The bathroom was flooded again. Draco grimaced as he lifted his feet one at a time, inspecting his drenched shoes and socks. Why he thought to visit a petulant ghost, he had no idea. Suppose he wanted to share the good news with someone, and strangely enough, he'd thought of telling her first.

"Myrtle," he chided, beginning to close all the taps. "What exactly does flooding the bathroom accomplish?"

The ghost of the girl floated above the havoc she'd reeked, sullen and morose. "I don't know," she said softly.

Draco frowned. Surely if everyone pondered long enough on their actions, they'd understand why they were doing what they were doing. Only a mental headcase wouldn't have an answer, and he was certain that Myrtle, though cranky, had retained all her mental faculties in death.

He reached for the last tap. "You must know," he insisted, turning it off.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Well… if I really think why… I suppose it's because I'm bored."

"You're bored?"

She shot him a furious glare. "You have no idea! Being a ghost is dreadfully boring, no one even comes to see me — except Peeves, but I wish he didn't."

Draco's brows furrowed giving it some thought and he tried to put himself in her shoes. "I imagine it would be boring," he said finally. "But look, I've come to see you and to share a secret."

"A secret?" gasped Myrtle, her frown turning into a conspiratorial smile.

"Father's managed to get a reduced sentence. Ten years," he announced proudly. "I got an owl from mother just an hour ago. She's most relieved, as am I…" Draco vanished the water away and then cast a drying charm on his shoes. "Azkaban is awful," he continued, "even without Dementors guarding the place."

Myrtle said nothing in response but nodded in agreement while wearing a grave expression… as if she knew… but Draco had been there and he knew. He knew he never wanted to go back. "Well," he said clearing his throat. "I just wanted to tell someone — I'm not really supposed to — but you're the only friend I have who's good at keeping a secret."

"Oh, I'd never!" she exclaimed most passionately. "I'll always keep your secrets, Draco."

He pursed his lips, a little embarrassed at the way she was gushing at him. "Anyway, I'd better go—"

"You're leaving already?" she winced. "You just got here."

"Well I meant to come earlier, after dinner, but I was hiding out in an alcove on the second floor reading this book and I lost track of time." He opened his bag and retrieved the copy of The Great Gatsby. "It's not bad," he shrugged, "for a Muggle author… I KNOW!" he exclaimed. "How about I bring you some books so you're not always bored?"

"I don't like books," wailed Myrtle suddenly, her translucent arms waving about as she began to cry. "I c-can't read them."

He scoffed. "Course you can. You were in Ravenclaw weren't you?"

Still crying she admonished, "But I c-can't hold the b-book."

Draco sighed. He hadn't really thought of that. He just assumed that if ghosts could go around playing pranks and upsetting the castle, they could very well pick things up. "Tell you what," he said placatingly, "I'll read a book and then tell you the story."

"Oh…" She gave one last sniff, her features smoothing out into a neutral expression. "I suppose that would be nice; I am awfully bored…"

He gave her one nod, tucking The Great Gatsby back in his bag.

"Well wait," she said weakly as he turned to leave. "What's that one about, the one you're reading now?"

"Not sure," he admitted. "It's a bit odd. It's about this bloke, Nick Carraway. He's just moved to New York to work in something called the bond business — I don't know what a bond is — probably some Muggle thing. Stole this from Hermione Granger." Myrtle's face twisted into an ugly grimace as if she'd just been fed lemons. "What?" demanded Draco. "Don't worry, I'll pick a different book, this one won't suit you."

"I don't like her. She says rude things about me behind my back."

His lips curled. "Figures," he sneered. "No one else can live up to the perfect and unrealistic expectations of the Great Hermione Granger. What she say about you then?"

Myrtle pursed her lips in a womanly way that made her seem scornful and bitter. "It doesn't matter, she's a stupid witch. I don't know why people think she's smart."

"Well—"

"She isn't!" growled Myrtle, her features angry in her confidence. "Does a smart witch turn herself into a cat?"

Draco's brows furrowed, his eyes searching the ghost before him eagerly. "Are you telling me she's an Animagus?"

Myrtle gave a tinkering, mocking laugh. "No," she giggled covering her mouth with her hand to hide her grin. "She put cat hair into a Polyjuice potion once and turned herself into a cat!"

His eyes widened, his mouth agape. "No," he said in awe. "You mean she was—"

"Half cat, half-human!" cried Myrtle with exquisite glee. "I wish you could've seen. She had a tail and was covered from head to toe in fur!"

Draco burst out laughing. The picture came to him so easily and now that he'd imagined it, he couldn't un-imagine it. Granger all furry with a fluffy tail. This information would definitely be of use to him.

"It's funny isn't it?" said Myrtle, clearly happy to have made him laugh.

"It's hilarious," he replied truthfully. "She's already got a bushy head, figures she'd have a bushy tail."

Myrtle laughed. "I was thinking," she said, "could you get The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle? They're comics and they're rather funny."

"Sure," he shrugged. "Catch you later, Myrtle."

Before he closed the door, he caught her grinning at him, clearly happy at the prospect of doing something other than haunting the girls' bathroom.

With a sigh, he turned down the corridor back to his dormitory. It was late again and he chided himself for being out past curfew for a second night in a row. His mother had warned Draco that the slightest transgression during his time at Hogwarts could land him in a cell next to his father. McGonagall, if Draco were caught, might suspect that his late-night stroll was for a nefarious purpose. No one would believe that he'd lost track of time reading a Muggle book and gone to visit Moaning Myrtle. A lie would sound better…

Still preoccupied trying to come up with a believable lie, Draco almost didn't hear the footsteps coming up as he was descending the stairs to the dungeons. In a moment of panic, he backtracked keeping his feet as light as possible. Then he hid behind a nearby statue, pressing his body up against the back wall.

