Full and New

by FFcrazy15

Fall 1998: Between his curse, a new family, and a castle full of war-scarred students in need of guidance, newly-reinstated Professor Lupin has enough on his plate– and that's before an old foe rears his ugly maw. Myth and Magic mix in this tale of wizards and wolves, making one lesson very apparent: whatever you do, keep clear of the moonlight. Post-war AU; RLNT, HPGW, RWHG, DMLB.

24. Chapter 24: Breaking Point

Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do profit from this work produced here. The occlumency method Lupin teaches was inspired by the similar practice in the Inheritance Cycle (Eragon) books.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of child abuse.

---

"Are you ready, gentlemen?"

"Ready," they chorused, and Remus grinned.

"Alright, now," he instructed, "the trick is to leave the door open long enough for you–" He nodded to the redhead, "–to get in. Make sure the cloak is covering your feet; I can't tell you how many times James almost got caught–"

"We know, professor," George said, rolling his eyes.

"She's not going to suspect a thing," Harry reassured him. "I've been a model student!" Remus raised an eyebrow, and he hastened to add, "Well, for the most part…"

"Hm. You might be innocent in her eyes, Harry, but your father most certainly was not. And if you don't wipe that smirk off your face, she'll kick you out of that box so fast she won't bother to remember whether which Potter you are."

"So how did you get away with so much, then?" George pointed out.

Lupin raised the other eyebrow. "Unlike James and Sirius, I had the innocent look down to an art by our fifth year." He widened his eyes a little into an expression of mild surprise. "An explosion, Professor? That sounds dangerous! Was anyone hurt? Do you need me to fetch the other prefects?"

Harry broke out laughing as George gave his fellow prankster a skeptical look. "McGonagall actually fell for that?"

"Not on your life. But at least I had the decency to pretend it wasn't me." He rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. "That idiot stag, always bloody snickered, like we weren't in enough trouble already…"

"Speaking of which," Harry said to George, between snickers of his own, "you've got the stuff?"

"Harry, Harry, so little faith," George sighed, patting a suspiciously unmarked cardboard box under his arm. "Have I ever let you down?"

The conversation paused as the school clock chimed, and Lupin nodded to the door. "You had better go; it wouldn't do to be late to breakfast." As the pair turned, he added, "George, a word?"

The redhead hung back as Harry, understanding that whatever was about to be said was none of his business, slipped out the door and shut it behind him. Once it was closed, Lupin cleared his throat. "George I've been meaning to check in on you–"

"I've been off the sauce, don't worry," the redhead interrupted quickly, flushing.

The marauder shook his head. "As admirable as that is, I didn't mean that I wanted to interrogate you. I wanted to make sure you're alright."

The shopkeeper bit his lip. "I'm not," he admitted. "Not yet… but I think I will be, eventually. Just knowing he's still out there somehow, that he's not… Knowing that I'm gonna see him again, someday, even if it's a long time off– that's helped a lot, more than you know. So… thank you."

Remus nodded. "I know it still hurts. If you ever want to talk…"

"Yeah." George smiled ruefully, but at least it was an honest smile, not faked, and that gave Remus more assurance than anything else.

"Your brother would have been very proud of you," the professor said gently. "Or rather, I should say I'm certain he is."

"Yeah?" Lupin nodded, and George ducked his head. "Well… I'll keep on trying then. Thanks, Professor." Lupin smiled and inclined his head, and George hefted the box up. "Til later, then. See ya, Professor– or not." He winked and opened the door, heading out into the hallway.

Harry was waiting not far off down the corridor; George caught up to him, box slung easily under his arm. "I can't believe he's helping us with this," Harry said, shaking his head with a grin as they began to walk.

"Ah, c'mon, he'd a Marauder! Those guys were legends; half the stuff Fred and I did, we ripped off from reading their detention reports…"

"How'd you get your hands on those?"

George winked. "Filch. He had us sort them for our detention once… didn't realize his mistake until we charmed Mrs. Norris's red and gold. Actually, Lupin got us out of that one! Changed her back while Filch wasn't looking and told him he must've imagined it; oh, he was spitting mad, Remus didn't fool him for a second…"

The pair were chortling all the way down to the great hall, where they found the younger Weasleys and Hermione eating breakfast. Ron was the first to notice, leaping to his feet. "George!" he exclaimed, clambering over the bench.

"Hey, little bro." The older redhead laughed and clapped the younger on the back. When they drew back, George gave his brother a grin and a little nod, which Ron understood and returned.

"What're you doing here?"

"Eh, well, Lupin needed some more help with his class stuff so I popped up. Found Harry in the hallway and decided to stay for the game. Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin, right?"

"Yeah. Here's hoping Hufflepuff wins, yeah?"

"They're a good team," George said, sitting down beside his brother and helping himself to a plate of sausages, "but they lost some solid players… who's seeker?" Maxwell Summerby, the seeker from the previous year, had decided not to return after the battle.

"Danny O'Riely."

George's face fell. "O'Riely? Little blond kid?" Ron nodded, and George whistled. "Poor guy. He won't stand a chance against Malfoy."

"Oh, but you wouldn't know!" Ginny realized, surprised. "Malfoy's backup this year. Perry Tucker is the lead Slytherin seeker."

"What? How'd that happen?"

Hermione piped up: "Malfoy and Zabini– he's captain of the team now– had a falling out. Zabini was being a, well–"

"–A royal arse," said Ron bluntly. "He was picking on Lavender."

"Well, yes, that's one way to put it," Hermione continued primly. "Anyway, it seems Malfoy didn't take kindly to that–"

"Whoa, wait a moment," George interrupted. "Are you saying that snotty little git defended a werewolf? That's not exactly the Malfoy style."

"We don't understand it, either," said Harry with a shrug. "We think it's got something to do with Lupin, but it's not like Malfoy's talking–"

"–And now Zabini's put him as seeker-reserve," Ron concluded, biting into a muffin. "That's as much as we know about it. Anyhow, without him this match is a bit of a toss-up. Could go either way."

"Hn. Well, here's to Hufflepuff, eh?" George lifted his glass of pumpkin juice in toast, and the others laughed, joining in.

Soon enough they were all making their way down to the pitch; Harry and George managed to lose themselves in the shuffle, and, once they'd sufficiently separated themselves from the crowds, Harry handed the redhead his Invisibility Cloak. "Be careful with that," he ordered. "It's a family heirloom."

"I know, I know! Sheesh, you'd think you were giving me a priceless moving map of the school! Oh, wait…"

"Oh, just– shut up and get under the Cloak already." He waited until George and the box had disappeared under the Cloak, and then nodded towards the commentator's stand. "Follow me."

He and George made their way up the steps, the former trying to look as nonchalant as possible, giving a polite nod to Madame Hooch when she passed and knocking on the doorpost when he reached the top.

McGonagall turned, took one look at him and pursed her lips. "Get out."

Harry did his best to mimic Lupin's look of baffled innocence. "Pardon?"

"I know that look. Your father used to have it whenever he was about to– to turn someone's hair purple or stick all my desks to the ceiling." She pointed to the door. "Get out of my commentator box, Potter."

"Professor–"

"Out!"

"Professor, wait."

She jumped and whirled around, wand already drawn, as George tugged off the Cloak. McGonagall blinked several times, and then scowled. "Ooh, that Cloak! The number of times I lost those boys because of it– what are you two planning? No, I don't want to know! Out!"

"A perfectly natural reaction," George said hastily, eyeing her wand as if it had suddenly dawned on him that hexing an unexpected visitor on school grounds was well within her legal rights, "But not, I think, a fully informed one."

McGonagall arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"

George grinned and looked to Harry, who nodded. He opened the cover of the box. "Allow us to explain…"

---

Down on the field, the Slytherin team had lined up on the eastern side of the pitch, the starters waiting for takeoff as the backups took their seats on the benches, hot ciders in hand to keep warm. Only Draco Malfoy was standing, helping Perry Tucker check over his armor and broom. "–Make sure to keep your eye out for bludgers," he warned, tightening the straps on the younger boy's arm brace. "You can't find a snitch if you're passed out on the ground."

"Got it," Tucker said nervously.

"It's clear weather today, so if you stay above the game you'll have a better chance of seeing the snitch when the sun hits it. All the school snitches are set within an eighty meter radius; that's ten meters past the border of the pitch's length and about thirty past its width, but it's more likely than not to be inside the field at any given moment of play, so focus your energy there. And for goodness' sakes, keep your head: don't let the Hufflepuffs rile you up, and don't you try to get in their heads, either; I lost a snitch myself to Potter that way once."

"Yeah?" Tucker questioned, unable to keep from smirking.

"Was floating right by my bloody ear," the Malfoy grumbled, apparently still annoyed all these years later. Nevertheless, he smiled and slapped the boy's shoulder. "You'll do fine, Tucker. Besides," he added with a laugh, "they're only Hufflepuffs. Just keep your mind on the game."

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," a voice boomed out over the field, drawing their attention. "WELCOME TO OUR SECOND QUIDDITCH MATCH OF THE SEASON: SLYTHERIN VS. HUFFLEPUFF!"

The crowds cheered; Draco groaned as he recognized the voice. "Bloody fantastic."

"MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER, AND I WILL BE YOUR COMMENTATOR FOR TODAY'S MATCH! BUT FIRST… COURTESY OF WEASLEY WIZARD'S WHEEZIES, WE HAVE A LITTLE PRODUCTION FOR YOU!"

Several people screamed as the loud noises like muggle gunshots rang out– but no, it wasn't gunshots at all; fireworks were exploding overhead, great sunbursts of reds and golds raining down on the stands, fantastic periwinkle blues exploding in the shapes of snowflakes, and in the center of it all a white sparkler was spelling out the words:

GINNY WEASLEY: YULE BALL?

The whole cheering crowd turned to look the Gryffindor stands, where the Weasley was going as red as her hair, laughing. "Yes, you git!" Draco saw her mouth, and Potter make a victory fist.

"THAT'S A YES, FOLKS! SORRY, GENTS, BUT THE BEST BIRD IN THE CROWD IS NOW OFFICIALLY TAKEN! AGAIN, SINCEREST THANKS TO WEASLEY'S WIZARD WHEEZES!"

The crowd applauded appreciatively as George Weasley took a bow. With the shrill shriek of Madame Hooch's whistle, the fireworks puttered out, and the players stalked out to the middle of the field. Draco watched as Blaise shook the Hufflepuff captain's hand and swallowed back a wave of envy. Another sharp whistle sounded, and the players rose into the air; Draco caught a glimpse of gold as the snitch was released, and then it was out of sight.

"AND IT'S ZABINI WITH THE QUAFFLE, HEADING FOR THE HUFFLEPUFF GOALS! ZABINI TO THORNE– THORNE TO WYGHT–"

The Hufflepuff keeper dove to block the shot, but missed by a hair's breath; the quaffle soared through the hoop, and Draco cheered with the best of them. The game was off to a good start.

"WYGHT SCORES! TEN-ZERO TO SLYTHERIN, AND IT'S HENRIETTA MAC'CARTHY OF HUFFLEPUFF WITH THE QUAFFLE!"

The match flew by quickly; both teams were very good offense, but Draco noticed that the green were a bit lacking in defense. If he were captain, he thought grumpily, he would have fixed that by now. He shot a foul look at Zabini; stupid git had never even played for the house team until last year…

Stop being jealous and focus on the match. He scanned the field; Perry Tucker was floating above the rest of the players, looking carefully over the rest of the field. Draco jumped slightly as Wyght dove near to the edge of the field to catch the falling quaffle, and sped off again towards the goals.

"WYGHT WITH THE QUAFFLE– NOW ZABINI– AND– INTERCEPTION BY CADWALLADER! CADWALLADER DOWN THE PITCH– NOW TO HIRSCH– BACK TO CADWALLADER, AND– HEY! THAT'S A FOU– WOAH!"

The whole crowd was on their feet shouting; Thorne had tried to "blurt" Cadwallader's broom to his, which succeeded in steering the holding chaser off-course but also prompted the furious Hufflepuff to draw his wand. Draco winced as he saw tentacled boils break out all over Thorne's face. Madame Hooch was blowing her whistle furiously.

"Foul! Foul on both sides!" she bellowed, flying up and trying to separate the boys, but it seemed a full-out duel had erupted mid-air. By the time the officials managed to disarm the both of them, Thorne's face had taken on the appearance of a mutant octopus, while Cadwallader's eyelids had glued themselves shut, rendering him quite unable to see. "That is enough!" the referee snapped, pulling them both off their brooms as they landed (half to guide Cadwallader, half to shame Thorne). A duel, in mid-air! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"Sorry, Madame," Cadwallader mumbled, facing the wrong direction.

"I'll take it from here, Rolanda," called Madame Pomfrey, bustling up and grabbing both boys by their ears. "This way, you two; I'll get you sorted in the infirmary…" She pulled them off towards the castle.

