1 Through Silver and Glass

Your father's gone a-hunting

He's deep in the forest so wild

And he cannot take his wife with him,

He cannot take his child.

Your father's gone a-hunting

In the quicksand and the clay

And a woman cannot follow him

Although she knows the way.

Your father's gone a-hunting

Through the silver and the glass

Where only greed can enter

But spirit cannot pass.

Your father's gone a-hunting

For the beast we cannot bind

And he leaves a baby sleeping

And his blessings all behind.

--Leonard Cohen, 'Hunter’s Lullaby´

***

It was December, and it was freezing cold in the Potions dungeon, but Snape didn’t care. "Can anyone tell me what this is?" he demanded, holding up a transparent phial of steaming green liquid and surveying the class critically. "Longbottom?"

Neville, who had been trying in vain to warm his blue-tipped fingers over his cauldron, looked horrified. "I don’t know, Professor."

"Did you not complete your reading last night, Longbottom? The assignment was ten pages in the Lieber and Stoller book."

"I know, Professor, but my toad, Trevor, went missing, and I--"

"Ten points from Gryffindor!" barked Snape, who was in fine form. He didn’t even look cold, Draco mused. Perhaps he’d mixed himself up a Warming Potion before class.

Snape´s ink-black eyes darted over the students. "Potter?´ he inquired.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Harry pale and look startled. Next to him, Hermione went red. Every time she knew an answer and Harry didn’t, Draco had the feeling that she might actually implode with the effort of trying to will the knowledge in Harry’s direction.

It’s an Imperceptus Potion, Draco thought lazily at Harry. Makes you invisible. Harry sat up straight. "An Imperceptus Potion," he said. "It makes the drinker invisible." Snape looked disappointed. "And the ingredients?" he snapped. Mugwort, Draco thought. Crushed dragon bone, powdered asp’s blood, tansy, peppermint... "Mugwort," said Harry. "Crushed dragon bone, powdered asp’s blood, tansy, peppermint..."

And a pair of my very own boxer shorts, the ones with the little Snitches on them, Draco added.

"And a pair of..." Harry began, and choked. His face went red and then white as he succumbed to a prolonged coughing fit. Hermione gazed at him in alarm. Draco looked innocently at his quill, twirling it in his fingers.

"Yes, Potter?" Snape´s eyebrows had shot up to his hairline. "A pair of what?"

Harry was still coughing. "Beetles?" he suggested weakly.

Snape looked annoyed. "No, Potter," he said. "The sixth ingredient is not a pair of beetles. However," he added, "five out of six is not disgraceful. I will not take points from Gryffindor." He set the phial down on the desk in front of him with a slight bang. "Now, does anyone wish to volunteer to come up here and be made invisible?" he demanded.

Draco looked over at Harry and grinned.

Never, and even Harry’s telepathic voice sounded annoyed, ever, help me again.

Hey, Gryffindor didn’t lose any points.

No, but I think I lost ten years off my life. Oh, shut up, Malfoy. Go be invisible or something. Then again, you’d probably drop dead if you had to spend ten minutes without your own reflection.

Draco shrugged modestly, then realized that Hermione was looking from him to Harry and back again. She bit her lip irritably and turned back to her notebook as Ron was called up to the front of the class to be made invisible. Ron looked suspiciously at the foaming green liquid, and drank it with the air of someone about to be murdered.

The sound of rustling paper caught Draco’s attention. When he turned sideways he saw that Hermione was holding up a note, folded so that only he could read it. I TOLD YOU NOT TO TALK TO HARRY DURING CLASS!

Draco shrugged apologetically, but Hermione continued to glare at him until Ron distracted the entire class by glowing violently purple for a moment, and vanishing.

"That’s the best Weasley’s ever looked," said a silky voice at Draco’s elbow. It was Blaise Zabini, looking at him from beneath her long dark eyelashes.

"Just what I was going to say," Draco replied quite truthfully.

She laid two fingers on his sleeve and smiled up at him, her beautiful face lighting up. Her eyes were huge and grey-green. "Aren’t you clever."

Draco smiled at her and sat back in his chair. He was vaguely conscious, without actually looking at her, that Hermione had shot him a disgusted look. He was used to this.

Ron had popped back into visibility -- "Worse luck," Draco muttered towards Blaise, and she and Pansy Parkinson giggled - and was making his way back to his desk, looking green. Hermione pulled him down into his seat by the sleeve and patted his shoulder.

"And now we have another potion," said Snape. He indicated a stoppered vial of red liquid on his desk. "This one is called Soporus, and it does what....? Yes, Granger?"

Hermione put her hand down. "If you drink it, it makes you remember your dreams."

Snape did not even bother telling the class that this was correct. "Very well." He cleared his throat. "Draco Malfoy, come up here."

Draco was surprised. The Potions Master rarely called on him for much of anything, preferring to torment the Gryffindors and slower Slytherins. He rose to his feet, however, and made his way up to the front of the room, where he stood looking inquiringly at Snape.

Snape unstoppered the vial of scarlet liquid and handed it to Draco. It looked like blood. "This will make me remember my dreams?" Draco asked, looking at Snape suspiciously.

"Just the most recent ones," Snape said. His expression was quite blank. "Go on, then."

Draco gave him one last suspicious look, and drank the potion.

For a moment, nothing happened. Draco looked out at the class, who stared back at him expectantly. Hermione had her head to the side, looking curious, Ron looked as if he were hoping against hope that Draco might explode, and Harry had one eyebrow raised. Blaise and Pansy were staring with parted lips. Neville seemed sunk in gloomy ruminations about his toad. Draco was about to turn to the Potions Master and announce that nothing was happening when he noticed that the back wall of the classroom seemed to be curling in on itself and rushing towards him like a wave. Blackness hit him, and he fell into it as if he were drowning.

***

The dream rose like a fever, washed over him, blinding him. It carried him forward. Stone walls rose up around him and a floor of marble slid beneath his feet. He was somewhere, and nowhere.

He raised his head and glanced around. It was as if he looked through a pane of black glass. The world before him seemed smoky, distant, touched with darkness, as if its light had been smothered under heavy cloth. In the smothered light, he looked around and saw that he was in a cylindrical stone room with narrow ancient windows, as if he stood at the top of a tower. A long oak-plank table ran across one wall. It was lined with bottles and silver phials studded with what looked like costly gems. There were other items scattered there: a key made of bones, a Hand of Glory, a wicked-looking dagger. A tapestry covered most of one wall: it depicted a circle, quartered by a cross, and in each quarter of the cross was a symbol Draco could not decipher. Underneath the circle ran a motto: Domina Nocturne Illuminate Meo.

In the centre of the room was a square table, carved out of onyx. At each corner of the table was a golden disk. And next to the table stood two men.

The one on the right was immediately familiar. Tall and pale-haired, with narrow cold grey eyes, dressed in viridian robes, his black-gloved hands clasped across his front. Lucius Malfoy, his father.

The other man was dressed in a black cloak. His hood was up, hiding his face, although in its depths Draco imagined he could see the flicker of two coal-like eyes. His right hand was bare, and Draco recognized it: the ghastly white skin and red nails. Once that hand had crushed his own until he screamed in agony. When he moved his left hand a dull sequin seemed to glitter there, catching the light, and then another, and another. He was wearing a scaled glove, like lizard skin, and in that hand he held something that wriggled and twisted. A serpent.

"I do miss my Nagini," the Dark Lord said. "There are none more like her."

"No," said Lucius quietly. "Master... the matter I came to speak with you about... it remains unresolved."

The Dark Lord let out a hissing breath. "The boy?"

Lucius nodded. "The boy is unreliable, Master."

"It was your task, Lucius," said the Dark Lord, "too see that he was not."

"We lost ground this summer," said Lucius. "It was unavoidable, considering the recent unpleasantness."

"Then regain that ground," said the Dark Lord tightly. "You have been in contact? Not just to tell him you are alive?"

"Yes. Almost constant contact. He is aware, although, of course, I have not told him everything."

"Do whatever you have to do, Lucius. He is your responsibility." The Dark Lord made a sudden movement, seizing the snake just below its head and squeezing tightly. When he released it, it lay limp, apparently dead. Lucius´ expression darkened as Voldemort lifted the limp snake and dropped it into the cauldron. "You know what will happen if you do not succeed with this."

"He is a child, and children are unreliable," said Lucius. "A security risk. I told you that before when I did not want him involved."

There was a cold silence. Lucius paled slightly. At last the Dark Lord spoke. "Do not presume you know what is best, Lucius," he said softly. "I have taught you everything you know. But I have not taught you everything I know."

Lucius licked his dry lips. "Yes, Master. Of course."

There was a flicker of movement and the snake’s head appeared at the lip of the cauldron. It was not, apparently, dead after all. Voldemort held out his gloved hand, and the snake crawled onto it, ringing his wrist like a bracelet. "And has Wormtail sent word?"

"He is still gathering the materials, Master," said Lucius, speaking suddenly very quietly, so that Draco had to strain to hear, "He has not yet returned from -"

But it was no use. The words vanished into nothingness, and the vision followed. The room shut like a flower, the cauldron and the jewelled phials and the two standing men whirling away from him on a current of darkness, and Draco started upright, his heart racing and his eyes flying open to fix on -

Snape´s face. The Potions Master was staring at him in consternation. "Malfoy! What’s the matter with you?"

The room slowly swam into focus. Draco realized that he must have reeled backward into the wall. His shoulder hurt as if he had struck it hard, and his eyes burned. He could see the entire class staring at him in shock. Harry had half-risen to his feet and Hermione and Ron were pulling him back into his chair. Hermione looked stricken with worry.

"Nothing." Draco pushed the professor’s hands away. "I’m fine."

