Chapter Four

Hearing a chuckle at my back, I twirl ungracefully to face Potter. Being caught spread-eagled and frisked wasn't the way I wanted the start of this meeting to go. I flap my hands in annoyance at the Auror, who still wants to probe me.

"How did you get here so quickly?" I say, annoyed, to Potter.

Potter shrugs. "Shortcuts. Did you want to see me or not?"

I nod, and turn towards the common room. "Come on, you'll need to be sitting down for this, and the fire is still going."

Potter snorts. "Not likely. You can tell me what's going on out here."

"We really don't have time to argue, and this is private." I say quietly, dredging up a Saint's share of patience.

He gives me a sceptical look, and I shoot him a look that hopefully shows how important this is, and that I'm not kidding around.

"Then we'll go to Gryffindor, it's safer." He says shortly, and turns on his heel. I shrug and follow, glaring at the Aurors at my back.

"Potter, are you sure you should be travelling alone with him?" Bruckley calls. "He's supposed to be in custody for..."

Her voice gets quieter and fades as we ascend and go through a door. Walking down the snaking corridor towards the entrance hall, Potter turns unexpectedly and moves behind a tapestry.

Fear strikes without warning. Did he hear something? Is he hiding? I trot behind him, shifting the tapestry aside. To my surprise, it opens to a short corridor and a thin stone staircase. Shortcuts.

Before I know it, though not before several hundred thousand flights of stairs, we're on the seventh floor, outside a portrait of a larger-than-life lady who is dozing, and which is guarded by two more Aurors, one of whom is Shacklebolt.

"Why did you bring him back here?" He questions, not angrily exactly, but he gives me a look.

"He's harmless." Potter says, and my pride feels a sting. "And he says it's private."

We're let through without further question, but Shacklebolt and Potter exchange a look that says to be careful. Even I could be an Auror at this rate, from what I've seen of their subterfuge.

After an awkward clamber through the hole behind the Portrait, I straighten up and flatten down my robes. Taking a step into the room, I gasp at the sight.

The fireplace is absolutely massive and the fire is crackling. There are large, comfy-looking chairs dotted around, and a small table in the middle of the room piled high with sandwiches and drinks. The room is circular, with a colour theme of deep red and bright gold. The total and absolute opposite to the Slytherin common room.

My eyes snap back to the food, and I can't help but push Potter to one side as I go over to it and start wolfing down the sandwiches. I had no idea how hungry I was. How long has it been since I've eaten? My stomach painfully reminds me with a constricted grumble that it's been days.

"Not to interrupt your important, private meeting with my sandwiches, but do you mind telling me what's going on that you had to see me at one o'clock in the morning?" Potter says, getting my attention back.

I draw myself up with dignity, cheeks bulging. Chewing hastily and washing it down with a gulp of steaming, sugary coffee, I face Potter once more.

"You know our... our conversation, earlier."

"In the bathroom?" Potter clarifies, making me bite back a sarcastic retort about stating the bleeding obvious.

"Well, it's not my fault, but Skeeter's going to write about us having a scandalous love affair or something because I wouldn't tell her what we were talking about and she saw me come out after you so she assumed the worst and there was nothing I could do because she used-"

"Wait." Potter puts a hand up to stop my story, which admittedly ran away with me a little bit. "Which part of this is not your fault?"

"She cornered me!" I say defensively. "It's not like I sought her out."

"What did you say to her?" He says dangerously.

"I didn't tell her anything." I snap.

"I'm not asking what you didn't tell her," Potter says, impatience evident in his expression. "What exactly did you say to her."

"I said I was just using the bathroom, and there's no story." I think back to the moment. "She dug her nails in me, and said she was going to write one anyway."

Potter's expression darkens. "Sounds like her."

"Exactly." I say, glad to have convinced him.

"What I don't understand is… what we talked about wasn't particularly important or earth-shattering. Why couldn't you tell her that?"

"If the papers had quoted me as telling tales about you, especially with Skeeter's lies, you'd have thought I'd done it out of malice." I don't add "like the old days", but it's heavily implied.

"So instead of making me mildly angry by telling Skeeter the truth, you thought to give me a heart attack by telling her nothing. I don't see why you couldn't stick with plan A."

"Firstly," I stick up a finger, "I didn't know she'd threaten me with that story. Secondly, I was trying to have some integrity about the whole thing. Thirdly, she ran off, so I couldn't even cut a bargain or blackmail her."

"You didn't run after her?" Potter accuses.

"Of course I did." I snap back.

"Then you're a bloody slow runner!" Potter says forcefully. "And tomorrow morning, it's me that's going to have to suffer because you couldn't stay out of trouble, again."

The injustice of this strikes me like a physical blow, and I draw myself up to my full height. "This mess is not my fault."

"Funny, because I'm not the one who talked to Rita Skeeter. I'm sure you're really good mates with her."

