A/N: Ah, chapter three is when this story gets rolling properly. I know, I know… it only took me 15K words to get there. But, dude, I did so love writing this story, and I wanted to savor it. Plus, I like a good build-up to romance… of course, I may have taken it a bit far… there's a bit of a wait for that… like a 50K wait till a bit of a payoff. Yikes, I hope you stick around that long.
-oOoOo-
Chapter Three:
Danger, Will Robinson
Not ten seconds after Ginny left, Harry wanted to call her back. He'd been angry with Malfoy, and the conversation with Ginny had spiraled out of control, and then he'd taken his anger out on her. She didn't deserve that, even if she was being narrow-minded and backwards.
Hell, even Ron was trying to get along with the snakes…
It was going to be a very, very long summer.
Harry scrubbed at his eyes, and went off in search of his best friend. He found him in an alcove by the kitchens snogging Hermione like they'd been apart for ages rather than just a week.
Ignoring the tongues and wandering hands, he said, "Hey, you're back!"
Hermione let out a surprised yelp, and tried to detach herself from Ron, but the redhead wasn't having it. "Hi, Harry," she said, allowing Ron to wrap her up in his arms.
His friends were so adorable that it was disgusting.
"How are your parents?" he asked.
Hermione's face fell. "Well, they have their memories back, and they're back at home… but they aren't very happy with me."
"But you were just trying to keep them safe!" Ron objected.
"I know that," she said, looking as if she may cry. "But I don't think they understood before what magic was capable of—what I was capable of—and, well, I think they're a bit scared of me now."
"Oh," Harry said uselessly. Ron looked equally unsure of what to say. "I'm sure they'll come around. It must have been a bit of a shock."
"Yes, well…" Hermione looked eager to change the subject, so Harry said, "Ginny's here."
"Oh! How did that go?" she asked.
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "We had a row about the Slytherins."
"Bad luck, mate," said Ron.
"The Slytherins?" asked Hermione curiously.
"Malfoy started this whole reconstruction project," said Ron.
"Oh, I thought it was Harry's idea," she said, looking to Harry for an explanation.
"I went to Malfoy Manor to give Malfoy his wand back, and his mum told me that he was here. The Slytherin dormitory flooded—"
"Oh, no," cried Hermione. "Really?"
"Yeah," continued Harry. "Zabini and Nott were diving for the other student's trunks and things, so I helped out for a bit, and then McGonagall said she needed help with some things before the architects come next week, so the four of us sent letters out to our friends."
"But what does Malfoy have to do with—"
"He's been here since the day after the battle," Ron explained. "He's been working with the house-elves, making up lists of damages, and making sure things get done…"
"I see," she said, looking like that was the exact opposite of what she meant. "But why is he doing it?"
"I expect he's looking for points for when the Ministry finally gets around to putting the little ferret on trial."
Harry started. "You think they'll put him on trial?"
Ron and Hermione looked at him. "Yes, of course," said Hermione.
"But he didn't really do anything," Harry protested.
"Uh, mate, he nearly killed me last year."
Harry flushed. He'd forgotten that. How could he have forgotten that… But still— "But everything Malfoy did was because Voldemort had threatened his family."
"Yes," said Hermione slowly. "But he still followed Voldemort. He's Marked."
"But—"
"I expect that once the Ministry is back on its feet they will announce some sort of Amnesty Bill. If they were to prosecute everyone who followed orders under Voldemort they would have to try half of the Ministry. He was all but running it when Harry defeated him."
Ron groaned. "Oh, that means Umbridge will go free."
"Probably," Hermione agreed, though she looked as if she'd do anything to change that.
"Malfoy is just as much a victim of this war as we are," said Harry, not willing to let this topic go yet. "If not more so, because he was closer to Voldemort. You guys didn't see… sometimes he was in my visions, and he always looked terrified."
Ron looked as though this pronouncement pained him, but Hermione looked thoughtful. "If there is a trial, and you feel this strongly about it, Harry, then perhaps you should be a witness for Malfoy. If he's in danger of going to Azkaban your testimony might save him."
Harry pondered this on the way back to the Great Hall where McGonagall wanted to meet with everyone to check their progress, and hand out assignments for the day. Hermione and Ron went out to the greenhouses to collect Ginny, Neville, and Luna. The Slytherins were already in the Hall, gathered around Malfoy and speaking in heated whispers.
Malfoy sneered at Harry, and Pansy followed suit, so Harry could be sure that they were talking about him. He dropped into a chair not far away.
Harry didn't know what he could say to dispel the tension. It was apparently his fault that his friends were acting like prats. He sighed and crossed his arms, looking up at the ceiling. The sky was a perfect blue. He hoped the job Malfoy gave him would be outside.
Zabini dropped into the chair beside him.
"You talking to me again?" Harry asked.
"Don't be such a girl, Potter." Harry smiled. "This school can only handle one drama queen, and Draco's got that all wrapped up."
"I wouldn't dare challenge him for it."
"You don't need to. You've cornered the market on brooding hero."
Harry snorted. "And what's your label, Zabini?"
"Shameless flirt," he said, unabashedly.
"I've not noticed."
Zabini scoffed. "Course you haven't. I haven't worked my charms on you. Yet."
Harry laughed, but Zabini raised a serious eyebrow, and said only, "Oh, you'll see."
Harry felt a stab of alarm—not really because Zabini was a bloke, if there was a bloke flirting with him he could do a hell of a lot worse than Blaise Zabini, who was unnaturally handsome—but flirting in general scared Harry. He was lousy at it, and he was only lucky that Ginny seemed to find his ineptitude endearing.
Though as she entered the Hall with the others, casting him a dark look, it seemed that 'endearing' was the farthest thing from what she was thinking of him.
"Trouble with the Weaslette?" asked Zabini.
"You could say that," Harry grumbled.
