling his eyes while Ginny snorted with laughter at Seamus' antics. Even Hermione was biting back a smile.

Looking comically surprised, Seamus glanced down and finally noticed Harry trying to pull her face out of his sweater. With an 'Oops, sorry', he released her and the girl stumbled back, gasping for air.

'Damn, Seamus!' Harry exclaimed, rubbing her forehead that felt like it had been rubbed raw against his collarbone. 'Was squeezing that hard really necessary?'

'And I doubt that what the Prophet showed this morning counts as Harry "willingly befriending" Malfoy,' Ron added under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. She winced at the reminder.

Turning back to Seamus, Harry shook her head bemusedly at the grinning sandy-haired teen. Of course, only Seamus Finnegan would interpret the Prophet's photograph in terms of Slytherin-Gryffindor "friendship" as opposed to Hariah Potter the Hoochie Mama – like everyone else. Speaking of the photo...

'Hang on,' Harry said suspiciously, squinting at the Irishman. 'Ron, are you telling me Seamus is the one who did it?'

'Did what?' Seamus asked blankly as Ron quickly began to protest, 'Eh – no, no it's not –'

A loud and very obvious cough sounded from within the room right then and all five of them turned to see Neville and Dean seated on one of the four-poster beds. As soon as Dean caught Harry's eyes, he raised his eyebrows and looked purposefully at a corner of the bed on which sitting silently was one very jumpy looking –

'Dennis Creevey?' Harry stared at the small, scared teen with mounting disbelief.

The young fifth year reluctantly met her incredulous gaze and forced a panicky smile. 'Eh ... Hiya, Harry.'

In the years to come, Draco would remember his parents' Howler with an intense sense of mortification and would forever count it as one of the most humiliating things that had ever occurred to him. It ranked up there right alongside that incident in fourth year, when Professor Mad-Eye Moody had transfigured him into a white ferret in front of the whole school and had proceeded to bounce him up and down in the Entrance Hall.

Draco tried to think of an escape, knowing full well that it was too late now; he stared at the smoking red envelope, horrified and point-blank refusing to believe that his parents had sent him such a monstrosity. Surely there must have been a mistake...

There was just enough time for Blaise to lock the dormitory door with a quick Alohomora before the parchment burst into flames, causing Draco to drop it to the ground where it unleashed the nightmare within:

'Draco.'

The Malfoy heir blinked, surprised, as his father's voice sounded from the burning envelope, unnaturally quiet and calm.

'I'm extremely disappointed in you.'

Beginning to frown, Draco leaned forward to study the red parchment. Wasn't his father's voice supposed to be much louder than that, considering that it was a bloody Howler?

'YOUR SCANDALOUS UNRULINESS HAS BROUGHT FURTHER SHAME ON OUR ALREADY TAINTED FAMILY!'

Oh. Never mind, then.

'YOU ARE WELL AWARE OF THE MADNESS WE HAVE SUFFERED THROUGH IN THE PUBLIC'S EYE THESE PAST FEW MONTHS AND HOW MUCH THAT HAS COST US! OUR FAMILY NAME AND FUTURE ALREADY STAND ON THE EDGE OF A KNIFE! I WOULD THINK THAT MY SON – TO WHOM I ENTRUSTED THE RESPONSIBILTY OF OUR WHOLE FAMILY – WOULD HAVE ENOUGH COMMON SENSE TO NOT TAKE RECKLESS ACTIONS AND EXERCISE CAUTION SO AS TO RETAIN WHATEVER GOOD NAME WE HAVE LEFT! YET YOU CARELESSLY BRING MORE HUMILIATION AND ALL OF IT LAID BARE IN THE BLOODY PRESS FOR THE ENTIRE WIZARDING WORLD TO SEE –!'

Draco was infinitely relieved when Lucius – who obviously had not taken well to a public photo of his son snogging a girl, fiancée or not – was abruptly cut off at that point. He breathed hard through his nose, shards of shame piercing him because, considering how all of Hogwarts had reacted, his father's accusation of him dishonouring the Malfoy family had some semblance of truth – at least, in the eyes of an aristocrat. To every noble and peer of the realm, he was something of a roué now, especially with so many people under the belief that Potter was his scarlet woman, not betrothed.

What he felt above else, though, was defiance. It was hardly his fault, how was he to blame? He had had no idea that there had been a voyeur photographer at the time and everyone knew Rita Skeeter was a law unto herself anyway. Not to mention that Potter was his fiancée, no matter what people thought. And Lucius was screaming at him?

The unfairness of it all barely passed through his mind in the few seconds of silence that followed his father's enraged tirade, and then another voice began to speak:

'Draco, listen carefully to me, darling.'

Well, of course. His mother would not let this go without her own say in the matters.

'Your father is ... not very happy right now, but what he means to say, Dragon, is that...'

Draco could not help but groan out loud. He should have seen it coming: Narcissa's attempts at sugar coating her husband's words. Biting back the urge to snap at the still burning parchment that he understood his father's words perfectly well without her sweetened interpretation thank you very much, Draco lay back on his bed, bitterly reflecting that the only good thing was that his mother was not shouting at him (though her Howler voice was still reasonably loud). But as she continued with her message, his heart did not feel any lighter because Narcissa Malfoy, though not one to put her anger into the volume of her voice, made her discontent with him clear in the depth and tone of her words.

'The impact the Daily Prophet picture left on the general public is not a good one, Dragon, as I'm sure you know if you've already read the news today. Most people are under ... well, false impressions concerning you and your fiancée and they want to expand on that. In fact, reporters have been flocking to our manor all day though I think your father's anti-trespasser hexes have scared most of them off,' she added, sounding mildly amused before becoming serious again.

'In any case, this is a serious situation and not only because that picture is giving you and our family more bad publicity, Draco, but also because of what it has done to Hariah Potter.' Narcissa's voice lowered a notch and grew graver. 'Surely, you already know the rumours the Prophet have started to spread about her today; they are untrue and unfair. I'm not going to accuse you of being responsible for it, Dragon, for I can understand that it was certainly not your intention to have it reach the newspapers. However, your father is right: you should have been more cautious and not divulged in such a ... activity where anyone can see you, as has been proven.'

Draco just had to smirk at that. Trust his mother to refer to kissing as an "activity". He snorted, but his humour faded as his mother continued more severely,

'You and your fiancée are at the centre of the public eye. People are keeping their eyes locked on both of you and you know this very well, Draco, but you were reckless. And, in the process, I believe you have done Hariah Potter a great wrong and I fear that it might have left a negative impact on your relationship.' Narcissa faltered for a second, and then, 'I know that we left the decision to marry entirely up to you, Draco, but even if you do change your mind about her, at least pay her the courtesy of repairing the damage this situation has caused. I trust you to make the right choice.' Narcissa's voice faded away, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

Slowly, Draco pulled himself up into a sitting position and glanced down wordlessly at the red envelope. It was nothing buta small pile of ashes and soot now. A light rustling sound reached his ears and he looked up to see Blaise with his nose buried in his Ancient Runes textbook, solicitously pretending that a Howler had not just exploded in their room.

'Drop the act, Zabini.' Draco rolled his eyes.

Without missing a beat, Blaise dropped his book onto his bed and opened his mouth to speak only to stop dead and stare at the locked door. Draco followed his gaze curiously. A few moments later, he could hear it as well: very low voices whispering and murmuring on the other side. His jaw clenched, realising what had happened.

'Our entire House just heard the Howler, didn't they?' intoned Draco rhetorically, resisting the urge to slap his hand to his forehead.

Blaise cleared his throat, appearing both amused and sympathetic. 'Your father's voice might have attracted them here, yes...'

And his mother's voice had been loud enough to reach the other side of their dormitory door, Draco knew. He sighed heavily, resigned to the fact that probably every Slytherin now knew the truth about him and Potter. Would have happened sometime, anyway, he mused. Maybe it was better this way, too. Now at least they would know that he was not a cheater and that Potter was not a bloody scarlet woman.

There was a tentative knock at the door. 'Um ... Draco? Blaise? Is everything all right in there?' Draco recognised Daphne Greengrass' voice.