Blaise and the Hufflepuff captain were each forced to substitute in a player, and the game resumed. Hufflepuff scored two goals and pulled even, before Blaise sent the quaffle through the hoop again. "GOAL BY ZABINI, SIXTY-FIFTY; QUAFFLE BACK IN HUFFLEPUFF POSITION! HIRSCH HEADING FOR THE SLYTHERIN GOAL– BLOODY HELL, LOOK AT HIM GO–!"

"MR. POTTER! LANGUAGE!"

"Sorry, Professor, Ron's rubbing off on me– AND IT'S BLOCKED BY SLYTHERIN KEEPER JAMISON! QUAFFLE IN SLYTHERIN POSESSION AND– WAIT A MINUTE, I THINK TUCKER'S SEEN SOMETHING!"

In fact Perry Tucker had seen something; quick as a flash the seeker was diving for the ground, O'Riely hot on his tail but Tucker maintaining his lead. He stretched out his hand just as the Hufflepuff beater fifty feet above him swung at a bludger, and Draco leapt to his feet as he realized what was going to happen. "Tucker, look out–!"

The ricochet of wood on metal was drowned out by the screaming crowds as the bludger drove the speeding Perry Tucker off his broom and into the ground. Yet despite the din, there was one sound Draco Malfoy still heard loud and clear: the distinct crack of fracturing bone as the boy slammed into the frozen dirt.

In that instant, all thought left his brain; he moved without thinking, rushing forward and dropping to his knees beside the boy. Tucker's face was pale; he struggled for breath, but he managed to whimper, "H-hurts."

"I know, kid. Hold still; you're going to be okay." He drew his wand. "Spina dorsi diagnosi."

"F-fingers… can't m-move…"

Within a moment Draco knew why, and let out a breath of relief; the spark-diagram in front of him showed that Tucker's spine had been broken at the fifth vertebra. For a muggle, it would have been a near-fatal diagnosis, but so long as nobody tried to move the boy, St. Mungo's would be able to repair it. "I know. Tucker, listen to me, you're going to be alright, but I need you to stay calm, alright? Just don't move; St. Mungo's will be here soon." He cast about for a happy memory and, much to his surprise, landed upon the moment Lavender Brown had pecked his cheek and then dashed off, blushing with embarrassment…

"Expecto patronum!"

A silvery dragon burst to life and turned to him, and Draco ordered: "St. Mungo's Hospital, London, emergency room. We need an emergency medical team at the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch; C5 vertebra fracture. Hurry!" The dragon nodded and flew off, vanishing into the blue.

"Sweet St. Guenivere!" He looked up to see Madame Pomfrey racing over to meet him. "What happened?"

"Bludger accident. C5 vertebra fracture; I've sent a patronus to St. Mungo's."

Even as he said it, Professor McGonagall hurried up to him, a troop of green-robed emergency healers following close behind and shunting him aside. Within seconds, Tucker had been elevated onto a stretcher and portkeyed away. Madame Pomfrey turned to him, breathless.

"You wonderful boy. Thank goodness you were here… if anyone else had tried to help him, they might well have killed him."

The Slytherin blushed slightly and lowered hid head. "It wasn't anything, really. Just a diagnostic charm."

"It was more than that." He turned to see Headmistress McGonagall looking back at him; it was then that he realized she must have been the one to lift the apparition wards. "You may have just saved Perry Tucker's life. You should be very proud."

The young man looked up, surprised, and then smiled, just a hint. "Thank you, Professor."

"Naturally. As it happens, the snitch has yet to be caught; of course, considering what you've just done, I wouldn't be surprised if you were a bit shaken–"

"I'm alright," he replied, and it was the truth. He caught their eyes and knew that they understood.

McGonagall inclined her head. "Very well. Madame Hooch, at your whistle."

"The game will continue. Mr. Malfoy, to the midline, if you please."

He nodded and hurried over to where both his teammates and the Hufflepuffs were being held back by the other teachers. "How's Tucker?" Sarah Wyght demanded.

"He'll be okay. St. Mungo's knows how to handle spinal fractures."

"We'll have to finish the match without him," Blaise said shortly. "Rye, you'll play seeker."

Martha Rye, Sarah's backup chaser, looked to him in shock. "What?"

"You heard me. Get your greeves on."

The other members looked around at each other, deeply uncomfortable. Draco was fuming; trust Blaise to hold a grudge to the point of throwing away a match. He opened his mouth–

"No."

He looked over, surprised. Martha Rye was holding her head high. "No way, captain," she repeated, "I'm not going to help us lose the game. You've been right unfair to Malfoy ever since tryouts; he deserves to play."

Zabini glowered. "Fine," he snapped, "Consider yourself off the team, Rye. Yates! You're up!"

The fifth-year hesitated and then shook his head. "Sorry, cap. This is bogus; you can't really mean to throw the game!"

"He's right, Zabini. This is mad!"

"I'm not throwing the cup just 'cause you two have a grudge! Let him play!"

The captain was growing visibly irritated, caught between a rock and a hard place. Draco turned to Blaise, a pencil-thin blond eyebrow raised. "It's your game, Blaise," he said coolly. "Do you want that cup or not?"

---

The cold November wind sang in his ears as he soared over the pitch. White sunlight gleamed hard and bright in the blue sky; Draco grinned as he saw Sarah Wyght make another goal. They were gaining on Hufflepuff, who'd pulled ahead. He scanned the pitch, attentive to any gleam of sunlight on metal; for a moment he thought he spotted something, but in the next second it had vanished. He glanced over to O'Riely, who, remaining stationary in midair, Draco supposed was having as little luck as he was.

A cheering arose from the Hufflepuff stands; Draco looked over sharply and saw that the badgers had put another quaffle through the hoop. Cursing under his breath, he took a loop of the pitch, and then another half, settling on the opposite side. Nothing… nothing…

Against his will, his gaze drifted over to the Gryffindor stands and caught on a very distinctive raspberry cloak. Lavender Brown pinked and looked away; Draco did the same. Ever since she'd kissed him outside the Gryffindor common room, Brown had suddenly become rather elusive, vanishing around corners whenever he saw her in the halls and not speaking a word to him in class. Draco had decided that she was avoiding him and, although he wasn't surprised, he found himself surprisingly depressed about the whole matter. Well, why would she want you? he sneered at himself. Who'd want to get caught snogging a Death Eater? Not that she'd really snogged him– barely a peck it was, a friendly gesture, and one she obviously regretted–

"–AND O'RIELY'S OFF! HE'S SEEN THE SNITCH!"

Draco jumped and swore aloud as he realized that Danny O'Riely was streaking for the ground; he took off without a moment's waste, speeding after the yellow-jerseyed seeker. The snitch was a tricky one; it dodged out of the way and forced O'Riely to make a hairpin turn, allowing Draco to catch up behind him– he pulled forward, past the tail of the broom, but even as he watched O'Riely's hand brushed the silver wings–

Sudden memory struck, and Draco threw himself forward off the broom. He felt his fingers close around the snitch a moment before he was in free-fall, hurtling towards the ground, the crowd screamed as he drew his wand and–

FLUMPF!

Draco bounced once, twice, and then tumbled to the ground, wand still in hand, as the bubble charm behind him vanished. Grinning, he punched his fist into the air, feeling the tiny silver wings flutter wildly against his hands, and the crowd roared.

"AND SLYTHERIN CATCHES THE SNITCH, 220 – 90! OY, MALFOY, CAME UP WITH THAT MOVE ON YOUR OWN, DID YOU?!"

"MR. POTTER, IF I HEAR ONE MORE PERSONAL COMMEONT OUT OF YOU–!"

The whistle was blown; the other players touched down behind him, Sarah Wyght with his broom in hand. Draco turned and met Blaise's eye. The captain looked as if he couldn't decide between being happy about the victory and livid about the fact that Draco had brought it about. The seeker decided to make the decision for him, walking forward and handing Blaise the snitch as he passed.

"You're welcome," he called back over his shoulder, and was delighted to see the look of steaming fury that crossed the captain's face.

---

Monday had begun as a good day for Harry. He had passed his defense exam with flying colors, received his transfiguration essay back with a better grade than expected, and best of all they had been served treacle tart for desert with lunch. It was because of the tart, in fact, that he was now running late to his first occlumency lesson. He'd stayed for desert and lost track of time until Ron had pointed out that it was already twenty past twelve, forcing him to grab his bag and sprint out of the Great Hall, up three flights of stairs and down several corridors.

Lupin and Malfoy were already waiting in the classroom by the time Harry arrived, the latter sitting on the front of a desk and twirling his wand between his fingers. "Well, look who finally showed up," he drawled, stepping down. "Nice of you to make an appearance, Potter."

Harry very nearly walked out right then and there, but Lupin gave Malfoy a warning look and raised his hand to the door. Harry jumped as it shut behind him. "How'd you do that?" he demanded, startled.

The professor snorted. "With the full moon in ten days? I could just about levitate if I wished." The boys looked appropriately impressed, and Lupin nodded his head towards the front of the room. "Alright, both of you, line up there."

They followed orders, both glancing at each other in turn with obvious mistrust, and Remus had to work not to sigh. This was going to be a trying task, he could already tell.

"Alright, well," he said candidly, eyeing them both, "Let's begin by addressing the elephant in the room. It's no secret to me that the two of you are not, ah, particularly fond of one another–"

The two let out a snort in unison and then looked at each other, surprised.

"–But," Remus continued, "that hardly excuses you– either of you–" He gave them each a stern look, "–from showing one another the proper respect. That means no snide comments, no grumbling, no personal remarks, not so much as a single uncharitable look. I want strict professionalism between the two of you, am I understood?"

Though they hardly looked happy about it, the pair grudgingly muttered something which Remus took to signify assent. "Moreover," he added, "as both of you well know, the human mind is an incredibly sensitive and personal matter. As such, I will be personally guiding these exercises;I trust, Mr. Malfoy, that you understand and will respect the gravity of this responsibility."

"Of course, Professor," the blond replied smoothly. Harry shot him a suspicious glance, but remembered what Lupin had said and quickly looked away.

"Very well. Both of you, wands out, face each other…"

And so began one of the most interesting lessons of Harry's life. Lupin's style of teaching occlumency was as different from Professor Snape's as a billywig was from a blast-ended skrewt. The first thing the professor did was instruct Harry to recall several memorable songs or nursery rhymes from his childhood, much to both of the students' confusion. When Harry asked why, Remus paused, surprised.

"Didn't you use this method with Professor Snape?"

Harry shook his head. Lupin looked to Malfoy, who did the same.

"Well, how did he teach you?"

"Er– well, he told me to clear my mind," Harry offered. "Didn't help much…"

Malfoy snorted, and Harry rounded on him. "Something you wanna say, Malfoy?"

"Gentlemen, please," Lupin sighed, already sounding weary. "So he taught you the blank-slate method, did he?"

"I guess so…"

"That was how Aunt Bella taught me, as well," Malfoy offered. Harry felt his skin crawl at hearing Bellatrix Lestrange referred to as 'Aunt Bella,' but bit his tongue.

"Well, perhaps clearing one's thoughts was a manageable task for Lestrange and Professor Snape, and I commend you if you've mastered it yourself, Mr. Malfoy, but I daresay that for the rest of us it's a rather difficult point to start from, no?" Harry nodded emphatically. "The method I was taught by my father began with a mental distraction; from there one can advance to presenting false memories or even fighting off the invader… Mr. Potter, please take Mr. Malfoy's arm."

Harry's eyes went wide; this was the last thing he'd been expecting. "What?"

"Physical contact," Malfoy answered for him. "It makes a mental connection stronger. I suppose you want to demonstrate, Professor?"

"Just so. His arm, Harry."

Harry looked nervously to Malfoy, who did not look as if he found the notion any more appealing than the Gryffindor did, but did as told and awkwardly placed a hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "Now," Lupin continued, apparently unaware– or simply unsympathetic– to their obvious discomfort, "When I was, oh, thirteen or so, I failed my Christmas end-of-term potions final. I distinctly remember setting the table on fire…"

Both of the boys chuckled despite themselves, and then looked at each other in shock. Remus had to fight to keep a grin from twitching his mouth; this might just work. "It should have an emotional signature– mainly embarrassment– tied to it, so you'll be able to find it fairly easily, Mr. Malfoy."

"You want me to use legilimency against you, Sir?" Malfoy said, surprised. "Are you sure?"

"Certainly. I'm hardly upset by the memory now; potions simply isn't one of my strong suits," the professor said with a chuckle. "Go on, Draco."