"Did something happen?" Snape pitched his voice low, so only Draco could hear it. "Did you see something?"

The serpent, the cauldron, the Dark Lord, the tower.

Draco shook his head. "No. I just got dizzy."

Snape´s eyes narrowed. "You saw nothing?"

Too late, Draco realized that he should have made something up. I should have said I dreamed I was a lemon floating in a giant gin and tonic. Anything.

Silently, he shook his head. "No. Nothing."

"Very well." Draco could almost have sworn that Snape looked disappointed. Worried, even. "Go back to your seat, Mister Malfoy."

***

"Another letter from Monique?" Hermione said in a teasing voice, reaching over the table towards Ron, who was looking expectantly up at the black owl perched on his left shoulder. Her name was Nefertiti and she had been a gift from his parents when they had learned that he had been made Head Boy. (Pigwidgeon had gone to Ginny.) Now she pecked at his ear and dropped a letter into his hands: it was printed on lavish gold-and-white stationary and was heavily scented with jasmine.

"What can I say?" Ron unrolled the paper and examined it with a grin. "Monique just can’t get enough of me."

"Oh, you’re just stringing her along," Ginny said with a smile, reaching past Ron to get at the pumpkin juice. "You’re not serious about her."

"There are some aspects of this relationship I'm very serious about," Ron said gravely.

"And she's got quite a Wonder bra supporting those aspects," said Hermione, with a sideways evil grin.

"I think she’s just after me for my money anyway," said Ron, who had set himself to the task of turning the unfortunate Monique’s letter into a paper Firebolt.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Does she know there isn’t much?" she inquired. This was true. While the discovery of a cache of medieval magical treasures underneath the Burrow had made the Daily Prophet, the Weasleys had seen no profit from it, since the entire collection had been spirited away by the Auror´s College for purposes of study and research. Of the whole treasure hoard, the only things they'd managed to keep were the Gryffindor Galleon that Ginny had given Harry for his birthday and a few pewter trinkets. And if they had expected an enormous windfall from Mr. Weasley’s appointment as Minister of Magic, they were disappointed there as well: few Ministry officials made a great deal of money, and the Minister was no exception, especially when he had seven children. The Weasleys remained what they had been since Fred and George’s joke shop had succeeded: pleasantly well off, but not by any means rich.

"Did you see this?" Hermione interrupted. Her owl had just delivered that day’s Daily Prophet, and her head was bent over it, her mouth turned down in concern. "Inquiry into Lucius Malfoy’s death has been closed," she read out . "The Ministry has ruled the cause to have been suicide."

Ron looked disgusted. "It took the Ministry six months to figure out that he topped himself? Geniuses."

Harry shook his head. "He didn’t kill himself. Sirius said so."

"So he summoned up something nasty," said Ron. "And it ate him. Maybe he did it on purpose. Who knows? Me, I feel sorry for the something nasty. Getting served a Malfoy for lunch would make anyone mad enough to blow things up."

"Ron, be nice," admonished Hermione.

Ron looked staggered. "About Lucius Malfoy?"

"Well, just - think how Draco must feel."

"Riiight," said Ron slowly. "Because he looks so upset."

Against her better judgement, Ginny looked over at the Slytherin table. As always, the action at that table revolved around Draco; he was inevitably its focal point. No longer flanked by Crabbe and Goyle (who had left school after pulling only one O.W.L. each) he was book ended instead by Dex Flint, the Slytherin Keeper, and Malcolm Baddock, a slender, dark-haired boy who had replaced Goyle as a Chaser. He was leaning over Blaise Zabini, his chin on her hair. On a ribbon around her throat glittered an amulet in the shape of a silver snake, a gift from Draco. Her brilliant red-gold hair spilled down over her shoulders. It’s the red hair, Ginny remembered Draco telling her at Harry’s birthday party, I can’t resist it.

Vaguely, Ginny heard Hermione say defensively, "Well, so, maybe he’s hiding how unhappy he is."

Ron ignored her, and gently tugged at Ginny’s sleeve. "Don’t look over there," he said. "It’ll just upset you."

"I’m not upset." She dragged her eyes away from Draco and grabbed up her fork. "I’m fine." She jabbed the fork blindly at the plate in front of her, hardly able to see anything.

"Maybe that’s why he got like that in Potions class," Hermione added.

"No." Harry put his fork down. "I don’t think that was it."

At the mention of Potions, Ginny glanced instinctively over at the staff table, but Snape was not there. Neither was Dumbledore. Her eyes fell instead on her brother Charlie, who was engaged in a lively conversation with Professor Lupin, using his fork to punctuate his remarks. The sight of Charlie made her smile. She had been thrilled that he had accepted the job as Care of Magical Creatures professor. As if he sensed her eyes on him, he looked up and waved.

"Are you eating off my plate, Ginny?" said a voice on her left. It was Neville. Ginny looked down and realized that she had, in fact, been jabbing her fork into Neville´ roast turkey, and not her own.

"Oh dear - I’m so sorry -" she spluttered.

"If you wanted some, you could have just asked," said Neville, looking aggrieved.

"Not upset, eh?" said Ron into her ear.

Ginny let her fork fall. "Don’t we have practice now?" she said hopefully, in Harry’s direction, too embarrassed to look at Neville, and suspecting, irrationally, that somehow Draco was watching her from across the room.

Harry looked over at her and smiled. "Yeah, we do," he said, and Ginny got to her feet, grabbing up her broom, thankful for any excuse to get away. "I’ll see you all down there," she said, and fled.

***

Harry, Ron and Hermione trooped down to where the rest of the team waited at the entrance to the Quidditch pitch. Seamus, who had been made a Chaser just that year, was already there, standing next to Ginny and the third Chaser, Elizabeth Thomas, Dean’s younger sister. A little ways away stood the Creevey brothers, who, Hermione suspected, had been made Beaters primarily because they were brothers, and there was a certain superstition regarding the luckiness of having siblings team up as Beaters. They greeted Harry and the others with a cheerful waving of broomsticks.

Hermione dropped back towards the stands, content to watch, her copy of Quidditch Through the Ages on hand in case Harry needed it for reference material. Not that he ever did. He had been nervous about being made team captain, but he needn’t have been; he turned out to be as good at strategizing as he was at flying. Hermione suspected he kept an elaborate mental map of the Quidditch field in his head and referred to it at will.

"All right," he was saying now, consulting some notes he had scribbled on a bit of parchment, "I think this time we should work on coordinating better, and telegraphing our moves less. Seamus, you need to be quicker on the turns. Elizabeth, I’ve got an idea -"

"Actually, I’ve got an idea," interrupted a drawling voice. "Why don’t you all just bugger off, since you’ve got no business being here in the first place?"

It was Draco, of course, in green Quidditch robes, surrounded by the rest of his team. He was flanked by his Chasers: Blaise Zabini, Malcolm Baddock, and Graham Pritchard. Behind him, looking menacing, were the Beaters: Tess Hammond and Milicent Bulstrode, the largest and ugliest girls in school. Bringing up the rear was Dex Flint, a sharp-faced but handsome fifth-year who played as Keeper.

Draco reached out a lazy hand, took the parchment out of Harry’s grip, looked at it with mild disinterest, and let it drop into the snow. "We have the Quidditch pitch booked for practice right now," he said, in a voice like syrup poured over broken glass. "I know you Gryffindors aren’t the brightest lot, but I did at least think you could tell time properly."

Harry didn’t change expression. "We signed up for this practice last week," he said flatly. "Go and check the book."

"Yes, I saw that," said Draco, lazily twirling his broomstick. If he’d had a moustache, Hermione was sure he would have twirled that too. "When Charlie handed me the book. See, Madam Hooch never would have trusted me to write in it myself, but your Weasley friend, well he just hasn’t been around that long, he doesn’t know. He didn’t even notice when I wrote right over your name. You know, you’ve got a very girly signature, Potter. You should work on that."

"You dishonest creep," said Elizabeth, her two pigtails trembling with rage.

"I’m a Slytherin," said Draco, giving her a smile that would have melted solid steel, although it didn’t have much effect on Elizabeth. "It’s in the job description."

"This trick won’t work more than once, Malfoy," said Harry, his green eyes narrowed. "Charlie won’t trust you again."

"It only needs to work once." Draco shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder about you, Potter. Where were you when they were handing out brains?"

"I don’t know," said Harry, his voice dripping acid. "I’m afraid I accidentally got in line for 'shred of moral decency´ instead."

"It must have been quite a long line," said Draco. "Apparently you were also too late for 'good looks´, 'fashion sense´, and 'witty repartee.´"

Ron started forward. Harry hauled him back by the collar of his robes. "I think you’ve been spending too much time in that dungeon, Malfoy," Ron spat, struggling to get free of Harry’s grip. "The lack of natural light must have rotted your brain."

"Oh, right, because you lot live in a tower," said Draco, his voice filled with heavy sarcasm. "A great, big, pointy, thrusting tower. Just the right place for little boys who maybe feel a little....inadequate? Overcompensating, are we?"

Harry hit him. Draco staggered rather theatrically back into the arms of his team-mates, then straightened up and started for Harry, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as he went.

Hermione closed her book and sighed, bored and irritated. Oh for goodness´ sake, she thought . Not this again.

***

The door to Dumbledore’s office was closed. Charlie sighed. He had rushed over from lunch in an attempt to catch the Headmaster, but it appeared he had wasted his time. He had been trying to get to Dumbledore for several days in hopes of getting the Headmaster to agree to his suggestion that a small group of students, with parental permission of course, be allowed to study dragons. After all, Charlie thought irritably, what was the point of hiring someone with a specialty in dragons as a teacher if you weren’t going to let him teach anything about dragons?