'All fine and dandy in here, Daphne, don't you worry. Off you go now,' called Blaise breezily, which was definitely a better response than the rude 'Get lost' that had been on the tip of Draco's tongue.

It took a long time for the whispering voices outside the door to disappear; some Slytherins were probably hanging back, waiting to see if they could scavenge more juicy details about what they had just heard, but eventually, all was quiet.

Finally, Blaise turned to his friend. 'Your parents never really struck me as the Howler type,' he commented nonchalantly.

'They're not. This is the first time they've ever sent me a Howler. I can't believe ... But I suppose it shouldn't be all that surprising,' Draco said with a small frown. 'All the publicity and media have really got Father on edge lately, especially after his release. The picture pushed him too far, I guess.'

Blaise nodded slowly and glanced at the remains of the Howler. 'So...?'

Draco just shrugged, trying not to show that he was still a little humiliated. In all honesty, he had already been somewhat aware of everything his parents had said; the Howler had merely just driven it home. The only thing he had not considered was apologising to Potter; after all, he had not thought of himself at fault, so where was the need to say sorry, right? But ... he had snogged her without her permission out in the open where anyone could have – and had – seen them, so...

I hope she's in a talkative mood when next we see each other, thought Draco gloomily. They needed to discuss exactly what and how to tell the public (though he suspected that the eavesdropping Slytherins would take care of that before breakfast was over the next day). He gritted his teeth, hardening his resolve and preparing for more obstacles that would be sure to ensue. After all, her earlier acceptance of him to give him a chance to be with her did not mean that everything was flowers and rainbows just yet. There was still a long way to go.

Fifteen minutes following her first sight of Dennis Creevey in the boys' dormitory, Harry was still trying to get over the surprise while simultaneously beating herself up for not having suspected him from the very beginning. He was Colin Creevey's little brother, after all. No doubt that Creeveys and cameras went hand in hand, in more than just one sense of the word.

'Let me get this straight,' she said with forced calm, pacing back and forth in front of the nervous fifth year. 'You were at the Quidditch try-outs yesterday, taking pictures –'

'Yeah, 'cause it was Colin's camera, the one he always carried around with him, like I already said,' Dennis interrupted, nodding vigorously. 'And he'd always liked photographing Quidditch –'

'Are you sure it wasn't just Harry he liked photographing?' asked Ron sardonically, making the rest of them chuckle apart from the girl in question.

Flushing red, Dennis stammered, 'I ... I dunno, maybe...'

Harry glared impatiently at him. 'Just ignore them. So you came to the try-outs and took pictures, fine. And then you, what, followed me to the changing rooms...?'

'You make me sound like a stalker,' muttered the younger teen, looking both hurt and defensive. 'I already told you: I just saw you going that way and thought I'd come and ask for a photo. I was hoping I could get you to sign it...'

For several seconds, Harry gazed at him, her earlier feelings of repressed anger lessening with a sudden bout of nostalgia. 'You sound so like Colin,' she said, averting her eyes.

'... Maybe I want to be like him,' said Dennis lowly, his voice acquiring a layer of sadness mixed with a hint of pride. 'He died fighting for you, you know. When Professor McGonagall told us we were going to war that night, he said that he'd stay back and fight even though he was underage. I wanted to stay too, but he wouldn't let me. He just gave me his camera and told me to go home and look after Mum. He promised he'd come back...'

There was a long silence during which the other three boys, Ginny and Hermione looked at Dennis with varying degrees of pity while Harry squirmed uncomfortably, battling a myriad of conflicting emotions.

'I'm sorry about Colin, Dennis, I really am,' she said slowly at last. 'He was a good person and didn't deserve what happened, but now is not the moment to talk about it. I just want you to tell me the truth about why you went to the Prophet with that picture –'

'Look, I'm really sorry about that,' said the younger teen with a hint of desperation. 'I didn't mean to hurt you or anything, Harry, and it's not entirely my fault. It was more her idea –!'

'Who's "her"?' interrupted Harry, narrowing her eyes.

Coughing self-consciously, Dennis spoke to his knees. 'Well ... um. After I took the photo, I ran into a couple of girls near the Quidditch pitch. One of them asked if I'd seen Malfoy because they thought they'd seen him down there and I –'

'Told them about Harry and Malfoy?' finished Ginny, who had been silent up until then. 'Dennis, that's just foul and tactless. You don't tell people after you walk in on someone else's personal affairs, alright. Damn, you're worse than Ron and I didn't think that was even possible!'

'Hey!' protested her brother indignantly, but the rest of the Gryffindors ignored him, all of them in agreement with Ginny's point. Hermione, who still had yet to speak, had a look of disapproval on her face while Dean, Neville and Seamus – all of whom had been silently listening in with fascination – frowned at Dennis Creevey, the latter muttering, 'Mate, tattletales ain't cool.'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' repeated the younger teen quickly, raising his hands in defence, 'but I couldn't help it, I was in shock! Seriously, how many of you have walked in on two enemies snogging?'

There was a pregnant pause and then,

'You know ... he's got a point,' remarked Neville fairly, Dean nodding in agreement beside him.

'Yeah, I think I can empathise,' shuddered Ron. 'The picture alone nearly gave me a bloody heart attack –'

'What, you buggers never seen me with Millie?!' demanded Seamus, offended.

'Yes, well, you're you. Like some kind of weird alien life form that crash-landed here. You don't count.' Ron rolled his eyes.

'All right, enough already!' said Harry loudly. 'Go on, Dennis.'

Clearing his throat, Dennis began to speak to his knees again, 'Right, well, they didn't believe me at first. I mean, who would, right? And Malfoy had already walked away, so I couldn't show them first-hand proof –'

'I said it once, I'm saying it again: foul and tactless.'

'I already told you, I wasn't exactly thinking rationally,' said Dennis more loudly, shooting Ginny an irritated look. 'Anyway, these girls wanted proof and I just wanted to prove that I wasn't lying, so I developed the picture that afternoon itself and showed them. They were pretty upset ...' he added wonderingly, 'the one that asked me where Malfoy was, especially. Two of his fangirls, I suspect.'

'Alright,' said Harry, whose curiosity was still battling with the anger. 'Then the Prophet?'

'Yeah, about that ... when I took that photo, Harry, I never even thought about sending it to the press, I swear.' Dennis looked pleadingly at the raven-haired witch. 'It was the girl's idea, the one after Malfoy, I mean. I don't know what was up with her: when she saw the picture, she almost burst into tears and then she became really angry – nearly broke the camera, too – then she got this really strange look on her face and told me I should send it to the Prophet.'

'And you were convinced, just like that?' asked Ron, looking sceptical.

'She kept saying that there was no way Malfoy and Harry were engaged and that they were having a fling and some stuff about Malfoy's actual fiancée and others having the right to know and ... she also said that the papers would probably pay a lot of galleons for it,' he finished in a whisper, not daring to raise his eyes.

'So, you did it for the money?' Harry could not hold back the disgust that crept into her voice. .

'I couldn't help it,' Dennis protested weakly. 'I guess I should've thought about you, Harry, but we really needed the money. After Colin died, we're – we're just a mess. My dad's in St. Mungo's with a serious head injury – he came to fight here when he got the news that night – and Mum's being struggling, trying to work enough jobs to pay the medical bills and – and ... I just thought I'd take a shot and see if the Prophet would pay up. I'm sorry,' he repeated, finally meeting Harry's gaze, ashamed but undeniably sincere. 'I'm sorry. I should've thought of you; Colin would have. I'm really...'

Harry gazed at Dennis, now at a loss for words. This was hardly what she had envisioned at all. In her mind, her encounter with the mystery photographer had consisted of a faceless, malicious, gossip-loving git eager to get a scoop on her and Harry retaliating for what they had done (siccing Ginny and her legendary Bat Bogey Hex on them seemed like a pretty good idea). She had not imagined Dennis Creevey, still tiny at sixteen, eagerly following in his brother's dubiously nosey footsteps and looking at her with genuine regret. That was not to say that she was not angry, though; she still was, but could not bring herself to act on it.