The footsteps grew louder and louder, a small light appearing up from the stairway. With bated breath Draco waited, praying that, whoever it was, wouldn't notice him. The light grew brighter still till he saw who it was. He watched as Hermione Granger passed him wearing nothing but a silk nightgown. She had no chance of seeing Draco; her features were set in quiet meditation, nothing short of a troll would've captured her attention.

With a sigh of relief, he stepped out of the shadows and back on his path. It was only once he had showered and was safely tucked in his bed did he wonder what on earth she had been doing in the dungeons at this time dressed like that. It was peculiar, even for her. Trying not to disturb the others who were all fast asleep by the time he'd gotten back, he closed the curtains around his four-poster and lit the tip of his wand. Opening The Great Gatsby he resumed his research. The quicker he finished, the better. It was only a matter of time before he'd have to return the book and if he wanted to learn about Hermione Granger, he'd have to get inside her mind.

After ten minutes or so, his lids were growing heavy. He rubbed his eyes, flipping through the book. He had yet to pinpoint anything special that would reveal something of her to him… perhaps there was nothing in it that would—

He froze, his finger running over the inside cover page. It was an inscription he had missed.

To my darling little girl,

May your life be full of love and laughter,

And your shelves be full of books.

Happy birthday,

From your Dear Ol' Dad

Carefully he closed the book and set it on his bedside table. Extinguishing the light on his wand, he turned on his side, beginning to smile a sleepy, content smile. For he was certain to slumber deeply that night, knowing that it wasn't a book of hers that he held hostage, but something of much more importance.

Though he had been the last to sleep, he was also the first Slytherin in his room to rise. The room was dark as it always was, and Draco had recently begun craving for a window. These stone walls were rather suffocating. Without wasting time, he got out of bed moving toward the only desk in the far corner of the room. Lighting the nearby lamp he sat down. He had a plan in mind, a brilliant one… far more thought out than his last.

An apology… Draco had to write one and he had never done so before. In fact, his entire life, he couldn't remember having apologized for anything. So it was strange that when he put quill to parchment the words just seemed to flow.

Dear Hermione,

I deeply apologize for upsetting you in the library yesterday. A fight was never my intention. My anger got the better of me, as I'm sure it got the better of you. I know I deserve your hostility, but I think I am also deserving of forgiveness if only you'd give me the chance to show you.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

P.S I took the liberty of borrowing your book. If you'd like it back meet me at the Chess Club at Hogsmeade tomorrow evening. I'll be there at 6pm. The password is 'Knights of the round table'. You'll need it to gain entry.

He re-read the letter and found it satisfactory; as far as letters of apology went, it seemed a good one. Draco stood from the desk quickly, anxious to owl the letter. He left the room in such a haste that he knocked the ink all over the floor with his school bag.

"Oi," grumbled Blaise. "What in the..." He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the bright light of the lamp. "What you doing up so early mate?"

"Nothing," he shrugged grabbing a few clothes from his trunk. "See you at breakfast." And with that he closed the door, heading toward the showers. After that stunt Blaise pulled, Draco knew the Slytherin couldn't be trusted with any information. The less he divulged about his plans with Hermione the better. His position as Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team was at stake, never mind his reputation…

Not thirty minutes later, Draco was holding his nose… literally. The Owlery was filthy and he loathed coming up here. Several owls blinked at him as he sneered his disgust. His own was a creature of cleanliness; an exotic African grass owl. His father had chosen her. He liked to collect unique birds… or at least he used to. The Ministry had tried to confiscate his peacocks but mother had managed to dissuade them.

Savanna gave a small hoot as she spotted Draco. He held out the letter for her to take while petting her head gently. She gave another hoot. "Hermione Granger," he told her while giving her a treat. "Thanks."

Savanna gave a little bow of her head and flew off. It was only a matter of time before the Gryffindor would sit down to breakfast and receive his letter. It was more formal this way, and Draco had to admit, he lacked the courage to hand it over to her in person.

He watched his owl for a moment before he turned to leave, his empty stomach leading him to the Great Hall.

By the time he made his way downstairs, the large room was filled with students. He ignored the stares, the quiet murmurs and whispering. Draco found that he was getting used to the distasteful looks that others gave him, but as he took a seat on the far corner of the Slytherin table, away from everyone else, he looked around and realized that something was different today… his fellow housemates were the ones scowling at him.

He picked up his fork and knife, digging the tines into his eggs and toast. Usually he tried not to make eye contact. He learned that if he ignored people, they usually started to ignore him too… but as he glanced up, dragging his gaze away from his plate, he also caught a few Gryffindors outwardly staring.

Draco swallowed uneasily.

Several copies of the daily prophet were laid out on the tables. Trying to act nonchalant, he reached over for a copy that someone had left a few seats over. With slow, calm movements he looked the front page over. Another Death Eater had been caught, hiding out somewhere in Romania. It wasn't a name Draco was familiar with, nor did it seem like news that would warrant so much attention on him. Slowly, with the pretense of taking his time, he flipped to the next page.

And there it was.. the thing that would surely get Draco killed.

LUCIUS MALFOY TURNED INFORMANT

And then below that, a long list of names which his father had provided the Ministry with, along with sufficient evidence for arrest and conviction. Among that list, between Liam Kent and Casandra Blue, number thirteen…

Reginald Parkinson