"Come and get your post, boy, it's not going to float up there by itself!"

Harry frowned. He never got any post except by owl – who would send him anything via Muggle post? Sighing, he got off the bed and walked out into the corridor, then downstairs. From the living room came the blare of the television and the muffled voices of his aunt and uncle. He walked inside, casting a sidelong glance at the screen.

The Dursleys were watching a programme about bodybuilders – it was Dudley's newest obsession. He had built up quite a bit of bulk thanks to boxing and managed to shed most of his puppy fat. Now he spent all his free time watching bodybuilding videos, at least when he wasn't out with his thuggish friends.

The banner at the bottom of the screen announced that it was some sort of international bodybuilders' championship. A large, tanned man in a pair of swimming trunks was showing off his sinewy, knotty body on a podium. He flashed a dazzling smile at the unseen audience and struck a pose, linking his hands together in front of his chest and bending forward so his biceps tensed.

Harry watched with a measure of fascination as the lights in the studio played across the man's sculpted chest and thighs. He felt an uncomfortable tightness in his pants and froze, horrified. His heartbeat quickened and his mouth went dry. Harry felt warmth spread across his chest and creep up his neck – oh God. Watching the bodybuilder was turning him on.

He became dimly aware of the Dursleys falling silent and tore his gaze away from the screen, feeling self-conscious and exposed. He was glad he was wearing Dudley's old clothes: the overlarge T-shirt would obscure his now-obvious hard-on.

"Well?" growled Uncle Vernon. "What're you standing there for, boy? Your letter's on the kitchen counter."

Harry nodded and hurried to leave the room. When he walked into his room upstairs, he shut the door carefully, walked over to the window and tore open the plain white envelope.

The letter was from Colin and Dennis Creevey's mother, Catherine. She had sent it by Muggle post because she didn't trust owls. In the letter, she thanked Harry for being a "good influence" on her sons. What that was supposed to mean, Harry didn't know, but he had to admit it was a nice change to be thanked for being a good influence after last year's smear campaign by the Daily Prophet.

Harry stuffed the letter with the rest of his post and flopped down onto his bed. When he closed his eyes, he recalled an image of the bodybuilder he'd just seen on the telly. Harry opened his eyes and sat up, frowning. Why had he reacted the way he had? He liked girls. Well, one girl, to be exact, but still.

Harry leant his head against the headboard and closed his eyes again. Like many times in the past several weeks, he wished desperately that he could write to Sirius. Sirius would have known the answer, but Sirius was gone, and Harry was alone. He sighed. He would give anything to have someone to talk to. Well no, that wasn't right. He would give anything to have Sirius back.

He couldn't even celebrate the lifting of Umbridge's Quidditch ban properly – the letter from the Department of Magical Games and Sports had arrived a week ago, and all Harry could do was write to Ron and Hermione about it. They'd both been thrilled for him, but it seemed almost matter-of-fact – everyone had assumed that Harry wouldn't really be banned for life.

Harry looked at the calendar on his wall, where he marked the days until another year at Hogwarts started: there were still far too many days to go. Ron had said that Harry could go and stay at the Burrow with him, but Harry had refused. He didn't want to put the Weasleys at risk.

Voldemort wanted to kill Harry and he would come after him anywhere – except here, where his mother's blood still remained. One good thing about living with the Dursleys was that Voldemort couldn't reach Harry here, not even in his dreams. The Dursleys themselves had mostly left Harry alone. He didn't even mind that Aunt Petunia insisted he do the bulk of the housework if he wanted her to keep putting food in front of him.

Harry slid back down on his bed and closed his eyes.

It was going to be a long summer.

::

Harry awoke with a start, to a sharp rapping noise on his window. An owl he didn't recognise was fluttering outside, an oversized parcel suspended from its legs. He'd forgotten to leave the window open the night before.

"You poor thing," said Harry. He opened the window and relieved the owl of its burden, then let it into Hedwig's cage, where the bird helped itself to some water. The parcel was addressed to Harry. He blinked in surprise, then remembered what day it was. A piece of parchment fluttered from the top of the package as he unfastened the length of rope that held it together.