After a moment of hesitance, the Slytherin gathered his will. Silver eyes bore into the hazel, and suddenly, Harry had the strange sensation of being forced to remember things he had never seen:

–The pink-haired woman turned and caught his eye, brown irises glinting–

–The trio of boys poured out wrapped packages of chocolates and hard-candies onto the hospital bed–

–Golden eyes glowing in the darkness–

And then suddenly, the memory stabilized, as if Remus had been waiting for them to find it. Harry found himself in the potion's dungeon, the room filled with swirling steams of various shades of purple. A thirteen-year-old Remus was in front of him, struggling desperately to correct the noxious sulfur-yellow clouds that were billowing from his cauldron. The sound of snickering drew his attention, and Harry looked over to see a young Severus Snape trying half-heartedly not to laugh. Remus shot him a furious look and, in doing so, overshot his reach for the bottle of centipede legs, knocking over the heavy cauldron. The Slytherin girl with whom he was sharing a desk shrieked and leapt to her feet as the table burst into flames; the class stared in shock or laughed mercilessly as the young werewolf went red and tried desperately to put out the flames with his wand–

Pais Dinogad sydd fraith, fraith,

O groen y bela y mae'i waith

"Chwi! Chwi!" Chwibanwaith

Gwaeddwn ni, waeddant hwy – yr wyth gaeth.

The image vanished suddenly as the melody began; Harry could feel Malfoy struggling to break through the resistance, but the harder he tried, the louder and faster the chanting grew:

Pan elai dy dad di I hel–

Gwaywffon ar ei ysgwydd, pastwn yn ei law–

Galwai ar gwn tra chyflym

"Giff! Gaff! Dal, dal! Dwg, dwg!"…

Eventually, the Slytherin gave up, and Harry blinked several times as the classroom came back into view. "As you can see, once mastered, the method is highly effective," Lupin said lightly, looking perfectly at ease. "It helps if the rhyme used is in a different language than that of the attacker, but the main idea is to be able to concentrate on it and nothing else until your opponent retreats." He gestured towards Harry. "What do you say we give it a go?"

Harry blinked. "What, now?" He wasn't prepared for this; he'd hoped he would be able to go at least one lesson without Malfoy prying into his thoughts…

Lupin, it seemed, had other ideas. "No time like the present," he replied calmly, but in a tone that was not to be questioned. Harry swallowed his unease and took his place a few feet away, facing the blond. He could tell by Malfoy's face that the mistrust was mutual.

"Very good. Now, Harry, on your very first day of my class in third year, I taught you how to fight a boggart, correct?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you happen to recall what form my boggart took?"

The memory of a silvery moon crashing to the floor like glass flitted through his mind. "Yeah, it was a–"

But Lupin held up a hand. "You don't need to answer. Mr. Malfoy, I want you to attempt to locate that memory. Harry, the moment you feel the intrusion I want you to think of a song or rhyme you know well; focus on nothing but that song. Do you understand?" Both boys nodded, and Remus settled a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Alright… let's give it a go."

Harry turned and faced Malfoy apprehensively, tensing on instinct and ready to defend himself if the Slytherin drew his wand. Malfoy looked back with hard silver eyes, which rather reminded Harry of an owl ready to swoop down on an unsuspecting mouse. He forced himself to divert his thoughts, thinking of anything except the lesson or the moon or even Lupin at all–

The attack began without warning. The feeling of another consciousness side-by-side with his own was far less subtle than Professor Snape's had ever been, riffling through memories at a random, and Harry caught fleeting glimpses of other recollections. For a moment he was playing Quidditch at the Weasleys', or eating a bowl of Hermione's weak mushroom soup, or watching Remus smile sadly as he told Harry he had enjoyed being his professor–

Harry felt Malfoy clamp down hard on that emotion, the particular sensation of familial affection and trust that he had always unconsciously associated with Lupin. The memories came in a torrent now: first his patronus lessons, then his relief at hearing Remus's voice at the Dursleys', the Shrieking Shack, the confrontation at No. 12, his suspicions at the Burrow–

Harry realized what he was doing just in time and forcibly redirected his train of thoughts to the first song that popped into his mind, an annoyingly bubbly '60's tune that often played on the radio. He felt Malfoy's repeated badgering against the fringes of his thoughts, trying to take hold of the memories again, until at last Harry found he couldn't remember the next verse and his resistance broke, bringing the memory of the shattering full moon to the forefront of his mind. After a moment or two, Malfoy's consciousness seemed to withdraw, and Harry opened his eyes.

Remus was positively smirking with amusement, while Malfoy was staring at him with a look of utter bewilderment. "What in Merlin's name is a yellow sub–marine?" he demanded, nonplussed.

This caused Remus to finally lose his composure and burst out laughing, bracing himself on the nearest desk for balance. Harry flushed and shot him a glare. "It's a muggle song," he answered defensively. "My uncle hates it; always changes the station if it comes on…"

Remus was wiping away tears, still chuckling to himself. "Merlin's beard, if that doesn't bring me back… Alright, well, that was a remarkable first attempt, Harry, very nice indeed, but you mustn't let him get so far through; you noticed that once he latched onto your memories of me, it became much easier for him?" Harry nodded, still a little red at the cheeks. "Next time, try to head him off the moment you sense the intrusion. Let's give it another try, shall we…?"

The rest of the hour progressed with little more improvement; although Malfoy was far less subtle than Professor Snape had been, he was also incredibly relentless, battering at any defense Harry put up with a mental fortitude and persistence that always eventually succeeded in breaking through his resistance. Still, by the time Remus dismissed them, the Gryffindor was feeling remarkably pleased with himself; Lupin's method was far more effective than Snape's had been, and he felt that at least this time around, he stood a chance at actually mastering the craft.

For several seconds this rush of contentment sufficed to make him forget whose company he currently occupied, but as he rounded a corner he caught sight of Malfoy walking beside him. The Slytherin glanced at him in the same moment, and Harry quickly looked away, biting his tongue. He felt he should say something, to cut the tension if nothing else, but he didn't know what. He wasn't sure he'd ever had a conversation with Malfoy that hadn't ended with one of them cursing or insulting the other.

They came to a crossroads between hallways; Malfoy turned to go, and, although Harry knew he was free to walk away, the words slipped out before he could stop them:

"Thank you."

Malfoy turned, surprised. "What?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, hesitated, and then said again, "Thank you. For agreeing to help, I mean."

The Slytherin studied him suspiciously for a moment, as if looking for any ulterior motive. Harry did his best not to look guilty, though for what, he didn't know.

"…Don't thank me," the blond said at last, coolly. "I'm not doing it for you; it's a favor for the Professor."

Harry nodded. "Right. Well… anyhow, I appreciate it."

"Fine."

"Okay."

The two watched one another a minute more, and then simultaneously turned on their heels and parted ways. As he walked along, it suddenly occurred to Harry that he and Draco Malfoy had actually shared a half-civil conversation.

What the hell just happened?

---

Remus woke early Wednesday morning, not to the chiming of his alarm-bell, but to the soft noises of someone rummaging through the dresser drawers. He yawned and sat up, looking around.

The room was still dark, covered in the thick gray shadows of early morning. In the dim light he caught a glimpse of a muted pink hair and smiled. "Morning, love."

Dora turned, her warm eyes glinting in the darkness. "Morning," she said softly, creeping over. "I was just about to head out."

"Mm." He paused. "…Teddy slept through the night again."

"I know. Isn't it marvelous?"

"Mmm."

His wife snickered at his lack of verbosity and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Help me with my tie?"

Remus was confused for a moment, before he noted the uniform oxford and skirt his wife was wearing and recalled the day. With a slight chuckle he took the tie in hand and looped it around the back of her neck. "Didn't you ever learn to do this yourself?"

"No. I had to get Margaret O'Toole to tie it every morning; I never could get it right…"

"It's not exactly ancient runes, Dora."

"Oh, stop being such a git," she huffed, much to his amusement.

"Let me see now, it's odd doing this backwards… cross, under, over, behind… around the front, behind again, and through the loop. Then tighten it up." He finished off the knot and tucked it up under the crisp oxford collar.

"Thanks."

"You're sure this is the knot she wears?"

"Does it matter?" Remus gave her a look, and she sighed. "Well if your students figure it out from whether or not she wears a Full or Half Windsor, love, I don't think they'll need much training."

"Hmm. We'll see."

"Mmm." Dora leaned forward and gave him a lingering kiss, before drawing back. "See you in class, Professor," she said with a grin, tapping him on the nose.

"Merlin, Dora, could you please not make me sound like an old pervert?" her husband groaned, but he was laughing all the same.

"Not my fault you married a younger woman, darling." She stood up and shouldered the borrowed bookbag.

"But it is your fault! It's exactly your fault!"

Dora merely laughed at him and walked out of the room, leaving Remus to fondly shake his head.

---

"So they're like– tiny glasses?"

Harry sighed, pulling his school sweater over his face. "Yes, Ron, they're called contact lenses. They go on your eyes."

"So why don't you wear them?"

"Because–" His head popped out of the top of the sweater, leaving him blinking like a bat in sunlight as he shoved his arms through the sleeves and reached for his glasses. "–Because I don't fancy poking myself in the eye every morning, that's why. Besides, where was I going to get them? Contacts are expensive, and you can bet the Dursleys weren't going to pay for them…"

"Yeah, but you've got loads of money now!"

"Ron, I like my glasses. They make sure I don't run into walls and stuff, and unlike before, Dudley's not trying to turn my face into his personal heavyweight gym." He shrugged, fitting the spectacles over his eyes. "Besides, it's not like I can't fix them if they get broken."

"I'm just saying, it'd be cool," Ron said with a shrug as they left the dormitory. "Little invisible glasses in front of your eyes!"

"They're not invisible, and like I said, they go on my eyes. It just– I dunno, it freaks me out! Hey, Ginny, Hermione."

The two girls were watching them with amusement from where they'd been waiting in the armchairs. "Hey," Ginny said with a grin, jumping up and giving Harry a peck on the cheek. "What're you talking about?"

"The merits of contact lenses," Harry supplied with a grin. "The latest and greatest in muggle technology, apparently."

Hermione laughed and patted her boyfriend's arm. "Don't strain yourself, Ron."

The redhead, offended, remained in a surly mood all the way down to the Great Hall, whereupon the sight of fresh eggs and bacon improved his temper considerably. As her brother piled his plate, Ginny turned to her boyfriend. "So how have occlumency lessons been going?"

Harry shrugged, reaching for a chocolate chip muffin. "Not as awful as I'd expected, honestly. Remus makes sure it's professional, and apparently Malfoy's agreed not to be such a major prick as usual…"

"I thtill thay yo'r mental," Ron said through a mouthful of eggs; he swallowed and continued, "Letting Malfoy dig around in your head like that? You couldn't pay me."

"Look, I'm not saying it's enjoyable, but it's the best option I've got." Harry shrugged and took a bite off his muffin. "I'm not going to learn occlumency any other way."

"He's right, you know, Ron," Hermione pointed out. "Occlumency is a very useful skill for aurors, and besides, Remus wouldn't let Draco get away with anything suspicious."

Ron shook his head and declared them all mental once again, before gulping down a whole goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger, Mr. and Miss Weasley."

Harry, who had been snickering at Hermione's disgusted expression, turned in surprise. Professor McGonagall was standing just behind him, looking very tall and stern in deep plum robes. "Er– morning, Professor," the bespectacled wizard said, quickly wiping chocolate off his mouth with his napkin. "Anything we can do for you?"

"As it happens, Mr. Potter, there is. If I might have a word with you in my office?" At his suddenly panicked expression, she added, "It's nothing critical, simply a matter that oughtn't be discussed in hearing range of every ear in the Great Hall."

"Oh. Er, alright."

"Excellent. Do come along."

Still nervous despite her reassurances, Harry wrapped up the rest of the muffin and some bacon in his napkin and follow after the headmistress, shooting a worried glance over his shoulder to his friends. Ron gave him a mournful little wave.

He followed McGonagall all the way up to the griffin statue which guarded the door, who stirred to life when they approached. "Lavoisier's Law of Conservation," she stated, and the gargoyle leapt aside.

The door at the top of the staircase was slightly ajar; McGonagall pushed it inwards and beckoned Harry inside. As he had the last time he'd been in the office, he couldn't help but notice that the décor was different than it had been when Professor Dumbledore occupied the room; although the same bookshelves were present, they were now far more neatly organized, and fuller, no doubt with the addition of the Headmistress's own books to those of her predecessors. The little table of odd silver instruments was gone, though in its place was a telescope and several scientific-looking instruments, including potions beakers and a chemist's scale. A radio was playing softly in the corner, and there were motionless muggle pictures scattered here and there throughout the room of people he could only assume were her family and old friends. By far the most interesting change, however, were the vintage gleaming black typewriter and model 102 telephone sitting on the desk.

McGonagall caught his eye and nodded. "It's the closest I can get to modern technology. Faster than owl and quill; Merlin knows my job would be easier if only we could use more electricity here…"

"I didn't know you knew how to use them," Harry said with a grin.

"My father was a muggle, and quite good with technology, at least for his day; he used to love fixing up old radios or broken clocks…" She gestured for him to take a seat in the chair opposite hers, which he did. "No doubt you know by now, Mr. Potter," she began, "that the Potter accounts have finally been unfrozen."

"Yeah, Lupin told me. Haven't gotten a statement myself, though," he grumbled.

The headmistress eyed him, and she seemed near to smiling. "You did cause major structural damage to the bank, not to mention stole a priceless heirloom and a dragon. You should feel lucky that this is the only revenge the Gringotts goblins are taking."

