On Saturday afternoon, I found myself sitting across from Malfoy at a table in The Three Broomsticks who was sipping on a tall glass of butterbeer. Of course, Hermione and Ron were sitting at that same table to my right, and next to Malfoy was the reason he was even with us i.e. Abigail Silversmith, but his was the only presence I could pay any attention to.

Even as we were entering the pub earlier, Malfoy's white-blond hair was the very first thing I noticed. If Abigail hadn't coerced us into joining her fellow Slytherin at his table then, I probably would've done it myself. I've decided to blame this affinity to Malfoy on the cursed piano; if it wasn't for that atrocious thing, Malfoy would still be Draco sodding Malfoy, arrogant Slytherin git. Now it just felt like sixth year all over again. Fuck you, piano.

Except for Hermione and Abigail's catching up, our table was a dark blob of awkwardness amidst the warm and crowded pub. Ron was listening to the girls' conversation with more focus than he gave in classes, and would occasionally drop in a line or two. Malfoy had a hint of pink in his pale and pointy face that I know for a fact was never there before, and was glancing around the room uncomfortably between sips of butterbeer. Whereas I was… Oh Merlin, I was just staring at him shamelessly.

I drained my glass of butterbeer. Fuck you, piano.

It wasn't long until the awkwardness became too much to bear and we had to disperse, although not before receiving merit from McGonagall who had just arrived and had noticed the unlikeliest group of all seated in a corner of the pub.

Malfoy was absent from dinner one evening. I took a moment to notice that Abigail wasn't there, either. My heart then started hammering in my chest.

"Harry, can you do me a favour?" Hermione appeared out of nowhere.

"Hermione! Both Malfoy and Abigail aren't here!" I struggled to contain the panic in my voice.

Her eyes glanced over to the Slytherin table. "Well, I was going to meet up with Abigail in the library, but I forgot I have detention with Professor Vector after dinner. I was just asking if you wouldn't mind terribly going to the library and telling her I'm sorry for me."

I calmed down considerably. "Oh, so she's waiting for you in the library?"

"Yea, I decided to pick up our old arrangement and tutor her again," then she lowered her voice, "I don't know how we're gonna win her over, but we've got to."

I nodded. Hermione reminded me to bring my homework with me before we parted at the door.

When I arrived at the library, I caught again the sight of Malfoy's marvellous head of hair. I had to physically shake that last remark out of my head before I could remember why I was in the library. But I found Abigail sitting at the same table as Malfoy. I took a deep breath and marched forward.

"Abigail." I grabbed her attention from the parchment she was writing on. It took all my inner strength to ignore Malfoy, who had looked up at the sound of my voice.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she answered, giving me a polite smile. I noticed for the first time how small she really was.

"Hermione said she's sorry; she'd forgotten about her detention with Professor Vector after dinner," I paused, and added as an afterthought, "so I told her I could come in her stead."

I just really wanted to get Malfoy away from her. Perhaps my presence there would suffice to make it happen.

Abigail's tone was still polite, "I see you've brought your homework. Perhaps you two can collaborate on it?" she gestured between Malfoy and me.

I gritted my teeth to stop my jaw from dropping.

"Ha ha, that's hilarious, Smith," Malfoy's nonchalant tone seemed to ease me a bit, "I'm getting an early night." He gathered up his things and left.

I couldn't stop myself from eyeing his retreating back.

"Shame. That would've been fun to watch," her voice pulled me back into the library.

In the next few minutes, I began to wonder what Hermione could be tutoring her on. Abigail wasn't falling behind in any of her subjects. In fact, she understood them better than I did when I was in her year. Soon my attention was entirely on my own assignments.

I rolled up the last of my parchments before turning my attention back to Abigail. She noticed and said, "I just have a few more inches to go. You don't have to stay. Thank you, Harry."

I had wanted to excuse myself earlier, but something stopped me. As I watched her do her homework on a large piece of parchment, writing with a tall quill, it seemed to me like she had become much smaller in the last week. If I hadn't been in the unused room with the cursed piano when she had basically destroyed it with pure magic, I would never have believed that this small person had sworn allegiance to Voldemort and that she had returned to her old school for an assassination.

So I told her, "it's alright, I want to stay. In case you need any more help with that," before proceeding to pretend to read a boring-looking book she had on the table.

It was almost maddening how deceiving her appearances could be. From where I was sitting, Abigail was an easily impressed, harmless little girl who spoke politely and had a healthy thirst for knowledge. Were sixth-years always that childlike?

I blinked. It suddenly occurred to me. She was doing magic! She was projecting a false image of herself to steer away attention from the young witch who had taken up the Dark Mark and had come here to murder her once best friend! I mean, a lot of people, all the time, pretend to be someone they're not, but the way Abigail was doing it was something else. Her mask was so readily acceptable.

I watched her even more closely, hoping I would catch a glimpse of the face that might have been beneath the cloak that night in the piano room, perhaps a younger version of those eyes that were the fathomless pits into eternity and back?

A few moments later, she abruptly stopped writing. I had to stop myself from clutching my chest.

"Say, Harry," her voice held no detectable emotion.

I only hummed, fearing I might stutter or slur my response otherwise.

"Have you ever broken a promise?"

I almost sighed in great relief. I barely hid my grin as I lied, "Yeah. I felt bad about it, sure, but eventually things just worked themselves out, and then it didn't even matter," for I could not, at that moment, recall on such a thing. If I had thought on it a moment longer, I would find something like it anyway, surely.

When she spoke again, I thought I saw the weight of the World resting on her shoulders. "In our House, one of the most important rules is to promise only what you're prepared to deliver. We must consider absolutely everything before we give anyone our word."

I didn't have enough time to consider this to give any reply before she cleared her throat and said that she was grateful for my help and bid me a good evening.

So either Malfoy dies, or she will. What is it with these purebloods and their stupid rules?

Later when I told Ron and Hermione about our session in the library, Hermione's first remark was "I don't think it's a stupid rule. It's a very sound principle that everyone should have. It doesn't say much about you if you're one to break the promises you make."

Meanwhile, our plan to win over the Death Eater assassin had all but failed. Hermione was unbelievable sometimes.

"Come on, guys. Do you really think Abigail could murder someone?" Ron, too, was unbelievable sometimes. I mean, he was right there with us in the piano room that night.

In the end, we decided to keep at it anyway and try to convince Abigail that she absolutely did not want to kill her once best friend in the name of a vanquished Dark Lord.

[Author's Notes]

Oh, I am so sleep-deprived right now. Head, meet desk.

Same with previous chapters, I just typed this one up as I go. Disregard all mistakes, if you please.