"Dragons are vicious," Snape had said at the last staff meeting. "They are capricious. They like to set things on fire."

"But that’s what so great about them," Charlie had replied cheerfully.

"I see nothing 'great´ about students being set on fire," McGonagall had said in a freezing tone.

"That would depend on the student," interjected Professor Sinistra, who taught Astronomy. Charlie privately rather thought that Professor Sinistra fancied him. She kept sidling up to him in corridors and admiring his dragon hide trousers.

Lupin had been on his side in the debate, but it hadn’t helped much. Eventually McGonagall had agreed to allow Charlie to take the matter to the Headmaster. Which was easier said than done. It was very difficult to know where Dumbledore was going to be, except at mealtimes, when he flatly refused to discuss anything having to do with work.

Charlie was about to gather himself together and leave, when he heard voices emanating from the corridor that led to the Headmaster’s office. He instantly recognized Snape´s unpleasant tones. "I’m telling you, he had a reaction like nothing I’ve ever seen before," he was saying. "It was most alarming."

Dumbledore spoke next. "But he came around? And was coherent?"

"Yes, he was quite coherent, and claimed he had only been dizzy, and had seen nothing. Perhaps he did see nothing."

"Perhaps. But this is Draco Malfoy we’re talking about. If he had seen something, he would be unlikely to announce it in front of the class."

Charlie took a step back into the shadows. Seven years of sneaking around the Hogwarts´ professor’s offices instantly overcame five months of being a Hogwarts Professor. He froze where he was, and listened.

"I think I should call him into my office," Dumbledore said.

"He won’t like that."

"No. But the situation is worsening. The risk of betrayal -"

"We don’t know that that risk exists!"

"It does exist, Severus. You, of all people -"

"Perhaps you should call Potter into your office instead."

"We’ve gone over this." Dumbledore sounded tired. "If we tell him, we are risking an unprecedented tragedy, possibly needlessly, and I -"

Dumbledore broke off as he and Snape rounded the corner of the corridor, and stepped into full view. His eyes met Charlie’s, and for a moment, there was almost a flash of concern in them. Then he smiled. "Hallo, Charlie," he said.

"Oh. Hello, Weasley." Snape gave Charlie a very unpleasant look. Charlie had a feeling Snape knew he had been listening.

Dumbledore, however, only beamed at him. "Can I help you with something?"

Charlie looked down at the parchment in his hand: his proposal for the dragon class. It suddenly seemed very far away. He held the papers out towards the Headmaster, muttered something about "dragons", "permission", and "very unlikely to eat anybody," and left with his head still spinning.

Risk. Betrayal. Tragedy. What was going on?

***

"This is getting ridiculous," said Hermione disapprovingly. She was holding a damp sponge in one hand and applying it to the corner of Harry´s left eye, which had stopped bleeding several minutes ago. "Is it really so important that you two keep pretending you hate each other?"

"Yes," said both Harry and Draco in unison. Then, in unison, they grinned, Draco slightly painfully due to the blue-black bruise rising on one cheekbone.

"I mean, it´s gotten to the point where not only will Madam Pomfrey not fix your battle scars, but she’s even forbidden me to do it!" Hermione threw up her hands in despair. "Can’t you at least not hit each other so hard?"

Harry tried to hide his amusement. "Yeah, Malfoy, you’re supposed to pull your punches."

"Me? What about you? You kicked me in the shin!"

"I slipped on the ice and my foot accidentally went into your shin."

"Twice?"

There was a rap on the door, and then it opened, admitting Ron’s bright red head. He peered around the broom closet they were using as a temporary infirmary. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see Hermione treating Harry and Draco’s wounds. "Success," he said, slipping inside. "Everyone believed the fight, and they’re all talking about it in hushed tones. That whole 'signing up for the same time for practice´ business worked really well." He jerked his chin at Harry. "You better get back to the pitch though, they’re waiting for you."

"Urgh," said Harry, wincing and touching the edge of his wounded eye. "You don’t want to captain, Ron, just this once?"

"No," said Ron firmly. "I don’t want them thinking Malfoy did you any serious damage. Besides, the Slytherins are all still lurking around, looking like they want a fight."

Draco looked pleased. "As they should."

"Blaise Zabini looks particularly threatening," Ron added.

Everyone looked at Draco, who cocked his eyes towards the ceiling, his expression neutral. "Well, she is my girlfriend."

"Thanks for reminding us," said Harry. "I think I might have otherwise missed the point when she threw herself at me screaming 'You hit my boyfriend! I hate you!´"

"Yes," said Draco noncommittally. Everyone kept staring at him. He continued to look expressionless. Nobody understood how he and Blaise had started dating, how serious they were, or in fact, if he even liked her. Talking to Draco when he did not want to tell you something, Hermione reflected, was liking trying to converse with a particularly uncommunicative wall.

"All right," said Harry finally, standing up. "I guess we’d better get back." He nodded over at Draco. "Next time, you win. We have to keep it even."

"Right." Draco touched the tips of his fingers to his temple in a mock salute, and Harry headed for the door.

"Wait a second," said Hermione, and he paused. "Aren’t you forgetting something?" and she lifted up her face to be kissed.

"Oh, right," said Harry, and reached around her to grab his Firebolt from a peg on the wall. "Thanks."

He left, followed by Ron. Hermione stared after them in disbelief. "I--," she began, and then her face crumpled. "Argh!" she exclaimed, and she threw the bloodstained sponge she had been holding at the wall. "Honestly!"

Draco ducked the sponge and came up looking sympathetic, or at least as sympathetic as he ever did, which meant that he wasn’t smirking. "He still doing it?"

"All the time," said Hermione, her face a mask of unhappiness. "He just acts like I don´t exist. I can´t remember the last time he walked me to class, or..." her voice trailed off. "And when I try to talk to him about it he just says I´m imagining things and that he’s busy. I know he’s busy...what with being Quidditch captain, and Auror classes, and that’s why he turned down being Head Boy, but..."

"But you’re not imagining things?" Draco finished for her.

"I don’t think I am," she said.

"You’re not," he said quietly.

She looked at him, and bit her lip. She knew he meant it. He didn’t lie. "What is it?" she said in a tiny voice. "Is there somebody else?"

Draco said, "I don’t know. I doubt it."

"Then what?" Her voice cracked. "Can’t you ask him?"

Draco looked down at his hands, and then up at her, and she read the reply in his face. The odd sympathy of thought and feeling that had tied them together the summer remained with them, although it was harder to call up than it had been. She knew what he was feeling - desire to do this for her, the wish that she not be unhappy, the fear that whatever the answer was, it would hurt her, and the knowledge that however much she wanted it, he could no more extract information from an unsuspecting Harry only to betray that information to her than he could fly without a broomstick.

It was more complicated being Draco, she reflected, than he was often given credit for.

"I´m sorry," she said. "I shouldn´t have asked."

"He loves you," said Draco. The look in his eyes was distant. The dark green of his Quidditch robes should have made him look sallow, but it didn´t. It brought out the winter pallor of his skin, his eyelashes so black against it, eyes as clear and gray as mirrors. He looked like an angel, she thought, although one of the heavenly kind or one of the fallen sort, it was hard to be sure.

She remembered him at the Manor, reaching around her throat to fasten her necklace. I waited so long to hear you say that... if things were different...

She shook her head to clear it. She was thinking these thoughts because she was unhappy and because Harry seemed as cold and as remote from her these days as a Durmstrang glacier. "How do you know?" she asked.

"I think I would know if he stopped," said Draco simply. "He´s always loved you... it would be a reversal of everything he is." He leaned forward then and touched her cheek with his fingertips. "You know as well as anyone what he´s been through," he said. "Just try to talk to him..." He sighed and dropped his hand. "Forget it. It´s not in my nature to give advice to the lovelorn. Ask someone with a more successful romantic life, that´s my suggestion."

"You´ve got a girlfriend," Hermione pointed out.

"Right." Draco sat back, his mouth twisting into something that might have been a smile, or not. "So I do."

***

The late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the small window in Hermione´s room, throwing a square of dark gold light onto the bedspread where Ginny sat, watching Hermione rearrange her books. Being Head Girl, Hermione had been given her own room this year. Being Hermione, she hadn´t spent much time decorating it. There was the bed with a flowered coverlet, three full bookshelves, a writing desk, and a vanity table with a mirror attached; pictures of Harry, Ron and other friends were stuck into the frame. There was another picture of Harry and Hermione together on the bedside table. There were no pictures of Draco. Perhaps, Ginny thought uncharitably, he didn´t show up on film.

"Well, I think," said Ginny, resting her chin on her hand, "that it might be time for Desperate Measures."

Hermione, who was wearily moving around the books on her dresser, looked alarmed. "Desperate measures?" she faltered. They had been discussing the Harry Problem, and she had been growing increasingly more tense.

"Yes," said Ginny, assuming a serious expression. "Short skirt. Tight top. That sort of thing."

Hermione looked even more alarmed. "You think the problem is that he´s not attracted to me?"

"No!" Ginny protested. "No, of course not." She got up and went to stand next to her friend. "I just think he´s distracted and worried, and so it´s harder getting his attention now than it might normally be. And you, you´re busy too, you´re Head Girl, and taking who knows how many extra classes, and when was the last time you and Harry did anything together just for fun?"

Hermione shut her eyes. The lids were tinged with blue. Ginny felt a stab of worry; Hermione really must be unhappy about this. The circles under her eyes were dark, too, and Ginny guessed that Hermione was more tired than she was letting on. "October," she said finally, hesitantly. "We went to the museum at Stonehenge together."

