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August 7, 1993

Harry pushed through the door that would lead him to a sitting room therein his wing. It was the room that Lacerta frequented most of all when she visited him, but typically, in the time they'd had living together, it was more often than not Harry that would go and do the visiting whilst Lacerta stayed in her room, the definition of comfortable.

It was when Harry saw Lacerta, her demeanour the same as it oft was — that being relaxed, casual, and somehow still somewhat proper-looking — that his earlier surge of confidence died down. What would he ask her? What would he try and get from her?

He reckoned he'd made himself look like an idiot if he approached her to try and poke around her thoughts. Lacerta had gotten him here, her mum had convinced him to stay… so now, Harry supposed, he'd let time and his caution drive their interactions. In truth, he was still quite shocked, he didn't quite know how to comprehend everything that's changed, but he was just sort of going through the motions.

Besides. It was Lacerta, not some stranger he didn't have a clue how to read. Ever since his first year at Hogwarts, he'd interacted with her. In fact, he would wager he knew her better than Crabbe or Goyle did since all those lugs would do is eat and listen to what she said without actually understanding all that much about her.

I wonder if that'll be different now that the Malfoys have switched sides, Harry thought curiously before, finally, he greeted Lacerta. He rubbed at his eyes and gave her a tired-looking smile as he spoke.

"Lacerta," he said.

"Harry," she returned, the typical acidic quality that her voice had long held, gone. He almost missed it. "Am I invading your space?"

He shook his head and made to sit beside her, something that she didn't mind in the slightest as she watched him do so, those eyes of hers peering curiously at his person. Once he found himself sitting near her, he smiled and looked around the room before those eyes of his settled back on Lacerta.

"Not at all. It's your space, anyhow. Your family's just being nice enough to let me use it until I'm old enough to rent or buy my own flat," Harry's smiler turned kinder, and appreciative the longer he looked at her. He still wasn't certain of whether or not he trusted the Malfoys, least of all when he took into account their track record… but there was a portion of him that truly did want to believe they'd reformed. Only time would tell. "Thank you, again, by the way. You and your mum didn't need to do all of this."

Lacerta scoffed and raised her nose at him as her feet extended to rest in his lap. "If it was public knowledge that the heiress of the Malfoy family had not only been kidnapped but that her rescuer had been all but ripped off in place of his reward, our family would be finished. Not to mention you, Harry — opposed as my Father might be with the Headmaster and you, that doesn't wash away what you did. We're bound together, fortunately for you."

"Fortunately, is it?" Harry asked with that spark of fire reignited on account of Lacerta's arrogance.

Lacerta arched one of her eyebrows. They were sharp as a knife, or just about. He'd seen her pluck at them incessantly and mutter incantation after incantation in the mirror as she looked at herself; that day she'd grown to be quite cross with him too. After she arched that brow, she cocked her head and gazed at him. Unlike previous times, there was no heat behind her look, only a blatant meaning.

"Need I say why it's fortunate for you, or do my marks at Hogwarts and the beauty of my person suffice?"

Harry blinked at her. Lacerta had changed… somewhat. He supposed when he'd thought about her earlier, and the few times previous that was recent, he thought she'd changed overnight into a completely and utterly different person. That little show of arrogance accentuated by the remark of her beauty was more than proof enough that Lacerta was still the same witch.

On the other hand. Well.

"Your marks were around my own," Harry said, his brows furrowing together before they resettled as a smirk settled on Harry's face. "I think I can recall my marks actually being better than yours when it came to DADA, Charms and Transfiguration."

"I far exceed you in Astronomy and Potions," Lacerta responded, one of those small, dainty hands turning to point at him.

"Divination and Magical Creatures," Harry said with a laugh. "Quidditch? I'm not sure if you'd count that, but I remember winning last year."

At that, Lacerta's face grew red as a tomato and in an instant, she'd launched herself at him. Her lithe build was entirely supported by his body as her hands, small as they were, pinched and prodded him; it felt much like it had previously, the one time Lacerta had gotten well and truly angry with him. Maybe her physicality left that much to be desired or she'd never intended to hurt him even far back as then.

Eventually, and when that train of thought came to an end, Harry overpowered Lacerta and the two stopped their impromptu wrestling match. Lacerta's chest was heaving, whilst Harry was left winded, if anything. He nearly teased the Princess for that too, but he didn't. No, Harry was content enough to relax beside her and listen to her breathing.

It was almost rhythmic, and most definitely calming.

"That wasn't terribly proper," Lacerta finally said, breaking the silence as she sat up. "I've not been proper with you at all. Not since you've rescued me."

Harry shrugged. "I don't mind it. It's rather nice not arguing with you every time we're together — it's almost like everything went differently back aboard the train, isn't it?"