Dear Harry,

Happy birthday! Ron and I would like to take you out tonight. Will you meet us at the Leaky Cauldron at seven?

Love from Hermione

Harry put down the letter and rubbed his eyes. He'd have to make it to the Leaky Cauldron somehow, plus he'd have to talk to his aunt and uncle about possibly arriving late – he had half a mind to tell Ron and Hermione that he'd just see them at Kings Cross. He didn't particularly feel like celebrating his birthday, or anything else for that matter.

Still, it would be good to see Ron and Hermione. He just wished they'd written earlier – now he had only a few hours to get everything sorted. He unwrapped the rest of the package to find his presents – a box of Honeydukes chocolate from Ron, a quill set from Hermione, some lumpy biscuits from Hagrid, and a book on Occlumency, which didn't have a note attached to it.

Occlumency. Harry put the heavy book down on his nightstand and sat down on his bed. He appreciated the gesture, seeing as he'd have to continue Occlumency lessons if he wanted to stay sane while at Hogwarts. That was one of the few things he was certainly not looking forward to. He hoped that someone else would be on hand to teach him Occlumency.

Harry got washed and put on the cleanest clothes he could find, then hurried downstairs. Uncle Vernon was just finishing his breakfast. He glowered at Harry from above his newspaper.

"What are you doing up so early?" asked Aunt Petunia, who was just bringing a pot of coffee to the table.

"I wanted to ask a favour," said Harry, looking at Uncle Vernon.

"What is it?"

"I need to go to London tonight. My friends are taking me out for my birthday. I was hoping to ask you to give me a lift into London."

"Like I've got nothing better to do, driving you back and forth. You can take the train if you want to go so badly."

Harry tried to suppress a grin. Uncle Vernon was far too easy to manipulate. Had Harry not brought up the lift, he would have had an issue with Harry going, full stop.

"May I borrow some money, then?" asked Harry. "Only I haven't got any, er, normal money." He'd almost said "Muggle money" but caught himself just in time. Uncle Vernon hated it when he used terms from the wizarding world. "I can pay you back when I come back tonight."

"Whatever happened to the money we gave you last year?" asked Aunt Petunia.

"I spent that on the train ticket when I went to get my books last week," said Harry. "But it's okay, if you don't want to lend me some, I can use my broomstick—"

"Enough! There will be no talk of broomsticks in this house," growled Uncle Vernon, reaching into his inside pocket and extracting his wallet. He pulled out several notes and threw them on the table. "There, boy. Mind that you pay me back in full tomorrow morning, or you'll be sorry."

"Thanks, Uncle Vernon," said Harry, snatching up the money and stuffing it into his back pocket.

"Wait a minute. Did you say you were going to London? Tonight? What time are you planning on returning? We're locking the doors just as always, so if you aren't back by eleven, you can forget about sleeping at home," said Aunt Petunia.

"I'll be back in time," said Harry. "Thanks for the warning."

With that, he walked back up to his room to get some wizarding money out of his trunk. He decided he'd go into town early and spend some time in Diagon Alley. It would be nice to just walk around there without a shopping list.

::

Harry walked into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shortly after lunch. He hadn't had time to see the twins when he'd gone to get his school things. A merry little bell announced his arrival. Harry looked around. The shelves were full of brightly coloured boxes of snacks and dangerous-looking metal contraptions – in fact, the whole shop looked pretty much like Fred and George's room at the Burrow.

"Hello there," said a cheerful female voice. "See anything you like?"

Harry looked up and saw a very pretty girl of about twenty sitting atop the sales counter, which was in the very middle of the shop.

"Er, hi. Actually, I was hoping to see Fred and George, are they around?"

She gave him an appraising look. "A friend of the owners', are you? What's your name?"

"It's Harry. Er, Harry Potter," said Harry, immediately cringing as he saw her eyebrows shoot up.

"Harry Potter? Oh, just one moment!" she said, looking at him as though he had two heads. Harry tugged on the hem of his t-shirt and looked at a small contraption the witch picked up from the sales counter. It looked like a microphone.