'So,' Dennis ventured apprehensively, 'am I ... off the hook?'

Torn between saying yes and no, Harry shoved her hands into the pockets of her robes and, more to change the subject than out of actual curiosity, asked, 'Who were the girls you met?'

'Seventh year Ravenclaws.' Dennis shrugged. 'Didn't get their names, but the girl that was asking about Malfoy – her friend called her Lisa, I think.'

There was a sharp intake of breath and, for the first time since Harry had met up with her and the two Weasleys in the Common Room, Hermione spoke, 'Lisa? Lisa Turpin? The girl that was harassing Malfoy in our first Charms class?'

An image of a simpering, honey-blonde haired girl flashed through Harry's mind. Her eyes darkened. 'Oh, now it makes sense.'

Ron snorted in amusement. 'Yeah, the one that wants to be Mrs Malfoy so bad. She saw the photo and probably wanted revenge on you two.'

'Thank you, Sir Obvious,' said Ginny impatiently. 'So, what are you gonna do, Harry? You're not going to just let them get away with exposing you like that, are you?'

'Wouldn't make much of a difference now, would it?'

'Hang on,' spoke up Dean suddenly, the tone of his voice making it clear that he was about to ask something he had held in for sometime. 'What does this all mean then? Are you really having some sort of thing with Malfoy like Skeeter said, Harry? Or are you his...? His eyes darted to her left hand, which was still in her pocket, fortunately. At his question, Seamus, too, gave Harry his undivided attention whereas Neville, already aware of her secret, simply watched on curiously.

Harry thought for a moment. On one hand, she hated being labelled as a hoochie mama, but on the other, she could predict that some of the brainier kids would probably move on from the Hariah-Potter-Scarlet-Woman theory soon and they would ask the same thing Dean had. Which was better? Remain labelled as a scarlet woman or reveal the truth – neither of which appealed to her.

'I'm not having an affair with him,' she replied shortly. Leaving the last part of Dean's queries deliberately unanswered, she turned back to the Weasleys and Hermione. 'Like I said, I don't think there's much I can do at this point.'

'I can hex Lisa Turpin for you,' offered Ginny with a disturbing degree of enthusiasm. She whipped out her wand. 'And Dennis, too.'

'What?' yelped the horrified fifth year.

'No, leave it. In any case, Skeeter's the one I want to get most. She's the one who labelled me as some sort of floozy, after all.'

Ron frowned. 'And how're you gonna get her? Blow up the Daily Prophet?'

Dennis cleared his throat loudly, interrupting them. 'Can I go now?' he mumbled, eyeing Ginny's wand warily.

Sighing, Harry nodded. 'Yeah. G'night, Dennis.'

Looking immensely relieved, the boy quickly jumped off the bed. He was halfway out of the door when he suddenly stopped and glanced back. 'Again, Harry, I'm really, really sorry...'

Harry met his eyes expressionlessly. She could tell that he wanted to be told that he was forgiven, but her earlier fury – though thoroughly suppressed – was still raw within her.

'I know,' she finally answered, not unkindly and turned away.

Harry's prediction came true the very next day. After the initial buzz of Oh-my-God-Malfoy-and-Potter-having-an-affair-Daily-Prophet-says-so had died down slightly, an increasing number of students were beginning to question whether there was another side to the story. Slowly, a sly whisper began to circulate the corridors of Hogwarts; a whisper that said maybe, just maybe, the Chosen One was the much talked about fiancée of the Slytherin ice prince.

Having had already anticipated that, Harry took care to wear gloves on both hands that morning; hiding only her left hand was bound to bust her secret now that people were actually suspicious (Blaise was living proof of that). Her precaution paid off for many an eye flicked towards her fingers all throughout the morning and though the sight of the gloves must have surely raised their suspicions more, no one could confirm anything either. Not to mention that she could always say she was feeling cold if anyone asked; it was Autumn, after all.

Furthermore, Ron's incredible fluency in cursing and threats turned out to be a Heaven sent blessing. Harry found there was no need for her people-repelling evil-eye while he singlehandedly kept the excited students wanting to question her at bay with just a sharp sentence or two, some of the politer ones being, 'Want your legs intact? Then walk away, scumbag' and 'Ugh, close your trap, woman, the reek might kill us all!' (He nearly got slapped at this point and resorted to less insulting language when dealing with girls.)

By the time lunch rolled around, Harry's head was throbbing and not because of her scar, either.

'I'd really hoped that no one would know or suspect anything until Malfoy and I'd figured this thing out,' she said gloomily, pushing her food around. 'Guess it was too much to hope for.'

'What'd you mean, figure it out?' asked Ron, busily shovelling shepherd's pie into his mouth. On his other side, Hermione – to whom Harry had yet to speak since the newspaper incident – looked up from her plate curiously, but refrained from saying anything.

Harry looked round at them, blinking, then remembered that she had not confided in her friends the decision she had come to the night before. Trying to sound casual, she drawled, 'I decided to give Malfoy a chance.'

Predictably, Ron choked on his latest mouthful of pie. Prepared for it, Harry slid his goblet of pumpkin juice closer to him and Hermione worriedly thumped his back.

'What?' Ron gasped when his airway was clear. 'Are you serious?'

'Yes.' Harry lowered her eyes. 'Remember what I told you yesterday? About the way Malfoy had acted and what he said?'

'Yeah, something about him not hating you and a request ...' Ron looked shrewdly at Harry. 'Is this what you meant, when you asked if I'd be OK with you making a choice that I wouldn't approve of?'

Harry nodded wordlessly.

Ron stared at her, eyes impossibly wide. 'Blimey, you were serious ... so – so, you did your "re-evaluation" of Malfoy and then chose to marry him?!'

'No, I didn't say I'd marry him,' she began to explain in a low voice. 'But I did do a re-evaluation, yes, and I figured that maybe,' she shrugged, feigning nonchalance again, 'there was more to Malfoy and this engagement than I thought.' She almost added 'and his feelings towards me', but decided against it. Clearing her throat, she continued matter-of-factly, 'So, I decided to prolong the engagement, learn the truth and see how it plays out.'

Ron was still gawking at her, dumbstruck. Harry could not blame him, though. A few days ago, she had been feeling exactly the same way. To his credit, though, Ron stayed true to what he had said the previous day and simply accepted her admission, though with difficulty. He took a moment to collect himself and nodded stiffly at her before proceeding to smooth over his shock with several goblets of ice-cold pumpkin juice, which he downed faster than Buckbeak could choke down dead ferrets. Harry watched his antics with a mixture of amusement and gratitude that he had accepted her choice willingly ... enough.

Harry's eyes slid past Ron to Hermione; she had returned to her lunch, but the smile on her face was unmistakeable.

'This is what you wanted, isn't it?' Harry said sharply. 'When you made me go and meet Malfoy on Sunday?'

The bushy-haired girl, who looked thoroughly taken aback that her best friend was speaking to her again, blinked at Harry for several seconds before computing her words.

'Oh ... um,' she bit her lip, avoiding the other girl's eyes, 'I guess you could say that...'

A long minute passed in which Harry simply looked at Hermione while Ron fidgeted in his seat, uncomfortable with the sudden tension that was thick in the air.

Frowning, Harry finally spoke, 'And why were you so desperate for me to give Malfoy a shot? Last time I checked, you hated him.' But then another thought occurred to her and her frown deepened, recalling how giggly Hermione and Ginny had been when first they had learnt of the engagement. It had seemed like both of them really enjoyed the idea, but surely Hermione had not honestly wanted her with Malfoy ... had she? It was not like her.

With a sigh, Hermione put down her knife and fork, and turned to face Harry fully. 'I did and I'm not saying I particularly like him now. But then I realised you might miss out on a lot if you just push him away without hearing him out.'

'How'd you reckon that?'

'I spoke with Malfoy earlier...'

Harry scrutinised her perceptively. 'You're not going to tell me what he said, are you?'

'No,' replied her friend, looking just a little apologetic. 'I want you to find out for yourself; and now that you're giving him a chance, I'm sure you will.'