At this point I'd really like my wand back, if only to thrust it up Potter's nose. I settle with saying, "oh shut up. I shouldn't have even come and told you."

I make as if to storm past him. But he puts a hand up again, and uses the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. I wonder if he's slept.

"She'll be at the Ministry, probably all night." He says in a resigned monotone. "We'll have to go and talk to her. That's if she hasn't already told everybody her story idea. Did you see where she ran to?"

"Dunno. She was gone, vanished. Disapparated, or something." I shrug.

Potter drops his hand, and a gleam comes to his eye, a smile spreading across his face. "You can't Apparate or Disapparate inside Hogwarts."

"Well I expect the wards are broken, what with one thing and another."

"No, that's not the point. Skeeter won't publish the story, not if Pig has anything to do with it."

At this moment, I'm completely lost. Who - or what - is Pig? Must we get more people involved?

"What are you on about, Potter?" I say bluntly. No time for tact.

"It doesn't matter. I'll sort this out." He pauses, and looks at me. "I'd say thank you for telling me, but you probably did it to save your own arse, not mine."

"Exactly," I say, folding my arms again. "If this got out, you probably wouldn't even think of help-"

I snap my mouth shut, cursing myself for letting my guard down enough for that to slip out. Potter regards me with a closed off expression on his face, like he does when he's trying and failing to hide his emotions.

"You thought you'd pass this off as a favour so I'd save your arse tomorrow?"

"I don't need your help, Potter." I snap, with all the hostility I can muster. But then, it fades from me in a sigh and I'm left feeling about two inches tall. "But you are the only one who can help my mother. And if you testify against me or our whole family because of this stupid thing with Skeeter, then-"

"You think I'd do that out of spite?" He looks as though the thought never entered his head. Which I suppose is one thing.

I shrug. "It wouldn't be spite, would it... You'd just think I'm an evil bastard, like I'm still some scheming Death Eater or something."

"You are an evil bastard." Potter says, matter-of-factly.

I open my mouth to retort, but he turns to grab some parchment and a quill, and looks back at me. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm going to Owl Skeeter, you're going back to the dungeons."

"What will you say to her?" I'm annoyed now, at being pushed out of the loop at this juncture. "I'm coming with you."

"She's an illegal Animagus." He says. "And if she wants to stay out of trouble, she won't publish lies."

Oh, yeah. I had completely forgotten that she was a beetle. At the time, I didn't know or care whether it was legal or not. Now I'm positively thrilled that we've got something against her.

"You can go back to the dungeons, it's late. I'll sort this." Potter says.

"Yeah right. I doubt you know the first thing about blackmailing people, and I don't trust you to do it properly." I say, and Potter rolls his eyes and walks off.

Shacklebolt gives us another searching glare as we step out and head off in the same direction. Potter doesn't appear to have patience for people who try to tell him what's best, and Shacklebolt probably knows this, so keeps quiet.

The Owlery is chilly and silent at this time of night, and I find out Pig is the name of Potter's owl. It's a small, fluttery, excitable thing, and it's bothering us while we're trying to write the note to Skeeter.

"Dear ... Skeeter..." Potter says as he writes, flattening the parchment against the wall. He pauses. "What now?"

"We don't have time for this. Will your miniature owl be able to get to London by daybreak?"

Potter looks unsure. "Maybe not. Shall we send it by Floo?"

"We should send ourselves by Floo," I say, "then threaten to pulverise her."

He looks at me in mild alarm. "That can be plan B. I'll stick the envelope into the fire and she'll get it in her office straight away."

We spend the next ten or so minutes deciding what to write. Which is mostly me telling Potter off for being so bloody polite.

"I can't help it," he says, defensively, "I've never done this sort of thing before. I only write polite letters."

"Think of what you'd say to her face if you saw her." I advise, knowing how much he hates her.

I see him summon her inside his head, and he scowls. Then begins to write furiously.

"What are you putting?" I say, leaning over his shoulder to read.

Potter squirms. "Go away, I can't concentrate with you hovering."

"Let me just read it then," I say, reaching out to grab it.

"Not yet, let me finish it!" Potter moves it out of my reach, elbowing me in the chest to keep me away.

I'm knocked backwards a step, and I huff, crossing my arms and crunching over the floor. What an annoying git. Who can't write with someone near them? No wonder he does so terribly in exams.

As soon as he's signed it, I snatch it from his hands.

Skeeter,

You were warned about keeping your quill to yourself and not publishing lies. Unless you keep to your word on this, everyone's going to know just how much you BUG me.

Yours,

Harry Potter

I raise my eyebrows at Potter, who's face is seeking approval.

"It's passable." I remark, tone neutral.

"Right." Potter frowns, and snatches it back. "No thanks to you. You can go now, I'll get this to Skeeter."