"So it´s been a while," said Ginny quietly. Hermione just nodded, looking miserable. She was dressed today as she often was when out of her robes: in a pale blue cashmere sweater, a pleated blue-and-gray skirt, with her hair swept up into a ponytail. Despite the modernity of her dress, however, something about her reminded Ginny of the portraits of Rowena Ravenclaw in her History of the Founders book. There was a translucent beauty to Hermione that had nothing to do with the shape of her face or the regularity of her features. Her beauty was in the light and intelligence that showed through everything she did. That Harry appreciated it and loved her because of it, Ginny thought, said good things about him. Of course, Draco had been in love with Hermione too.

But she would not think about Draco.

"You really think..." Hermione said, looking down at her sensible lace-up shoes and gray tights, "I should... dress up?"

Ginny shrugged. "Well, he is a boy."

Hermione smiled wanly. "It´s just that - well - he´s Harry."

"I know," said Ginny, "and he´s the hero of the wizarding world, and he´s your best friend, and blah blah, but he´s also a boy, and I think he´d like it if you wore this," and she pulled something out of Hermione´s top drawer and tossed it to her.

Hermione nearly fell off the bed. "I am not wearing that!"

"He´d probably like that even better."

"It´s a nightgown!"

"Oh. I thought it was a dress."

"Ginny! Be helpful!"

"Okay, okay."

Ginny eventually found a low-necked black sweater and a black pencil skirt in Hermione´s trunk that passed her inspection, especially after she´d used several Shortening Charms on the skirt.

"I feel silly," said Hermione gloomily, surveying her outfit. "This so isn´t me."

"You look adorable." Ginny got up off the bed and gave Hermione a quick hug. Outside the window, snow had begun to fall in thick white flakes. "Everything will be fine. Harry loves you."

"I know," said Hermione. Her voice was quiet. "But lately it seems like he´s gone away somewhere and I can´t follow him. He can be very... remote sometimes."

Ginny said nothing. She knew what Hermione meant. Sometimes Harry was just Harry, and then sometimes he seemed like something else again, something distant and powerful and frightening. She remembered waking up in the Chamber of Secrets to see Harry standing over her, drenched in blood, holding the ruby-studded silver sword in his right hand, scarlet to the hilt. And he had only been twelve then. Of course Harry was a hero, and heroes weren´t like everyone else.

"Ginny," Hermione said softly. She was leaning against the wall next to the window; now she turned her head to look through the glass, and the gray winter light caught the edges of her hair. Without looking at Ginny, she said, "Did you ... love Draco?"

Taken aback, Ginny was silent for a moment. Then she reached for her bookbag, which was propped against the trunk. "I have to go," she said. "I´m supposed to meet Elizabeth in the library."

Hermione turned her head. Behind her, the snow continued to fall, silently, covering the windowpane with a white icing. "Ginny -"

"Good luck," Ginny said, hoisting her bookbag over her shoulder. "It´ll be fine, you´ll see."

Hermione nodded, and was silent for a long moment. "I just feel so guilty," she said at last, so quietly that Ginny almost didn´t catch the words. When she did, she stared at her friend in incomprehension.

"What on earth about?"

Hermione looked weary. "Nothing. Never mind."

***

There was no one else in the Slytherin common room; everyone was at dinner. Draco, not feeling hungry, had stayed behind, although the common area was hardly one of his favorite places. The long, low, underground room never seemed warm, not even in when there was a fire blazing in the ornate marble fireplace, as there was now. The low-hanging greenish lamps cast a sickly sort of pallor over everything. Draco slumped deep into the forest-green velvet armchair he had pulled up to the fire, lost in thought.

He was still disturbed by the vision of his father he had had earlier that day during Potions class. He was almost entirely sure it had not been an ordinary dream - he recalled the pain that had shot through his hand upon waking, and remembered Harry telling him of the prophetic dreams he had dreamed about Voldemort, how Harry had woken up with pains in his scar. And he himself had dreamed bits of Slytherin´s life, and sometimes still did. Ordinary dreams were one thing; this was something else. It had looked so real, as well. He tried to imagine where his father and the Dark Lord might be, but there had been nothing specifically identifiable about the stone room. It could have been anywhere.

And his father´s voice had been so familiar. The careless drawl that he had inherited. The boy is unreliable, Master. Draco tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling, which was carved out of alternating strips of marble and green malachite. Keep your head down, Draco, and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it, his father had said to him during his second year. That school of yours needs ridding of its Mudblood filth.

Of course he must have known that I was the Heir of Slytherin, Draco thought. He was just using that story as a convenient cover-up for what was really going on. He stretched and looked down at the Transfiguration book in his lap. They were learning how to transform various elements into each other. Aqua ad pulvis transmuta. Saxum ad viscerum. Turn water to dust, stone to flesh. But he was too tired to concentrate, and the words danced on the page.

He heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor then, and the dungeon door swung open as students began to stream in, returning from dinner. He tensed, before remembering that Blaise had a study date with Pansy Parkinson in the library. He wasn´t up to dealing with her right now.

"Hey, Malfoy." It was Malcolm Baddock, the dark-haired Chaser who vaguely reminded Draco of Harry at that age. If Harry had been as cunning as a ferret and as mean as a snake, of course. "Letter came for you."

He tossed the sealed parchment into Draco´s lap. It unrolled at the touch of Draco´s hand, and Draco quickly moved his arm to block it from Malcolm´s view. "Thanks, Baddock."

Malcolm nodded and moved away, and Draco had leisure to study the missive. He had already guessed what it was, and was not disappointed: a finely drawn map, showing the front door of the castle and the route he should take from it to a designated meeting place. At the bottom of the map were inked three words in bold lettering. Meet me here.

With a sigh, Draco crumpled the map into a ball in his fist, and went to get his cloak.

***

Hermione looked over at Harry where he sat in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, a copy of The Defeat of the Wizard Grindelwald open and unread on his lap. They had been sitting and 'studying´ for about two hours, and Harry had yet to turn a page. His eyes were wide and unseeing, fixed on the fire, his head bent, his unruly mass of dark hair falling to hide his eyes. He hadn´t said much of anything to her since she´d come down to the common room to study with him, and hadn´t seemed to notice her new outfit at all. So much for Ginny´s theory, she thought darkly. I could have come down here wearing a live badger and he wouldn´t have noticed.

"Harry," she said finally, breaking the silence. "Are you even reading that book?"

"No." Harry looked up, impatiently pushing a lock of dark hair out of his eyes as he did so. The light caught and sparkled on the gold watch she had given him for his birthday - a pocket watch which he had had set into a band so he could wear it around his wrist as his father had done. "I can´t seem to concentrate." He pushed his hair back again -it had grown down to the point where it almost touched his collar, and tumbled forward when he bent his head.

This gave Hermione an idea. "I know what you need," she announced.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"A haircut," she said.

He almost smiled. "A haircut?"

"That´s right." She got up and crossed the room to where he was sitting, put her hands on his face and tilted his head up to hers. Gently she smoothed the long locks of hair back from his eyes, letting the loose curling ends slip through her fingers. His hair was rougher than Draco´s, more textured.

"This is just an excuse to play with my hair," he said. "Isn´t it?" He was actually smiling now. She could feel his awareness of her suddenly snap into focus, of the place where her sweater dipped down into the V of her chest, of how close her bare legs were to him under her short skirt. He shifted in his chair. "Hermione... are these new clothes?"

It was her turn to smile. "Maybe." She held out her wand hand. "Accio scissors," she said, and in a moment was holding the embroidery scissors that she kept in her trunk. She picked Harry´s book up off his lap and set it down on the table, with her wand on top of it. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"I don´t -" Harry began, but snip went the scissors and he subsided into a meek silence. Hermione tried to cut the hair evenly, but she had to admit to herself she knew nothing about cutting hair, she just hoped she wouldn´t lop off an ear or leave a bald spot anywhere. Harry was uncharacteristically quiet; either enjoying the attention or stupefied by boredom, she couldn´t tell. She certainly wasn´t bored. She was acutely aware of everywhere she was touching him. Her hand steadying him under the chin, her other hand in his hair, his leg between hers, her knee against his thigh. She could smell the faint scent that came off him, the clean soapy boy-smell that was Harry. His green eyes looked up at her, framed by the dark lashes she both envied and loved. "Here," he said suddenly, his voice a little hoarse, reached out, and put his hands on her waist, drawing her closer. Now she was straddling his legs and he was just about eye level with her chest. Oh dear. Is it working? I think it might be working.

Harry shifted in his chair again.

"Sit still," she said. Her voice came out on a squeak.

He released her waist and caught at her wrist with his right hand. The scissors fell out of her hand and bounced harmlessly on the carpet. "Hermione--" he said, and pulled her towards him.

And then she was kissing him. She leaned into the kiss with an urgency that was nearly painful, and to her surprise he opened his mouth under hers, welcoming the kiss, welcoming her touch. Her hands fell from his hair to his shoulders, and then slid to lock around his neck. She felt her knees give, and she sat down in his lap, looping her legs over his. She could feel the pressure of her chest against his, his heartbeat through the thin cotton t-shirt he wore. "Hermione." His voice was rough in her ear, his hands rougher on her back. He set his mouth to her cheek, her ear, the smooth line of her jaw, the sensitive skin of her throat. His fingernails almost raking her skin, he slid his hands to her waist, and then roughly up under her shirt, finding and tracing the lacy edges of her bra. Hermione shivered with the feeling, and also with surprise - this wasn´t like Harry, to be so aggressive. But he was here at last, really here, and as his fingertips traced circles of fire over her skin she gave up wondering what had gotten into him, and tumbled into the moment. There was only Harry, his fingers on her skin and his mouth on her mouth and she -

Overbalanced. With a tiny shriek, she grabbed at Harry, and succeeded in pulling him over with her as she toppled off the chair on to the floor. They landed on the carpet in a torrent of gasps and laughter and it was several moments of tangled legs and arms before Hermione realized that the only one laughing was her. Harry wasn´t laughing at all. He was staring down at her with a look of frozen horror on his face, and such a blaze of pain in his eyes that it stopped her laughter dead in its tracks. "Harry?" she gasped, struggling to sit up. "Harry, what´s wrong?"