Harry still looked annoyed, but acquiesced. "Fine, fine… what did you want to talk to me about then, Professor?"

The headmistress reached into her desk drawer and removed a leaf of parchment. "It recently came to the school's attention that your parents left a sizeable donation to the school, to be paid out on the first day of July of this year. Due to the backlog, we only received the grant last week, but it has sufficiently covered all of the debt the school acquired to rebuild from the battle last May."

"All of it?" Harry demanded. He couldn't even imagine how many galleons it had taken to pay for the repairs…

It seemed, however, he didn't have to. McGonagall slid the paper across the desk and watched as the young man's eyes scanned the document. Those same eyes suddenly went wide as they hit the galleon total at the bottom, and his mouth dropped open.

"As you can imagine," McGonagall said, "The favor the Potter Estate has done for the school was… was more than we ever could have hoped for. As Lily and James are not here to receive our– my– gratitude, I thought it only proper to extend my thanks to their son." Harry looked up, surprised, and McGonagall inclined her head. "We are deeply in your family's debt."

Harry looked down at the paper again, stunned to silence both at the bolded number at the bottom and at his parents' generosity. He felt incredibly humbled. "I… you're welcome, I guess," he said weakly. "Or I think that's what my parents would say, anyway."

The headmistress nodded. "I know it's a rather large responsibility to put on your shoulders, but if there is anything the school can ever do for your family, do let us know."

"I– I will, thanks." Still unsure what to think of the situation, he stood. "Er– do you mind if I–"

McGonagall waved a hand airily. "Certainly; do have a good day, Mr. Potter."

"I– yes– thank you–" He shouldered his bag and was just heading for the door, head still whirling, when something caught his eye. Surprised, he glanced over, and immediately drew to a halt.

Professor McGonagall, who it seemed had begun filling out some sort of official-looking form, noted his pause and looked up. "Mr. Potter?"

Harry hesitated and then drew the book from the shelf, turning around. In his hands lay a copy of the infamous Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. "…You've read it?" he said, looking up at the headmistress with surprise and even a hint of anger.

McGonagall didn't seem the slightest bit perturbed; rather, she stood up and walked around the desk, accepting the book as he handed it to her. "Rita Skeeter sent me a copy. Seemed to think I had a deep-seated desire to know all of Albus's personal history."

"…And… what did you think of it?"

She snorted, setting the book back in its place on the shelf. "I think Skeeter isn't half as good at her job as she thinks she is." At Harry's surprised expression, she added, "I worked alongside Albus for forty years, Mr. Potter; we became very good friends, and any illusion I might have had of him as the wizarding world's newest messiah was very quickly dashed." Her lips quirked slightly. "I was well aware of his many faults, and there was little in that sordid pack of half-truths that I didn't already know. Rita didn't even understand the half of it."

"There's more?" Harry exclaimed before he could stop himself, uncertain whether he could take any more unpleasant truths about the old headmaster.

McGonagall glanced at him sharply. "Mr. Potter, I'll remind you that a morbid curiosity in the faults of others is not a good habit to cultivate!"

"Er- right," he said hastily, a little ashamed. "Sorry."

She eyed him for another moment, and then her expression softened. "I assure you, Harry, that the secrets I keep on Albus's behalf have nothing to do with you or anyone else; they're simply very personal matters that he did not often choose to divulge, and of which it is not my place to reveal. You would surely do the same for Mr. Weasely or Miss Granger, would you not?"

Harry thought back to the way Ron had broken down after being tormented by Riddle's locket, the worst of his flaws and insecurities having been laid torturously bare. Never, not in a million years, would he ever tell anyone what that locket had said to his best friend. "Yeah, I guess I would," he agreed.

"He truly did love you, you know," the headmistress added, voice uncharacteristically gentle. "He wept for hours after he realized the truth."

"What- you mean that I was a Horcrux?" She nodded. "I thought he always knew…"

"Hardly," she replied quietly. "It was not until after you displayed your talent for Parseltongue and destroyed Riddle's diary in your second year that our suspicions were confirmed."

"Your suspicions– you knew too?"

"I did."

He gaped, stunned. "But- why didn't you tell me?"

"You were only a child, Mr. Potter; twelve years old is so young, to realize the inevitability of death. You deserved as much of a normal childhood as we could give you."

"But when I was older," he pressed, the anger bubbling up despite his will, "When I was older, you ought to have- I mean-"

"It is a fault of mine, Mr. Potter, that I am occasionally so naïve as to believe those whom I admire are as forthright as I am." At his baffled frown, she clarified, "The night you came to me saying that you had seen Riddle's snake attack Arthur Weasely, I took note of the way you changed the story in the company of your friends. I assumed, incorrectly, that Albus had already informed you of your fate and that you, understandably, wished to keep such painful information to yourself for as long as possible. I did not realize you were still very much in the dark."

"But at my career meeting… I mean, I guess Umbridge was there, but still… You treated me like I was, I dunno, anyone else."

"Naturally," the headmistress replied, startled. "I knew, and assumed you knew, that you would eventually die at Riddle's hands; I had no way of knowing how close or far off this tragedy was. For all I knew it could be decades into the future. I could see no reason for you not to pursue a career in the meantime, and such a useful one at that."

"Yeah, I guess." But he didn't seem satisfied.

Minerva tilted her head, studying him. "Mr. Potter, if there is something you need to discuss, I promise, it won't leave this office."

"…It's just… I…" Harry floundered for a moment, ashamed to even think it, and then admitted, "…He manipulated a lot of people, Professor. Even me. How could he possibly have thought that that was, y'know, okay?"

McGonagall nodded and let out a heavy sigh, returning to her desk-chair. She sat down and appeared to think for several seconds, before asking: "How much do you know of Albus's childhood?"

"Er– well, I know a couple of muggle boys attacked his sister."

"True."

"Then his dad got back at them… and was sent to prison… his mum died, and then he and Grindlewald became friends. Then they got in a fight and Arianna died…"

"You have the general gist, then?" Harry nodded awkwardly, and McGonagall sighed again, peering at him through her spectacles with very sorrowful green eyes.

"Did you think," she said quietly, "that those poor three muggle boys were the first people to experience severity of Percival Dumbledore's temper?"

Harry stared at her, confused, and then it dawned on him. "You mean–?"

"It was a different time, Harry. Corporal punishment was… more common, and more extreme, than nowadays… Still, even then, Percival's harshness towards his children was far beyond the ordinary. He beat his sons terribly, even cursed them at times." Harry swallowed, and McGonagall shook her head. "He was a genuinely unhinged man, and a raging alcoholic at that. Kendra never dared speak against him, not even after Percival had been taken to Azkaban… suffice it to say that Albus's moral education was severely lacking in the one place it should be most accurately taught: the home. Considering that sort of environment… well, the 'greater good' was not the worst moral standard he could have chosen."

Harry nodded, looking down, and McGonagall's eyes softened. "It's not your fault; you didn't know," she said gently. "But please, don't be too harsh on him, Harry. I had the good fortune to grow up with a clear teaching of right from wrong; Albus was left alone to fumble along in the darkness, to try to discover the line on his own– much as you were." He glanced up, surprised, and she offered him a very small, sad smile. "If you will pardon the compliment, Harry, it is truly remarkable that, despite what you've faced in your short life, your natural intuition for good and evil has remained extraordinarily accurate. In that respect, you succeeded where he could not. I believe that was one of the reasons he admired you so greatly."

"…He admired me?" Harry said, a little surprised.

"More than you will ever know."

Harry pondered this for several moments, unsure of what to think. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer when the clock on McGonagall's chimed quarter-to. "Well," she said, glancing to it. "I believe that is your cue."

"Er– right. Um, have a good day, Professor."

"Good day, Mr. Potter."

---

When Harry arrived at class, everyone was already in their desks, notes out and quills poised to write. Professor Lupin, who was carrying Teddy with one hand and inscribing the word Metamorphagi in chalk on the blackboard with the other, nodded as Harry entered the room. "Ah, there you are, Harry. Take a seat, take a seat…"

"This is going to be wicked," Ron said under his breath, grinning. "How much you wanna bet Tonks helps him with the lesson?"

"She must be, mustn't she?" Hermione whispered, nodding to the baby. "Otherwise Teddy would be with her."

"Today," Lupin called, turning around and adjusting his grip on the gurgling Teddy, who looked excited to see so many new faces, "We are going to be having a bit of an unconventional lesson, as you have probably guessed." He ruffled Teddy's now-purple hair to the amusement of the students. "We are going to be playing a game of sorts."

The students perked up. A game? That sounded even better than a practical lesson. "You see," the professor continued with a light smile, "One of your fellow students is not who they say they are. One of them is actually the incredibly talented and beautiful chief of aurors, otherwise known as my wife."

Everyone immediately turned to look at Harry, no doubt suspicious of the latecomer. "I give you this for free: it's not Mr. Potter!" Lupin called with amusement. Slowly the students turned back to him, curious. "Now, who can name to me some of the limitations of metamorphagizing? Miss Brown."

"They can't heal wounds, Sir," the Gryffindor witch replied, lowering her hand. "Or at least, not bad ones."

"Correct; anything else, then? Yes, Miss Granger."

"Metamorphagi are confined to their own gender, species, and general relative height," the witch rattled off. "They also cannot change their age, although they can appear to be older or younger based on characteristics."

"A textbook answer. Now, who here knows how to force a metamorphagus to drop their morph? Anyone?" Lupin scanned the room. "Come now; at least one of you must have an idea! Anyone at all?"

After a moment, Harry tentatively raised his hand; the professor caught his eye and nodded, and Harry replied nervously, "Er– well, a strong emotion can do it, Sir. Like if you startle them or… or upset them."

He could tell by Lupin's expression that the professor knew exactly what he was referencing, but the professor merely nodded and said, "Very good. Now, all of this considered, here is how the game will operate: hidden among you, in one of those very desks, is my wife, masquerading as your classmate. She will be attempting to petrify each of you; your objective is to figure out which of your classmates she is, and disarm her before she manages to hex the whole class. Oh, and a warning:–" Lupin added with a smile, "My wife is very good at non-verbal and delay charms, so I wouldn't advise sitting around waiting to see who points their wand at whom. Now: all of you, up! Come along, come along!"

The students arose from their desks, looking around uncertainly. "Delay charms?" Harry muttered to Hermione.

"They're a sort of magical timer, that you can put on curses and the like to delay their effects; very tricky magic, though, and not often worth the effort. Hmm…" She was studying the Patil twins with interest.

"Who d'you think it is?" Ginny inquired, sidling up to Harry. He shrugged.

"Dunno. Has to be a girl, though, doesn't it?"

"Hey, that's right!" Ron said, suddenly eyeing the two suspiciously, but Ginny only rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Ron, Hermione and I have been together since this morning; we'd know if it were one of us."

"Oh, right…"

Within five minutes, their fellow students had caught on to the same notion they had, resulting in most of the boys grouped together in one corner in a defensive position, glaring en masse at any witch who came too close. "This is ridiculous," Ron muttered to Harry as Seamus Finnegan elbowed him in the stomach. "Besides, it's not like anyone is going to get cursed if we're all standing like this…"

But that was where he was wrong. There came a gasp from the crowd behind them, and both turned to see that Justin Finch-Fletchy had fallen over, completely frozen. The crowd of boys scattered back, sparked by the terrifying realization that the attacker had managed to circumnavigate their defenses.

People began dropping like flies after that; first Hannah Abbot, then Neville Longbottom, and then– much to everyone's shock– Professor Lupin himself. "Bloody hell, we have to do something fast!" Ron muttered as Daphne Greengrass tipped over, only to be caught by Jeanie Sailor before she hit the floor; he, Harry, Ginny and Hermione had all gathered up against a wall, studying the chaos. "She's really good; no pattern to it at all–"

Thud! The floor shook as Gregory Goyle toppled backwards.

"They're on completely opposite sides of the room!" Ginny exclaimed.

"How is she moving this fast?" Hermione wondered. "It's almost like she's apparating from one part of the room to the other…"

Harry was baffled; he kept trying to catch a glimpse of Tonks among the other students, looking for any feature that wasn't quite right, trying to follow who'd been next to whom and when– but it was impossible to keep track. Everyone was in a panic; wild accusations were being made; one of the girls was even frantically trying to undo the hex on Professor Lupin, terrified that the game had gone horribly wrong…

"I have an idea," Ron said suddenly, drawing his attention.

"What?"

"I'll explain in a minute. Come with me, all of you."

Baffled, the other three followed him out into the middle of the floor. Ron looked around, surveying the situation with cool, shrewd eyes…

And then, without further ado, he turned and swept Hermione into a deep dip, clearly intent on kissing her.

Hermione let out a loud squawk of surprise and shoved him away, landing in a rather undignified heap as her hair turned bright purple. Ron smirked, picked up her wand and offered her a hand. "Need some help there, Tonks?"

The auror chuckled as the rest of the class laughed, her features morphing back to their proper alignment, and Ron pulled her to her feet. "How did you know?" she demanded as she crossed her arms, but she was grinning.