Zabini hummed curiously. "Don't worry, Hero, I'm sure you'll patch it up."
Harry wasn't so sure, as he wasn't ready to give up his newfound attitude towards the Snakes, and Ginny wasn't the type to compromise.
Further conversation was averted by the timely arrival of Professor McGonagall, looking stern as usual.
She conferred briefly with Malfoy, who gestured towards the List and at a roll of parchment in his hand. Eventually, she nodded and waved him off.
"Miss Granger, if you would I'd like you to assist Mr. Malfoy in the library today."
Hermione looked as though McGonagall had just given her a treat instead of sentencing her to a day spent with Malfoy, but Harry supposed that for Hermione anything could be borne if there were books present.
He abruptly remembered the state of the library, and wished he could see Hermione's reaction to it. Harry was sure she would have the mess back in order within days. If anyone could do it, Hermione could.
The professor asked Neville for an update on the greenhouses, and several items were added to the list. She sent Neville, Luna, and a determined Ginny back outside, with orders to not tangle with anything they could not handle.
McGonagall selected Ron and Pansy to help her for the afternoon to repair the gargoyles that guarded the staffroom, as well as the one that stood at the base of the Headmistresses Office, as they had been smashed in the battle.
Harry, Zabini and Nott were left, and McGonagall handed Harry a bit of parchment.
"I'd like you boys to go diving into Slytherin again and to try these spells on the window that shattered. Make a note of what works and what doesn't. We'll need a temporary fix until we can work out a permanent solution to the problem. I'd like to be able to get the water out before the architects come."
Zabini plucked the paper from Harry's hand and perused the spells. "I'm going to need to look some of these up," he said.
"Practice anywhere you like, so long as you take the spells down when you've finished," she said briskly. "Also remember that spells move sluggishly through water, you'll have to exert extra effort."
She gave the three of them a stern look. "And please, please be careful. If you grow tired, I want you out of the water immediately. I won't have anyone drowning."
They mumbled an agreement.
"I will see you at lunch, and you will inform me of your progress."
"Yes, Professor."
Zabini fetched a compendium of charms from his trunk (apparently it was a class at which he excelled) and the three boys practiced the charms on a doorway in the Den until they were certain they had them right.
Harry was looking forward to going into the flooded dungeons again, if only because it was fun and strange to swim through the halls of Hogwarts, and to investigate Slytherin House at his leisure.
The spells did move sluggishly under the water, but this only made the boys more determined. Nott and Zabini especially wanted to see their dormitory fixed.
The spells worked best when one drew their wand around the area they wanted to seal as they chanted the spell repeatedly. It was difficult to tell if the spells would hold under pressure, but the boys had to try, so they tested the spells by throwing their weight against it, or trying to shove a desk chair through the opening.
They'd been at it for quite some time, and had only one spell left to test out. Harry drew his wand around the circumference of the window, and tested it with one hand. It gave slightly, but did not break.
Nott was making notes of their findings with a bit of parchment and a charcoal pencil charmed to resist the water. The boy nodded as he marked the reaction down.
Harry went onto the second stress test, throwing himself bodily into the spell.
He could feel the net of spell work stretching against his shoulders, and then abruptly the charm collapsed. Taking his Bubble-Head Charm along with it. He was not prepared for it to fail, and inhaled water on a startled gasp.
Nott's eyes went wide, and Zabini yelled something, but Harry couldn't hear over his panic. There was no way he could get to the surface in time.
Nott tried to cast a spell, but the new Bubble Head wouldn't take, because they were underwater and the spell had no source of air to draw from.
Harry abruptly decided that he would swim for it, and hopefully someone would be able to revive him if he didn't make it in time.
He began to swim, but Zabini grabbed him around the waist and pulled him in close. Harry couldn't hear what Blaise was yelling, and he panicked, trying to break free. The other boy's Bubble Head Charm brushed against his face, and then Blaise's wand came up and he cast something and then…
There was air. Harry coughed and sputtered, drawing in great heaving lungfuls of it.
"You all right there, Potter?" asked Zabini. The other boy was very close, and still had his arms wrapped tightly around Harry's middle.
"Yeah," he gasped. "Thanks. What did you do?"
"I pulled you into my charm. There was no way you'd make it to the surface in time. You'd have drowned."
"Fucking Merlin," moaned Nott. "That was close. Can you imagine what they'd do to us if you drowned down here, Potter?"
Harry could imagine all too well. He sagged against Blaise, suddenly feeling exhausted.
"Your tact knows no bounds, Theo," Blaise said dryly.
Theo winced. "Well, it's true."
"We should get to the top," said Blaise. "I don't know how long this charm can hold two people."
"How do we swim like this?" said Harry.
"Don't you worry about that, you'll only get in the way. Theo can drag us, you just hold onto me and don't leave the area of the charm, for Merlin's sake."
Harry was too tired to argue, and just wrapped his arms around Blaise and allowed himself to be towed to the surface.
-oOoOo-
Hermione was horrified, absolutely horrified, by the state of the library. She might have let out a scream of dismay upon entering that hallowed room, and Malfoy had laughed at her. She took no notice and instantly called up several house-elves.
House-elf rights were all well and good, and yes, someday she would do something about that, but for now she desperately needed their help.
Malfoy had left her to it, and settled himself at a table and began to read. Hermione wanted to know what he was researching, but first things first. She wouldn't be able to help if she couldn't find the resources necessary, so putting the library to rights was her first priority.
Little did she know that she'd fallen right into Draco's plot—he needed the library in order again, but couldn't be bothered with such an onerous task when there were more important things (like Slytherin) to take care of.
One by one she levitated the bookshelves back into place, while the elves moved the scattered books to the side. By the time she'd gotten all the shelves upright it was nearly lunchtime.