The other girl, however, was still unsatisfied. After another silent minute went by, she said darkly, 'All right, fine, I'll take your word for it. I know you had your reasons, but you do know that I don't appreciate what you did, right?'

'I know,' Hermione nodded sombrely. 'But I didn't see Dennis there. I didn't know it would backfire.'

Harry wanted to tell her that even without Dennis Creevey and his camera, it might have backfired, but then she remembered what an impact those several minutes with Malfoy had had on her life. She had discovered a whole new side of him ... or maybe, it was an old side and had simply been hidden from her eyes before. And it was for that side that she had opened her mind to the near-impossible possibility of a future with Draco Malfoy, right? She dropped her eyes, exhaling. The thought still made her queasy despite the choice she had made.

Hermione and Ron were both watching her uncertainly. Biting her lip again, the former leaned forwards and said softly, 'I'm really sorry about everything, Harry. I know you're very angry with me, but I really did want things to turn out for the best, and I hope they will...'

Harry nodded in silent acceptance of her words.

'Am I forgiven then?'

With a grim smile, the other girl looked up directly into Hermione's eyes and answered bluntly, 'No, not really.' At seeing the crestfallen look on the other's face, she added a tad more kindly, 'I don't hate you or anything, Hermione, but you shouldn't have gone behind my back. The very least you could've done is respect my feelings and talk to me first. And now with all this stupid Daily Prophet business ... but ask me again later.' Her lips curled up in a tiny yet affable smile.

Looking both resigned and a little happier, Hermione returned the gesture. The tension around them considerably eased and all three of them returned to their lunches, more relaxed than before. The peaceful atmosphere, which felt a little strange after all the chaos of the past couple of days, lasted all the way to dessert until a small, sealed parchment appeared at Harry's elbow, startling her.

'How do they do that?' she muttered, picking it up. She could remember the last time she had received a note that way, which was when Malfoy had summoned her to meet his mother.

'Who?' asked Ron, peering interestedly at the scroll along with Hermione.

'Whoever sent this,' grunted Harry, reaching for her wand to unseal it. 'Don't people need owls anymore?'

'It might be house-elf magic,' murmured Hermione thoughtfully. 'It's more convenient than the wizard kind since they don't need wands to channel their magic and energy. A teacher can just give it to an elf and, poof, instant delivery.'

'Did you honestly just say poof?' sniggered Ron. Hermione ignored him.

Harry quietly read the note and a tired look immediately grazed her face. 'McGonagall. She wants me in the Transfiguration class. Now.'

Draco had not thought that his patience could be pushed further on edge. The morning had already proven to be a hassle what with nearly all the Slytherins hissing like snakes – pardon the pun – behind his back about the Howler they had overheard the night before. To his surprise, the news had not spread through Hogwarts like wildfire yet. It was only circulating among his housemates so far (were they still digesting the information? Really, was it that hard to believe even after they had seen him snog the woman?), but he knew it could not be too long now. He seriously needed to talk to Potter before the whispers inevitably reached the Gryffindors; he had a feeling that she would not be pleased to have their secret completely bared before she had a say in it. Or, at the very least, before she was mentally prepared for it.

And so had the morning passed with him stressing over everything that had happened and things that had yet to happen. Then, on top of all that, halfway through lunch where he was trying to drown his anxiety in delicious beef casserole, he received a summons from the Headmistress. As if he didn't already have enough things to worry about.

Blaise, being himself, simply shrugged and waved him away with an airy, 'Be a good little boy then, Drakie poo' just as a group of third years were passing by them. Draco left the Great Hall with their high-pitched giggles still ringing in his ears and an image of Blaise' smug face (he had dodged the undignified punch the blond had thrown at his head) plastered in his mind.

Within minutes, he arrived at the small office behind the Transfiguration classroom, which McGonagall still owned, apparently. Two personal offices; lucky woman.

'Enter,' answered the Headmistress' crisp voice when he knocked and Draco pushed open the wooden door only to be met with a pair of vivid green eyes staring at him, filled with surprise.

'Ah yes, Mr Malfoy,' said Professor McGonagall, looking up from the scrolls of parchment she had been pushing aside. 'Thank you for coming without delay. Have a seat.'

Filled with uncertainty, Draco slowly walked towards the remaining vacant chair beside Hariah Potter, unable to take his eyes off her. She met his gaze square on, still looking a little taken aback and slightly questioning at his appearance.

'I'm sorry to have interrupted your lunch,' continued McGonagall and the other two turned to face her. 'But I decided to get this over with quickly since she's been, quite frankly, a thorn-in-the-side this past twenty-four hours.'

'She?' echoed the two students in unison.

Acquiring a harassed and irritable look, the Headmistress elaborated, 'Rita Skeeter has been badgering me to allow an interview ... with the both of you.' She did not look surprised at the furious twin expressions of outrage that crossed their faces.

'I have not given her an answer yet since you,' she nodded at Draco, whose eyes were still sparking ferociously, 'requested of me that no more reporters be allowed in without your prior consent.'

Draco nodded stiffly, trying to hide his fury. He had a good hunch why Skeeter wanted to question him again: after turning the world upside-down with the photograph and her wild speculations about him and Potter, she now probably wanted to know the actual truth. Either that or she was trying to get her claws on something else that she could fabricate into one of her outrageous stories. Not a chance.

'I haven't changed my mind, Professor,' Draco told her resolutely.

The Headmistress nodded in understanding before she turned her attention on the Gryffindor. 'And you, Miss Potter?'

Draco glanced at her to see that she was barely listening to their teacher. Instead, her head was hung low and her hands were balled into tight fists on her thighs, shaking with what he presumed to be anger. Leaning in a little closer, he could hear her growling under her breath, '... that woman ... hasn't she done enough damage already ...'

Well, it would seem that Potter was thinking along the same lines as he was. Huh. That was something you didn't see everyday.

Professor McGonagall called on Potter again, more sharply this time.

'No,' she replied coldly at length, slowly looking up. She said nothing more but the cold fury and loathing she put in that one syllable was overwhelming. At that moment, Draco was very glad that he was not in Skeeter's six-inch high-heeled sparkly shoes.

The Headmistress eyed them closely, narrowing her eyes. 'You are certain?'

'Yes,' snapped the Slytherin and Gryffindor in identical irate tones, the rudeness of which Professor McGonagall chose to overlook – a pure sign that even their stern teacher could empathise with their intolerance of the tiresome reporter.

'Very well, then. You're dismissed. I'll notify Rita Skeeter of your answer soon.'

The two of them left in silence, Draco still inwardly seething. He felt a stab of relief that he had earlier gotten Professor McGonagall to prevent more reporters from seeing him again without his knowledge, but he had to marvel at Skeeter's nerve, showing up again. Where did she get the gall to even think about facing him – them – after the havoc her sneaky words had wreaked? Beside him, Potter was muttering to herself again as they stepped out of the office, barely audible enough for him to catch a few words:

'Oh, what I wouldn't give to get her. She's gone too far ...!'

The blond paused momentarily, wondering if now was a good time to cut across her livid soliloquy and breach the subjects he most wanted to talk to her about, mainly their engagement and how to deal with the public. There was still a few minutes of lunch left and he had no idea when next he would be able to get her alone like this, but upon seeing the peculiar manner in which her fingers were twitching toward her wand pocket, he changed his mind; he did not relish the idea of having his behind fried if his fiancée spontaneously decided to vent her rage on him.

Still debating the best course of action, Draco was about to take the safe path and walk away (surely, he could always corner her later) when suddenly, he found himself abruptly yanked back by the hand. He stared around at her, all thoughts flying out of his mind and every nerve in his body alerted, as his gaze locked on her long, gloved fingers wrapped tightly around his own. His mouth went dry.

Potter, however, had not realised the effect her simple action was having on him. In fact, she barely seemed to comprehend that she was holding Draco Malfoy's hand and what a bizarre image that created. Her eyes were aflame with excitement as if she had had a sudden idea and her lips were curling up in a malicious smile that looked infinitely out of place on her face. For a moment, he forgot about the feel of her hand as his interest immediately sparked at her alien expression.