"Hermione knows Hogwarts, a History like the back of her hand," Ron scoffed, returning her wand. "She'd think suggesting you could apparate anywhere in the school was blasphemy."

More laughter; Tonks rolled her eyes and cast the counter-charm, freeing the frozen students. "Fine, fine; you win."

"Indeed he does; five points to Gryffindor, Mr. Weasely," said Professor Lupin, eyes twinkling as he stood up and straightened his tweed jacket.

"Only five?"

"I'm taking ten for you trying to snog my wife. Ah, Miss Granger, welcome back!" For Hermione had left the office and was hurrying down the stairs, stifling her giggles with her hands. "Brilliant!" she exclaimed as she reached her boyfriend. "Absolutely brilliant, Ron."

"I wasn't really going to snog her," he reassured her.

"Oh, I know that."

Lupin cleared his throat loudly, alerting the couple that they were still in a full classroom. Both Ron and Hermione went red, the ginger rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Sorry, Professor."

"As you can see," Tonks said, taking over, "It can be very hard to spot a metamorphagus, especially if they've closely studied the subject they're impersonating. They can also–" she nodded to Ginny, "be working with an accomplice." Her features morphed to match the Weasley's. "The key," not-Ginny continued, "is to look for important differences– things the metamporphagus might not have thought to imitate. Can anyone spot any? Yes, Harry."

"Ginny's eyes are brown," the bespectacled wizard said with a smile. "Not blue."

"Excellent." Not-Ginny's eyes bloomed from blue to brown. "The other trick, of course, is to watch carefully for any change in features during a startling or shocking occurrence–"

BANG! The whole class jumped at the sudden noise, and not-Ginny's hair turned electric yellow. Tonks shot the impishly grinning Lupin a look. "Thank you so much, love," she drawled.

"Just trying to help, darling."

"Sure you were. Alright, you lot, eyes shut!" She pointed her wand at them with vehemence, causing several students to scoot out of the way. "Round two!"

Everyone obediently shut their eyes tight; there was the sound of footsteps moving all over the room, pausing every now and again, and then at last footsteps ascending the stairs. When Lupin called, "Eyes open!", Harry looked around to find that Tonks appeared to have vanished.

The class got progressively better over the next few rounds, grouping together and planning strategies to out the metamorphagus. Tonks, too, was forced to up her game; after she'd been found out for giving her imitation of Pansy Parkinson a sharp nose instead of snubbed, she began to choose more difficult targets. At one point it was discovered she had been imitating both of the Patil twins, surreptitiously charming her tie red or blue as the situation demanded when the others weren't looking, and only revealed when Lavender Brown had shrewdly greeted "Parvati" in Hindi, to the bemusement of the British auror.

On one of her more difficult impersonations, where only a few students were left un-petrified, Lupin took pity on them and began munching on a bar of chocolate, prompting Luna Lovegood to whirl around with a very un-Luna scowl on her face and snatch the candy out of his hands. "Remus Lupin! I make your favorite soup for lunch and here you are ruining your appetite-!"

"Expelliarmus!" the remaining students cried at once, and the wand went flying out of her hand. Teddy chortled and clapped his hands, hair turning bright blue in delight.

The two-hour class flew by, and before they knew it the clock on Lupin's desk was chiming quarter to ten. "Excellent, everyone, very well done!" the professor called; with a wave of her wand, Millicent Bulstrode returned the petrified students to normal and morphed back into a grinning Nymphadora Lupin. "I'm very pleased with your progress; I think you're all going to do wonderfully on the exam. Let's all give a hand to Officer Lupin for her help, shall we?"

"Hear, hear!" Harry shouted, and the class burst into applause. Tonks bowed.

"For homework next Monday, please write a short essay on how to identify and reveal a metamorphagus– roughly a foot of parchment should do it, don't you think? That will be all; have a wonderful rest of your week."

As they left the classroom, Ron turned to Hermione with a grin. "So, this whole morning–"

"It wasn't me," she said with a shrug. "I got up early, let Tonks into the tower, and went to the library for a few hours before class. Ginny was in on it too, obviously. Speaking of," she said, glancing around with a frown, "Where is Ginny?"

The boys looked about, surprised, and then Ron shrugged. "She must've gone ahead of us to transfiguration."

Harry smacked his head. "Transfiguration!"

"What?"

"I left my book in the dormitory! You two go on– I'll catch up–"

"We'll tell Professor Kemp you'll be late," Hermione reassured him.

"Thanks." He dashed off down the halls.

By the time he got up to the seventh floor he was so out of breath that he had to stop outside the portrait door, just panting for a few seconds until the Fat Lady prodded him for the password. "Magnanimitas," he gasped out, and stepped inside, resting for a moment. He was just about to run up to the dormitory when he noticed that the tower wasn't quite empty.

"Ginny?" he said in surprise. The redheaded girl flinched, her back still to him from where she sat on the couch; she'd been sitting perfectly still in an effort not to be seen. "Why aren't you down at transfiguration?" he demanded.

"I-I'm fine," a warbling voice returned, with a sniffle. "Go on, Harry; you'll be late for class…"

Harry frowned and walked forward; she certainly did not sound fine. "Gin? Are you okay?" The ginger looked up at him, face splotchy and running with tears, and Harry immediately sat down, setting a hand on her shoulder. "Ginny, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I-I just- just–" She hiccupped and covered her face with her hands. Harry rubbed circles on her back, unsure what to say. Eventually she managed to get it out through her tears: "I w-was thinking about– today, in class, with Tonks and– I-I thought, it was so f-funny, it was like looking at my own t-t-twin and– and–"

"Shh. It's okay."

"No it's not!" she cried angrily, causing him to jump. "It's not okay, Harry, and it's n-n-never going to be okay again! Fred is d-dead!"

Harry looked back at her, stunned and saddened. Ginny buried her head in her hands again. "I'm s-sorry," she moaned. "I know it's not your fault–"

"You can yell at me whenever you need to," the wizard said firmly. "I'm here for you, Ginny; I don't know what I can do, maybe I can't do anything, but I'm here."

She nodded tearfully into her hands, and Harry sighed, pulling her into his arms. Ginevra began to cry in earnest then, weeping into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he mumbled thickly into her hair. "I really am, Gin."

"I m-miss him. So much…"

"I know. I miss him too."

How long they sat there, Harry didn't know and didn't care. When at last Ginny's sobs had subsided to shuddering breaths, she drew back, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "B-being silly…"

Harry was forcefully reminded of Molly Weasley, and shook his head. "You're not being silly," he said firmly. "You love him, Gin. And you miss him. That's not silly at all."

She drew a trembling breath and nodded. "You– you really think there's… something else? After all this? You really saw…?"

"Yeah. Or I think I did, anyway."

Ginny shook her head. "I-I'm just so scared. How can we be a f-family after this? What's g-going to happen at Christmas, or next Easter, when we're all together again? Because we w-won't be, Harry, we won't be all there, there's just going to be this gaping hole where he should be, and I'm so scared that we're all just going to fall apart…"

"That's not going to happen." She let out a little sob, and he gripped her hand tightly. "No, Gin, listen to me. Look, you… you guys, you were the first family I ever had, the only family I remember. You all had so– so much love, that there was enough to spare for some random kid you didn't even know. And a family with that much love doesn't just fall apart." He set his hand on her shoulder, drawing her gaze upwards. "Your family is strong, Gin," he promised. "And there's no better proof of that than how much you all love and miss Fred, even now."

She sniffled and nodded, embracing him again. Harry hugged her tightly. After several long seconds they parted, and she sighed, wiping her eyes. "I-I guess we should get to class…"

"Don't be daft; of course we're not going to transfiguration now."

"But–"

"No buts. We're skiving." He offered her a hand, and she took it with a watery smile. "C'mon. Let's go get some lunch. I bet the house-elves will let us take it out to the lake."
"That sounds nice," she agreed, lacing her fingers through his. As they walked out the portrait hole, Ginny looked over at him. "Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." She squeezed his hand. "I'm really glad you're here."

The wizard smiled sadly and squeezed back. "I'm glad I can be."

---

"–That was so smart, Lav. I didn't even know you knew Hindi!"

The werewolf smiled, shrugging. She and the Patils were heading down to the Great Hall for supper, and the twins had finally gotten the chance to gush over her cleverness in the Defense lesson. "I don't. But I've picked up on a little over the years…"

"Like what?" Padma inquired eagerly.

Lavender scrunched up her nose thoughtfully, and then said in a singsong voice, "Vah mujhe pyaar karata hai. Vah mujhe pyaar nahin karata hai. Vah mujhe pyaar karata hai…"*

Parvati gasped and flushed as Padma burst out in giggles. "Talking about anyone in particular there, 'Vati?"

"Oh, shut up," the Gryffindor moaned, mortified. "I didn't know you could understand me!"

"You were pulling petals off conjured daisies, Parvati," Lavender pointed out with a smile. "It was a bit obvious."

"Ooh, speaking of which..." Padma nodded to the side, and the girls turned.

Dean Thomas had frozen at the end of the hall, bookbag slung over his shoulder. Parvati sucked in a little breath, blushing pinker still. The young man swallowed visibly and seemed to summon his courage before walking forwards. "Um, hi, Parvati."

"Hi," she said breathlessly.

"I, er, I was going to ask you– that is, I was wondering– oh, hang it all." He grimaced and said in a rush: "You wanna go to the ball with me?"

"O-oh," the Indian witch stammered, but she was smiling. "Oh, um, yes. Yes, that would be wonderful."

Dean broke out grinning. "Really? That's brilliant! Um, I mean–" he coughed, "–that's– really great, Parvati. So, um, I guess I'll see you later?"

"Right. Later, yes," she agreed. Dean grinned at her one last time and hurried off down the hall. Parvati watched him go, starstruck.

"Mujhe lagata hai ki vah tumhen pyaar karata hai," Padma whispered conspiratorially, and Parvati broke out of her trance, smacking her sister on the arm.

"Oh, shut up!" she said again, but she was smiling. The three linked arms and continued on their way. "Speaking of which," the Gryffindor said, nodding to Lavender, "Have you got a date yet?"

"Oh, no," Lavender said, blushing and ducking her head. "I-I don't think I'll go this year, honestly…"

"What?!" Both twins stopped and broke away, turning to face her. Lavender shrugged.

"I mean, who'd want to take me? Now that I'm, you know…"

"That's rubbish!" Padma insisted stoutly. "Just because you're a werewolf–" Lavender flinched. "Sorry. But just because, well, you're a little different–"

"A little different! Padma, I–" She glanced around and lowered her voice, though the hall was empty aside from a few first years some ways behind. "I'm not just 'a little different.' In a week I'm going to sprout fur, and a tail. That's… that's a lot for people to handle, it's a lot for me to handle. What boy is going to want to deal with that?"

"Somebody will, Lav," Padma insisted. "You'll see…"

"If I were in his shoes," the werewolf said quietly, "I wouldn't."

The twins glanced at each other uncertainly. "Well… you should still go," Parvati said at last. "There's no shame in going stag, Lav…"

"I'll think about it, 'Vati," the blonde sighed, but she knew she wouldn't. "Can we just… talk about something else?"

The pair looked to one another and nodded. "Of course we can," Parvati agreed. "Like that horrendous transfiguration assignment!"

"Oh, I know! How are we supposed to know the difference between ions and isotopes?"

"I still don't see how it matters; who cares if there's a leftover electron or two?"

They rounded the corner to the much busier hallway that led to the Great Hall, now in much higher spirits. Lavender giggled at Padma's imitation of the aloof Professor Kemp, almost forgetting about the matter of the Yule Ball altogether. Still, in the back of her mind, there remained the question of whom, exactly, she would have wanted to go with… but it was bogus, she thought with a stab of envy, she'd ruined any chance she'd had when she kissed him out of the blue, probably disgusted him…

But any thoughts she had of a certain fair-haired wizard were immediately forgotten when the trio was suddenly approached by an entirely different member of Slytherin house. Padma and Parvati immediately stepped in front of her and drew their wands. "What do you want, Zabini?" Padma demanded viciously.

Blaise Zabini raised an eyebrow. "I wanted to apologize."

"Apologize?" Parvati inquired mistrustfully.

"Yes." He turned to Lavender and said coolly, "I have been informed by Professor McGonagall that my little joke last month was out of line."

"Apology accepted," the werewolf said icily. "Now get out of our way."

"I see you don't believe me. Let me prove it to you." Before they could stop him, he'd reached into his pocket and pulled out a brightly colored package. "A little treat for dinner."

Lavender knew even before she accepted it that it was a trap; she could see the grins of the other Slytherin boys behind him. But her curiosity got the better of her, and she took the package, examining the label.

It bore an animated drawing on the front of a young crup dashing back and forth in a field of flowers, wagging its forked tail and jumping up and down when it caught sight of Lavender. Across the top in bright letters were the words, Cruppie Cakes! The perfect treat for plucky pups everywhere!