Lacerta's few seconds of queerness seemed to dissipate at his words, when, once more, a finger jabbed him in his side. "If you'd agreed to keep me as your friend, then I imagined everything would have been far more different than it currently is. Perhaps we'd have made this partnership far earlier."

"Think so?" Harry mused.

He couldn't really picture himself agreeing to keep company with the likes of Lacerta, at least not when she'd been back in their first year. Back then, she'd been a right big and proper brat the likes of which nobody deserved to deal with. Nowadays, and as he looked at her faintly freckled face still awash with that minor blush, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd always had a little bit of a crush on her.

If that was the case, maybe she felt the same toward him, right? After all, as Harry recalled, 'Mione had always said there was a reason Lacerta would try and bug him whenever they saw each other.

"Undoubtedly. I imagine you'd have stayed with us from the second year thenceforth," Lacerta paused and pulled an amused-looking expression. "I can only wonder how unlike your current self you'd turn out to be had that happened. You'd be an entirely different person."

"Nah. I think I'd be pretty similar, just with more mates that wear the colour green and maybe a few less that wear red or yellow," Harry said with sincerity, and then he yawned, an action that quickly spread to Lacerta.

She glared at him all the way through, clearly unhappy with the yawn he'd summoned forth.

"Say, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

When he answered, it was only then that he took in their newfound proximity. Lacerta or he, one of them for sure, had moved closer to the other. Merlin, maybe it had been both of them that did so.

"You're not with Granger, are you?"

Harry looked at Lacerta closer than he'd ever looked at her before… sans the time in the Chamber of Secrets. He was certain he'd heard the question correctly, but he was a bloke, and he knew from Mister Weasley that witches sometimes had other meanings when it came to their questions; this instant felt like one such moment, and so he was thinking just what Lacerta might have meant.

In a few seconds, his caveman's brain came to one conclusion that left his stomach feeling a tad bit sickly. Lacerta thought that he and Hermione were together, as in together like dating, not together as if they were good friends like they truly were. He couldn't imagine for the life of him why she'd asked such a question. Not unless his earlier suspicion about his crush being mutual was true.

Nah. Maybe she was just nosy.

"I'd say 'Mione's more of a sister to me than anything else. It's been like that ever since the first year when some of our classmates picked on her — it wasn't you, Crabbe, Goyle or any of that lot. It was other Gryffindors and some Hufflepuffs. People you wouldn't really expect that from," Harry nodded at her then. "And you? I've heard you might have dated Blaize or Nott."

Harry couldn't believe how stupid he'd just been. Why would he know anything about her dating life, and better yet, why would he ask? It wasn't really his busi—

"Morgana, no," Lacerta responded after nary a second had passed. A second in which her nose wrinkled and her eyes squinted together, and all before she did a little wiggle that showcased just how unpleasant those thoughts seemed to be. "I've never been allowed to court. Father and Mother won't allow it until we reach our Fifth Year. At least, that'll be when they'll officially allow me to — Mother might be persuaded otherwise."

He wasn't sure if it was meant to sound the way that it did, but Harry swore the way Lacerta said as much, it was almost an invitation to him.

Thus, Harry chuckled and then slowly began to laugh. Lacerta, with all that she'd done and gotten to do, had an age set before she could date. He laughed and laughed until she launched herself at him again, propriety forgotten, and into the night the two enjoyed one another's company.

It was the strangest, and yet, most fond memory thus far that Harry had built with her. He almost couldn't believe that this was the same Lacerta from two years past.

She was… wicked. And Pretty. Definitely pretty.


August 13, 1993

"You're certain I should go with them?" Harry asked Narcissa, most certainly uneasy; here was one thing, it felt sort of homey and Dumbledore had ascertained his safety, otherwise he'd not be here. But out with Lucius and Lacerta?

He wasn't certain if that'd be smart.

The older woman gave him a firm nod. "Lacerta knows you're fond of Quidditch, Harry, and Lucius procured twice that of which we originally intended to get," she paused when he glanced back into the parlour room, where Lacerta and Lucius were, and then she resumed speaking. "If you truly would rather stay here with me, then you're more than welcome to — I only believe there'd be one young lady who might miss your company if that's to be the case."

That was it. Narcissa didn't say anything else. Instead, she looked pointedly into the parlour one last time before she winked at Harry and took her leave from the kitchen whence she'd been.

With the older woman gone, Harry was left to his thoughts and the invitation. He made his mind up in not more than a minute's time; Narcissa's words had urged him to go, and so he would. Maybe those final words of hers had acted as a form of catalyst too.

There wasn't any telling.

Not even as Harry went into the parlour room, and nodded once to Lucius before finally he made his way over to Lacerta.

When she made eye contact with him, a small smirk wormed its way onto her face as she jostled him with her nearer elbow. That only lasted for a few minutes, until their journey was ready to be made and Harry followed after Lucius and Lacerta both with a parting phrase as he threw down the Floo Powder.