Still smirking dangerously, she said, 'I take it you're not pleased with that Skeeter cow either, Malfoy?'

'Not at all,' he drawled, puzzled.

'And you wouldn't mind seeing her get a taste of her own medicine?'

'I'd find that terrific, actually.'

'Brilliant! You're with me, then.'

Before Draco could even open his mouth to ask what she meant (or digest the fact that they just had their first civilised conversation, which revolved around Rita Skeeter – not the most romantic topic), she tightened her grip on his fingers and bodily dragged him back into McGonagall's office.

'On second thoughts, Professor, we would love to meet Skeeter!'

Fifteen minutes later, Harry burst into Greenhouse Four, panted an apology to a disapproving Professor Sprout for her tardiness and rushed to the back of the room where Ron and Hermione had saved her a place at their table.

'What did Professor McGonagall want?' asked Hermione at once, looking up for the shrivelled-looking plant they had been pruning.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Harry briefly recounted Rita Skeeter's request. She had barely finished when Hermione spoke again, looking nearly as furious as Harry had initially been in McGonagall's office,

'She wants another interview? Oh, it's just like last time when she was bugging around the castle, trying to get a scoop on Viktor and me. She doesn't know when to quit!'

'Well, she did get quite a scoop on you and Vicky,' Ron muttered, rolling his eyes darkly. Hermione shot him a look at which he quickly rephrased, 'I mean, the nerve of that woman! And come to think of it,' he added, frowning, 'didn't you say she agreed not to write more lies about Harry?'

'Yes,' said Hermione tartly. 'Because I threatened to expose her little secret if she did, in fifth year. That was back when people were still denying that Voldemort had returned. But considering those recent articles about Harry and Malfoy, I suppose that she thinks she's free to write what she wishes again now that Voldemort's gone.'

'Not for long,' announced Harry. She grinned broadly at the surprised looks that grazed her friends' faces.

'What do you mean?' Ron asked slowly, a slow smile breaking through his confusion as he eyed the jubilant gleam in her eyes.

'Skeeter's had her fun and now she's taken it too far. I'm sending her down the drain.'

'Excellent! So, blowing up the Daily Prophet is on now?'

Hermione rolled her eyes while Harry laughed. 'No, not quite that dramatic, Ron. But I was thinking...' Lowering her voice, she leaned forward and began to whisper her idea to them. It had occurred to her outside the Transfiguration office when she had remembered how Hermione had once suffered at the reporter's hands and how she had gotten her revenge. However, Hermione had used blackmail to her advantage; Harry planned to take it up a notch. A really big notch, if that made any sense.

The plan was still rather sketchy since she had made it up on the spot. There were rough parts and absolutely no guarantee that it would work; chances were probably a mere fifty-fifty. But if it turned out well, then the consequences would be blissful, satisfying and long-lasting.

Ron and Hermione were of the same opinion when Harry finished.

'Whoa, that sounds really simple,' murmured Ron, somehow managing to pull off a look that was both dubious, yet impressed.

'Yes,' Hermione agreed thoughtfully. 'Simple ... and really effective if you can pull it off, but what are the odds, Harry? What makes you think Skeeter will fall for that?'

'I'm banking on her flaunting attitude,' Harry said. Her cryptic reply was met with two pairs of raised eyebrows and she further explained, 'Think about it. Her articles tend to be rather forceful, don't you notice? She usually makes up lies and drops heavy hints, but she ....' Harry had to pause and search for words; explaining Rita Skeeter was a difficult task. '... she sort of pushes her hints and implications on the readers, as if she's determined to prove her point even if it's all between the lines; just like how she implied that Malfoy's been cheating with me. You know? And she makes everything sound so real, it's like she's trying to show off that she knows so much more than the rest of us. It's very attention-seeking.'

'So, basically, you're saying that Skeeter's a show off – that does sound true, actually – and you're depending on that "flaunting attitude"?' Hermione paraphrased.

'Yes!'

'But the Daily Prophet articles and what you're going for involves two very different kinds of "flaunting attitudes".'

Harry's smile faded a little. 'I know ... but it's the only weak spot of her that I know, and I have no idea how else I can get her to do what I need.'

'Say that she doesn't fall for it,' Ron said. 'Then what?'

'Well ... blowing up the Daily Prophet is still a valid option ...'

Ron and Hermione both chuckled at her weak joke. 'Well, all right, we'll go along with it,' the latter said, smiling. 'What do you need?'

Harry smirked. 'Luna Lovegood and Dennis Creevey.'

After Potter had abruptly announced to Professor McGonagall that she and Draco would meet Rita Skeeter after all, she left him speechless in front of the Transfiguration office with the parting words, 'By the way, we're going to need Blaise for this. He and I have to meet up tonight to work on our Verita Potion anyway, but tell him to come earlier so I can explain the plan to him.'

Only problem was that Draco had no idea what the plan was. She obviously wanted some form of revenge on Rita Skeeter, which he wholly supported, and she was also involving him in it for reasons unknown (not that he was complaining – he wanted to be involved with her, after all, in more ways than one), but what was he to do when he had no idea what he was supposed to do? She could have at least filled him in.

Nevertheless, he passed on the message to Blaise during dinner that night and his friend left for the dungeon classrooms with a bemused look on his face that was replaced with a smile full of anticipation when he returned to their dormitory room some two hours later. Draco looked up from his Astronomy homework expectantly, waiting for the other Slytherin to confide in him, but Blaise simply flopped onto his bed and said,

'You know, she's got a sly bone in that noble body of hers. I rather like it.'

'I see. So ... she told you her little plan?' prompted Draco, masking his eager curiosity.

Blaise nodded, smiling broadly. 'Oh yes, and "little" is right. It's simple and straightforward with a lot of bitter consequences for old Rita Skeeter if it works well. But there lies the problem: Harry said she knows very little about Skeeter to work with. According to her, there's as much chance that it might fail as much as it might succeed. And on top of that, it turns out that the bulk of potential success depends on me.' He shook his head, looking partly amused and partly doubtful.

'You?' repeated Draco, raising an eyebrow.

'Yes, I'm playing the biggest role here and I'm not supposed to talk about it,' he added, seeing that Draco was about to question him, 'because, apparently, it all depends on how well I lure her into the trap and that'd work better if fewer people knew what I was up to. It sounded pretty easy when Harry told me what to do, but who knows ... hmm ... I hope she's right about Skeeter's "flaunting attitude"...'

By the end of Blaise' explanation, Draco was completely lost. His brows knitted together in confusion and some annoyance that even Blaise knew more about the situation than he did when it was supposed to be his revenge. His and Potter's. She had said that they were in it together, hadn't she?

It doesn't feel like it, so far.

'Fine, so you've got the details about your part. Brilliant. Now, about me: what's my role in all this? Did she say?'

Blaise gave him a look of genuine surprise. '... you have a role?'

That was when Draco threw all of his Malfoy pride and dignity out of the nonexistent dungeon window and let his head crash onto his desk with a BANG that more than expressed his irritation.

Nevertheless, he was determined to get a full explanation from Hariah Potter and set about it the very next day. If he was "with her" on this, then he deserved that much, at least. He intended to corner her straight after Transfiguration before lunch, but before he had so much as made a move towards her at the end of the lesson, Professor McGonagall called across the clamouring classroom,

'Potter, Malfoy, a word, if you please.'

Exchanging a look with Blaise, Draco approached the teacher's table where he was joined by his fiancée who, unlike him, was watching the Headmistress with questionable keenness. Many of the other students peered interestedly at them as they passed, a few even slowing down to eavesdrop, but a severe glare from McGonagall soon sent them scurrying. When the room was empty at last, she turned to the two students and said curtly,

'I passed your answers along to Rita Skeeter. She's very pleased and wants to hold the interview immediately and requested that it be tonight. Do you have any objections?'

Draco was on the verge of saying yes, he was not prepared for it when Potter said brightly, 'No, tonight would be perfect, Professor.'