Lavender looked up, feeling strangely numb. She could hear the snickers of the other Slytherins, the worried mutters of the onlookers. Her eyes met Zabini's, and she saw the cruel satisfaction in his eyes.

"Woof," he said softly, smirking.

And that was when Lavender Brown– ever composed, ever polite, ever perfectly mannered in every way–

That was when Lavender snapped.

"YOU BASTARD!" she screamed, and there was a resonant timbre to her voice, like a wolf's bay, that made Zabini's eyes go wide in instinctive terror. "YOU- YOU THINK YOU'RE FUNNY- YOU'VE GOT NO IDEA- YOU ABSOLUTE CREEP-" She tore open the package, grabbed a handful of the biscuits and threw them at him with all her might; Zabini ducked, trying to shelter himself from her wrath. "YOU THINK- YOU HAVE ANY RIGHT- I OUGHT TO-"

The boy's face became a snarl; he drew his wand. "How dare you, you little half-breed! PETRIFI-"

"PROTEGO!" she shrieked, brandishing her wand. "EXPELLIMELLIUS!"

A jet of flames rushed past; Blaise ducked it and shot a stunner, which Lavender expertly blocked and returned with a blinding hex. Students screamed and dove out of the way as flares of light ricocheted through the halls; the werewolf and the Slytherin seemed locked in a duel that came just short of life-and-death.

"STUPIF-"

"PROTEGO!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

This time, Lavender was too slow; her wand flew out of her hand. Zabini's teeth were gritted. "SECTUMSEM–!"

"PROTEGO!"

A barrier of incredible strength appeared between them. "EXPELLIARMUS!" the same voice roared. "TERGUM!"

The hex blasted Zabini down the hall; he fell hard on his back, shouting and cursing as much in anger as pain, his wand caught in the waiting hand of her defender. The blond Slytherin turned to the girl, anger and concern filling his sharp features. "Are you alright?" Draco demanded. "Did he get you?"

"I-I don't think so," she stammered, chilled by the realization of what Blaise had been about to do. Not that I haven't suffered worse…

"WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME IS GOING ON HERE?!"

Everyone jumped and turned; Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the hall as fast as she could without tripping over her robes, wand held at the ready. She gasped at the sight. "Mr. Zabini!"

Blaise Zabini was still swearing, gasping for breath as he sat up. "What is the meaning of this?" the headmistress demanded, aghast.

"It was him!" Blaise spat. "That foul blood-traitor-"

McGonagall turned and rounded on Ron Weasley, who Lavender belatedly realized was among the spectators. "Ronald Bilius Weasely, what in the world were you thinking-"

"Not him," Zabini scoffed, "Malfoy!"

McGonagall blinked, startled, and then turned to the other Slytherin. "Well?" she demanded frostily. "Do you have explanation for why your housemate appears to have just been thrown twenty feet down the hall?"

"He attacked me!" Blaise called over.

"That's not true," Harry Potter hastened to correct, stepping past his redhead friend. "Malfoy was just defending her-"

"Defending her? Defending whom?"

"Me!" Lavender exclaimed furiously. "Zabini- he tried to curse me-"

"Only because she attacked me first!"

"She threw biscuits in your face; that hardly counts as a vicious assault," Hermione Granger interjected scathingly.

"Threw bis-" It was clear that McGonagall was utterly confused. "Could someone please tell me what happened from the beginning?"

Everyone started to speak at once; Minerva sighed and held up a hand. "Mr. Weasely," she said, pointing to Ron. "An account, if you please."

The redhead flushed but hurried to say, "They were just walking along, I swear it, and then Blaise came up and- well, he-" He glanced to Lavender uncomfortably, "-he gave Lavender a bag of biscuits."

"Biscuits?" the headmistress repeated again, frowning.

"Dog biscuits," Harry said quietly.

McGonagall's eyes widened perceptively as she noticed the bone-shaped treats scattered across the floor. Lavender dropped her eyes, cheeks coloring.

"-Right, well," Ron continued hastily, "Lavender started screaming and throwing them at him, and so Zabini tried to curse her-"

"That's a lie!" Blaise shouted viciously.

"Well, we'll see about that soon enough," McGonagall said sharply, and turned to the pictures lining the walls. "Who was it that started the fight?"

"The boy, Headmistress," admitted the nearest one, a portrait of a fat old monk.

"Yes, ma'am, it was," another added.

"It's true."

McGonagall pursed her lips, glaring very angrily at Zabini. "Continue, Mr. Weasely," she snapped, without looking over.

Ronald gulped, frightened even though he wasn't the one in trouble. "So- so they started dueling, and then he disarmed her and tried to use the sectumsempra curse. Malfoy shielded it, and then hexed Zabini. And that's- that's what happened." He fell quiet.

"Sectumsempra?" McGonagall said lowly. "You're certain?"

"Well- he didn't get it out- but he sure tried."

"He's lying!" Blaise spat.

"He's not, Headmistress. We all heard it," the monk countered. All the other portraits agreed.

"Unbelievable," McGonagall said, mouth tight. "Absolutely unbelievable." She turned to Blaise. "You are fortunate," she said, fury blazing in her eyes, "that you didn't finish that curse, Mr. Zabini, or you would likewise not be finishing the year at Hogwarts." Zabini flushed, more with anger than with shame. "Moreover, your harassment of Miss Brown was inexcusable. I am absolutely disgusted; two hundred points from Slytherin!"

"Two hundred?" Draco gasped. "But professor-!"

"And another fifty for you, Mr. Malfoy! Protecting a fellow student is one thing; revenge-hexing is quite another! Miss Brown, I'm taking fifty points for you as well; we do not respond to insults, no matter how vile they may be, with violence. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Headmistress," Lavender mumbled, shame-faced.

"Good. You'll serve detention later this week with Professor Lupin. As to you, Mr. Zabini, you'll be spending the next three weeks helping Mr. Filch clean the dungeons in the evenings, Monday to Friday."

"Three weeks!" Zabini exclaimed.

"And be glad I don't make it a month!" McGonagall barked. "Go now, all of you! And this had better not happen again!"

Slowly the corridor began to empty out into the Great Hall. Lavender turned to see Parvati and Padma gaping at her, stunned. Slowly, she looked over to her rescuer. Draco looked back awkwardly, wand still in hand. "Um– thank you," she said softly.

He gave a strange sort of jerking nod, and then Lavender grabbed the twins's hands and dragged them into the Great Hall. "Not a word!" she hissed at them fiercely as she sat down. But neither missed the pink blush that was crossing her scarred face, and shared a glance of surprise.

"Aapako nahin lagata ki yah–"

"Bilkul nahin–"

"Shush!"

---

"I'm sorry, Ron, but I really don't know anything."

"C'mon, Lavender's your roommate! She must've said something!"

"I haven't heard a word. And honestly, why do you even care?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You're not still interested in her, are you?"

"What? No, of course not!" Ron protested. "I'm just curious as to what Malfoy's up to!"

"Merlin, Ron, you're as bad as Harry some days…"

"Tell me you're not curious." Ron stopped in the hallway and crossed his arms, turning to look at her. "Go on!"

The Head Girl shot him an irritated look, and then sighed. "Fine, so I'm curious! But it's still none of our business." They began walking again, crossing from one abandoned corridor to the next. "Maybe he's turned over a new leaf?"

"A new leaf. Right." Ron snorted and rolled his eyes. "I've said it before and I'll say it again: poisonous toadstools don't change their spots, at least not in my experience."

"The last time you said that it was about Professor Snape," she pointed out, before adding, "Besides, I thought you two had established a truce?"

"A ceasefire and peace are not the same thing," the Head Boy said darkly. "Look, 'Mione, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to see some significant changes in that slimy git before I'd trust him with so much as a broken quill." She sighed, and he rolled his eyes. "Now who's the interested one?"

"Ron…"

"Maybe for all I know, you fancy Malfoy," he teased. "Maybe you've got a thing for blonds–"

"Really, Ron–"

"Or little ferret-faced blighters rich off their dad's mone– mmf!" He was cut off when Hermione took things into her own hands, standing up on tiptoe and kissing him full on the mouth. He grinned when she pulled away, and she prodded him fiercely in the chest.

"I swear, Ronald Weasley, if you start getting jealous over Draco Malfoy, I'll have Harry drop you back in the woods for a month!"

"Oh, no worries about that, love…" He leaned down to kiss her again, and then paused. Hermione frowned curiously until he sighed and pulled away, drawing his wand. "Okay, you little buggers, get out here!"

There came the sound of high-pitched giggles, and two Ravenclaw first-years peeked out from around a corner, twin sisters by the looks of them. Ron raised an eyebrow. "Think spying on folks is funny, do you? Ten points from Ravenclaw."

"Aww…"

"Whine about it and I'll make it fifteen. 'Mione?"

"I'll make sure they get back to bed," she assured him. "You keep patrolling; we'll meet up by the library."

"Right."

Hermione smiled and then, much to his surprise, pecked him on the cheek. The girls giggled again, and he gave his best impression of Mad-Eye Moody. "Amscray!"

The Ravenclaws gasped and ran off down the hall, snickering to themselves. Hermione laughed and hurried after them, leaving Ron to rub the back of his now very red neck and grin to himself contentedly once they were out of view.

Hermione managed to catch up with the girls at the end of the corridor, where they'd stopped to wait for her. "Now," she said with a smile, taking both of their hands in hers; the girls beamed up at her, clearly delighted that it had been the famous Head Girl who had found them and not Filch. "What are you two doing out of bed after curfew?"

"We were going to the library, Miss."

"Oh? And is there any reason it couldn't wait until morning?"

The second little Ravenclaw blushed. "We… we wanted to go into the restricted section, Miss."

Hermione stopped, surprised; both girls stopped with her. "The restricted section?" she repeated. "Why on earth would you want to go there?" She decided that neglecting to mention her friends' own little escapades in that part of the library…

"We were curious," the first replied. "We read, in the newspaper–"

"With moving pictures!"

"–that Harry Potter was once a horcrux! Well, our parents aren't witches, Miss–"

"–so we didn't know what that meant–"

"–and when we asked, Professor Kemp went white–"

"Like a ghost!"

"–and wouldn't tell us a thing! So we figured it must be something terribly secret, and we realized if any book would have something on it, it would be one in the restricted section! Only we couldn't get in," she said with a pout, "the door was locked."

"Hmm…" Hermione bit her lip, wondering how to handle the situation, and then knelt down so she was only a little shorter than they were. "Girls, I want you to listen to me," she said seriously. "Curiosity– wanting to understand things– is not, by any means, a bad thing. But idle curiosity can be very dangerous." The girls dropped their eyes. She hesitated, and then added, "A horcrux is a terrible piece of dark magic, created only by the act of murder." The girls looked up at her, horrified. "Harry, my friend, was made into one when Voldemort killed his parents. He suffered very badly for it."

"W-we're sorry, Miss," the first twin whispered. "We didn't know…"

"It's alright; I'm not angry with you. But wanting to know things that aren't your business, well, people can get very hurt from it." Both girls had fallen quite silent, and she smiled, squeezing their hands. "Don't be sad; it's all forgiven. But don't do this again, alright?"

The twins swore fervently that they wouldn't, and the head girl stood up again, leading them back to the Ravenclaw dormitory and distracting them with more cheerful conversation. When at last they'd disappeared into the tower, she was left to wander her way down towards the library.

The dangers of idle curiosity… a lesson, she mused to herself, it had taken her a very long time to learn. She supposed it had been after her fifth year that she'd finally realized the harm it could cause; she could only wonder how the confrontation in the Shrieking Shack would have gone if she hadn't blurted out Professor Lupin's personal information at such a crucial moment. Perhaps Pettigrew would have been caught and detained in time; perhaps they would have made it back to the castle before moonrise; perhaps Sirius would never have died and Harry would have known his godfather; perhaps, perhaps…

She sighed and shook her head to herself; many people had played an unwitting part in the death of Sirius Black– Harry, Lupin, and Professor Dumbledore just as much as her. Remus had told her as much when she'd admitted how guilty she felt, on their way to visit Tonks in the hospital. "We take responsibility for what we did, and nothing more," he'd told her. "We all made foolish decisions, yes, but Bellatrix Lestrange fired that curse, no one else. Don't put any more blame on yourself than you deserve."

She had agreed, and decided then and there not to look any further into anyone's personal information unless not doing so could be dangerous. Her discovery of Elphinstone Urquart's secret, for example, had been entirely coincidential. Still, she thought, allowing herself a small spark of pride, I was right, after all. I figured it out again… Her mind flashed back to the conversation she'd had a week earlier:

---

…Professor McGonagall was frowning through her spectacles at a long and official-looking letter when the student arrived; she looked up as Hermione closed the door and adjusted her glasses, surprised. "Miss Granger. You look quite distressed; is something the matter?"

"We need to talk," Hermione said shortly, though her voice spoke more of nervousness than of anger. This wasn't the sort of allegation to make lightly, she knew, and if she was wrong…

"Oh? About what?"