The elves left, politely informing her that they would be back to help her in the afternoon, but they were meant to be in the kitchens at this time. She shook her head wearyingly. This was the nicest the elves had ever been to her, when she'd been barking orders at them to move the books to the side and back again.
"Are you finished screeching?" asked Malfoy.
"Until after lunch," she sang. She felt good about the progress she'd made, and wasn't about to let Malfoy get her down. She sat across from him and tugged a few discarded books towards herself, reading the titles. They didn't seem to have any particular theme, but the one Malfoy had been referencing the most was a copy of Hogwarts: A History from the sixteenth century, and as such Hermione's interest was piqued.
"What are you researching?" she asked.
He sighed, and pushed the book he was looking at away. "Shield Charms, Barrier Charms, Sealing Charms… Charms to keep the Slytherin dormitory from flooding, in other words."
"Oh," she said, her mind already trying to work out a solution, or where she could look to find a solution. "Can I see the notes you have?"
"No," he said, pulling his parchments jealousy closer. "Not until you've finished with that mess you've made."
"But—"
"No, Granger. I know how you get. You clean up those books, and then I will let you play with the notes."
"I don't appreciate your tone."
"I don't appreciate your face."
"You are so immature."
He smirked. "I'm trying."
"So, why are you doing this? Harry said you started this whole reconstruction project."
Malfoy twirled a quill between his fingers. "As you may have guessed, this—" He pulled up his sleeve, to show her his Dark Mark. It was fading slowly, just a shadow of the livid black it had once been. "This is going to cause me a bit of trouble. I thought the Wizengamot might go easy on me if I started to repent early. Community service and all."
He said it in a drawl, like it didn't matter, like he wasn't terrified of being thrown in Azkaban for the rest of his life.
Hermione grabbed his wrist, ignoring his indignant yelp, and dragged his arm closer to her face. "Has it been fading every day since?" she asked.
"What are you doing?" He tried to shake her away, but she just held tighter.
"Answer the question."
"A bit, I suppose."
"Who knows that you're Marked?"
"Potter, for one."
"Harry's not going to say anything. Nor will Ron and I."
"How very noble and foolish of you."
She ignored him, and prodded at the Mark with her wand.
"What are you doing? Don't you know that's how he—"
"Oh, relax," she snapped. "He's gone. Dead. Kaput. He can't answer his own damned summons any longer."
Malfoy flushed, and allowed her to continue prodding. From what she could tell the magic that held the Mark in his skin was fading, and within a month she suspected that his arm would be unblemished. She told Malfoy this.
"So I guess I just have to hope that the Ministry forgets about me for a month or two, and then I can deny it all I like?"
"I didn't say that," she said. Though that had been what she was driving at. Harry, for whatever reason, seemed worried about Malfoy's fate. This news might cheer him up a bit.
"Whatever, Granger."
"I think it's really nice that you're helping out like this."
"Don't get any crazy ideas. I'm still the same person I always was. I'm helping out for purely selfish reasons."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but so he couldn't see. Like she cared whether he was doing this to be selfish or not. She only cared that it was getting done, and Malfoy was a competent leader, and as demanding a prefect as she herself had been. They ought to have been Heads together this past year. She sighed, thinking of what she'd missed because of this war. She'd wanted to be Head Girl for seven years…
"Who was Head Girl?" she asked.
"You were," he said, as though she was being stupid on purpose.
"But who took my place?"
"Padma Patil helped out a fair bit. I think she was miffed that she never got to wear the badge. Which serves her right. She was a shrew."
Hermione stifled a laugh.
-oOoOo-
Granger wasn't a bad sort, Draco supposed, when you weren't competing with her for top marks. Then he hated her Brainy Bushiness with an intensity rivaled only by his loathing of Harry Potter. None of this meant that he was going to stoop to being friendly with her.
"I think it's nearly time for lunch," she said.
On their way down, they ran into Weasley and Pansy, and Granger hurried off with Weasley, and Pansy attached herself to Draco.
"And how was your morning?" he asked.
"Tolerable," Pansy said. "McGonagall got the gargoyles fixed, and Weasley wasn't nearly as obnoxious as he usually is. And how was your time spent with Granger?"
Pansy hated Granger, possibly just as much as he hated Potter, but Draco still didn't know the reason behind their animosity.
"It was fine."
Theodore, dripping wet, ran up the stairs and stopped at the sight of them, looking relieved. "Draco, we need help."
"What happened?" he asked. "Did something happen to Blaise?"
"No, no, Blaise is fine. Come on!"
Draco hurried after him, trying to keep up, but Theo was running flat out towards the dungeons. If it wasn't Blaise who was in trouble, that only meant that it could be Potter who'd floundered into danger yet again.
Just beyond where the flooding was shallowest, with merely an inch of water wetting the stones, was Blaise holding an unconscious Harry Potter and slapping at his face.
"What happened?" Draco snapped, sliding to his knees beside the two boys.
"His Bubble Head Charm failed," said Blaise. "I was able to pull him into mine, but he wasn't able to breathe for about a minute. He was fine until we got up here, and he just passed out."
If it was anyone else, the Slytherins wouldn't be in such a panic and would pass the problem off to the appropriate authority figure, but it was the Boy Who Lived Twice, and if he died in their company…
"I think he needs an Blood Oxygenating Potion—Pansy, do you know what they look like?"
"No," she said, wringing her hands.
"I do," said Theo.
"Go to the infirmary," Draco ordered. "See if Pomfrey left any. I can get into Snape's rooms. He might have left some."
Theo ran back up the stairs, and Draco turned back to his friends. "Make sure he keeps breathing. Pansy, make sure his heart keeps beating."
"What do I do if it stops?" she cried.
"Just deal with it, Pans!"
Draco roughly broke through the myriad of wards on the door to Snape's private quarters. Snape took his potions seriously, which was no surprise, and kept them in an ornate glass fronted cabinet in his private office. Draco broke through the wards on this as well, wondering all the while why this was suddenly so easy, and rifled through the hanging vials for the potion.