'What about you, Mr Malfoy?'

Honestly not in the mood to face Skeeter so soon and still frustrated that Potter had told him nothing of her plan yet, he opened his mouth to answer, but his fiancée beat him to the punch. She leaned very slightly into his side and the next thing he felt was a sharp sting on the back of his leg. Draco started, infinitely surprised. Had she just pinched him?

'Mr Malfoy?' repeated Professor McGonagall impatiently, not seeming to have noticed what had transpired between them.

Before Draco could try once more, Potter acted again, but this time, she reached for his fingers and squeezed – extremely hard. Fortunately, they were standing close together and their long robe sleeves obstructed the action from view, but Draco had a hard time maintaining his neutral expression as she tightened her grip. He shot her a glance to see her gazing at him, not in a warning manner like he had expected, but simply pleading with her eyes to go along with her. He knew what she wanted but was highly tempted to refuse in retaliation for how she was keeping him in the dark about her Skeeter scheme, but when she positively crushed his fingertips together and looked more urgently at him, he gave in, figuring that he might as well as just find out what she was up to.

'It's fine with me, Professor,' he intoned mechanically.

The Headmistress gave him a look and then nodded. 'Very well. Tonight at eight o' clock sharp. This classroom will be free then and she will meet you here. You may leave.'

At once, Hariah Potter released him and Draco breathed an audible sigh of relief. For all that he was on a mission of sorts to win her heart and should naturally relish every opportunity to hold her hand or vice versa, having the blood circulation cut off from his fingers did put a damper on the romantic aspect of things. However, once they were outside the classroom, it was his turn to grab her arm to prevent her from running off.

'Malfoy, what do you think you're doing?' she hissed, nervously glancing around the empty corridor as he firmly pulled her close to him.

Draco crocked an eyebrow. She had abused his fingers twice in less than twenty four hours, but when he laid a hand on her, it was such a scandal? Such double standards, he thought sarcastically, not relinquishing her from his grasp.

'That's exactly what I'd like to know. What am I doing? You tell me.'

'What?' Potter stared at him, nonplussed.

'Tonight, with Skeeter! You have yet to tell me a word about what you have in mind. What am I supposed to do, for example?'

Understanding dawned on her and she turned to face him fully, some of the earlier excitement returning to her eyes. 'You don't have to worry about that, Malfoy. Blaise, Luna and Dennis have got it covered.'

Draco could care less about who the latter two people were. Not bothering to mask his disdain, he drawled, 'You expect me to believe that I can help take down that woman during an interview by doing nothing?'

'That's the point.' Potter was beginning to sound exasperated. 'If you and I do something, she'll become suspicious, which is why we leave it to people she won't suspect to get the job done.'

'But we have to do something ... don't we?' Draco still could not grasop her concept of doing nothing.

She rolled her eyes. 'You just get yourself to that interview, Malfoy, and look pretty.'

He blinked, thrown. That was the second time in his life that he had been called pretty by Hariah Potter. Though he knew it was not meant to be flattering, her words still managed to pierce through his current confusion and stir the remnants of the old Draco Malfoy within him, bringing a sly smirk to this face.

'Again, Potter?' He asked with a chuckle. 'You really do think I'm good-looking, don't you?'

'Wha – It's just a figure of speech! And don't you dare even think about going down that road,' she added more loudly, clearly remembering the last time she had called him pretty and how that had ended. Her cheeks flushed lightly and, for the tiniest fraction of a second, her eyes darted to his mouth.

Still smirking, Draco was about to make another comment (he vaguely registered how surprisingly easy it was to settle back into his old manners and demeanour), but Potter forcefully pulled away from him, freeing her arm.

'Just be there,' she muttered, walking away.

'All right,' he acquiesced with a shrug, dropping the leer. 'But don't I at least need to know what's going to happen tonight?'

She paused, glancing over her shoulder. 'Why don't you just wait and see? It won't be hard to follow ... if it works.' And then she turned a corner and disappeared before he could call her back.

Draco's scepticism did not lessen as the hours passed. When the clock finally read seven forty-five, he slipped out of the Slytherin common room and made his way to the Transfiguration class, a mixed sense of foreboding, curiosity and anticipation gripping him tighter with every step he took. As he approached the closed, wooden door, he distractedly wondered where Blaise had wandered off to; he had disappeared sometime during dinner that evening and failed to turn up at their dormitory afterwards.

Gloomily wondering if Skeeter had already arrived, Draco reached for the doorknob, but then stopped dead. With a puzzled frown, he leaned forwards, angling his ear towards the door, listening intently. A few seconds later, he heard it again: a low voice, speaking softly on the other side:

'... nice job on the Disillusionment Charm, no one can see you. Now remember, pay attention to what she says ...'

'Don't worry, Harry,' interrupted a rather dreamy, feminine voice. 'I brought a quill and parchment so I can write what she says word for word. I'm very good at it, you know. I used to take notes for Daddy like when he talked about Blubbering Humdingers and the twenty seven uses of their gut secretions, one of which is being used as an aphrodisiac ...'

'Er ... right. That's really great. And you, De –'

'Got it, Harry,' interrupted a male voice, louder and more enthusiastic than the others. 'I've got it all ready. I also put a Silencing Charm on it so she won't know a thing when I take a snap.'

'Excellent. Stay close to us when she comes in, then. And here, you two, I brought the cloak. Stay under it and don't let her see you.'

'Thanks, Harry.'

'You got it, mate.'

Draco raised his eyebrows, having had recognised most of the voices. Bracing himself, he threw open the door harder than strictly necessary to announce his presence. Hariah Potter, who was standing by the teacher's desk, jumped in surprise and whirled around to meet him, but otherwise, the classroom looked empty.

'Honestly, Malfoy,' she said, frowning. 'Loud enough entrance?'

'Why are your friends hiding here?' he asked, ignoring her question. He looked around the seemingly empty room, not seeing but knowing that they were not alone.

'Oh, you heard me?' Potter looked slightly sheepish. 'Well, never mind. They have to be here. Anyway, I'm glad you came early, here's what we're going to do –'

'Oh, so now I have a role to play in your little scheme?'

A look of amusement grazed Potter's face and Draco realised how childishly the words has escaped his mouth. A light flush dusted his cheeks.

'Well, basically,' Potter began to explain, lips still twitching, 'all you need is to be here, like I said, and pretend that you really came for the interview –'

'And look pretty?'

She ignored his mocking jibe. 'And act like how you normally are around her.'

Draco considered this. 'Hmm. Last time I met her, I wasn't very polite.'

'Not surprising for you,' Potter muttered under her breath, but Draco heard her anyway. He shot her a pointed look which did not faze her in the slightest, but she added more normally, 'Well, it doesn't matter as long as it's natural and she doesn't suspect anything.'

There was a long pause in which they looked expectantly at each other. Finally, when she kept silent, Draco ventured,

'And that's it?'

'That's it.' She nodded. 'But there's one thing, though: before she gets too caught up in her interview, we have to lure the topic to her being an Animagus. We need to get her to talk about it.'

Draco looked closely at her. 'What does her being an Animagus have to do with anything?'

Potter flashed him a smirk that Draco recognised as his own personal favourite. 'You'll see,' she replied, turning away from him to snatch a ragged, old piece of parchment from the teacher's table. 'We just need to get her started on the subject and leave the rest to Blaise. Of course, we could give him a few boosts here and there ... here she comes!' she hissed, eyes locked on the parchment in her hand. Draco glanced curiously at it, but Potter pocketed it in a flash and sat down on one of the two chairs that had been placed in front of the teacher's desk. Draco hastily joined her just as the door was thrown open, revealing the one woman he currently loathed with all his heart.

'Oh, you both are already here. Lovely!' cried Rita Skeeter happily. Swishing her robes of emerald green spangled with gold and flipping her perfectly curled blonde ringlets, she sauntered up the aisle towards them, her ever present photographer and his huge camera in tow.