He shook his head, pulling away from her. "What are we doing? What were you doing?"

"What was I doing?" Hermione stared at him. "I was kissing my boyfriend."

Harry put his hands over his face.

"My boyfriend," she said again, and this time there was anger in her voice. "Who barely talks to me any more, who won´t look at me -"

"That´s not true," said Harry sharply, taking his hands away from his eyes. He fumbled for his glasses on the table, and put them on. "I´m just busy, that´s all."

"And I´m not busy? I´m Head Girl, Harry, and I´ve got extra classes and study groups, and I still have time for you. I have nothing but time for you, but you don´t seem to want to spend any time with me."

"Hermione," Harry said tightly. His eyes behind his glasses were cold and removed, and his jaw was set in a hard angry line. He had never looked at her before like that. Are we having a fight? she thought numbly. Is that what this is? But everybody fought. This seemed like something else. "Hermione, let it go."

"Is this about this summer?" she asked, her voice cracking. "I know we went through hell, Harry, and I know how awful it was -"

"You don´t know," he said, and his voice was like the ice that sparkled on the windowpanes.

"Then tell me."

Harry seemed to hesitate for a moment. He was sitting with his back against the armchair now, leaning away from her, hair wild and disarranged, flushed from kissing and from anger. His eyes met hers, and held and for a moment, just a moment, she felt the old connection spring to life between them, as vibrant as a living thing.

Then Harry looked away, and it was gone. "Just let it alone, Hermione," he said. "Please."

"No," she said. "I won´t do that."

"Then we have nothing to say to each other," he said, and got to his feet. Hermione looked at him in disbelief.

"Harry--"

"Just leave me alone!" he shouted, and the shock of Harry shouting, actually shouting at her, stunned her into silence. She sat where she was, not moving, as Harry grabbed his red cloak up off the back of his chair and stalked out through the portrait hole.

***

Harry barely registered his surroundings as he flung himself down the stairs, through the darkened hallways, and through the front doors of the school. He was too full of unreasonable rage, born out of a pain so inarticulate and blinding that it might as well have been physical. His hands still tingled with the feeling of Hermione´s skin under his, and his mouth still tasted of hers, and he still saw the expression in her eyes when she had looked at him from the floor. Then tell me!

But I can´t do that.

The cold air hit him like a Bludger as soon as he stepped outside. He pulled his cloak tightly around him, but it still stung his eyes, his mouth. He went down the stairs and his boots crunched on the snow that had piled there. He had no idea where he was going. The world was beautiful and cold and glittering silver and black, the sky a flawed diamond chased with iron. The edge of the Forbidden Forest loomed dark and jagged in the distance. Harry wanted to disappear into it, into the cold and the darkness. He wanted to be alone and not to have to think or talk to anyone.

He had never felt this way before. There had never been a problem that had not been eased by the presence of Hermione or Ron. He did not know when the subtle shift had taken place inside him, but it had, and while he could bear Ron´s company, for Ron did not ask him questions, being with Hermione filled him with guilt and shame and pain.

He set off across the snow. More snow had fallen after dinner and the ground was white and trackless and empty, marked only by shadows. He might have been the only person left alive, making his way in solitude across the skin of a deserted world.

He reached the edge of the Forest, and remembered having been here as a first year, terrified, trailing an angry Draco Malfoy in his wake. They had been eleven. It seemed a hundred years ago. He raised his hand to push back a tree branch, and the moonlight caught and glimmered on the watch that banded his wrist.

He paused and stared at it. Its gold face, the black numbers, the watch his father had worn until the day he died, and Sirius had taken it off his dead wrist, and then Hermione had made it work again, for him. He knew by heart what was engraved on the base. For Harry, from Hermione, your best friend.

Hermione. An arrow of dismay shot through him. What have I done? He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to go back to the castle, but his foot caught in a bent tree root, and he fell forward into the snow.

***

The map led Draco to an old stone wall at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, in the center of a deserted clearing. A tree had grown up through the center of the wall, splitting the stones apart with its roots. Draco leaned back against its trunk in the shadow of its bare leafless branches, and looked out over the frozen landscape.

The sky had darkened to cobalt, marked here and there with the thumbprint of a black cloud. Everywhere the snow stretched white and cold and sparkling, coated with shimmering ice. The lake was an iced-over diamond, softened to a muted blue by the gathering darkness. And in the distance the castle rose, dark and shadowy and ancient, looking as it must have looked a thousand years ago when Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor had lived there as children.

Sometimes, looking out at the castle, memories of that other life came to him, as easily as the memory of a dream. They had been present here together for the building of the castle, the two young men, still almost children, riding horses side by side through the dry blue waters of the cornflower fields in summer. Just by touching his hands to the old stone wall, he could hear their boys´ voices echo in his head.

Come down off the wall, Salazar, why break your neck?

Why not?

You know why not.

Do you love me so much as all that, Godric?

I love you well enough.

Draco opened his eyes. He wondered if Rowena were still alive, would she cry to know what had become of Slytherin, her first love, forever trapped in Hell? He wondered briefly what Hell was like. A burning place, as it was usually depicted? Or a frozen land of ice and snow, warmed by no fires, lit by no light at all?

While he was considering this, there was a loud snapping noise overhead, and a girl fell out of the tree and landed on top of on him.

He tried to get his hands out of his pockets to catch her, but the sound of the breaking branch had startled him and slowed his responses. He did take a step back, but it wasn´t enough. She fell directly onto him and they rolled sideways down a slight incline into a snow bank. When they came to a stop, he found that she was half-lying on top of him, her knees almost pinning his arms to his sides, her familiar gray eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Hallo Draco," she said, sitting up. "Are you all right?"

Draco blinked up at her. She was dressed, as she always was, in what amounted almost to period costume. Today she wore a rich dark wool dress, low-necked, with slashed sleeves just visible beneath her violet cloak. The cloak fastened at her shoulder with a gold pin in the shape of a poppy. There were jewels caught in her hair, emeralds and garnets, and when she moved they caught the moonlight and glimmered like Christmas lights, an effect that was probably intentional.

He sighed. "Rhysenn. Yes. Fortunately I cleverly used my spine to break our fall."

"You don´t sound pleased to see me."

"I´m surprised I sound anything. I can´t breathe."

This was true. Instead of sitting on his stomach, Rhysenn was sitting squarely on his ribs. She was light, but his breathing was still constricted. Instead of shifting, she merely pouted. As always, she reminded him of a tightly wound musical instrument. A violin, maybe. She was that delicate-looking, and vibrated to that high a pitch.

"I had a really clever comment all worked out," said Draco wistfully. "Then you fell on my head and I forgot what it was."

"Tell me anyway."

"I can´t, the moment´s past."

Rhysenn shook her head and the gems glittered in her hair. "You think too much," she said.

The snow was beginning to soak into the back of Draco´s cloak. He shivered. "Such men are dangerous," he said.

Rhysenn didn´t reply. Her eyes were glittering, flat gray and amused. "Do you want the message I have for you," she said at last, "or not?"

Draco yawned. Snow went into his mouth. He tried not to splutter. "Have I got a choice?"

"Not really." Rhysenn was smirking. This was her favorite part, when Draco had to play hide-and-seek to find the parchment concealed among her voluminous clothes. Usually Draco played along, but tonight he was feeling unaccountably irritable. He put one hand firmly on her waist, and slid the other up under her dress, along her outer thigh, and found the rolled-up parchment tucked neatly into the top of her stocking. He pulled it free, and held it up in front of her. "Got it."

She looked irritable. "How did you know...?"

"You´re a woman, and therefore predictable."

"Oh!" Rhysenn emitted a very girly squeak of annoyance, and got up off Draco´s chest. She stood over him, hands on her hips, a position which would have afforded him a good view up her skirt had he craned his head. He decided to be gentlemanly, and didn´t. Instead, he stood up, brushing the snow off his cloak as he did. When he looked up, he found himself staring squarely into her eyes. There was nothing girly about her gaze - it was sharp, cold, calculating, ageless. He wondered again how old she was, something she had never been willing to tell him. "You´re horrible."

"Don´t," said Draco, standing up, and brushing the snow from his sleeves with the parchment, "pretend like you care what I do."

Rhysenn grinned then, showing sharp white teeth. "You´re right. I don´t." She darted forward then, and pressed her lips to his cheek; it was like the brush of hot ash against his skin. He shivered. "Merry Christmas," she said. "I´ll see you again before your birthday."

"I don´t doubt it. My birthday is in July."

"That´s what you think," she said, and disappeared. Draco glared at the spot from which she had vanished. He had told her before that it was impossible to Apparate on and off Hogwarts grounds, but she didn´t appear to care.

He looked down gloomily at the letter in his hand. He had become used to the look of these missives from his father. Fine vellum parchment, neatly rolled, tied with a black ribbon and stamped with a death´s head seal. His father couldn´t stamp it with the seal of the Malfoys, after all - that seal ring glittered now on Draco´s left hand, against the fine black leather of his winter gloves. With a gloomy sigh, he prepared himself to open it, when the sound of crackling ice made him glance up in alarm, his gaze searching the half-lit glade. And lighting upon Harry, sprawled a little ways away from him, face-down in the snow.