The student drew a deep breath and pulled the study out of her bag, setting it down on the desk facing the professor. She watched as McGonagall scanned the first several sentences. When the look of realization dawned upon the old widow's face, Hermione knew she'd been right.

"We need to talk," she repeated, drawing the headmistress's eyes, "about Elphinstone Urquart."

McGonagall stared her down for several seconds, expression inscrutable. Then, with a sigh, she stood and went to the fireplace and took the kettle off the spit, pouring the steaming water into the waiting tea set. Hermione watched in silence as she prepared two cups of tea, and then returned, gesturing to the chair opposite hers.

"Have a seat, Miss Granger. I have the feeling this is going to take a while."

Hermione did so nervously; it was impossible to discern whether the old headmistress was angry with her or not. As she sat down in the straight-backed chair opposite the headmistress's own, McGonagall took a long sip of her tea, before settling the cup down on the saucer and fixing the younger witch with an inscrutable green stare. Hermione swallowed; surely Professor McGonagall wouldn't revoke her Head Girlship, would she? Or worse, what if the headmistress obliviated her? Oh, she didn't really expect McGonagall to do such a thing– but then again, perhaps in her position Hermione herself would be tempted, to protect Ron's reputation if nothing else. Oh, she should have just kept her revelation to herself, why had she ever gone sticking her nose in–

"Have a biscuit, Miss Granger."

The younger witch jumped slightly. "Pardon?"

"A biscuit. They're fresh; I made them myself this morning."

Somehow the vision of the straight-laced Professor McGonagall baking biscuits like an old biddy amused her enough that Hermione was able to relax, accepting the newt-shaped ginger biscuit and dipping it into her tea. "So," the headmistress said calmly, as the girl took a bite of the softened cookie. "How did you find out?"

"A lot of different things," Hermione admitted. "I only just put them together… you never had children, did you? And so much of the work he did for the Order was kept secret… And now this study. I recognized your style from your other work," she said, almost apologetically. "And then… the locket."

"The locket?"

"It's in a picture in the book you gave me– dated 1975. It's clear you're in love," the younger witch said softly. "But… it's seven years before your marriage. Why would anyone wait that long to get married?"

McGonagall smiled slightly, wistfully. "In fact, Miss Granger, you're not quite correct on that account."

"Oh?"

"That picture– the one in the pub, yes?" Hermione nodded. "That was taken a week after we were married– in the eyes of God, that is, not the Ministry. Elphi was afraid that Greyback would get his hands on the registry and come after me in an attempt to blackmail him, so we didn't file the marriage until after the war. But we were husband and wife long before then."

"Did anyone else know?"

"Well, the Order, of course. Pomona and Poppy, as well, and naturally my family; my father married us. The Potters were there, and the Lupins… But other than that, no. It was a very small affair."

Hermione nodded, and then bit her lip. The headmistress raised an eyebrow. "Go on; you may ask."

"…How did you… I mean, when did you first realize he was a…"

Minerva nodded, eyes drifting away as if remembering something. "Well, it was inevitable I would find out someday. We were immediately fast friends, you know– bonded over Quidditch." Hermione chuckled. "We became very close, but I could tell he was hiding something from me. I never suspected lycanthropy, though; nobody ever did. The idea that a werewolf could be working in the Ministry, well, it was practically laughable!"

"Yes… that's another thing I don't understand. I thought– I mean, the laws are clear–"

"On hiring werewolves," McGonagall agreed, "not on keeping one employed after the fact. Elphi told Charlus the day after it happened– that was before I was working, Potter was Chief Superintendent then– and Charlus let him keep his job, never told a soul. He was a terribly loyal friend."

"But he must have missed work for it," Hermione insisted. "Someone must have noticed–!"

But McGonagall shook her head. "Elphi was scrupulous about secrecy; he'd force himself through the day, trying to keep up appearances, then go home that night to his own private hell. Then, the next day, he'd come back exhausted and pale, all of his wounds disguised with spells. He wore this– horrible ring, which kept the glamours up day in and day out. It drained a good deal of his magic, which of course only made the full moons worse; there were times it nearly killed him." She fell quiet as if at a painful memory, and then resumed:

"He always looked dreadfully sick, though, the day of. That was how I first found out, actually; I'd nagged him all morning until he went home, thinking he'd caught the flu. Around nightfall I realized he'd left his briefcase at the office and decided to pop by to give it to him, only to encounter a full-grown werewolf chained up in the bedroom… as you can imagine, it was quite the shock."

Hermione nodded sympathetically.

"He thought for certain I would reveal him, or at least abandon him. Of course, I was furious that he'd kept it from me, but…" A sad smile touched the old widow's lips. "But he was my dearest friend. All I wanted to do was help him."

"That was how you realized," Hermione surmised. "That animagi were safe with werewolves, I mean."

"Elphi opposed it at first, but I insisted– well." She grimaced in a matter that Hermione, to her shock, could only describe as sheepish. "More like did it without his permission. But in the end, my suspicions were correct: animagi were safe from the bite, and apparently didn't appeal to the lycan appetite." Hermione laughed a bit, and McGonagall actually smiled warmly at her, green eyes glinting. "He was a wonderful man. I think you would have liked him very much."

"I'm sure I would have," the Head Girl agreed. "And his career! The cases he heard; all the arrests he made… the Ministry must have been furious when he retired!"

But at this, McGonagall's face grew dark. "Furious… yes, she was furious indeed, though not because he left…"

"She?" Hermione said, surprised.

Minerva tilted her head. "I would have thought you'd have worked that out by now." At the student's quizzical look, she sighed. "Miss Granger, in 1983 Minister Bagnold's senior undersecretary, Marcus Chadwick, was murdered by a few of the remaining death eaters. Elphi was in line for the position but refused, feeling he would serve Britain better by continuing his leadership of the DMLE. Unfortunately, the second ranking ministry member was… a particularly unsavory character, the chief secretary for the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures."

Hermione's eyes had gone as wide as saucers. "You don't mean…"

"When Dolores realized what Elphi was, she blackmailed him into resigning from his job– and me, into resigning my seat from the Wizengamot. A man who had served her Ministry for thirty-eight years, who had given his blood and tears for the safety of the British people… and she treated him like an animal." The headmistress's face had gone stony with fury. "I consider hatred a very unchristian attitude, Miss Granger, but nobody has ever tested me further on that principle than Dolores Jane Umbridge."

Hermione sat quietly for several moments, a fierce anger burning in her chest. She had long known that Umbridge was a horrid, bigoted toad, but this new proof had only made her more furious. That such a good man could be treated in such a horrible way, all for a medical condition he had never wanted… somebody ought to do something. Somebody ought to change things.

"…Professor," she said hesitantly, glancing up, "Do you think… I mean, I've just taken an internship with the Creatures Department… perhaps I should resign? I mean, I don't want to support…"

But McGonagall shook her head. "If nobody ever has the courage to fight, Miss Granger, nothing will ever change. Do what you're able where you are; that's the most we can ever do." Her face softened. "But please, be kind to those you meet there, even if they're bitter towards you… those poor souls have more than enough to deal with."

Hermione nodded, a bit uncertainly. McGonagall sighed, finished her tea, and stood. "I trust, Miss Granger, that you will keep this information to yourself?"

"Of course," she agreed swiftly, rising to her feet. "I wont' tell a soul, not without your permission."

The headmistress nodded, looking relieved. "Thank you. Elphi's memory… everything he did, it could all be tarnished, if this were ever known. He begged me never to let that happen."

"I understand." She paused. "Professor, I– I do have one more question."

"Hm?"

"Well… werewolves are immune to most poisons, including that of the Venomous Tentacula… Professor, how- how did your husband really die?"

McGonagall closed her eyes at the question, and Hermione thought for a moment that she'd gone too far. But when the headmistress opened them again, her expression was only sorrowful.

"Riddle began using werewolves to do his dirty work near the end of the first war. Albus realized that, with the help of the Wolfsbane potion, one of our own would be able to join the pack during the full moon and protect any potential victims. Remus was barely more than a boy then, so Elphi volunteered; because of the expense and complexity of the potion, we presumed none of Greyback's pack would be able to obtain it, thus rendering them incapable of recognizing a stranger in their midst. We believed it would be safe. Unfortunately…" She drew a sharp breath, and then continued with some difficulty, "Unfortunately, Greyback must have recognized Elphi during one of the raids. On the full of April in '85, he came for him. Elphi defended the village here with his life, fought Greyback off… but his injuries were too severe. We didn't find him until dawn; he died minutes afterwards."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered. "I didn't realize…"

"You couldn't have known." She smiled painfully. "Thank you, Miss Granger."

"Me? For what?"

"For giving an old widow a chance to speak honestly. For carrying on his memory. It's heartening to know that someday, when I'm with him, someone here will still remember the truth."

And in that moment, the Head Girl had understood. To have such courage, such nobility go unremembered… it would be nothing short of a tragedy. Humbled at the trust the headmistress had shown her, Hermione had simply ducked her head and replied with all sincerity:

"The honor is all mine, Professor."

---

The sound of the deep, throbbing hums of the school clock-tower chiming midnight stirred Draco from his stupor; he lifted his head and grimaced at the crick in his neck. The library was quiet and dark; he'd hidden himself under a desk with a disillusionment charm while Madame Pince searched the library for any loiterers, and then had waited until she was gone to seat himself in one of the big armchairs. His plan was a simple one: wait until the others were sure to be asleep, and then sneak into the dorm room. Tomorrow he'd leave before dawn and avoid the inevitable confrontation with Blaise altogether. How long he could possibly keep up the pattern Draco wasn't sure, but all he really cared about was surviving the night.

He shouldered his bag and crept out into the empty halls. Having lived in the old castle for nearly seven years now, he had learned enough of the habits of the resident ghosts, paintings, prefects, and Filch to know that the midnight route from the library to the dungeons was fairly open. At one point he had to slink behind a corner to avoid Mrs. Norris, who thankfully hadn't smelled him, before he continued on his way down the curved staircases to the false dungeon wall which guarded the Slytherin common room. "Corallus caninus," he whispered; the false wall slid aside, and he stepped into the common room, glancing around with a sigh of relief.

He loved the Slytherin common room, always had– well, except for the snake skulls, but those were removable. The velvety green tapestries, and the way the moonlight rippled in silver patterns on the floor through the lakewater, on a cold clear evening like tonight… it had always inspired some sort of half-fantasy in his mind of sitting in an enchanted forest. The room was dark and mostly empty, save for the faint glow given off by the Baron, who glanced up at him as he entered. "Out late again, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Er– yes, sir."

"Mmm." The Baron looked back down at the chessboard, ghostly brows furrowed. "Could you perchance move my white bishop to D5?"

"Certainly, sir." Draco couldn't help but feel a bit honored. Every Slytherin knew better than to touch a single piece of the set without permission, as Baron Waldo's chess games against himself were practically an art form; sometimes the ghost would go weeks without moving a single piece. He snuck a glance at the layout of the board and found it appropriately complex.

"Mr. Malfoy," the Baron added as he turned to go; Draco glanced back in surprise. "I do not believe it would be to your benefit to return to your dormitory tonight. Your classmate, Mr. Zabini, did not seem to be in an especially favorable mood towards you when he entered earlier this evening."

"Sir, while I appreciate the warning, I don't have much of a choice," the student pointed out. "I have to sleep."

"Ah, yes. Sleep… I had forgotten, you live ones need it." The baron's eyes seemed nearly wistful for a moment, but it must have been a trick of the firelight, for in the next moment he stood. "I don't suppose you encountered the Lady Helena in the course of your return? Or perhaps Father Athalbert?"

"No, sorry."

"Hmm…" Without another word, the ghost shifted his ropes of chains and walked straight through the nearest wall. Draco sighed and turned for the staircase.

There was no sound when he pressed his ear to the door, so he took a deep breath and pushed it open a crack. He winced at the sharp squeak as the heavy oak door moved on its hinges, and then froze. A beam of light slipped through the crack in the doorway. Somebody was still up.

Draco steeled his will and sternly ordered himself not to be a coward; he had faced far, far worse than Blaise Zabini in the course of the last year alone. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Not only was one of the other boys still awake; all four were, in various states of inactivity. Gladwyn and Duggard appeared to have just paused halfway through some homework, glancing up from the books on their bed. Greg was sitting uncomfortably at the foot of his bed, looking down at his hands. And Blaise… Draco swallowed and looked over. Blaise had just set down a novel on his bedside table and was standing up.

"I'm surprised you returned at all," the half-Italian said coolly. "I would have thought you smarter than that."

Draco ignored him and turned to his bed, intent on dressing in silence. If Blaise wanted to row, well, he'd have to force it at wand-point; the Malfoy had developed an incredible capacity to ignore unpleasantness, and, healthy or not, he was going to put it to use right now. What he saw when he looked up, however, stopped him in his tracks.