'Why, am I to have the teacher's seat?' Rita leered, revealing several gold teeth as she slid into the high-backed chair as if she were settling on a throne. Her photographer quickly took his place behind her. 'Indeed, the Headmistress is too kind. Though of course, such a dingy classroom! A private office with a warm fireplace would have been more ideal, I believe, for interviews are quite arduous tasks ...'

Draco watched with growing disgust as the reporter continued with her small talk, keeping his arms folded in case he ended up doing something he would regret. The more time he spent in her presence, the greater became his urge to give her a good beating around the noggin. After all the lies she had weaved, all the humiliation she had put them through, she still had the audacity to come and act like nothing was wrong. He clenched his teeth.

Act natural, eh? Well, that he wouldn't mind.

'Enough,' he snapped, cutting across her simpering words. 'You wanted us here and here we are. Get on with it.'

Dropping her overblown cheeriness, Rita chuckled mockingly at him. 'My, my, impatient, are we? Though, if I were to be honest, I was rather surprised to hear that you agreed to this. I expected you to refuse, though of course, I'm not complaining.'

Potter scoffed in contempt, finally speaking. 'Refuse? As if that could keep you away.'

'Mm, quite right,' Skeeter nodded, flashing her teeth at them.

'If you couldn't get a story legally,' continued Potter, her eyes gleaming triumphantly; Draco snapped to attention, realising that she was about to push her plan into action, 'then you would've got it illegally, wouldn't you, Skeeter?'

'Illegal?' The reporter let loose a tinkering laugh. 'Now let's not get carried away, Harry ...'

'Just like how you spied on my friend and Viktor Krum, spied on Hagrid and on me years ago... You would've bugged around until you got your story, wouldn't you, Rita Skeeter? Changed into a beetle yet, recently?' Potter's tone of voice was level, yet convincingly angry and Draco wondered if that was because it was really genuine. It probably was...

The blonde woman looked infuriatingly amused at Potter's harsh words. Lacing her fingers together, she leaned her chin on them and answered cheerfully, 'Why, you make it sound like a bad thing when, in fact, that particular talent has been my little secret behind all my successful stories. It comes in real handy, wouldn't you agree, Draco?' She winked at the Slytherin who felt a flash of both fury and guilt, recalling the malicious stories about Hariah Potter he had passed to Skeeter during the Triwizard Tournament. He peeked at her out of the corner of her eyes, but she did not acknowledge Skeeter's last words.

'I suppose it doesn't make a difference to you that you are an unregistered Animagus, either' snapped Potter, suddenly raising her voice.

'Do keep it down, Harry,' admonished the reporter, still keeping her smile in place though some irritation and worry had crept into her eyes. 'We wouldn't want to spread it around, now, would we? Though yes ...' she leered. 'It doesn't make a difference to me. I am an Animagus and it helps me to get the most exclusive scoops in the Daily Prophet as everyone already knows, which is all that matter –'

She had barely finished speaking when the classroom door banged open and someone came barging in, going, 'There you are, Harry! Professor McGonagall said I'd find you here. We need to discuss the Verita, it's almost due – but I thought I heard someone say Animagus ...' He froze, as if taking note of Rita Skeeter's presence for the first time.

'Blaise,' Draco and Potter said in unison, the former out of genuine surprise, but then he remembered that Blaise was a part of this.

'Oh, I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall didn't mention you were in the middle of something,' apologised the Slytherin smoothly with a winning smile.

'Well, yes, as you can see, we are,' said Rita coolly, giving Blaise a derisive look. 'So, if you'd leave...'

'No need for such rudeness, miss, I'm leaving. But hey, Harry, what was that about an Animagus? I thought I heard –'

'And you care, because?' Skeeter raised her eyebrows, studying her manicured fingernails disinterestedly though her voice was filled with impatience.

The brunet shrugged, his face suddenly acquiring a subtle, eager glow as he said, 'Nothing. Just that I've always wanted to be one. Turning into an animal at will and being able to do anything you want... it's kind of like a childhood dream, you know...'

Draco had to admit; he was impressed with Blaise' acting. The words were a bit on the cheesy side, no arguments about that, but his friend had put just the right touch of wistful longing in his voice and eyes to make it sound sincere and honest – and he was definitely succeeding in what he was aiming for because Skeeter had given him a second look, not quite so scornful this time.

'Hmm, it seems that someone shares my appreciation for the beauty of Animagi concept,' she remarked, smirking at Harry. Turning back to Blaise, she added, 'Keep dreaming then, boy, but don't get your hopes up. Only the most elite wizards and witches can accomplish such a feat.'

Draco balled his hands into fists, aching to slap the smug look off the woman's face.

Blaise stared at her. 'Eh ... how do you know ...' he trailed off and then comprehension dawned on his face. 'You? You're the Animagus I heard Harry talking about?' He began to laugh heartily, slapping a hand against his thigh. Beside Draco, Potter shifted in her chair, hopeful enthusiasm dominating her face as she turned to watch the drama.

Rita Skeeter's face lost all traces of humour and superiority. 'What's so funny?' she hissed, glaring at the laughing Slytherin.

'Do you really,' he said, still sniggering, 'expect me to believe that you have enough magic and skills to transform yourself? Please!'

Her mouth set in a thin line, Skeeter slowly got to her feet. 'And you find it so hard to believe, because?'

Gathering himself together, Blaise settled for smirking and leaned leisurely against one of the student desks.

'Perhaps it's less to do with your magical skills and more with my impression of you,' he admitted. Before Skeeter could ask, he elaborated, 'Lady, I've read countless articles of yours in the Daily Prophet. Nothing but lies and silly speculations, all designed to shame your victims and bring plenty of fame to you in return. I'm sorry, but it's all just useless stupidity and attention-seeking on your part. You are not bothered with spending some effort to uncover the truth and, instead, you satisfy yourself and your readers with juicy lies. Such a person doesn't exactly strike me as the type that can have the commitment and concentration to become an Animagi. You're more like a dumb, air-headed blonde who thinks she's better than the rest of us. No offense,' he added as an afterthought in a cheery, very insulting tone.

Somewhat amused at Blaise' provocative words, Draco turned back to Skeeter only to have his jaw nearly drop open. He had never seen the woman so livid; her teeth were almost bared and her eyes shot daggers at the smiling Slytherin, reflecting anger of unfathomable intensity. Her fingers were twitching at her sides and Draco hoped that she would not think to claw at his friend to vent her feelings; he doubted that the feel of two-inch long, filed nails in one's skin would be a pleasant experience.

'Is that right?' she finally spoke, forcing the words through gritted teeth as she advanced upon Blaise until they were nearly nose-to-nose. 'Rather stereotypical of you, isn't it, boy?'

The smile on Blaise' features turned wolfish. 'Then why don't you prove me wrong?' he whispered, eyes narrowing challengingly at her.

A cold, supercilious smile stretched across her face. 'Oh, I shall.'

At her words, Potter sat up straight, eyes wide with anticipation. Draco watched on curiously.

Stepping away from the teenager, Rita added haughtily, 'Never make the mistake of making your own presumptions, boy. You never know if and when you might have to eat your own words.'

Which is the most hypocritical thing ever said in history, Draco thought sardonically as Rita Skeeter abruptly transformed, her body shrinking in the blink of an eye to a small, tiny beetle that he had seen a few times before.

The Skeeter bug crawled in a zigzag direction on the floor for a few seconds before she transformed back into her human form. Flushed with success and smugness, she straightened her hair and turned haughtily to Blaise, demanding, 'Well? What do you have to say to that?'

Blaise stared blankly at her for a long minute, and then suddenly burst into laughter. 'That's it? A little beetle? Oh, you are funny, miss. Thanks for the laugh.'

There was shocked silence for a minute. And then, swelling with fury at his insolent (and unsatisfactory) reaction, Rita Skeeter exploded, 'I am an accomplished Animagus, a feat that only a handful of wizards in a century can achieve and you have the audacity to mock me?'

'Animagus? Yes. Accomplished?' Blaise snorted. 'Well, I suppose a beetle is something. Though I would think something a little bigger and more vertebrate would make a more lasting impression on people. But don't you worry.' He flashed a bright smile at her. 'A tiny bug is a thousand times more than what most air-headed reporters can manage, I'm sure, so be proud of yourself.'