***

'Lo, Potter." The voice emanating from above Harry´s head was liquid with amusement. "Making snow angels, are we, or just very, very tired?"

"Shut up, Malfoy." Harry rolled over onto his back. He was looking up at Draco now, who seemed a black silhouette against the sapphire-blue evening sky. White ice crystals were caught in his silvery hair, and his gray eyes matched the color of the iced-over lake. "I fell over."

"That much," said Draco, "is evident." He held out a slender hand, gloved in sueded black leather. "Get up, then."

"I don´t want to," said Harry, mutinously.

"You´ll freeze," Draco pointed out.

"So what?"

"Right," said Draco. "Excellent point." With that, he flopped down in the snow next to Harry. Harry craned his neck to look at Draco with a feeling of great irritation. Why couldn´t Draco simply leave him alone, wasn´t it clear that he wanted to be miserable on his own?

"You´ll ruin your fancy gloves," he said.

"Got six more like them at home," said Draco equably. "Now what´s up with you? You look like someone set you up on a date with Snape."

Harry laughed bitterly.

"Ah, the bitter laugh," noted Draco. "That means girl trouble."

He spoke lightly. His voice was careful and even. Harry lifted his head and propped his chin on his hand, his eyes scanning Draco´s expression, which was noncommittal. Even after all this time, the subject of Hermione was not one that was entirely comfortable between them. Draco was careful and respectful and reticent on the topic. This in itself was enough for Harry to know that whatever issues Draco had harbored in regards to Hermione, he still harbored them. Harry suspected that this was what lay behind Draco´s estrangement from Ginny, but there was no way to be sure. Whatever it was, Blaise apparently didn´t mind it, or had convinced herself that it didn´t matter.

"Yeah," Harry heard himself say, with some surprise. "You could say that."

Draco´s eyebrows went up, but he didn´t say anything.

"We had a fight," Harry added.

Draco stayed silent.

"Hermione and I," Harry clarified.

"Right, well I didn´t think you meant Hedwig."

Harry grinned despite himself. This seemed to solidify some resolve of Draco´s. He stood up, and held out a hand to Harry again. "Get up," he said. "We´re going for a walk."

This time, Harry took the proffered hand. "Where to?" he asked as he got to his feet.

"Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade?" Harry tried to pull his hand out of Draco´s, but Draco was now yanking him determinedly towards the Forbidden Forest. "Why?"

"We´re going to get drunk."

"But - the Three Broomsticks only has butterbeer. I'm not a house-elf!"

"Just shut up, Potter, and trust me."

***

The sun swept down behind the mountains that framed Hogsmeade, lighting the picture-pretty little village with a rose-quartz glow. Snow was heaped and piled like icing sugar on the roofs of the houses, which were strung with magical Christmas lights, flashing emerald and garnet through the snow-spangled air. Smoke curled up in plumes from the chimneys below, tracing the darkening sky with faint dark markings like the markings inside a seashell.

"Pretty," said Draco, pausing on the path that led into the village. The ornate gold ‘You are now entering Hogsmeade’ sign that marked the village outskirts was wreathed, like the rest of the town, in dancing red-and-green lights. Draco stared at it. "No danger of forgetting it´s nearly Christmas in this place," he said.

"Christmas," echoed Harry. His tone was hollow. He might as well have been talking about some ghastly recent tragedy. "I haven´t bought any gifts for anyone yet."

Draco looked sideways at him. "Do I take this to mean I will not be getting the model train set I asked for?"

"And the wedding," Harry continued gloomily. "That´s coming up at New Year´s and I haven´t gotten them anything, either."

Draco blinked snow from his eyelashes. "Have you heard from Sirius?"

Harry shook his head. "Not much. I think he´s busy with preparations."

"Any word on the bagpipe situation?"

A very faint smile touched the corner of Harry´s mouth. "I think that´s still a stalemate."

"Not for long, if I know my mother," said Draco, but he could tell Harry had stopped listening. He was staring off towards the town, his green eyes dark and remote. The weather suited him - the white snowy backdrop made his black hair and red cloak stand out dramatically, and the cold flushed his pale skin with a healthy glow. But his mouth was set in a tense unhappy line that spoiled what would have been an otherwise attractive picture. "Oh, bear up, Potter," said Draco. "You look like your owl just died."

"Hermione hates me," said Harry. His hands were working nervously at his belt. Not at the actual material, but at a circular reddish ornament, too small to be a bracelet, that was looped on like an extra buckle. Draco had noticed it before but had never asked Harry what it was. Whatever it was, he was very attached to it - Draco could not remember seeing him without it since September.

"Hates you?" Draco shook his head, but Harry didn´t seem inclined to elaborate. "I doubt that."

"Who cares what you think," replied Harry, his voice without inflection.

"Another excellent point," Draco said. "Right. No more out of you." He came up to Harry and grabbed a fistful of the back of his cloak. "Come on."

He pulled, and Harry followed, without much resistance. They headed down the hard-packed snowy path into the village, passing warm lighted windows that smelled of gingerbread and cinnamon. Eventually they came out into Hogsmeade´s small commercial district, bracketed by Zonko´s joke shop on one end and the Three Broomsticks on the other. Zonko´s was closed but the Broomsticks was open, and as they passed through its doors and into the noisy, warm, crowded space inside, Draco said a spell under his breath that melted the snow from their clothes without leaving a puddle. Always thoughtful, that´s my motto.

Behind the bar, pretty Madam Rosmerta winked and smiled at the boys. "Hallo, Draco," she said. "Harry."

Draco nodded at her. "We´re just passing through," he said significantly.

She arched an eyebrow. "Well, have fun then."

Harry looked at Draco in confusion. "Malfoy, what--?"

"Just come on." Draco transferred his grip from the scruff of Harry´s neck to his wrist, and pulled him along in his wake. They crossed the room, half-full of witches and wizards sitting and drinking quietly at the long oak tables, then passed by the huge decorated Christmas tree and under the stairwell, until they fetched up at - a wall. Which was entirely blank except for a gold-framed painting of a very attractive young girl, bearing a not-passing resemblance to Madam Rosmerta herself, perched on a swing. When she caught sight of Harry and Draco she gave them a coquettish wink. "Well, aren´t you two pretty," she said. "Come to visit with me for a while?"

Draco shook his head, smiling slightly. "Buttercup," he said.

"Oh, not another one," said the girl in the picture, looking annoyed, but the portrait swung forward anyway, revealing a blank black entryway through the wall. Draco started off, and Harry, looking bewildered, followed Draco into the passageway.

A huge space opened up before them. It was an elegant room, all sparkling teak wood and dark oak and polished brass. A long bar ran across one wall, and behind it were shelves lined with row after row of liquor bottles: red Dragon´s Blood gin, black Giant wine, viscous green Troll beer. A tall glass vodka bottle the height of a man stood to one side of the bar; inside it tiny broomsticks whizzed around in circles. The words ABSOLUT QUIDDITCH wound in scrollwork across the top.

A tall witch stood behind the bar counter, wearing a shimmering silver top, and pouring a thin stream of pink liquid into a glass held by a fat wizard in an orange robe who sat cross-legged at the bar. As Harry´s eyes adjusted to the dimness he realized two things. One: that the bar was, aside from the bartender and a few waitresses, inhabited solely by wizards; there was not a witch to be seen. Two: that the girl behind the bar was not wearing a shimmering silver top after all; in fact, she was not wearing any top. She was clothed solely in her long glimmering hair and a pair of gold hotpants.

"Welcome to the Sleazy Weasel," said Draco indicating the bar with a sweep of his arm.

"Gah," said Harry, taking a step back. "I - I never - I´ve never seen--"

"Now you have," said Draco. He grabbed hold of the back of Harry´s robes again and steered him firmly towards the bar. Finding an empty pair of stools next to the plump wizard with the pink cocktail, he plonked Harry down into a seat and leaned over the counter. "Oi!" he said. "Drinks, over here."

The topless waitress turned around. "Draco!" she said, obviously pleased to see him. She hurried over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I haven´t seen you in ages."

Harry made a gurgling sound. "You come here a lot?" he said to Draco.

"Believe it or not, my father used to conduct business deals here," said Draco, accepting the barmaid´s kiss with the air of one to whom all homage is due. His eyes flicked expertly down the bar. "Right, then. One Mai Tai," he said. "With an umbrella. Green. And one..." He glanced over at Harry. "One Bloody Mary, double shot of Dragon´s Blood."

The bartending witch grinned. "Umbrella?"

"Sure. A red one."

She winked at him. "Anything you want. And clever you, you got here before the show this time."

Draco just smiled. The show? thought Harry. His eyes darted to the side and lit upon a small stage towards the shadowy end of the room. There were several tall poles set up on it, and far behind them was a small group of wizard musicians. All men, as well. The one with the clarinet looked disturbingly like Snape.

Harry had seen enough bad movies to know what the poles were for. He slowly, disbelieveingly turned his head towards Draco, who was rummaging in the pockets of his cloak with an air of great unconcern. "Malfoy," he said, a bit creakily. "Did you just take me to a wizard strip club?"

"Yup," said Draco, and tossed a handful of Galleons on the counter. "That should hold us for a few rounds."

Harry shook his head. "I´ll see you toast on the fires of hell for this, Malfoy."

"Did you say a toast?" The silver-haired barmaid was back (obviously a veela, Harry thought) with a smoking red drink in one hand and a swirling green drink in the other. She set them down in front of Harry and Draco and smiled. "How about a toast to the two best-looking boys at Hogwarts?"

Despite himself, Harry felt a blush creeping up from his collar. He was not immune to veela charms, even now. Draco, however, just grinned. "Angelique," he said, "you´ve never even seen any of the other boys at Hogwarts."

