The Blood of Innocence

12:03 p.m., April 4

"Ready to lose Ced?" Harry challenged the Hufflepuff seeker as the two began to encircle each other on the Quidditch pitch.

"You've had such an impressive run that I'm almost sad I have to break your streak," Cedric returned with a self-assured smile.

Harry sniffed haughtily, a habit of Draco's that he admittedly was picking up. "In your dreams, Golden Boy," he taunted. Cedric replied with a glistening-white grin — a magically amplified one, Harry would bet his broom on that.

Harry closed his eyes and focused on the flow of the spring breeze about him. He savored in the fresh scent of the open air, relished in the rustling of his hair, and then centered the currents of power coursing through him and his Nimbus conduit. Daily meditation with his broom, though a source of teasing from Graham and Miles, made the serpentine-aerial meld of Gaunt and Potter powers far easier to achieve than when he first utilized it in his January match against Valerius.

"Falling asleep on me already Har?" Cedric teased.

Harry had watched Cedric wield his tongue as a weapon of distraction against Cormac in February's Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. Cormac, to his credit, kept his vocal engagement to a minimum. But Cedric appeared to have a gift for projecting his voice over the noise around them, and he somehow managed to keep full awareness of his surroundings while mercilessly wearing down his opponent. The display almost inspired Harry to learn to project a wandless Muffliato around himself, until Draco reminded him it would hinder his own ability to hear the snitch's movements.

Professor Quirrell suggested attuning the Amplio Auditus spell to a specific sound, such as the distinct flutter of a snitch. However, though he had begun practicing it, Harry believed it would be a while before he mastered the ability with a wand — much less without one.

"Awww, my favorite Slytherin doesn't want to talk to me?" Cedric complained in a tone that seemed to mask an underlying hurt. Harry instinctively turned around before he realized the cleverness of the trick.

"I'll cast a Silencio on you," Harry threatened the smiling Hufflepuff.

"That's against the rules, Har," Cedric answered with a wink. "Too bad you gave away your wand on that trick, pardon the expression."

"As if you're not using magic," Harry grumbled to the sound of melodious laughter. However, fighting the urge to snicker along gave him an epiphany. He might not be skilled enough to temper the sound of Cedric's voice without compromising his ability to hear the snitch. But he certainly could use occlumency to negate the magical influence in Cedric's words.

Harry sniffed and closed his eyes again, imagining Halogi slithering about him to obscure distractions while summoning memories of meditations with Hedwig to spread his awareness.

"You know, I never took you for the meditation type," Cedric commented.

"You'll find I'm full of surprises," Harry returned as he sank deeper into his headspace.

"Star Wars, right?" Cedric recognized.

Only when Cedric pointed it out did Harry recall the quote had indeed come from Star Wars, one of the filthy piglet's favorite movie series. Especially when he'd play "Maul" with a broom, always making sure to strike Harry's ribs with both ends before ramming the head into his gut, chest, or jaw. Much to the amusement of the boar and the bitch.

"Something like that," Harry sighed.

He could tell Cedric deduced this to be a sensitive subject. However, instead of pressing the clear advantage, the Hufflepuff stayed silent.

Very kind of him, Harry thought to himself as his appreciation for Cedric increased. He, of course, took the opportunity to fully immerse himself in a mental framework that would dilute Cedric's influence for the duration of the match. Not that the Hufflepuff didn't resume his tactics after the brief lull in their conversation.

"Do you ever get tired of talking?" Harry huffed fifteen minutes into the match.

"He huffs and he puffs, will he blow the pitch down?" Cedric questioned.

"Will you stop with the muggle rhymes!" Harry shouted in frustration, his tenuous grip on occlumency shattering. How Molly Prewett Weasley had taught her students so much of muggle culture flummoxed Harry, since her families ranked among the twenty-eight "purest" in Europe according to the illustrious Cantankerous Nott.