I sigh, glad this whole episode is coming to a close. I leave the owlery, rubbing my head. I'm starting to get really tired again. And I still haven't actually had a straight answer from Potter about whether he'll testify or not. But I've put up with too much of his crap already, so I head back to the dungeons. I smirk nastily at the Aurors as I stride past, and slip into bed without another sound.

I don't know if I sleep properly, but the next thing I know my whole world is shaking, collapsing around me, and I open my eyes with a scream.

"Bloody hell Malfoy." Remarks Bruckley, her hands still on my shoulders. "I think my ears popped."

"Wha? Muh?" I grunt, struggling to sit up. "What is it?"

I feel a dash of panic: have I overslept?

"Harry Potter's outside, waiting for you apparently." She says, disbelief evident in her tone.

I look over at my parents; Father's sat bolt upright, fist clenching a non-existent wand. Mother's eyes shine with worry in my direction. A million possibilities flit through my head, except the worst one. I flash an apologetic look over to my parents, unseen by Bruckley, and follow her from the room, back to the Slytherin entrance.

When I step out of the common room, I'm grabbed roughly by the arm and dragged unceremoniously away. I attempt to wrestle, but my lack of upper body strength and complete tiredness is just making me flail like a ragdoll. It's only when I'm let go of, and I stumble into my captor, that I can dredge up words.

"What the hell, Potter?" I straighten up and pat myself down so I don't look too bed-rumpled.

It's only when he snaps open the folded paper under his arm that I pause, and my mouth drops open.

POTTER AND MALFOY – A LITTLE FLUSHED?

By Rita Skeeter

Rumours were abound last night after Harry Potter, who has shrugged off a handful of Killing Curses to become the saviour of the wizarding world, and Draco Malfoy, Death Eater on trial for murder and chaos, were seen cosying up together in a bathroom at Hogwarts shortly after the Battle ended. No one can blame Mr. Potter for seeking comfort after everything he's been through, and while Draco Malfoy is a handsome young man with good breeding, we at the Daily Prophet believe his propensity for evil deeds spells certain doom for any burgeoning relationship. However, Mr. Potter may not listen to reason, as he has become infamous for defying expectations and flouting tradition, which may be why he is so attracted to such forbidden fruit. When questioned, Malfoy Jr.'s naturally malicious demeanour juxtaposed with his angelic face sent a shiver down my spine, indicating a potentially nefarious scheme to avoid Azkaban. This reporter believes ... CONT'D PAGE 7.

"What the fuck?" I snatch it from him in horror. "Did you even send the letter?"

"Yes I sent the fucking letter!" He rages, then makes a conscious effort to breathe. "She doesn't care."

I'm struck by a bitter thought that twists my mouth into a smirk as I speak. "With all that's going on, no one's going to care about prosecuting an illegal Animagus."

Potter's fists clench so hard his arms shake. I suddenly worry that he'll take it out on me, so I step back. I glance at his face, and it looks like he must have slept. His hair is more rumpled than usual, and his eyes are squinty.

"You're going to have to think of something." His voice is strained with the effort of being calm. "To fix this."

"Not really my concern," I say, projecting nonchalance. "Won't affect me where I'm going."

"Oh yeah." Potter has the grace to look ashamed. "That's today."

"At nine o'clock actually, so unless you can shred every known copy of the Daily Prophet before then..."

"I'm still going to report her for being an illegal Animagus. Hopefully she'll be sent to Azkaban and this whole horrible mess will become old news." Potter says forcefully.

Liquid dread starts thudding its way through my veins at the mention of Azkaban, but I mask it with a sarcastic comment. "Great, who needs Dementors when I could be cellmates with Skeeter for the rest of my days."

"Right." Potter looks awkward. "I'll leave you to your optimism then, while I sort this out."

I give him a brief nod and start back towards the dorm. I feel a sudden jolt of alarm that I've forgotten again to ask whether he'll testify for my mother.

"Potter, wait-" I turn to go after him down the long hallway, but he's already gone. Damn.

Instead of going back to Slytherin, I decide I should probably have breakfast before the trial, since it might be my last decent meal. I just hope I can keep it down.

After I've eaten, the hollow, churning feeling in my stomach is replaced by a churning, rather lumpy feeling. When my parents join me, we sit close together in silence. Father's jaw is set, and Mother picks up her toast, looks at it, and puts it back down several times.

The Slytherin table is completely empty, so I watch other people trickle in. Some students are with their parents, some are without, and some adults are clearly parents without their children any more – they don't look around, and appear utterly defeated. The Weasleys trudge in, looking rumpled and tired and bereft of a few members. Granger looks awkward, hovering around the outside of the flaming-haired group. Potter's not there.

My view is blocked by a dark shape – one of the Aurors who was guarding our common room.

"Come on sunshine, off we go." She chirps casually, despite dark-ringed eyes.

We all stand up glumly, to be shackled in front of everybody and led out of the Great Hall.