"The Bright Abode!"

And like that, Harry was taken from the Malfoy's residence, through the Floo network, until he stumbled out into a large, fire-lit hall.

"Merlin."

Harry wasn't sure of whether or not the place truly was an abode, but he could say one thing for certain upon his initial viewing of it. The place was beyond bright. It was almost like it was a summer day, such was the amount of light within the hall of the building, a hall that stretched nearly half as long as an average-sized hallway in Hogwarts.

There were various rooms too, and the craftsmanship, well, he need only say it was in keeping with the Malfoys and their fashion for one to get a picture painted in their minds. Ornate, expensive, and certainly beyond the reach of most, that was how Harry would summarise the visuals.

"You're not used to the Floo, are you?" Lacerta asked, her hands on her hips as she looked at him with an upturned, smug, nose. It was almost like the old her had returned. At least until she reached out and brushed off either of his shoulders, before continuing to pluck at his robes in various spots at invisible marks. "There we are."

"Better?" Harry asked, a tinge of amusement leaking into his voice. He didn't mind the doting behaviour, not in the slightest, but still, this was Lacerta; back and forth was necessary between them.

"Quite."

At Lacerta's remark, a cough, purposeful and deep, sounded from Harry's other side. When it registered to Harry just who that cough belonged to, he swallowed and looked over at Lucius. He'd nearly forgotten the man was present in the scant few seconds he'd shared with Lacerta.

"Are we finished?" he asked, his intent clear as his eyes flicked between the pair. Lucius' past attitude and interactions with Harry had been unique, to say the least, and this one was just as.

Summarised, the man looked as if he'd been forced to swallow a glass of lemon juice, freshly squeezed and sour as ever as he looked between Lacerta and Harry. Maybe he hadn't wanted to make the switch as they'd done. Narcissa had, thus far, seemed far too good of a woman for Lucius, and this 'new' Lacerta seemed much more like her mother than her father.

"Please, Father," Lacerta gestured ahead to her father, the motion fluid and given with a girlish smile on her face. "We'll be right behind you — Harry knows the proper ways."

Whatever that seemed to mean seemed to work as Lucius looked at him with narrowed eyes, ones that grew near-murderous when Lacerta looped her arm through Harry's. When the man turned around, it was then that Lacerta spoke to Harry, but the latter was still focused on the look Lucius had given him before he'd started them off on their little journey.

Clearly, Lucius didn't like the fact that Lacerta seemed more friendly with him. Maybe, Harry would give the man the benefit of the down here, just maybe it was for her sake. Harry recognised that his friends could become targets, Merlin, they already had. If the Malfoys swapped over to Dumbledore's side, there'd have to be some level of revenge. Voldemort, evil as he was, wouldn't let that slide.

If that wasn't the reason, Harry reckoned it came down to Purebloods and the like. Stuff that he and most other wizards and witches outside of Slytherin and a few other people didn't care about anymore. It was only the people like the Malfoys, the Parkinsons and so on.

"Don't put your hands in your pockets, fold your arms or otherwise separate from me. Keep your nose held high, your arm securely folded around me, your back straight and if you can manage it, a look of superiority wouldn't hurt," Lacerta brushed a finger, soft, cold and pale across his bottom lip. "We'll need to have you sheared, I think."

At that, her other hand reached around to comb through his hair. It felt surprisingly intimate, maybe because they were in public or maybe on account of her father who despises him only feet away. All the same, the feeling of her hand combing through his hair, wild and untamed as ever, only lasted for a few seconds before she withdrew with a scoff and glare.

It was directed at the top of his head.

"What?" he asked with a snicker.

"Your hair," she said as she pointed accusingly at his head as they emerged from the Bright Abode, a place Harry still wasn't sure the purpose of, and onto some side alley of Diagon Alley. "It's entirely too hard to bend to my will."

Only Lacerta could try and make hair 'bend' to her will, Harry thought with an inward laugh before he responded aloud to her.

"Well, once we finish up this trip, we can go and have my hair trimmed," Harry mimicked her earlier action and ran a hand through his hair. He supposed it did feel a bit longer than he typically had it, so a trim was in order. Only a trim though. He'd not be going bald or anything of that nature.

Lacerta looked pleased. "Wonderful. I've already a few styles in mind," she plucked at his hair one last time and then brought her hand back to her side. On her face, Harry could make out a small, pleased look.

As for the timing in which she moved her hand back to her side, it was lucky she did so right then. Lucius turned to look at the pair not more than a second or two after she did so, and he spoke then, seemingly pacified that Harry was acting properly. At least so far as he could tell.

"We've arrived," were the two simple words the man spoke before he pushed open a door a few steps away with a wave of his hand and entered, the door staying open even after he was feet deep into the building.