"You're cute when you're flustered," Cedric complimented with a glorious grin worthy of a Witch Weekly cover.

"Um—uh—what?" Harry sputtered as his cheeks burned. "I'm eleven!"

"Of course you are," Cedric returned while flipping his hair so that the windswept, golden waves caught the sun at an angelic angle…

Harry shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Embarrassingly, he didn't know whether he was being teased or if the most handsome wizard at the school was flirting with him. But as Cedric suddenly zoomed past him, Harry realized that his confusion had been the point.

"Language!" Cedric called out when a cussing Harry followed his pursuit of the snitch.

Harry's superior broom, his better-developed connection to its energy flow and greater talent for aerial magic helped close the gap. Even so, the Slytherin realized that unless he did something drastic, his two-second delay would cost him the match…and far more.

"We're going to fix your parents," he promised Neville four days ago. "Because I know where the Sorcerer's Stone is."

But Harry required a way to get past the cerberus, and for that he needed help from a wizard who both knew what he was up against and wouldn't raise Dumbledore's suspicion. However, procuring discretion from this wizard meant losing to Cedric was not an option.

With Cedric five meters from the snitch and closing, Harry enveloped his magic around and about the broom so that it became an extension of him. A fifth limb, and the only one that mattered. Then, with all of his might, he lurched the rear of the broom upward so that he would sail through the air…

And seize the snitch!

Harry flashed Cedric a cheeky grin as the Hufflepuff's face of victory morphed into pure shock. Giving a two-fingered salute, Harry let himself fall for three seconds before catching himself with his broom and rocketing upward toward the rest of his team.

"Braggart," Cassius laughed after Harry performed an upside down loop so as to return to a vertical posture.

"All for you!" Harry told the Slytherin chaser while giving a performative bow, to which Cassius just rolled his then-violet eyes.

5:54 p.m.

"Hiya Ernie!" Harry called out as he caught his friend making his way up the stairs from the Hufflepuff dormitory toward the Reception Hall.

The Hufflepuff in question harrumphed, but continued his ascent of the spiraling staircase as Harry emerged from the shadows and joined him.

"You enjoy the show?" Harry asked good-naturedly.

"Show-off is more like it," Ernie grumbled.

"Well, who said I can't have a bit of fun?" Harry said in a faux-humble tone. "Maybe in the future, you'll bet on me. But if I remember correctly, you didn't, so…"

"What dost thou want?" Ernie huffed as they entered the Reception Hall through a side door.

"The dog," Harry whispered with unmoving lips.

Ernie reached toward his pocket in an effort to grab his wand before Harry stopped him. "Privacy bubbles draw attention. Do you remember the dog?"

Ernie nodded.

"Find out how to get past it, tell no one but me," Harry instructed.

"Why now…"

"Wasn't the deal a 'no-questions-asked favor'?" Harry reminded.

"Fine," Ernie muttered as the pair walked toward the center of the Reception Hall.

Harry nudged Ernie's shoulder, and within seconds they were bantering as eleven year-old friends from different Houses would, without a hint of conspiracy.

12:02 p.m., April 14

"Tony!" Harry greeted as he sat at the Ravenclaw table beside Oliver.

"Malfoy's let you stray this far from him?" Tony asked smugly from across the table.

"Happy Tuesday to you too," Harry muttered.

He could already see it. Draco would give him an earful about abandoning him to the "droll dunderheads" known as Crabbe and Goyle. Harry would suggest calling them by their first names, Draco would say they can't remember their first names. Harry would point out that he could sit with the second years, but Draco would counter that it was no fun being the fifth wheel in a conversation, and round and round they'd go until Professor Sprout would humiliate one or both of them by asking them a question she knew they didn't know the answer to.

"Just don't get into a lovers' spat with him in Herbology," Oliver teased, as if he could read Harry's mind. Harry simply stuck his tongue out in response.

"Aww, you two are so cute! And here I thought I was your favorite Ravenclaw," Tony whined.