His trunk was packed. Completely packed, as if ready to be loaded onto the Hogwarts Express. Draco's eyes swiveled to the bathroom; even from a distance he could see that his little shelf near the sinks was empty. The few little knick-knacks he'd left to sit out on the windowsill next to his bed were gone as well, presumably with the rest of his belongings, and his broomcase sat neatly tucked in beside his trunk. The Malfoy forced himself to breathe in deeply through his nose, and then turned back to Blaise. "What the hell is going on?" he asked, the epitome of calm and collected. His father would have been proud.

The other boy's face was hard as stone. "We don't accept blood traitors in this house. You've betrayed the Slytherin ideals. It's time for you to go

The blond couldn't help it; he laughed. "You always were a bloody drama queen, Blaise." He snorted again and headed for his bed, shrugging off his satchel and rolling his shoulders. "Sleep well, fellas."

Whoosh!

He heard the hex a moment before he felt it, but he still jumped and swore when the stinging sensation zapped into his shoulder. He whirled around, drawing his wand, only to see that the other four – to his shock, Greg included – had drawn theirs. Draco let out an irritated growl. "Look, Blaise, it's been a bloody long day," he said through his teeth. "I really don't feel like handing all your arses to you on a silver platter, but I didn't get this tattoo by doing fucking needlepoint for nine months. So how's about we all pretend like nothing's happened and just go to bed, alright?"

But Zabini didn't lower his wand. "The time for pretending is over, Malfoy," he sneered. "Mud-licking scum like you don't belong here. You chose your side; go see if they'll help you. But don't come crying to us when the half-breeds and mudbloods throw you out in the cold."

"You can't possibly expect that I'll just up and leave." Blaise didn't move, and Draco said coolly, "I'll tell Slughorn. He's a 'mud-licker' too; he won't stand for it."

"Do that," Blaise countered icily, "And your father will be getting another letter."

Draco opened his mouth to retort, and then realized that he had no reply: Blaise did in fact hold the power. He could make Draco kiss his boots if he so wished, and the Malfoy knew that he would do it without a word of complaint, if it meant keeping mother and father in the dark. "You wouldn't," he tried. One last desperate bluff…

"I would."

He wasn't lying. Draco could hear it in his voice. "…Where will I sleep?" he asked, and hated that it came out as a plea.

"Not our problem." The other boy's eyes were cold. "Just get out. And don't come back."

He kicked Draco's broomcase forward, and the blond dropped to his knees to grab it, stunned. He looked up to find only cold and unpitying faces. "...Greg?" he said uncertainly.

Goyle didn't meet his eyes. "...Go on, Malfoy," he mumbled. That was when Draco knew he'd lost.

Slowly, determined to maintain the last of his dignity, the blond gathered together his trunk, broomcase and other belongings and dragged them towards the exit. At the door to the stairs he looked back. Blaise watched him unblinkingly.

He hauled the trunk and broomcase down the stairs into the common room and gave one last despairing look around. Steeling his will, he turned and dragged his trunk to the entrance, passing through the false wall. When he stopped and looked behind, all that could be seen were dull gray bricks.

Up one flight of stairs, and then another, he dragged his belongings away from the dungeons, not really sure where he was headed. It was only upon reaching the third floor that he realized he'd been unconsciously moving towards the Defense classroom. Yes, he thought, Professor Lupin would help him; at the very least he might be able to stay in his office for a night…

But when he reached the Defense classroom he found the door locked, belatedly realizing that it was ten at night; the Professor was probably in the teachers' quarters somewhere with his own family. Draco sat down heavily on the trunk; he didn't know where the teachers' quarters were, let alone how to get to them, and he doubted he could trust any of the other professors anyway. Oh, the Headmistress would probably help him, but she'd only insist on putting him back in his dormitory, which would cost him Zabini's silence. He considered going to the Three Broomsticks and renting a room for the rest of term, but dismissed the idea when he realized that, having no money of his own, his parents would doubtless become suspicious at his constant requests for more cash, and besides, it was an awful long way to haul a trunk. He didn't know how to get into the other dormitories and doubted that they would let him stay even if he did. He was, simply put, out of luck.

Fuck you, Blaise, he seethed interiorly, though some part of him felt that he had only himself to blame. He'd brought this on himself, hadn't he? He'd begun his decision back in May, when he'd dropped his wand and told the professor he wouldn't fight anymore; he ought to have expected back then to reach this point someday. Nobody trusted him, nobody gave a damn, neither blood purists nor blood traitors. And all this, for trying to be one of the "good guys." What the hell was the matter with him, Draco wondered? Why the hell was he even fight this hard for something he wasn't even certain of? Because he wasn't certain: he was taking all these new beliefs on mere authority and wild hope, and look what it had cost him. He wasn't a Slytherin anymore, and he sure as hell wasn't welcome anywhere else.

A swell of fury overtook him; with white hands trembling in rage he tore the tie from his neck and ripped the Slytherin patch off his robes. He'd never been able to do wandless magic before, but that was no matter now; for a moment his wrath fused itself into will, and his hand burst into flames, lighting the green-and-silver tatters ablaze. He dropped them to the ground with a savage joy; let them burn! He wasn't a true Slytherin, eh? Fine, then! To hell with them all!

Watching the symbols of his house burn to charred scraps of cloth, the anger began to leech out of him, leaving only hollowness in its stead. The weight of his predicament settled heavily on his shoulders then, as he realized that it wasn't just a dormitory he'd lost: he had no friends, no house, even, in a certain sense, no family, for his parents were far away and would be ashamed of him if they knew the truth. He had never felt so alone in his life.

Frustrated, cold, and condemned to sleeping on the floor for the foreseeable future, Draco Malfoy finally did something he had not done since the Dark Lord's downfall: he buried his face in his hands and began to cry. He didn't care if it was pathetic. Who was there to see him, anyway? Nobody gave a damn. He could stay here blubbing for hours and nobody would ever–

"Malfoy?"

Oh bloody hell, no.

Despite every bone in his body telling him not to, Draco forced himself to look up, and groaned upon meeting the gaze of one very uncomfortable Ronald Weasley. "Malfoy?" the Head Boy repeated awkwardly. "You, um, you okay?"

"Piss off, Weasley," Draco hissed, rubbing at his eyes and intending to storm off angrily, before realizing that he couldn't very well leave his trunk behind in the hall, resulting in him standing in an awkward position halfway between running away and staying where he was.

"I, er, can't do that, I'm afraid," Weasley replied, looking every bit as discomfited as Draco felt. "I'm supposed to investigate anything suspicious going on in the hallways, and…" He cleared his throat, gesturing to the trunk. "Well, um, this is sort of suspicious."

"What it is, is none of your business," Draco snapped, grabbing the handle of his trunk and finding it just as heavy as it had been when he'd set it down. He made a noise of irritation. "Just leave me be, Weasley; I promise I won't be here by morning."

"Malfoy, what the hell is going on?" the Head Boy said bluntly.

Draco stared at him for a long second, debating whether to tell the truth or reply with some scathing retort, before he decided that honesty couldn't possibly make the situation any worse than it already was. "I got kicked out of my dormitory," he said flatly. "Happy?"

"What– not by Slughorn?"

"No, you idiot, of course not. By Blaise."

"Bla– oh, you mean Zabini." He frowned. "Well, he's just a student, isn't he? Just go and tell him to shove off, or get Professor Slughorn to put him in place."

"I do that," Draco muttered as he sat back down, his thunder gone out of him, "And my father gets a nice little note about the day's events."

"Oh," the Head Boy realized. "You mean, about you defending Lavender." Draco nodded tiredly. "So… where will you go?"

"I don't know." He ticked the non-options off on his fingers: "I can't go back because of Blaise; I can't go to the Three Broomsticks because I don't have the cash on me to pay for more than a few nights; I can't go to another dormitory because it's not allowed; and I can't go to the teachers because they'd just punish Blaise, which would put me in the same position as before." He threw up his hands and proclaimed sarcastically, "I am officially and royally fucked."

Much to his surprise, Weasley began to laugh. Draco blinked, and then crossed his arms. "Funny, is that?"

"Well– yeah. I've never heard you use that word before." The redhead snickered.

"Well if you're done taking the mick, you can piss off– or I can curse you. Not much use in house points if I'm not really part of my house, is there?"

"Hey, hey, it's a joke. Lighten up." Draco glared at him, and Ronald rolled his eyes. "What about the Room of Requirement?"

"The what?"

"You know, where the diadem was hidden."

Draco frowned. "You mean the Room of Hidden Things?"

"Sure. You didn't think it was just for hiding things, did you?" When the look on Draco's face showed that that was exactly what he'd thought, Weasley smirked a little. "Look, just trust me on this; go ask it for a place to kip and see what the Room comes up with. You won't regret it."

The Slytherin eyed him. "How do I know you're not trying to trick me?"

Ronald snorted and stood. "We're not all sneaky little gits like you, Malfoy. Perfusorius." He tapped the Slytherin's trunk with his wand and began to walk away.

"Hey!" Draco demanded, leaping to his feet. "What did you do to my trunk?!"

The Weasley just laughed and vanished around the corner. Furious, Draco opened the top and found that everything was in its regular place; growling, he shut it and tried to lift it, only to find that it had suddenly become light as a feather. He reddened as he realized that he'd completely forgotten how to cast a featherlight charm himself. For a moment he hesitated, wondering whether he could really trust Weaselby's advice, but in the end reasoned that he had nothing to lose by trying.

Up the staircases he went, until he reached the seventh floor. For a moment old memories flooded his mind, sickening him; this was where he had plotted the death of the man who had tried to show him mercy. This was the place Vince had died. Maybe he should turn back… but no, he needed to sleep. He rubbed his eyes and sighed; would the room even work for him now? He wouldn't blame it for turning him away…

Setting his trunk down, he stepped back, closed his eyes, and paced across the floor, one, two, three times. I need a place to stay for the night… I need a place to stay… please, give me a place to stay…

He opened his eyes, hoping against hope…

Two old oak doors stood before him, beautifully carved. Draco let out a low sigh which may or may not have contained a shudder of relief. Swallowing hard, he pulled the door open, and stopped.

The room which lay beyond the door appeared to be some sort of wonderful combination of the Slytherin common room and the study of Malfoy Manor; deep emerald tapestries and oak bookshelves covered the walls, and a fire was blazing merrily in the hearth of an oak fireplace on the wall opposite the doorway. Great cathedral-style windows allowed in the silvery moonlight, which cast shimmering shards of white light over the floor and walls. Best of all was the great soft bed placed along the right wall, with a fluffy emerald duvet and cream linen sheets.

A cold draft from the corridor at his back alerted Draco that he was still standing frozen in the doorway, and he quickly pulled his trunk and broomcase over the threshold and shut the door behind him. Immediately the room fell quiet, aside from the crackling of the fire, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Just ten minutes ago he'd resigned himself to curling up in a hallway alcove and trying not to freeze against the hard stone; now the castle itself had provided him with a place that felt like… well, like home. Why, Draco wondered? He'd abused this room's powers to bring harm to the castle and its inhabitants. He'd played a part, and not a very indirect one, in the full-scale invasion of the fortress. He knew the castle wasn't sentient, of course, but it was magical; shouldn't it be rejecting him, like a– what was the word? A virus? Yes, a virus, for the body to destroy. Yet here he was.

Still only half-daring to believe it, he looked around for an explanation. His eyes landed on the engraving on the mantle, the flickering firelight gleaming softly off the wood. They were letters, he realized, moving closer. As he ran his fingers along the wood, he squinted and at last managed to make out the words:

"Said Hufflepuff, 'I'll teach the lot, and treat them just the same.'"

A soft breath escaped him as he understood. So this – the Room of Hidden Things, this "Room of Requirement" – this was the fabled Hufflepuff's Hold, one of the four legendary rooms created by the Founders. All this time, and he had never known…

And it had accepted him. Him, with the tattoo burnt into his arm symbolizing his loyalty to everything Helga Hufflepuff had ever stood against; him, who had always considered himself a notch above the rest, deserving of more, worthy of respect for no better reason than the blood in his veins and the gold in his vault; him, who had always mocked the unassuming yellow-clad "folk" for their modesty and good cheer, in a way that he only now realized was far more derisive than his animosity for the Gryffindors and grudging jealousy of the Ravenclaws. "I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Yet here he was. Provided for, cared for. Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot, and treat them just the same."

As Draco Malfoy settled into the bed and watched the fire burn brightly in the hearth, he made himself a resolution: he was still, he realized, a Slytherin through and through; he was ambitious and clever, good at identifying what he wanted and even better at getting it. There was no shame in that, he decided, provided that what one wanted was a good thing.

But he would never, he vowed as his eyes drifted shut, never mock the House of Hufflepuff again.

---

*"He loves me; he loves me not; he loves me..." Apologies again for the notoriously fallible Google Translate!

A/N: I know, I know, it's been forever! Once again I apologize; the last two months has been jam-packed. Buuuut I've finally finished my big final paper (twenty-four pages, if you can believe it!) and am free until summer classes start in two weeks. So, an update for you.

I have also heard your requests for more Remadora; although I wasn't able to do so in this chapter, the next (which will be a full moon chapter) should hopefully include a little more romance.

Please review! Pax et bonum! –FFcrazy15