The veela girl grinned back. "I´m just in it for the tips, love," she said.

Draco handed her a galleon. She tucked it carefully away in a place that nearly made Harry fall off his stool. When he righted himself, he made a grab for his drink, and drained it handily. It went down about as easily as a pint of gasoline, but even as he choked and sputtered he could feel the liquid spreading its alert and burning energy through his veins.

He gestured weakly with his hand. "Another," he said, between coughs. "Another of the same, please."

***

They had each downed four drinks and the "show´ still hadn´t started. Not that Harry seemed to care. He was sitting hunched over his fourth Dragon´s Blood cocktail, staring down into it as if it held the secrets of the universe.

Gently, Draco poked him in the shoulder. "Buck up, Potter. The night is young and we have umbrellas in our drinks."

Harry turned unfocused green eyes on him. "What is it with you and drink umbrellas?"

"Well, there´s a good story there. Actually it´s not a good story, it´s just a long one. Let´s talk about you instead. How did you come to be lying face-down in the snow outside the Forbidden Forest?"

"I told you. I had a fight with Hermione."

"And she banged you over the head with a shovel, dragged you out to the Forbidden Forest, and left you there?"

Harry blew out an exasperated breath. "No. I sort of - ran off. Things were getting to intense and - don´t you and Blaise ever fight?"

Draco snorted. "Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

Draco shook his head, "I don´t want to talk about her."

"But she´s your girlfriend."

Draco was unable to restrain a shudder. "Don´t remind me."

Harry looked at him with his mouth open. "Don´t you like her?"

"Nobody likes Blaise," said Draco, with finality.

"Why not?"

"Ha!" Draco sat back, his eyes sparking. "´Where to start? 'Get me a present.´ 'Take me to Hogsmeade.´ 'Buy me that bracelet.´ 'Make love to me right here on the floor.´ 'No, not like that, like this.´ 'Stop wasting time and get your trousers off´.´"

"Which do you want me to do first?" asked Harry, poking his fourth - fifth? - drink with the tip of the red umbrella.

Draco snorted. "No, that´s what she´s like. She´s got the worst personality in the whole House, and as you can imagine that´s up against some pretty stiff competition."

Harry looked at him curiously. "Then why are you dating her?"

Draco knocked back his drink so fast that Harry was worried for a moment that he was going to topple off his barstool. He slammed the empty glass down on the counter. "What are you talking about, Potter? She's fantastic."

"Er," Harry said, bewildered. "All right. It's just...whatever happened with you and Ginny? I thought you were going to...you know. Date. Maybe."

"We were what? Okay, Maudlin Man, this encounter session wasn´t supposed to be about me. It was supposed to be about you."

Harry drew himself upright with a fair bit of difficulty. He took a moment to focus his eyes on Draco. Then his green gaze sharpened, and hardened, and he no longer looked drunk at all. "Fine," he said. "Let´s talk about me."

Draco idly ran a finger around the cold rim of his glass. "What did you and Hermione fight about?" he asked, making his voice neutral.

"Why don´t you tell me?" said Harry.

Draco blinked. "Eh?"

"She talks to you," said Harry, in a cool voice. "I know she does."

Draco met Harry´s gaze with his own. "Do you care?"

"If it helps her, I guess I don´t."

Draco abandoned the cagey approach. "She says you´ve been ignoring her," he said. "She says you barely speak to her any more."

A slow flush spread upward from Harry´s collarbone, across his face. "That´s not true," he said.

Draco didn´t say anything.

"It´s not bloody true," Harry said again, the tops of his cheekbones dark red with rage.

"Right," said Draco. "Tell me, what classes is she taking?"

Harry blinked and opened his mouth. 'What?"

"What classes is Hermione taking this year?"

Harry´s mouth remained open. "Potions," he said slowly. "Advanced DaDA with Lupin...."

"And the classes she doesn´t have with you?"

Harry looked down at the bartop. "Arithmancy," he said. His voice was unsure. "Medical Magic. Wards and Protection..."

"She dropped that," said Draco. His voice was hard. "In October. She´s taking Runic Studies instead."

Harry looked away from him. His jaw muscles were set. "What´s your point?"

"You have been ignoring her. Why?"

"I have not--"

"Oh, give it up, Harry," yelled Draco in exasperation. "Is there somebody else?"

Harry banged his fist down so hard on the bar that the glasses rattled. Draco was conscious of the fat wizard on his right giving them a peculiar look. He was also conscious that his last question to Harry might easily be misunderstood if one hadn´t carefully listened to the conversation previously. Oh well.

"There is nobody else!" Harry shouted. "There never will be anybody else, not for me, not ever!"

The fat wizard nudged Draco in the ribs with his wand. "I think he really means it," he hissed in Draco´s ear. "Come on, give him another chance."

"Oh, shut up," said Draco, not turning around. He was looking at Harry. The dark red color had faded from Harry´s skin and now he was very white.

"Sorry," he said. "It´s not your fault."

"Damn right it isn´t," said Draco. "And don´t think I like being go-between for you and Hermione either, because I don´t."

"So why...?"

"I don´t like seeing her unhappy," said Draco, with finality.

At that, Harry was silent. He stared off at the row of bottles lined up against the wall behind the bar. The magical liquors inside swirled with different colors: shades of lavender, turquoise and lemony gold. "Maybe I´m being selfish," he said finally. "But it´s because I love her and I don´t want to lose her even if I don´t... even if I can´t..." he paused, and Draco waited, knowing this was no time to interrupt. "Even if I can´t give her anything right now," Harry finished.

"You´ll drive her away," said Draco.

Harry was looking down into his empty glass now. The torchlight fringed his black hair with gold and lit a bright spark of fire at his throat. The Epicyclical Charm. "Might be the best thing for her," he said.

"Bollocks," said Draco firmly. "She loves you."

"Love," said Harry flatly. His voice held no intonation. "Maybe."

"Don´t be a daft bugger. Of course she does."

The bartender set another drink down in front of Harry, who looked at it out of bleary green eyes. Draco tried to recall the number of glasses of alcohol Harry had now consumed. He had a feeling it was out of the single digits. "Voldemort´s coming for me," Harry said. "You know that."

Draco leaned back. "I don´t know any such thing," he said, although in the back of his head was the memory of a burning pain lancing through his palm, and a man´s voice saying, The boy is unreliable, Master.

"Of course he is," said Harry. "He´ll try for me again. Why would he stop now? Slytherin´s out of the way, and the younger I am and the less experienced the better his chances."

"Potter..." Draco let his voice trail away. "You don´t know."

"I know." Harry´s voice was certain.

"Then... are you afraid?"

"No. I´m glad."

Draco blinked. "Come again?"

"I´m glad," said Harry, and his voice held something, something savage and primal. His hand was tight around the stem of his glass. "I´m glad. I think about it all the time, Malfoy, about confronting him, my chance for vengeance this time, my chance to free my parents... I dream about killing him. I wake up with bruises on my hands and I know I´ve been hitting the wall with my fists while I sleep. I´ve been angry before but I´ve never known hatred like this, this fierce and constant, it never leaves me, and how can I be around Hermione when I feel like that? If she knew how I really was, how full of poison and hate... she thinks I´m above those things, better than that, and I wish I was, but --" He shook his head as if clearing it of cobwebs, and his black hair flew around his face. Hermione had been right. It wanted cutting. "But I´m not."

Draco was staring at him. "I didn´t know..."

Harry´s breathing was ragged. "I keep thinking about my parents down there... in that place..."

Draco spoke through a tightened throat: "Did you use the Pensieve I gave you?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "I can´t...." The alcohol had roughened the usually smooth edges of his voice, and given it a wild desperation. "I can´t bear it, I can´t..." and he leaned forward, and buried his face in his hands.

Draco stayed frozen, his heart beating painfully against his ribs. This was his fault, his fault, he was the one who had told Harry about his parents in the land of the dead, giving him a tool with which to sharpen all his feelings of loss and rage and despair into a now-unbearable point. He had thought the gift of the Pensieve would help, but it hadn´t, since Harry couldn´t bear to use it. He was a fool to have thought of it in the first place.

He reached out, and gently touched the now-dry shoulder of Harry´s dark cloak. "Potter." Harry didn´t move. "Potter, I´m sorry. I -"

Harry fell off the chair and slid bonelessly to the ground.

"Oh, hell." Draco was off his chair and kneeling down next to Harry in a flash. He put a hand on Harry´s shoulder and rolled him over. He seemed unharmed, and blinked up at Draco with sleepy half-open emerald eyes. "Harry? Harry, are you all right?"

"Fine, thank you, Professor," said Harry, smiled, and shut his eyes.

"And one day I will remember why I let you drink so much." Draco sighed and sat back on his heels. Only then did he realize that the whole bar was staring at them. Even the scantly clad waitresses were looking at them curiously. "Come on, Harry, get up. No, don´t fall back down again. Yes, I know, gravity is a harsh mistress. But we have to learn to work with her. Now come along..."

***

"Look, he´ll come back." Ginny gave Hermione´s hand a comforting squeeze. The two girls sat together just outside Hogwarts' great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. Both were warmly wrapped in fur-lined cloaks: Hermione´s dark blue, Ginny´s pale gold. A few flakes of silvery snow were caught in Ginny´s scarlet curls, and her dark eyes were wide and anxious as they fixed on her friend. "You two hardly ever fight."

"I know," said Hermione, through a tight throat. "That´s what makes it so awful."

"Fighting all the time is worse by far, believe me," said Ginny, and rolled her eyes. "Draco and I -" She broke off. Despite her miserable state, Hermione found her ears pricking with interest.

"Draco and you what?"