"You still can be," Harry assured in a promising tone, while making a spectacle of ignoring Oliver's look of mock-hurt. "A few days ago, Neville asked me to ask if someone can teach him to play the harp, so that he can join the school orchestra."

"What makes you think I know how to play the harp?" Tony asked as if he'd never boasted that he could "play any instrument."

Two can play that game, Harry decided.

"Um…Star of David? I just thought…" the Slytherin shrugged.

"Oh, because I'm a Jew, I know how to play the harp?" Tony questioned while giving his harshest glare.

Harry met it with an unblinking stare and held it for a minute until Tony folded.

"Fine, fine, I know how to play the harp…don't laugh, you pongo," Tony grumbled as Harry snickered. "But what makes you think I can teach Neville of all people?"

Harry held back a sigh. He didn't appreciate how callous and dismissive everyone acted toward the youngest Gryffindor. But playing into this contempt would help his partner-in-crime fly under the radar.

"Think about it. If you can teach him, then you can teach anybody," Harry proposed. "If Professor Flitwick sees that, you'll be in the running for band—jeez, orchestra—captain by your fourth year."

"That's a good point," Tony pondered.

"It'd mean a lot to him, but don't tell him I gave you the idea," Harry said softly.

In actuality, he had already told Neville to expect Anthony to approach him about something, but neither what nor explicitly why.

7:37 p.m., April 18

"I'm hopeless at potions!" Neville wailed as he slumped his head into his Potions textbook.

"No, Professor Snape just isn't a good teacher," Harry tried to assure his friend as they spent their Saturday evening in the library. Though Harry had completed his own assignments alongside Hermione the previous evening, he felt Neville deserved someone to work with.

"Think about it, you're the best in our year at Herbology," Harry pointed out. "With your encyclopedic knowledge of plants, I'll bet you can guess the properties of most potions just by looking at the ingredients alone."

Neville's face remained buried in his textbook.

"Let's try. This potion I'm about to tell you about will be on the exam," Harry introduced as he opened the Compendium of the Blazing Doe and the Half-Blood Prince. "It's made from lavender, Valerian sprigs and the mucus of a Flobberworm. What do you think the potion does?"

"I don't know," Neville moaned.

"Tell me about the ingredients individually," Harry suggested. "What do you know about them?"

Neville stayed silent for over a minute, but he eventually rose to the challenge.

"Well, l-lavender calms me down whenever I smell it. Sometimes if I'm really w-worried about something, I sleep with a small lavender plant beside my pillow," he revealed.

Harry nodded, which encouraged the Gryffindor to continue.

"Valerian roots have been used for numbing pain and curing sleeplessness since Ancient Hellas," Neville explained the second ingredient. "And flobberworms…they're very peaceful. Don't bother anybody, just relax in the sun and eat lettuce and cabbage."

"Alright. So what type of potion do you think you could make by putting those three ingredients together?" Harry asked.

Neville's confidence waned and his shoulders slumped, but Harry patiently held eye contact until the Gryffindor offered an answer.

"Well…to be honest, I d-don't think you could do too much besides making something to h-help someone sleep," Neville said.

"You're guess is exactly right!" Harry congratulated. "The potion is the Sleeping Draught."

Neville beamed.

"See, you're far from 'hopeless' at potions," Harry stated. "In fact, I think you could easily be in the top five in our class."

Neville looked at him dubiously.

"I have a challenge for you," Harry declared as he flipped through the Compendium to a specific page he'd been mulling over for weeks. "You see this potion right here?"

"Polyjuice," Neville affirmed.

"Do you know what it does?" Harry asked.

"Y-yes. It's what you used to wear Ron's face," Neville recognized.

"How did you know that was me, by the way? I never asked," Harry inquired.

"You felt like you. You just l-looked like Ron, talked like him a bit, but I knew it was you," Neville answered with a shrug.