"Fred? George? There's someone here to see you. Says he's Harry Potter," she said.

A moment later, the back door burst open and Fred bounded out. "Harry! Good to see you, mate."

"Hi," said Harry, grinning.

"Come on to the workroom, let's let Vicky here do her work," said Fred, ushering Harry through the back door and grinning at the saleswitch.

"You can afford to pay a saleswitch?" said Harry, walking into a narrow passageway. There was a light on at the end and soft music was playing from that direction.

"Yeah, business has been great. She's a looker, isn't she?" said Fred.

Harry frowned for a moment. The girl was pretty, no question about that. "Er, yeah."

"Too bad she's a bit too old for you," said Fred. "Or I'd introduce you."

Harry coughed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He didn't want to be introduced, anyway.

They walked into the workroom, where George was sitting behind an enormous desk, with his feet up and a sandwich in his hand. "Hi, Harry! Long time no see!"

"Hi, George," said Harry, looking around. The workroom was surprisingly well-ordered, in contrast to the shop itself.

Fred pushed a comfortable-looking chair towards the other side of the desk. "Have a seat."

"Do I dare?" asked Harry, eyeing the chair with some trepidation. "It's not one of your experiments, is it?"

Fred and George exchanged sly looks. "Our reputation precedes us," said George with a sad face.

"We wouldn't dream of pulling any tricks on our number one investor," said Fred, winking. "We've still got to talk about your share in the profits, Harry."

"You really don't have to—"

"We want to," said Fred.

Harry sighed and sat down. "Fine. Whatever you decide is fair, then. And give it all to Ron when he's done at Hogwarts."

"We've already opened a vault for Ron at Gringotts," said George.

"Doesn't matter," said Harry. "I want him to have it. But don't tell him it's from me."

Fred gave him an odd look. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Harry. "Say, Fred, was that a microphone your saleswitch was using to talk to you?"

"A mike-ro-what?" asked Fred with a frown. "It's just one of Ginny's old hairbrushes, hollowed out and hooked up to a pair of Extendable Ears. We've made some extra long ones and put them into bell jars over there," – he waved at a shelf – "that way if someone comes in looking for us, or if Vicky needs help, we can hear it."

"Only problem is you have to hold the hairbrush really close to your mouth, or it isn't loud enough," added George. "We're still working on it."

"So what brings you to Diagon Alley, Harry?" asked Fred, rounding the desk and sitting down beside George.

"I'm meeting Ron and Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron later. It's, er, my birthday," said Harry, feeling ridiculous.

"Oh, happy birthday! We'll have to get you something, right, George?"

"Of course," said George.

"No, you really don't have to—" Harry started to say, but Fred held up a hand.

"We want to," he said. "But it'll have to be later. Right, George?"

"Right you are, Fred."

Harry had the distinct feeling they weren't telling him something. He ended up whiling away the afternoon with the twins, who were full of the sort of gossip that didn't usually make it into the Daily Prophet.

Harry found out that Umbridge, who had remained a bit touched in the head since the centaurs had captured her earlier that year, had been shunted down to the Goblin Liaison Office. Harry couldn't help but feel grim satisfaction at the thought that Umbridge was forced to work with non-humans, though it was probably not punishment enough, since goblins were rumoured never to use the Office for anything.

When it was time for Harry to go and meet Ron and Hermione, it was also time for Fred and George to close up shop. He said goodbye to the twins and Vicky, who kept staring at him as though he had two heads, and made his way to the pub.

Ron and Hermione were already there, sitting at a small table near the back with tankards of Butterbeer in front of them. They didn't see Harry as he entered.

"Why are you being so stupid about it, Ron?" Hermione was saying in an undertone.

"What do you mean 'stupid'? I don't want to read about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!" replied Ron heatedly.

Harry coughed. "Hi, both."

"Oh, hi, Harry!" said Hermione, looking up.

"Happy birthday, mate," said Ron, grinning.

"Were you two talking about Luna?" asked Harry.

Ron shot Hermione, who was just opening her mouth to say something, a pointed look. "Yeah, we were. I'll tell you later. Say, have you seen today's paper?" asked Ron, holding out a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet.