There was a rack of them, glittering pearly white, and Draco grabbed the whole thing. Potter would need to take more than one over the next few days if he wanted to live.
He hurried back to the hall, Blaise had moved Potter to a more comfortable position holding the unconscious boy against his chest, and Pansy's fingers looked as though they were glued to Potter's neck.
Draco dropped to his knees, pulled the cork out of a vial with his teeth, and he and Pansy coaxed Potter to swallow.
"Come on, Potter," muttered Blaise. "Don't be a little bitch."
Pansy laughed, a hysterical note in it.
"Someone hit him with an 'Ennervate'," said Draco. He hoped to Merlin this worked. He didn't have any idea what was really wrong with Potter, this was only a guess, but a good one as Gigi had forced the same potion on him a week or so ago after he'd nearly drowned in the same dungeons.
Pansy cast the spell, and they all let out sighs of relief as Potter's eyes blinked sleepily open.
"Wuzzgoinon?" he mumbled.
"You passed out," Blaise said. "You didn't have enough oxygen in your blood."
"Oh."
Footsteps pounded towards them, and they all tensed, but relaxed when it turned out to be Theo, holding a vial of the same potion Draco had found in Snape's stores.
"Oh, thank fucking Merlin," said Theo, when he saw Potter was awake, and bent over his knees trying to get his breath back.
Blaise dropped his head against the wall, and ran his hand through Potter's messy wet hair. To Draco's surprise, Potter didn't pull away, but relaxed further into Blaise's chest and shut his eyes.
Draco raised an eyebrow at Blaise, who gave a little shrug and did the hair thing again.
"Potter, are you going to tell anyone what happened?" asked Draco.
Potter frowned, and shook his head. "No. They'll only worry."
Draco nodded, glad he didn't need to run control on this situation on top of everything else he had going on. "Can you fake being well enough through lunch?"
Potter nodded, and tried to stand up, but needed Blaise's help to get on his feet. This would never do. What Potter needed was to be in the hospital wing being endlessly fussed over by Madam Pomfrey.
"This isn't going to work," said Pansy. "You look like crap."
"It'll be fine," assured Potter. "Can I take a Pepper-Up with this stuff?" he asked, gesturing to the empty vial in Draco's hand.
"I—I think so," said Draco, looking to Theo for confirmation. But the other boy only shrugged. Draco had always been the best at potions, but here Potter was putting his damn well being in Draco's hands, and he didn't have a solid answer. "Theo, go get one from Snape's rooms. All the wards are down."
Potter downed the Pepper-Up like a shot, not even looking worried about possible ingredient interactions. But he was able to stop leaning so heavily on Blaise, and color began to return to his face.
"That's better," said Pansy, casting drying charms all around. "Let's go to lunch."
Blaise hovered over Potter as they left the dungeons, keeping close in case the boy fainted again. Draco wanted to roll his eyes, but he was glad that Blaise was taking care of what he couldn't. He wouldn't be seen clucking over Potter like a mother hen, and wouldn't do anything but what he had to do to keep the boy from dying of his current injuries.
Potter stumbled upon entering the Great Hall, and Draco's heart flew to his throat. But Blaise covered nicely.
"Potter, you clumsy sod. If you want to be close to me, all you have to do is say so. There's no need for these games."
Potter laughed blushing, and elbowed the other boy lightly. "You wish, Zabini."
"Yes, I do," he purred, throwing an arm around Potter's shoulders, ostensibly because Zabini was known as something of a flirt, but really to ensure Potter didn't take a tumble and give the game away.
The others were already in the Hall. The Great Hall was in desperate need of some work, and Draco thought he should make sure that it was scheduled to be fixed sooner rather than later if they were going to be using the room often.
Only one House table was present, running down the middle of the hall, far away from any damage that would cause one to twist an ankle in a crack, and out of the way of any potential falling masonry. And worse still, the number of non-Slytherins had increased since this morning.
Potter's bookends made a decent enough buffer zone between the Slytherins and the new hostile forces, some who were glaring and others who were whispering heatedly to their neighbor. The Weasel and Granger alone looked indifferent to the Slytherin's entrance, but they were focusing on Potter's slightly unsteady walk to the table.
The Girl Weasel looked as though she wanted to fry Zabini alive with the force of her stare.
Potter smiled at the new arrivals from under Zabini's arm, and Draco could tell he was trying to look as steady on his feet as possible.
Granger, showing a remarkable amount of perception, pushed the chair nearest her out for Potter, and he gratefully dropped into it. Zabini sat at Potter's side, sending the other boy a wink.
Draco thought he was trying rather too hard to keep up the pretence.
"I'm glad you guys came," said Potter. "There's a lot to do, and we could use all the help."
The Irish bloke, Finnigan, looked at Potter as though he'd finally gone round the twist.
"Harry, what are you doing with these Snakes?"
-oOoOo-
Inwardly, Harry rolled his eyes. Would the accusations never stop?
"Zabini, Nott and I were testing out some charms in Slytherin. Their dorm flooded."
Seamus glared around. "What, they're like your friends now?"
Harry sent him a look, irritated beyond measure, and disregarded Seamus entirely. He turned to Hermione and asked, "What's for lunch? I'm starving."
Zabini chuckled beside him.
"Harry!" said Seamus. "Explain yourself!"
"No. I'm done talking about this. Once you've grown up you can ask me again. I've had a hell of a morning and I'm not in the mood to deal with your attitude, Finnigan."
"Harry, that's not fair," said Hermione.
"You explain it to them, then," snapped Harry.
"Here, Potter," said Zabini pleasantly. "Have a sandwich."
"Thanks, Blaise."