Harry considered this. He generally could sense his close friends, as well as fiends such as Nott and Higgs, whenever they approached him from behind. So did it stand to reason Neville could "see" through Polyjuice? Certainly. But if Neville could do this, then so could the Headmaster — and likely from across the school, given how Dumbledore sensed the Dementor attack on Halloween without a single visual clue.

With this, Harry knew he would need a way to conceal his and Neville's auras on the day of their heist. Even so, a physical disguise could still prove useful against most other wizards.

"I want you to see if you can make the Polyjuice Potion," Harry tasked. "I'll bet you can get most of the ingredients from your family's greenhouses. But if not, let me know if there's any item I should…find…for you."

Neville gaped like a fish out of water.

"If you need help, Hermione's absolutely brilliant at potions. Everything actually, but especially potions," Harry provided. "Don't tell anyone I said this, but she really wants the chance to prove herself. Most wizards here overlook her since she doesn't have a posh surname that goes back ten generations. But if she got the opportunity to make the Polyjuice Potion as a first year, well…"

"O-okay, I'll ask her," Neville agreed.

"Remember to be quiet about this. No one else can know," Harry reminded. "Also, is Tony giving you harp lessons?"

"Yes, but…" Neville started.

"Remember, some wizards here can read minds, and they don't always ask for permission," Harry interjected. "I'll tell you why when the time's right, but for now I'm just going to ask you to trust me."

"Alright, I trust you," Neville confirmed.

7:11 p.m., April 19

"Harry!" Oliver called out as Harry walked out of the Great Hall alongside Draco.

Giving Draco a signal to continue on ahead, one which the elder Slytherin reluctantly acquiesced to, Harry lingered to allow Oliver to catch up with him.

"Everything alright?" he asked the apparently distressed Ravenclaw.

"I…is there a place we can talk privately?" Oliver whispered. Harry inwardly winced at being asked that in an open space, but fortunately the wizards walking through the intermediary chamber between the Great Hall and Reception Hall were either engrossed in conversation or eager to digest their Sunday dinner in the comfort of their dorms.

Harry nodded and made a left toward the Grand Staircase as they entered the Reception Hall. As only Hufflepuffs used a different staircase to return to their dormitories after a meal, Harry projected the appearance of a normal walk between friends by asking questions about Oliver's weekend.

Harry led them up the Grand Staircase three levels, completely normal for a student walking to Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. However, after making sure they were in no one's line of sight, Harry abruptly dragged Oliver to the corridor on the right-hand side.

Harry led his friend down the forsaken hallway until they were surrounded by uncared for statues of forgotten wizards.

"I'm worried about my uncle," Oliver blurted out.

"What's wrong?" Harry whispered back as his heart skipped a beat. He had noticed Professor Quirrell's absence from the head table since Saturday brunch, but he had thought the professor was simply attending to some personal business outside of Hogwarts.

"He's worried about his health exam," Oliver whispered in turn. "For your wardship, the Wizengamot will schedule a thorough examination, and, well, he said he was seeing a specialist to make sure he will pass."

"But he's in perfect health…right?" Harry asked with gnawing dread.

"I don't know," Oliver murmured. "My mom and him aren't very close, but I remember she worried about him during his sabbatical last year. Especially during his time in Albania."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"I—I don't really know," Oliver shook his head. "Actually, I shouldn't be talking about this. He told me not to tell you. He doesn't want you to worry."

"I won't tell anyone what you've said," Harry assured while putting a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "And I promise, everything's going to turn out fine. I'll do everything in my power to make sure it will."

Yet another reason to take the old crackpot's precious stone, Harry decided. I just have to make sure I'm not too obvious about my planning sessions with Neville, so the dear Headmaster doesn't catch on. Or, Merlin-forbid, Nott.

6:15 a.m., April 20

"You're tense bruv," Harry observed as he watched his Dragon-insignia snitch flutter into the Monday morning air of the Quidditch Training Pitch.