Harry didn't take it. "Yeah. I have the Prophet delivered, remember?" He didn't understand why Ron wanted to talk about something in the paper. He'd read it cover to cover before leaving for Diagon Alley and there hadn't been anything interesting in it.

"Well, you should take another look," said Hermione in a strangely shrill tone. Harry noticed that she was holding the other end of the newspaper, too. "Maybe you missed something."

"Er, are you two okay? It was a bit hot out today, are you sure you didn't get—"

Before Harry could say "sunstroke", Ron grabbed his arm and forced him to touch the paper. He thought he'd heard Hermione say "Oh, honestly," then there was a jerk behind his navel and the world spun for a moment.

::

Harry looked around, puzzled. He was in a clearing behind a low-rising building. It was still light outside, but the sun was already hanging lower in the sky. A sweet smell was in the air; it reminded Harry of his first ever visit to Diagon Alley and filled his chest with an indescribable feeling of happiness. He looked around and saw Ron and Hermione standing beside him, looking like they were trying not to laugh.

"What's going on?"

"The paper was a timed Portkey," said Hermione, wheezing a bit. "We had to make you take it."

"Sorry, Harry," said Ron with a sheepish look. "We would have invented a better excuse, but we forgot about your subscription."

Harry shook his head. "So what is this place?"

"Spinners End," said Ron. "Best pub in wizarding Britain. It's a famous place, it is."

"I've never heard of it," said Harry.

"That's because you don't live with wizards," said Ron, waving his hand dismissively.

"Or read books about wizards," added Hermione in a testy voice. "Spinners End was where the Dark wizard Grindelwald was hiding. Dumbledore found him and destroyed him, right here in this clearing."

Harry looked around with renewed curiosity. "Grindelwald?"

"He was like Voldemort back in the forties," said Hermione. "Come on, let's go inside."

Harry followed his friends, feeling strangely excited. So there had been another Dark Lord and he was destroyed. Maybe here, Harry could learn something – anything – that would help him overcome Voldemort. He had spent weeks wondering about what he would have to do in the end.

They made their way around the building, walking along a dirt path that had small white flowers planted all around the edges. Harry guessed that the sweet smell he'd felt earlier was coming off these flowers, as it was much stronger here. When they came to the front door of the pub – a large sign bore the name Spinners End in ornate lettering right above it – Ron swung it open and motioned Harry inside.

Harry was greeted with a sight that made his heart stop for a moment. There was a large banner at the back of the pub, reading "Happy Birthday, Harry!" in Gryffindor colours. The large room was filled with tables – at them sat many people Harry knew, all of them beaming as they turned around to look at the new arrivals.

"Happy birthday!" someone at the back yelled, and people picked it up in a chorus. Harry couldn't stop looking around – he saw everyone from DA, the entire Order of the Phoenix, the whole Weasley family, a good portion of Hogwarts staff and even Oliver Wood.

People started to get out of their seats and walk up to him, some to shake his hand, others to give him a hug. The last person to approach him was Dumbledore. Harry eyed him with some apprehension: he hadn't forgotten what had happened to Sirius and he wasn't sure how to talk to Dumbledore now. Feeling conflicted, he shook his hand and accepted the birthday greetings.

"You have very good friends, Harry," said Dumbledore, smiling down at him. "Ron and Hermione spent most of the summer setting this up and making sure everything was just perfect."

Harry turned around and looked at the two of them. Ron was grinning and Hermione looked sheepish. Harry stepped towards them and hugged them both at the same time. "Thanks," he said. "It means a lot."

Hermione made a little noise between a sob and a whimper. "Happy birthday, Harry," she said.

They sat at a table near the centre that had been left empty. A cheerful witch brought them some Butterbeer and a platter of hors d'oeuvres. Harry took a look around. If the Death Eaters wanted to wipe out everyone who could prove troublesome in the future, they needed to look no further than this pub. His heart clenched. "I really do appreciate it, you two, but what if word got out? I mean, the entire Order's here—"

Hermione shook her head. "Exactly. Dumbledore, too. Voldemort would have to be mad to try and—"

"Is that why Dumbledore is here? Because of Voldemort?"