"Nothing," said Ginny with an elegant shrug. Hermione studied Ginny out of the corner of her eye. Ginny´s scarlet hair and gold cloak stood out like beacons against the snow. When students argued over who was the prettiest girl in school, it usually came down to an close choice between Blaise Zabini and Ginny. Ginny, in Hermione´s opinion, was easily as pretty, but she didn´t try as hard as Blaise did. Hermione wondered for the hundredth time what had caused her rift with Draco. They had been quite close when they´d all returned to school in September, and then, quite suddenly and with no explanation, they were no longer speaking. In fact, unless it was at a Quidditch match, they seemed to try never to be within a hundred yards of each other.

Ron had been ecstatic. Hermione, although she tried to hide it, had also been pleased. And Harry had barely noticed that anything was happening at all.

Harry. Hermione´s heart turned over, and she against raised her eyes to the dark tree line in the distance, searching for a familiar dark head and scarlet cloak...

Ginny saw them first. "Look," she said, and rose to her feet, her gold cloak swirling around her. Hermione squinted where Ginny was looking, but her eyesight wasn´t as sharp as the other girl´s: she saw only a vague dark approaching shape. Ginny sniffed. "They´re back... might have known who he´d go running to." She turned. "I´m going back inside."

Hermione caught at her hand. "No. Wait."

Ginny waited, reluctantly. The dark approaching shape resolved itself into a clearer figure. Hermione could now see that it was Draco, bareheaded, his silvery hair bright against the dark horizon. But he was not alone; he was carrying Harry, whose scarlet cloak stood out against the snow like a splash of blood.

Hermione was down the stairs in seconds. In the icy silence of the night the sound of her feet crushing the iced-over snow was like the sound of breaking glass. She reached Draco´s side and almost barreled into him in her haste to get near Harry, "What happened? Is he all right?"

"He´s fine." Draco´s eyes were shadowed, his lids touched with silver in the moonlight. "He just drank too much, that´s all."

"Oh." Hermione let her hands drop to her sides. She couldn´t look at Harry´s sleeping face, he looked so vulnerable and so childlike in the icy light. She looked up at Draco instead. "So he passed out?"

"Well, he woke up briefly, but he called me Professor, and then he demanded to be taken to Buckingham Palace because he was late for high tea with the Queen. When I didn't let him run for the train he became abusive, so I knocked him out and here we are."

Hermione shook her head. "With friends like you, who needs severe head injuries? I cannot believe you let him drink that much."

Draco looked at her with big eyes.

She sighed. "On the other hand, you did carry him all the way here."

Draco shrugged. "I couldn´t leave him on the floor of the .. ah... Three Broomsticks. I did a Legerus spell to make him lighter."

"Did you now?" It was Ginny, who had come to stand behind Hermione. She pointed her wand at the unconscious Harry. "Finite incantatem," she said.

There was a brief flash of light, and Draco stumbled forward and nearly lost his balance as his burden assumed its normal weight. Hermione reached forward and caught at Harry, and together with Draco she helped lower him to the snow-covered ground, where he made a faint sleepy noise, rolled over, and put his head on his arms.

Draco straightened up and looked at Ginny. His light eyes were flashing with rage. "That was stupid, Weasley," he said. "I might have dropped him."

"Like you care," said Ginny, tossing her thick red curls. "You could have done a Mobilicorpus spell on him and gotten him here. You didn´t need to carry him. You were just showing off to impress Hermione."

Hermione stiffened in surprise. What had gotten into Ginny? She looked at Draco, almost afraid what she might see. His eyes were narrowed as he looked at Ginny, his mouth a thin hard line. "What a rich and inventive fantasy life you lead, Weasley," he said coldly. "I can only assume that it´s because your ordinary life is so colorless and boring."

"At least I have a life," snapped Ginny.

"Right and it consists of waiting around outside school at two in the morning for other people´s boyfriends to show up, because you haven´t got your own."

"You don´t have to prove how hateful you are," Ginny said icily. "I already know it." And she turned on her heel and walked back up the stairs, yanking the heavy front doors open with venomous force before disappearing inside.

Hermione turned and looked at Draco. The angry look had disappeared from his face, and there was an odd light in his eyes. Without looking at her, he said, "If you start asking me what happened between me and Ginny and telling me what a great couple we were, I will bury you up to your ears in snow."

"Can I ask you how you can possibly stand dating Blaise Zabini instead?"

"Have I ever answered you when you asked me that?"

"No, but I thought tonight might be different."

"It might, in fact, be the night your boyfriend freezes to death, unless you get him inside." Draco looked pointedly down at Harry, who was still lying on the ground the with head pillowed on his arm. Hermione doubted he was in any danger of freezing, since he was lying on his cloak, which she had charmed with a Warming Spell back in October.

"He looks so cute," she said.

"Debatable," said Draco, and stepped back. "But he´s all yours now. Have a good night, and don´t let him throw up on you."

"Aren´t you going to help me get him inside?" she asked.

"No," said Draco. "Get Weasley to help you." She knew he meant Ron; even when he called Ginny "Weasley" there was a notable difference in tone when he was referring to her than when he was referring to her brother.

"I don´t know where he is," she wailed.

"I´m sure you can find him," said Draco, and walked past her, taking the stairs up to the front door two at a time, the moonlight flashing off the silver embroidery on his cloak. She wondered if he were going after Ginny. Ginny hadn´t looked like she wanted to be gone after. Still, with those two, you never knew.

***

Ginny was halfway up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower when she heard his voice behind her. "Weasley. Wait."

Despite herself, she turned around. Draco stood at the foot of the stairs, wrapped in his black cloak. The snow in his hair had melted and made little rivulets down the sides of his face, running into his collar. Behind him, through the window, she could see the night sky printed with a thousand silver stars the color of his eyes.

She said, "What do you want?"

"I think it would be best if you didn´t mention tonight to anyone," he said. "At least in regards to Harry."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "I already promised along with everyone else that I wouldn´t mention that you two were friends."

"I know," Draco said. The unspoken comment hung between them: But that was before. "I meant about his drinking too much. The teachers won´t like it and it could affect whether they let him play. He´s had trouble already with his marks this year. You know that."

"Do you care about anyone besides Harry?" She heard the ice in her own voice, and was surprised. Where did I learn to talk like that? The answer was immediate: From him, of course. "And Hermione, I suppose. But then, we agreed not to talk about that."

"I´m not asking you to promise anything for me," Draco said. "But Harry is your friend as well."

Ginny felt the muscles in her shoulders and back tighten. "You don´t keep your promises," she said in a low voice. "Why should I?"

"I never promised you anything," said Draco. His voice was calm. He pushed his hair back from his forehead and the torchlight caught on the seal ring he wore, and glittered.

"You implied that -"

"You chose to read an implication into my behavior," said Draco. His eyes were narrowed slits of silver light. "That´s not my fault."

Ginny felt a painful band of cold tighten around her heart. She knew this was not true. Draco had not pretended his feelings for her. But they had already had this conversation, and it was no use trying to get him to say anything different or new. But when she thought back to Harry´s birthday party, Draco´s hand on her hand as they descended the stairs, and his eyes when he looked at her, and all the letters she had written him over the summer, rage boiled up in her, so violent and so tragic that it was almost pain.

"You´re a bastard," she spat, without thinking. "Just like your father."

Draco stiffened. A brief flicker of emotion darkened his eyes: it could have been hurt or rage, or simple surprise. Then it was gone. "Actually," he said, and his voice was bitter, "I´m a bastard in a way that´s entirely my own."

Ginny had nothing to say to that. She turned around and went up the stairs, and Draco did not follow her.

***

It was near dawn, and the room had begun to fill with light. "The sun's coming up," she said, rolling over in the darkness until her bare shoulder touched his. "We should be getting back."

"No." His voice was distant, sleepy. "Let´s stay here. Let them find us. Who cares?"

"Oh, Ron." She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. He lay with the sheets tangled around him, red hair pasted against his forehead with sweat. This room was one of the few at Hogwarts that wasn't drafty in the winter. In the pale gray dawn light that streamed through the high window, the mark on Ron´s forehead where Rowena Ravenclaw had kissed him stood out pale and silver. "You know we can´t do that."

"I know." He pulled her down so that she lay crosswise on top of him, and kissed her mouth.

"Nobody can know about this," she said urgently. "About us."

"Yeah. I know that too." His lips found her throat. "I don´t like the lying, though."

"It´s just for now," she said, her voice a little hoarse. Her resolve had begun to weaken and she found herself leaning into his kisses. When he stopped she made a disappointed noise and looked down at him beseechingly.

His blue eyes laughed up at hers. "I thought we had to get back?" he said.

"Well," she whispered, "maybe not quite yet," and she let him pull her down into his arms.

NB: Elizabeth Thomas is named in honor of our beloved Ebony. Who? Malcolm Baddock, Milicent Bulstrode, Blaise Zabini, and Graham Pritchard are all Slytherins in canon, and Dex Flint is obviously Marcus´ younger brother. The unpleasant Tess Hammond is a creature of my own imagination.

All the portrait art in this chapter is by Starling, and is part of this set she drew specifically for Draco Veritas. Angelique and Blaise and Draco together are by Hydy.

***

References:

"I don´t know," said Harry, his voice dripping acid. "I´m afraid I accidentally got in line for 'shred of moral decency´ instead." Buffy.

Fortunately I cleverly used my spine to break our fall." Blackadder.

The night is young and we have umbrellas in our drinks." The Tick.

´Where to start? 'Get me a present.´ 'Take me to Hogsmeade.´ 'Buy me that bracelet.´ 'Make love to me right here on the floor.´ 'No, not like that, like this.´ 'Stop wasting time and get your trousers off´.´"

"Which do you want me to do first?" Blackadder.

Chapter 2