Seamus glowered, and Harry had to admit that Zabini wasn't making things any better by grinning at the Irish boy smugly, nor by waggling his eyebrows at Ginny, who looked on the verge of either tears or an apoplectic fit.
And while the other students still glared and whispered, the Slytherins merely ate their lunch and chatted amongst themselves.
"How did those charms work out?" asked Malfoy.
"This one," said Nott pointing to the list, "and, ahem, this one, failed entirely."
"I think we could make it work if we layered them up," said Harry. "For a temporary fix, anyway, until we can repair the windows."
Malfoy nodded, and made a few notations.
"We'll need an anchor stone to fuel the spells," said Blaise.
"Can't you just anchor them to the castle?" said Malfoy.
"McGonagall or a Head of House could, but students can't draw on the castle's power like that."
Malfoy grumbled under his breath. "Fine, I'll make an anchor stone."
"What's an anchor stone?" asked Harry. "And how do you make one?"
Hermione, looking a bit excited, opened her mouth to respond, but Malfoy got there first. "You can watch me do it, Potter. Maybe you'll learn something useful."
"All right," said Harry.
The Slytherins, plus Harry, left en masse, and from behind them the angry voices of his friends and members of the DA rang out. Harry turned to send Ron and Hermione a look of apology.
Ron was standing up and shouting, "Everybody just shut the bloody hell up for a minute." Harry smiled. "Now, Hermione is going to answer your questions, but if you give her any crap you'll have me to answer to."
Harry started to feel a bit light on his feet, and Malfoy shoved a vial into his hand. "Take this. You should be taking a dose every four hours for the next day. It was stupid of us not to give you a second dose when you woke up."
Harry downed the vial, grimacing. "Thanks."
"Blaise, take him to the Den, and if he won't go to sleep put him out with a sleeping charm."
"What?" squawked Harry. "I thought we were going to fix the window."
"We are," said Blaise. "You're not."
"I bought you until dinner to nap," said Malfoy, "and then you're going to explain to your little friends why you didn't mention Blaise, Theo, and, most importantly, myself in those letters." Malfoy poked him. "And you're going to make it nice, Potter. I'm not going to spend the summer watching my back for hexes."
Harry marveled for a moment at how he'd been played like a violin.
"I don't know what you expect me to say," he said. He thought about it for a moment. "There's nothing I can say to make things better. Hell, even Luna is angry."
"Well, Potter, you're going to try. You owe me for this afternoon."
"You were only doing to save your own neck!" protested Harry.
"It worked out well enough for you, didn't it?" snapped Malfoy. "Just roll out your Chosen Hero routine and they'll fall in line like they always do."
"I don't have a routine," snarled Harry.
Blaise put his arm around Harry's shoulders again. "Come on, Hero. Let's put you to bed, you're getting cranky."
Blaise was a little bit like a Weasley twin, Harry reflected. Even when he said just the thing that ought to annoy you most, all Harry did was roll his eyes and allow himself to be led away.
Blaise made him sleep in the dormitory the Slytherins were still using, in the bed Harry had been using before last night, because the others were less likely to find him there if they went looking for him.
"I'll wake you up in time for dinner. Do you want that sleeping charm?"
"No," yawned Harry, feeling very tired now that he was lying down. "Hey, Blaise?"
"Yes, Hero?"
Harry snorted. That nickname had to go. "Thanks for today. Saving my life and all."
"Don't think I won't make you pay for it," he smirked.
Harry yawned again. "What do you mean by that?"
Blaise shook his head. "Go to sleep, Hero."
Harry did.
-oOoOo-
Ron was very annoyed. He had more reason than most to loathe Draco Sodding Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies, but he was being quite mature about the situation. He wasn't being friendly, but he wasn't going out of his way to be a prat either. He didn't understand why the rest couldn't follow his lead.
Even Neville was being a little shit about the Snakes. Granted, Neville had changed a lot in the past year, but Ron didn't think there was any need for all the hostility Neville was carting around.
He wanted to point out (at least to Hermione) just how mature and levelheaded he was being, but a small voice said that giving voice to it might negate the point.
The former members of the DA were shouting over each other now, arguing between themselves even though they were all on the same side of said argument.
Hermione was massaging her temples. Ron wanted to take her away from the noise and kiss her until her headache disappeared.
Ron had to come up with a strategy, and quickly before this mob of combat trained teenagers decided to take matters into their own hands and drive the paltry quartet of Snakes from the school.
So as Seamus was waving his arms about and yelling over Hannah Abbot's quivering yelps, Ron stood on his chair, put his fingers to his lips and whistled. Loudly.
"We can argue later!" he said. "Right now we have a huge bloody amount of things to do before the architects arrive on Monday."
Hermione looked up at him like he was a godsend. He suppressed the urge to grin.
"Neville, Justin, and…" Ron looked around the group for someone else who excelled in Herbology. "Padma," he guessed wildly. "You three are working on the Greenhouses this afternoon or out on the lawns. There's a bunch of plants growing wild out there, and we need that cleaned up before we landscape the lawn.
"Ginny, Luna, there's graffiti everywhere and it won't come off. I expect you know how to remove it." Ginny glared and he glared right back. He wasn't putting up with crap from his little sister today. He didn't care if she and Harry had quarreled, and now all she wanted to do was spread her bad mood around.
"Seamus, Dean, and Terry, the suits of armor were used to defend the school, and now they're all broken. You're going to gather up the pieces and find a room to put them in, so when we figure out how the hell to do it we'll have a 'suit-of-armor-building-workshop'.
"Lavender, Parvati, Hannah – remember how Trelawney used those crystal balls in the battle?" The girls nodded. "We'll you're going to fix them. I saw the broken bits in classroom ten. Get to it."
"Anthony, Ernie, and Michael… you're going to…. Um." Ron looked to Hermione for assistance.