"Easy for you to say," Cormac retorted. "Your season's over. But my whole Quidditch career lies on the next game!"

"Your captain isn't going to throw you off the team, and certainly not off your broom mid-pitch if you lose to Valerius, no matter what he claimed," Harry assured. "Besides, this is your first year. Don't forget, Cedric lost most of his matches last year."

"He won against Slytherin," Cormac pointed out.

"You're a better flier than Higgs," Harry stated. "And no, I'm not just saying that because he's filthier than a muggle turd. You've got real talent on the broom. You just need to believe in yourself…or believe in yourself again, I should say."

"If you say so," Cormac replied noncommittally.

"Well, the snitch won't just fly into our hands!" Harry challenged while shaking the Nimbus he held upright in his left hand. "Ready on three?"

"Three!" Cormac called out while he thrust his broom into the air and mounted it with an Olympics-worthy leap.

"And they call me the show off," Harry muttered while coordinating a small jump with the takeoff of his Nimbus 2000 so as to follow his fellow seeker.

8:01 a.m.

"See, you beat me a few times!" Harry congratulated with a fist bump as the two seekers dismounted from their brooms. "If we continue practicing the mornings we're free, you'll win your Ravenclaw match. I'll even bet on you."

"Sure you're up for that bud?" Cormac asked as he handed Harry's snitch back. "You don't want to take advantage of only having practice three days a week now?"

"I love the morning air and I live for flying," Harry answered. "And if I'm helping a friend, well, I guess that's alright too."

"Pecker," Cormac muttered, before seizing Harry's forearm and hurtling him through the air.

"Ugh," Harry groaned when he hit the ground. "Nice Flipendo. But don't forget who can sic a king cobra on you."

"Ha, they do say nothing's friendly with snakes," Cormac drawled.

Harry nearly rejoined with a cheeky quip, but the precise phrasing reminded him of his first conversation with the older Gryffindor.

"Hey," Harry asked as a sudden thought came to him. "You remember how you told me powerful wizards could sense specific people without seeing them?"

"Yes, but you already do that…" Cormac pointed out in a confused tone.

"Of course I do. I'm Harry James Potter, the last legacy of Godric Gryffindor," Harry returned cockily as they started out of the training pitch. "But how do you hide yourself from another wizard who can do that?"

"Well, Gryffindor-reject, if you were half as great as you think you are, you'd probably know a dozen spells to help you with that," Cormac snarked.

"Touché," Harry muttered. "Let's say I'm a first year who was raised by muggle filth—don't give me that look, you wouldn't be a pureblood if your family loved muggles—how do I with my limited powers hide from wizards far more powerful than myself?"

"Well, Potter, you'd use your cloak," Cormac responded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What?"

"Oh come on, you know what I'm talking about," Cormac insisted.

"I'm not Batman," Harry sighed.

"Who?"

"If you're not going to be helpful…" Harry scowled.

"Wait…you don't have it?" Cormac questioned with a bewildered expression.

"Have what?" Harry quiered.

"Your family cloak?" Cormac supplied. "It's one of the most legendary relics of all time. More than a few wizards have tried their wand at seizing it from your lineage…"

"Any of those wizards related to you, perchance?" Harry drawled.

"Not the point," Cormac cut off with a sudden flush. "Anyway, the Cloak of Midnight is supposed to hide you from anything. Spells, runes, wards, you name it. It's why despite the warrior's life many of your forefathers lived, they all lived to a ripe old age. Until your father, that is."

Icy dread spread through Harry at the thought of losing such a precious heirloom.

"Hey, don't worry," Cormac comforted while putting a hand on his shoulder. "It might be in your vault. It's common practice to store a family's most sacred treasures there in times of crisis."

But who had access to my vault for ten whole years? Harry bitterly remembered as his hatred from Dumbledore grew. In fact, maybe the old crackpot raided my vault to pay his pet vermin off while he took a war orphan's birthright for himself.