For a moment, Draco feared that Skeeter would slap his friend, so ferocious did she look at his mocking words. Blaise obviously thought the same for he was quick to slip out of her reach.

Skeeter stood where she was, unmoving and breathing hard for several seconds. Then, without a second glance at any of them, she stormed from the room, her photographer stumbling after her.

They watched her leave, speechless, listening to her footsteps fade away. Then Blaise, grinning broadly, turned to face them both and drawled, 'So, what's the verdict?'

A huge smile broke across Potter's face, which to Draco looked like a sun that had broken free of the clouds. 'You were absolutely brilliant!' She shouted, leaping from her chair. 'Merlin, Blaise, you did better than I imagined! I thought it would take a long time, but you got her to transform just like that! And you actually made her leave – I thought she'd stay even after exposing her Animagus self and question us...'

'All right,' Blaise chuckled. 'As much as I love hearing people singing my praises, you can stop babbling now.'

She grinned again. 'Thanks for doing this, Blaise.' Then she turned and called in no general direction in particular, 'Come on out, guys. Show me what you got.'

Draco quickly looked around and, sure enough, there was Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger emerging from underneath a strange, silvery cloak in a corner of the room, and another Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw, the latter of whom he vaguely recognised, appearing at Potter's elbow as Disillusionment Charms cast upon them were removed.

'Please tell me that you got a picture, Dennis,' Potter said, almost begging, as she turned to the Gryffindor boy who had a large camera slung around his neck which he held fondly.

'Yep,' he nodded proudly. 'Got three great shots: one of her turning into the bug, another one of her crawling around on the floor and the last one of her turning back to herself.'

'Great!' Looking overjoyed, she turned to the Ravenclaw. 'Luna?'

The dirty blonde-haired girl held up a roll of parchment and said solemnly. 'Every word she said.'

'Even the part where she admitted that she's an unregistered Animagus?'

'Yes, Harry,' Luna said with a smile. 'It was fun, but not quite as enjoyable as noting down Daddy's theories on why the Crumple-Horned Snorkack can only defecate once a month –'

'OK, thanks,' Potter interrupted quickly, much to the relief of everyone else.

Draco, who had been silently watching their exchanges, finally saw the big picture of Potter's scheme. A slow smile curved up his lips and his eyes lit up as he watched his fiancée talk with her friends with almost child-like delight. Blaise was right, he mused. She did have a sly bone in her body and her plan had also been remarkably simple as it had been efficient; a sign of the impulsive intelligence she had. He could not deny it; he was quite impressed with her quick thinking.

Still smiling slightly, he watched as she went back to Blaise, still praising his act. 'You, Blaise Zabini, deserve an Oscar for that performance!'

'What's that?' asked Blaise, Weasley and Luna together with varying levels of puzzlement.

'You wouldn't know, but you deserve it,' she assured him brightly while Granger chuckled appreciatively from behind her.

'Right ... thank you. But you know, it only worked because you were right. Rita Skeeter does have a ... what did you call it? A flaunting attitude. A few mocking words from someone and she was desperate to show off that she could do it.' Blaise shook his head, appearing both amused and pitying.

'Yes, but we couldn't have done it without you. Again, thank you, Blaise.' Potter gave him a sincere smile and began to turn to the Gryffindor boy, Dennis, but her eyes landed on Draco and she blinked.

'What?' she asked slowly, reddening slightly.

With a start, Draco realised that he had been staring at her the entire time, still smiling. Clearing his throat, he straightened and muttered, 'Eh ... nothing. It's just, I finally get what you planned all along.' He could not stop another tiny smile from appearing on his face.

Potter looked pleased. 'Yeah. With Dennis' photos, Luna's notes and our six signatures as witnesses (sorry, Dennis, but not you; you're not of age yet), we can give Rita Skeeter a taste of her own medicine in ... er, how long will it take?' she asked, looking at Dennis and Luna.

'It's late tonight,' answered the boy, nodding at his wristwatch, 'but I can have the pictures developed by tomorrow evening.'

'I'll have these sorted out by then, too,' Luna said, holding up her notes. 'Then we can sign it and I'll mail everything to Daddy. He can publish it the next day.'

'Wait a moment, where exactly are you sending these?' Draco asked Potter, frowning.

'The Quibbler,' she replied, grinning at Luna. 'A fine old magazine with no external influences. It's just right for the job and old Xenophilius owes me, anyway.'

The Slytherin looked dubiously at her, but chose to keep silent. So far, her plan had worked; she knew what she was doing (even though everyone did know that The Quibbler could only be put to best use by utilising it to polish one's shoes).

'Right, so we'll meet tomorrow night at the Entrance Hall to put our signatures on the papers, right after dinner. That OK?'

The rest of them murmured their agreement and slowly, as a group, they filed out of the Transfiguration classroom to head to their respective dormitories. The Gryffindor boy skipped ahead to join Blaise, enthusiastically striking up a conversation about how the Slytherin had successfully manipulated the reporter; next came Weasley and Granger who also were talking about the night's events. The Luna girl followed, humming a tuneless melody and lastly came Potter, following Draco who purposefully slowed until they were walking side by side.

He looked at her sideways. She was staring off into space as she walked, her earlier triumph still reflected in her eyes and smile. Draco could practically feel the waves of self-satisfaction she was exuding.

'Happy, aren't you?' he said softly, eyeing the curve of her smile.

'Yes,' she replied at once, still gazing at a far-off place he could not see. 'It's been a long time since I've wanted to get Skeeter for something.'

'Well, I've been pretty furious with her myself and I'm glad to see her go as well, but you seem infinitely more pleased with what happened tonight than me.'

Potter shook her head, snorting quietly. 'Well, of course. You've had her on your case for a few months; she's been after me for years...'

They walked a long way in silence, steadily drawing closer to the point where they had to part ways. After a few minutes, Draco remarked, 'It's a good way to start this, isn't it?'

'Start what?' She looked at him, bemused.

'This...' He hesitantly gestured a hand between them, uneasy with voicing it out loud. 'Us.'

'Oh.' Potter looked away with a hot flush on her cheeks, looking equally uncomfortable. Clearing her throat self-consciously, she asked quietly, 'And exactly what was a good way to start ... this?'

Draco's lips curled up slightly. 'Tonight, what we did to Skeeter – something that both of us wanted to do and enjoyed doing ... even though you deliberately kept my part small,' he added though without the previous indignation.

She snorted, looking somewhat amused. 'Your part might not have been big enough to satisfy your over-inflated ego that even the sharpest pin cannot rupture, Malfoy, but ... I needed you for it to work anyway.' She paused to look over at him. 'And thank you, for going along with me.'

Taken aback at the unexpected words, Draco simply looked at her, seeing the honesty in her eyes. Feeling a little embarrassed, he put his hands in his pockets and, looking in the opposite direction, answered gruffly, 'Don't mention it. And I should thank you ... for giving me a chance.'

Which, of course, took the tension and uncomfortable atmosphere between them to a whole new level, but Draco did not regret it. He had needed to tell her that. Throwing her another glance, he spied the high colour in her cheeks and added, to ease the tenseness,

'You planned tonight well, by the way.'

At that, for the very first time, Hariah Potter looked directly into his eyes and smiled; a warm, true smile of happiness and gratitude she had never aimed in his direction before. The sight of it seemed to take the very breath from his body and, for a moment, he longed to take her in his arms right then and there. Letting his happiness show in his eyes, he returned her gesture, hopeful that it was the start of something wonderful and knowing that he would remember that moment for a long time yet to come.

A/N: Woot! Can you feel the love tonight? Or at least, impending love? Haha. I originally meant to end this in a cliffhanger, but this felt like a better ending :)

Alrighty, I got a question. When I began this fic, I never thought about pairing off everybody and I don't think I will, either. But if - and that's a really big IF - I wanted to pair Blaise off with a girl, who would you recommend? Let me know in a review or PM.

So, there we have it, folks! Don't forget to review, please!