"Remember how McGonagall rode into battle with those school desks?" she said. The boys nodded, and everyone smiled a bit. "The pieces are in the Transfiguration classroom, you can repair those."
"What are you two going to do?" asked Seamus.
"Hermione's still working on putting the library back in order," said Ron, and drew himself up proudly, "And I will be researching magical methods of glass-making."
"Glass making?" Seamus asked dubiously.
"Have you noticed how many broken windows there are?" said Ron. "And the house-elves cleared up all the glass, so it will have to be made new."
Argument seemingly forgotten for now, everyone went their separate ways, wands in hand, and for the most part looking like they were excited to get started.
Ron hopped down from his chair, and was only a little surprised when Hermione hugged him.
"You're so clever," she said.
"Always the tone of surprise," he teased.
"No really, splitting them all up like that so they can't mount a defense, and ensuring that they'll all be exhausted by dinner? You're brilliant, Ron." She kissed his cheek, and he blushed.
"Well, you know, divide and conquer." He put her snugly under his arm and gestured grandly. "Lead the way to the library."
Ron grinned, feeling terribly smug that she hadn't caught on to the second portion of his plan: research also meant that he could spend the afternoon in Hermione's company, and hopefully kiss her headache away.
-oOoOo-
"He's sexy, and a big damn hero, what more do I need to say?" Blaise said, smirking a little at his very angry blond friend.
"Sexy? Potter?"
"Please, Draco, don't act like you haven't noticed."
Draco looked disgusted, but maybe a little too disgusted, so Blaise laid it on a little thicker, hoping for a reaction.
"His hair? That mop screams, 'I've just been shagged.'"
""I was raised by wolves,'" Draco corrected.
"And his eyes are so—"
"Myopic?"
"—so bloody green. They're like two expressive emeralds stuck in his face."
"If you go on, I will vomit," Draco warned.
Blaise laughed.
Draco sliced his thumb with a knife, and daubed the blood onto the newly minted anchor stone. An incantation later the tiny obelisk shaped stone glowed faintly purple, and the stone was ready to fuel Draco's makeshift water barrier.
Draco had railed at Blaise for five minutes for being overly touchy-feely with Potter's person. Blaise had demanded to know what was so wrong about it, and all Draco had been able to offer up was the pitiful line, "Because it's Potter!"
Blaise liked the fact that it was Potter.
Potter was rather adorable in his own way, and harmless if one wasn't a Dark Lord. Blaise's previous 'special friends' had been Slytherins and Ravenclaws, and on the whole were bastards (Draco being case in point) and Blaise felt it was time to give a nice safe Gryffindor a trial run. And one couldn't get any more Gryffindor than Harry Potter.
"He's straight," Draco said.
"Maybe," Blaise allowed, "but he didn't object to the cuddling. I'd say he has definite bi potential."
Draco rolled his eyes. "On your own head be it."
"Yes," Blaise leered, "but which one?"
"You're over-sexed. You know that, right?"
Blaise laughed, and conceded the point. "Come on, Draco, let's go skinny dipping."
"You will wear a bathing suit," he ordered. "I've seen enough of your naked arse."
"Yes, I suppose you have."
Blaise and Draco had had a casual relationship at the end of fifth year, just before Draco went off the deep Dark end, and it had never resumed, though they were still friendly. In sixth year Blaise had a few one offs with Terry Boot (not to mention various girls in their year), but nothing had come of it. There was just something a trifle bland about Ravenclaws, and anyway Blaise had never been able to distract Terry from his studies, and after that it had been one long dry spell. Which probably explained why he was now wasting his time with Harry Potter, who was more than likely straight as Draco said.
The boys left Pansy in the Den, to ensure no one found Potter sleeping off his near death experience, and traipsed down to the dungeons to set up the spells.
Draco had a bit of trouble with the spell layers, as he wasn't used to casting underwater like Blaise and Theo were, so he made Blaise do it and did the anchoring himself. They tested the strength of the barrier, not daring to throw themselves at it, lest they suffer a repeat of this morning's disaster, but all took a hold of a chair and tried to shove it through the window. The charms held like they were made of concrete, and the boys exchanged smug grins.
Once topside, they returned to the Den and discussed methods of pumping the water out. They discussed the merits of banishing the water, but Draco suspected that might bring the castle down upon their heads. Pansy wanted to gather everyone together to cast a massive drying charm, but Blaise felt they might end up boiling the water instead. In the end, Draco designed a water pump and Theo, who was good at conjuring, made a scale model of the pump, and Pansy produced a bowl of water, and they tested it out.
Draco looked terribly smug when the little pump began to dump water all over the coffee table.
"What on earth are you guys doing?" asked a very sleepy looking Harry Potter.
"Did you take the potion when you woke up?" snapped Draco, all evidence of his good mood gone with the arrival of his nemesis.
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey, I did take my potions," Potter said, dropping into the seat by Blaise, who was thrilled at this unexpected (and no doubt unconscious) gesture.
"Are you feeling better?" Blaise asked.
"I feel fine. I think I'm just tired from sleeping, if that makes sense."
"It does."
"Did you fix the window?" Potter asked, yawning a bit.
"Yes," Blaise replied. "And look! Draco made a pump!"
Potter smiled. "It's cute." Draco glowered, and opened his mouth to say something scathing, but Potter got there first, backpedaling like mad. "Er, not cute. It's—er, manly and clearly very efficient. Though a bit small."
Blaise wondered why Potter was suddenly so eager to keep the peace going between himself and Draco when they would normally be at each other's throats just at the sight of each other.
"It's a scale model, you imbecile," said Draco, who was clearly not reading from the same book as Potter, much less from the same page.
"Yes," drawled Pansy. "It's very manly. Now then, gentlemen, when will we be testing the real thing?"
"It would be nice if we could get some rope," said Theo, who hadn't been paying attention to the conversation at all, and was still looking over Draco's sketches. "Transfiguring rope would be easier than conjuring meters of hose."