In a sudden moment of clarity, Harry understood why Crucio was invented.

"—arry? Harry!" Cormac shouted. Snapping back to the present, Harry noticed a frigid gust swirling about him.

"Oh, sorry," the Slytherin apologized as he relinquished his power. "I…sorry about that. It wasn't you. It's just…never mind."

The two walked in silence up to the castle doors.

"Voldemort wrecked a lot, didn't he?" Cormac reflected.

"Yah, Voldemort," Harry verbally agreed as they walked inside.

But frankly, between his own experiences and the dreams he had of Tom Marvolo Riddle, Harry was starting to wish the Dark Lord lived to strike down the esteemed Albus Brian Wulfric Percival Dumbledore ten Halloweens ago.

2:00 a.m., April 22

"He's in here," Harry told Pansy as he opened the door to the Owlery for the both of them.

"Come, Halogi," Harry beckoned to his king cobra in English, ensuring not a hint of his Parseltongue abilities revealed itself. "We have a guest."

"My troth," Pansy gasped. "The whispers were true! You have tamed a serpent."

"Alexander the Great was barely older than me when he tamed the greatest stallion in Ancient Greece," Harry downplayed. "It's all about recognizing them as living beings with feelings, just like you and I. If you're friendly with Halogi, he will return your kindness."

Through their spiritual bond, Harry encouraged Halogi to slither toward Pansy in an inviting manner.

"I've never seen a king cobra that long," Pansy admired the fifteen-foot specimen.

"Few are," Harry confirmed. Considering Halogi's youth, Harry believed he would grow near the 18.8-foot Guinness World Record for his species, if not surpass it. "You know a fair bit about snakes."

"In centuries past, many Slytherins made a contest over who could tame the largest serpent," Pansy explained.

"Makes sense," Harry figured. "Alright, I've shown you my snake. You said you know where I can find a vanishing cloak?"

"Straight to business?" Pansy pouted. "It's such a nice night? Don't you want to talk, under the stars?" she asked while fluttering her jade-colored eyes.

Despite the cool night air, Harry found his body warming as if he had just jumped into the Corvinus spa.

"Well, um, we are…talking?" Harry stammered out, gulping as Pansy's face drew close to his.

"You're such a boy," Pansy sighed sweetly, her cinnamon breath wafting over his lips. Harry's mind instantly replayed the first and only kiss he'd had, the one Pansy gave him after he won his first Quidditch match.

As Pansy leaned forward, Harry became distinctly aware that Halogi was not the only snake paying attention to the Parkinson heiress.

"Warrington," Pansy whispered into Harry's ear.

"Uh…what?" Harry sputtered in shock as Pansy drew away.

"His family has quite a penchant for vanishing magic, didn't he tell you?" Pansy asked coyly. "Oh, boys. Whatever would you do without me?"

11:43 p.m., April 30

"Okay, okay, you can come along if you stay quiet," Harry hissed at Draco after a brief bickering session at the Slytherin dormitory threshold. How his best mate had followed him the precise minute he left their room, Harry didn't know. But he wasn't willing to risk a protracted argument right outside the common space of their House.

Draco gave a victorious pose while Harry draped the invisibility shroud loaned from Cassius over the both of them.

"Now I shall see what you are plotting with Longbottom!" Draco declared.

"A friendly reminder that this shroud doesn't mute our voices, it only makes us invisible and masks our soul signatures," Harry reprimanded. "And I'm not plotting anything with Neville. It's possible, you know, to study with a friend without ulterior motives."

"Study. With Longbottom," Draco drawled incredulously.

"He's top of our class in Herbology," Harry reminded. "And he has a good head on his shoulders."

Draco sniffed scornfully.

"Peacock," Harry grumbled.

"Poxy," Draco retorted.

The blond however mercifully stayed silent as Harry continued to lead them through Hogwarts' corridors and stairways, up until they walked out of the castle.