Lacerta stepped forward, pulling Harry alongside her. In an instant, the two were in the building and the door, behind Harry, closed seemingly of its own volition. When Harry turned to look back at Lacerta, and beyond her, Lucius, he saw the latter speaking with a man that looked many years his senior.

"You're wondering who Father's speaking with, aren't you?" Lacerta asked, her lips pulling into a smile as she looked at Harry and her hand very casually made contact with his own. It jolted back when he looked down at it; he shouldn't have looked.

"Is he someone important?" Harry guessed.

"He's the owner of the shop we're in, and an investor as well as an inventor in the category of brooms. Father's going to speak with him first to make sure everything's as it should be, and then, we'll retrieve the first models of their newest variation," Lacerta all but licked her lips as she turned her attention from Harry, over to a broom very near to them. One that was aloft atop a dozen or so others, and one that looked very tantalising to use.

It was a Firebolt. Harry had heard about the company and broom both. Supposedly, they were the fastest brooms invented thus far.

"Are those…?" Harry inquired, his question only getting out a few words before Lacerta shook her head and spoke over him.

"No," she said. "Those aren't the brooms we'll be using. The ones we'll be retrieving won't ever be going public. They'll be a slightly modified variant with charms and magic not yet released to the public."

Harry's eyes widened as Lucius and the other, older man finally began to make their way over to the two youths. Before the older men arrived, however, Harry fit in one last question. "Who else will have them?"

"A few friends of the owner, mayhaps a few Quidditch players that he favours. Very few people, all the same — ten, fifteen at the most," Lacerta then turned slightly, so that she could look at her father and the older man as they arrived. "Mister Millette. It's wonderful to see you again."

"It is indeed, young lady. I dare say in the year that it's been you've grown to resemble your mother even more than you had already. Nearly thought you were a young Narcissa, I did. It was the colour of your hair that gave it away, Malfoy through and through, that. I remember your great grandfather, and that was back when we did custom models only," the man, Mister Millette, finally paused for a breath and shook his head fondly, nostalgically, before he motioned for everybody to follow him. He took off for a back room, and as they walked to said room, he spoke some more. "The Firebolt Supreme, that's the model of broom you'll be leaving here with, soon enough. It's a year or two away from being made public, and we'll probably have some changes that need to be made by the time that happens, but they're yours. You and the young?"

Harry blinked when the man directed a question over to him for the first time that evening. It was like the man had forgotten him, only for Harry to be caught off guard when he got addressed.

"Harry, sir," he said after those few seconds of surprise.

"Harry what, lad? I've met a few thousand in my days," the man brought a hand up to fix the giant set of spectacles that he wore. They were dusty, Harry could tell as much, but the man didn't seem to be bothered by the thin line of filth as he looked more closely at Harry.

Rather than outright reveal himself sans the approval of the Malfoys in the event that this person was one such person that wasn't fond of him, Harry sought out the faces of Lacerta and Lucius both. Much to Harry's surprise, Lucius didn't immediately break eye contact and look away, rather, the sour-looking man gave nought but a stiff nod.

Lacerta, in the span of a second or so he'd been able to look at the freckled beaut— Slytherin rival-friend of his, she'd given him a smirk and wave.

"Harry Potter," he finally said aloud for the man to hear. Lucius had given him approval, weird as that was to say, and Lacerta didn't seem to think the man they were speaking with was remotely problematic based on how relaxed she was; a smirk and wave, in public… that was a very rare happening.

He could only imagine the scandalous rumours that would arise when Hogwarts came around.

"Harry Potter?" the man leaned in closer still, his brow scrunched together as he looked Harry up and down. "Bit shorter than I thought you'd be — Lucius?"

"Mister Millette?" Lucius responded, his tone like when he talked to the Ministry officials Harry had seen him with on occasion. It was the sort of voice that got others to do what you wanted.

"Youths nowadays are getting smaller by the generation. Why's that?"

Lucius began to answer after he sent one last lingering gaze at Lacerta and Harry, the smallest of frowns in place, but as Harry made to listen to the interesting words that would soon be offered up, he found himself pulled away. Lacerta had incessantly pulled upon his hand, until the two of them were well away from Lucius and Millette.

Not only were they away from the two older men, they'd actually made it to the area they'd been headed. It seemed Lacerta wasn't remotely patient enough for the conversation to finish naturally, and based on the familiarity she and her family had with the man, he imagined the older bloke wouldn't mind what she'd done.

In an instant, there were hands in his hair, pulling and combing.

"We'll need to apply a charm before next you use the Floo. Your hair's gotten worse."

Harry laughed, Lacerta narrowed her eyes at him, and then, the two paused when they took their eyes off one another to examine the room itself; there, in the centre, were two brooms.

Firebolts. Firebolt Supremes.