"Hagrid has rope in his hut," said Potter, leaning forwards to look at the plans. "I can go get it now, and we can test it out tonight."
"Don't even think about it, Boy Wonder," said Draco. "You're not doing anything."
"Why the hell not?" he said, fire starting to snap in his eyes. "I can help! I've been helping! What is your problem?"
"You may have forgotten already, because it's such a natural occurrence for you, but you nearly died this morning. Twice," Draco said. "If you get magical exhaustion on top of everything else you might just die from it, and who will people blame? Me. And I've got enough stacked against me at the moment without adding the death of their beloved Chosen One to it. So you will do nothing until I say you are better!"
Harry looked like he wanted very much to argue with Draco, but he clenched his jaw shut and dropped back in his seat with an angry huff.
Pansy laughed. "Oh, you boys are so entertaining."
"For that, Pansy darling," said Draco with a sarcastically large smile, "You can hike out to the half-breed's hut and get the rope."
She huffed, but rose from her seat and gave Draco the two-fingered salute on her way out the door.
Theo distracted Draco thoroughly by pointing out a flaw in his design plan, giving Draco someone else to snap at. But then he finally heard what Theo was saying, blushed hotly, and snatched his quill back to re-work the pump design.
Blaise didn't know when Draco had developed this talent to build things and make them work, because he still only thought about Draco being good at only one thing: Potions—and he hadn't been very good at that since Slughorn took over Snape's classroom. But Draco was good at tinkering with things—he'd fixed Blaise's watch when it had broken over Christmas. He'd sat over the thing with small tools and a magnifying glass poking and prodding at it until he'd made it work again. And he always looked terrifically pleased with himself when the object in question began to work properly.
A part of Blaise suspected that Draco didn't have the slightest clue what he was doing, that he was just randomly trying one thing after another to see what stuck.
And he thought he was beginning to understand Draco's almost obsessive need to fix Hogwarts.
-oOoOo-
They didn't finish setting up the pump system before dinner. Potter pouted, sitting in a cushy chair, which Blaise had conjured, and Draco had shoved him into, as he watched the others work. The Boy Wonder tapped his wand against his knee, and threw dark looks at Draco whenever one of the others complained that they'd never finish conjuring and transfiguring, never! It was usually Pansy wailing—she hated transfiguration, and could only manage a few feet of hose at a time.
Draco didn't care, as he was busy conjuring up pieces of the pump and putting them together with Theo, all the while being very meticulous. He wanted this thing to work the first time.
But dinner came too soon, and they all traipsed back to the Great Hall. Draco forced Potter to take another dose of the potion.
"I hope you've used this time wisely," Draco said, knowing Potter had done no such thing, "to think about what you're going to tell your minions."
"They're not my minions," he said tightly.
It was just Potter's luck that his minions appeared exhausted and far too listless to even attempt such an emotion as anger towards the Slytherins. Draco wondered what on earth they'd done all afternoon to make them so tired, and was pleased to see that several items on the List had been marked completed. McGonagall must have organized and put the louts to work. Draco approved.
His world tilted askew when Finnigan began cursing the Weasel for putting them to work. Draco shut his eyes and firmly told himself that the Weasel was useless, unintelligent, and generally a waste of space. And then Weasley opened his mouth. "If you didn't finish what you were working on this afternoon, that's what you'll be doing in the morning, so don't wait around for instructions after breakfast, just get to it."
Draco pressed his palm to his forehead. He wanted to yell at Weasley, ask him what he thought he was doing, giving out orders like this when it was Draco's project, and clearly they should be submitting to his will and no one else's, but what Weasley said was exactly word-for-word what Draco would have told them to do.
He moaned morosely, hating indecision, and dropped into a chair beside Pansy.
By the same horrible twist of fate that had occurred at lunch, the buffer zone between the Slytherins and the rest was comprised of Potter's friends, but at least Draco wasn't sitting next to Granger. Pansy had that honor, and the two girls were studiously ignoring each other.
The house-elves, no doubt feeling wretchedly guilty that their magic wasn't capable of the task of clearing up the school and the witches and wizards were working, did not skimp on dinner. Draco didn't think he'd ever tasted anything so delicious in all his time at Hogwarts, and it wasn't until dessert that the storm broke.
It was, unsurprisingly, the Weaslette who started it all. A woman scorned, and all that, and by a boy, no less. Draco was only surprised she'd waited this long, and hadn't just started with the hexes.
She glared hatefully at Blaise, and said loudly. "I still don't understand why they're here. It's not as though they care."
There was murmured agreement from the other end of the table, and darkening faces everywhere.
Draco leaned across the table and hissed, "Time to speak up, Golden Boy."
Potter looked for a moment like he wished the Dark Lord had succeeded in killing him, but he stood and said, "Erhm."
Draco barely resisted the urge to jump over the table and throttle him.
Potter cleared his throat, and said louder, "Can I have everyone's attention?"
They immediately quieted, and Draco wondered how Potter commanded attention like that when he was clearly so ill suited for attention of any kind. Sheep, he decided, the whole of the wizarding world is comprised of sheep.
"I know a lot of you are angry, and I know you lot had a pretty awful year here at Hogwarts. I know only some of what went on, but it's enough to know that this past year has been anything but fun for you. The Carrow's probably made Umbridge look nice in comparison…"
He nervously ran a hand through his terminally messy hair.
"But what you might not understand is that they had a pretty awful year too." He gestured at Draco and his friends. "I imagine you think they enjoyed having this school overrun by Death Eaters, and having Voldemort in power, but you'd be wrong."
The angry mutterings of denial were starting.