"What are we doing out here?" Draco queried.

"I need something from the Forbidden Forest," Harry informed. "Hope you can function in class off a few hours of sleep, because we might be here a while."

"Must we continue under this mantle? We've made it past the patrols," Draco complained.

"Dumbledore's awareness extends over all Hogwarts' grounds," Harry warned.

"Very well," Draco huffed. "At least the moon shines in full splendor."

"Yes it does," Harry affirmed. He mentally kicked himself when he realized how sure his voice must have sounded to Draco.

"There is a reason you brought us out here tonight of all nights," Draco realized.

"You brought yourself," Harry retorted.

"Do not attempt to deflect, Pottuh," Draco rejoined. "You need something you would find only at the full moon…fluxweed!"

Leave it to the Astronomy swot to figure me out, Harry brooded.

"Fluxweed doesn't just disappear for twenty-nine days—OW!" Harry complained as Draco twisted his ear.

"But fluxweed reaches full potency at the full moon!" Draco recalled excitedly. "Now tell me, what do you and Longbottom want with fluxweed!"

"Um…Neville's never seen one at a full moon? I thought I'd surprise him," Harry said.

"What a thoughtful birthday gift. A shame you are three months off," Draco scoffed.

At least he recognizes fluxweed from Professor Sinastra's April 1st lecture, not from potions, Harry appreciated.

"What did you promise Warrington in return for borrowing this mantle?" Draco questioned.

"Just a favor in the future," Harry shrugged.

"You indebted yourself to Warrington to pick a plant for Longbottom?" Draco quizzed.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, but Draco refused to let it slide.

"Tell me right now, or I fling this blanket off the both of us," the blond threatened.

"Okay, okay!" Harry relented. "I'm making Polyjuice. I just had Neville look up the ingredients so there'd be no record of me checking out books with the recipe."

"And so he can procure the necessary supplies I assume," Draco concluded. "What do you need Polyjuice for?"

"I might need your hair, by the way, when I use it," Harry added.

"When did you plan on informing me of your schemes to steal my identity?" Draco complained shrilly.

"Just as a disguise inside a disguise," Harry explained. "Dumbledore's hoarding a powerful artifact in this school, and I want to expose him. If I'm caught looking like you before my plan succeeds, I could pull the 'my father runs the Governors' Board' card."

"You plan to humiliate Dumbledore?" Draco asked approvingly, to which Harry nodded. "Very well. But I don't suppose you intend on sharing with me what this object is."

"You know Dumbledore and Professor Snape read minds," Harry reminded. "The less they can uncover, the better."

"Snape would never betray my trust," Draco stated confidently. "He is a friend of my family."

"But he could push me onto the train tracks," Harry countered. "He only tolerates me because I'm friends with you. He hated me before."

"You!" Snape had snarled at an infant Harry. "This is all because of you!" the Potions Master accused as he clutched the half-charred remains of Lily Potter.

"You see shadows where there are none," Draco dismissed.

"Learned from watching you," Harry rejoined.

The bickering duo continued underneath their borrowed shroud till they reached a small clearing within the ever-misty Forbidden Forest.

"Okay, now I need to focus, so zip your—ow!" Harry protested as Draco kicked his shin.

"How are you going to find fluxweed without casting magic beyond this curtain?" Draco pestered.

"I have eyes. So do you, in fact, so maybe you can be helpful for once tonight," Harry berated.

"You barely have eyes," Draco riposted.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry muttered.

Draco actually did prove rather helpful in spotting the best specimens of fluxweed, so much so that Harry nearly thanked him for inviting himself.

"Alright, I think that's all we need," Harry decided as he put a final fluxweed plant into his pouch. "Time to go. I think that way is fastest," he stated as he pointed toward a winding path amidst a cluster of gigantic trees.

"You better not get us lost Pottuh," Draco yawned.

"I'll have you know my sense of direction is immaculate," Harry boasted.

While this statement would prove true in almost any circumstance, the youngest Slytherin refused to admit that the dreadful ambience of the forest had caused him to lose track of the way they came. However, an unyielding instinct inside him led him to a small patch within a grove of towering trees.

A cool resonance settled within Harry when he reached it, but he did not see anything out of the ordinary until Draco tensed beside him. Following the direction of the silent Malfoy's stare, Harry saw a white-coated pony lying dead on its side…as a black-cloaked figure sucked silver blood from its neck.

Feeling the waves of fear emanating from his mate, Harry placed his right hand between Draco's shoulder blades and shared feelings of tranquility and peace similar to the aura of the blond's hawthorn wand. Then, reaching out with his nascent skill in Legilimency, Harry transmitted the message "he won't hurt us" into Draco's mind.

Draco, paler than usual, shot Harry a look torn between disbelief and dread. But despite the bizarre scene unfolding before them in a remote location during the witching hours of the night, Harry felt surer and stronger than he ever had. In fact, he almost started forward until the cloaked figure raised a hand.

"Do not let him detect you," a very familiar voice spoke in his mind.

"Professor?" Harry responded in shock. But a second later, the sound of galloping hooves dissipated the dozen questions forming in his mind.

"Quiet," Harry pushed into Draco's mind before stilling himself in every manner save for silent breathing. Fortunately, the Malfoy heir's martial training appeared to supply him with the same default instinct.

Moments later, a mighty stallion leapt into the small clearing and charged Professor Quirrell. However, great wizard that he was, the Defense professor easily evaded the beast and floated like a ghost away into the night.

The rider — or rather, the giant half-man whose waist started where the stallion's neck should have been — swiveled his gaze as if looking for something.

No. Someone, Harry remembered his teacher's warning.

"Harry Potter?" the centaur called out.

By the grace of Salazar, Harry swiftly and silently cast a Silencio on Draco just as the blond opened his mouth to gasp.

"Harry Potter?" the centaur repeated as he surveyed the area closely.

"Harry Potter?" the centaur called for a third time as indigo eyes gazed in Harry and Draco's direction.

You better be right about this shroud, Cass, Harry thought in a half-prayer.

A half-minute later, it appeared the Slytherin chaser was right to boast in his hereditary powers. But Harry stood frozen in place for several minutes more until he was confident the centaur had left the area. And even so, Harry and Draco made their way back to the castle silently at a snail's pace. They yet held their tongues as they walked through Hogwarts' corridors and descended her staircases.

"T-th-that wizard. He was drinking u-unicorn blood," Draco stammered when they reached the safety of the Slytherin dormitory.

"So what?" Harry responded. Sure, that looked a little unorthodox, but maybe it's a delicacy for some.

"So what!" Draco shrieked. "Only the most desperate of wizards drink such a substance. It amplifies your power and vigor, but at the cost of your dignity and sanity."

Professor Quirrell seems plenty sane to me, Harry dismissed.

"Can it…heal wizards, who are very sick?" he wondered aloud.

"For a time," Draco answered. "But there's a reason why no healer worth their title will prescribe it."

"But it can heal wizards who would die otherwise?" Harry pressed.

Draco seized Harry by the shoulders and pushed him against the nearest wall.

"Potter," he pronounced in a tone as grave as a mortician. "Promise me you will never drink the blood of a unicorn."

"I…" Harry started.

"Promise. Me. Now," Draco dictated.

"I—I promise," Harry acquiesced.

"Good," Draco accepted. "I shall not allow you to degrade into a raving reject like many a Gaunt before you. Over my stone-cold corpse."

"O-okay," Harry stammered in the face of Draco's unprecedented solemnity.

As the excitement of the night gave way to exhaustion, Draco and Harry walked to their room without another word. In his quest for a few hours of sleep, Harry forgot to perform his standard check on how many of his roommates were presently awake.

Had he done so, he would have found the answer to be two.