"If anything they were probably in more danger from him than you were. They expected you to fight back, they expected you to kick and scream, and stir up trouble. You're my friends, what else could they expect of you? But not them," he said, looking at Draco for a moment. "They expected them to fall into line, to follow orders, and to look like they were thrilled that the time of the Purebloods had finally come. And they were watching them to ensure there was no dissention in the ranks."
Potter let that statement sink in, let them think about what dissention meant. Draco thought sullenly that perhaps Potter was better at this speech thing than he thought.
"So they did. They made sure they appeared to be falling in line, following orders, and looking thrilled. Maybe it's not what we would have done, we didn't actually, but…" He frowned, looking uncertain for a moment, but seemed to come to a decision.
"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. It was pretty adamant about it, actually, but I asked it not to. I've been wondering a lot lately how things would be different if I'd let the Hat do what it wanted… I don't know what I would have done in their position. I like to think I would have done the same thing I did, but I don't really know."
Pansy reached over and put her finger under Draco's chin. He realized his mouth had been hanging open at Potter's absolutely preposterous claim that he'd nearly been Sorted into Slytherin House. He snapped his mouth shut.
Impossible. There was no one more Gryffindor than Harry Potter. He wouldn't last a week in the Slytherin.
Luckily, Potter's friends seemed just as dumbfounded by this information, so no one noticed Draco's momentary lapse of grace.
Except, of course, for Potter, who was smirking at him.
"Anyway," he said, shrugging off the disbelieving stares of his friends, "None of us would even be here if it weren't for Malfoy. He's been at the school since the day after the battle creating the List," he gestured towards the rather impressive scroll listing damages to the school and it's environs, "and he's the only reason you're doing more interesting things right now and not sweeping up glass, because he made sure the house-elves did all they could do."
"But why is he doing it?" demanded the Girl Weasley.
"I don't know," Potter shrugged. "Does it matter? It's getting done. That's what Slytherins are known for, isn't it? Their ambition? I don't care what Malfoy's motives are, but I care about this school and I want it to look perfect on September first.
"The war is over, and it's time to move on. I want Hogwarts to be able to move on too. I want this school to open in time and I want her to look better than she did before. And I think you guys want that too, or you wouldn't be here and you wouldn't have worked so hard today that you're falling asleep in your dessert."
Thomas jerked when Finnigan elbowed him. "I 'gree with Harry," he mumbled, and put his head down on folded arms. "Wake me when it's time for bed."
The rest of Potter's cronies laughed, though the Weaslette didn't so much as smile. She was too busy glaring at Blaise, who was looking speculatively at Potter. Draco knew that look, and the Girl Weasel was right if she was thinking it didn't bode well for her relationship with the Boy Who Absolutely Refused to Die.
Potter smiled at Thomas. "Right. So can we all try to be civil with each other this summer? I know it won't be easy, but I for one am sick and tired of fighting and would like a peaceful sort of summer."
There were grudging murmurs of agreement. Potter looked at Draco, and then at Blaise, who smiled serenely and said, "Anything you'd like, Hero."
Potter must be particularly stupid to miss the suggestive tone in Blaise's voice, because he only grinned and said, "Excellent." Draco rolled his eyes.
Granger stood as well, and said loudly, "All right, now that's done with I think we should get to sleep early. We have a lot to do before Monday, and it won't do for anyone to come down with magical exhaustion."
-oOoOo-
Ginny didn't know what the hell had happened. She and Harry were supposed to be together now. The only reason they'd been apart was because of Voldemort, and Voldemort was gone. And then Draco Malfoy had appeared, and she'd gotten upset (and understandably so, she'd thought) and rowed with Harry. And now Blaise Zabini was looking at Harry like he was a three-course dessert, and saying things, and Harry was smiling at him.
She rolled over in her bed, covered with a black quilt stitched with gold thread, and muffled a sob in her pillow.
Sometimes over the past year it had only been memories of Harry that had kept her going, kept her fighting. She could remember each kiss, each afternoon spent by the lake, or cuddled in the common room. She remembered the exact shade of dark green his eyes were just before he would kiss her, how his hands felt at her hips when he pulled her closer, how he'd laugh when she said something funny, how wild his hair looked after she was done putting her hands through it. He loved it when she touched his hair.
She remembered one afternoon at her Auntie Muriel's, when she'd been moping at a window, thinking of where her friends could be, and where Harry could be, and if they were all right. Her mother had hugged her, and said something that she'd considered obscure at the time, "You shouldn't live your life for someone else, Ginny, or pin all your hopes on them. You're too young for all that."
She'd thought then that her mother was maybe warning her against turning out like her Auntie Muriel, whose life seemed to stop when her husband had died in the war with Grindelwald, but she saw now that her Mum had been referring to Harry, and how Ginny shouldn't depend upon him for her own happiness.
Ginny thought almost longingly of the past week she'd spent with George at the shop. It had been awful, with reminders of a brother she'd never again see, but it had been better than this. Then at least there had been a reason to be miserable, this just felt stupid. She wondered if she ought to just go back to London and work in the shop for the summer.
But to do that would be almost cowardly, and once George discovered the reason she returned he would insist that she come back to Hogwarts. George wouldn't let her wallow in self-pity, the same way she hadn't allowed him in the wake of his twin's death.
Ginny pulled her knees to her chest, and the blanket over her head, and fell into a restless sleep. She dreamed of Blaise Zabini pinning Harry to the ground, and sinking his fanged teeth into Harry's pale neck while Ginny screamed, and Draco Malfoy took notes with a bright green quill, and Harry just smiled.
-oOoOo-
A/N: Please note that I'm an artist, not a med student, nor do I watch a lot of medical dramas on tv, and that I did all my research on drowning and near-drowning on Wikipedia, which should explain it all. So you know, I don't really know what I'm talking about. If the circumstances I've described surrounding Harry's near-drowning experience are too far fetched, please let me know. I don't want to embarrass myself too much, after all.
Reviews, I'll remind you once again, are love.