"Of course not, Harry, don't be silly. He cares about you and wanted to celebrate your birthday, too. It doesn't hurt that he's the only one Voldemort's ever feared, but that's not why he's here."

"Would you two stop saying the name?" said Ron, looking grumpy. "It's putting me off the food."

Harry laughed, unable to help himself.

It was the first time Harry had ever had an actual birthday party, and he couldn't stop grinning as he looked around and realised that all of these people cared about him enough to show up and wish him a happy birthday. He'd been so lonely at the Dursleys' that he'd started to feel like he mattered to no one again, which was never a good thing. Harry did stupid things when he felt like he mattered to no one.

After everyone had eaten, the groups around the tables started to break up and people began to mingle, talking about the war and the news that the Daily Prophet wouldn't print. Harry must have talked to everyone at least once. He found that he felt vaguely uncomfortable in such a large group of people, which was disconcerting – they were there for him, after all.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet someone," came Dumbledore's voice from behind him suddenly.

Harry turned around and saw a thin, pale-faced wizard with close-cropped hair and a vaguely haunted look. He was smiling in a way that suggested he had a problem with his teeth and was trying to hide it.

"This is Professor Eaton, Harry. He'll be your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year."

"Hi," said Harry, eyeing the new teacher apprehensively.

"Happy birthday, Harry. It's good to meet you," said Eaton. His voice somehow didn't fit the rest of him – it was deep and rich where Harry would have expected more of a dry, clipped tone. "This is my son, Duncan," he added, pointing to the young man standing beside him.

"Hi," said Duncan in his father's voice. Harry blinked. Duncan was far easier on the eyes than his father, and that voice—

Harry shook his head slightly and grinned. "Nice to meet you," he said.

"Everyone will please come outside, to the clearing behind the pub!" came Hermione's voice from somewhere behind them.

"Shall we go and see what that's about, Kinsey?" asked Dumbledore, addressing Eaton.

"Of course, Albus. Are you boys coming?"

"Yeah," said Harry. He and Duncan fell into step behind the two older men and Harry was suddenly at a loss for words; not because he was intimidated or shy or scared but because he realised that he had definitely looked at Duncan like that and that couldn't be a good thing.

"Still got two years at Hogwarts?" asked Duncan as they jostled out of the pub through the front door.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Did you go to Hogwarts?" he asked, though he supposed it was a stupid question. He would have remembered this boy, who couldn't be that much older than Harry.

Duncan shook his head. "No, I went to Beauxbatons. Father used to teach there, you know."

They made their way around the pub and into the clearing where Harry had first arrived with Ron and Hermione. The whole group stood quietly for a while.

"What are we supposed to be seeing?" asked Zacharias loudly, and Harry wondered why he'd never noticed that Zacharias had a very graceful neck and a charming smile. He shook his head. It must have been all the Butterbeer he'd drunk – he was noticing the boys around him but paying no attention to the girls. That made no sense.

A loud whistling noise interrupted Harry's thoughts. He turned around and saw a blazing red line of sparks shoot through the air, with little circles of smaller, golden sparks whirling inside it. It exploded in the middle of the clearing, into a brilliant shower of pure white sparks that coalesced to spell out the words 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY'

"You've got to keep back!" shouted Fred, running out from behind a hedge and pulling someone Harry couldn't see aside. "We can't send them any higher because of Muggles nearby, so just keep back!"

With that, he disappeared behind the hedge again. Harry stared in wonder as a huge wheel of blue fire made its way across the clearing from the other side. It stopped in the middle and just hovered a few feet in the air for a while. Harry realised that tiny golden sparks were gathering all around it, but he couldn't see where they were coming from.

Then the golden sparks formed into the shape of a broomstick that flew straight through the circle, then exploded. The resulting sparks coalesced into hundreds of tiny little Snitches that fluttered all around the gathered crowd. There were many noises of surprise and appreciation from the guests.

The fireworks show lasted twenty minutes. Harry was somewhat dizzy by the end of it, but he felt happier than he had in years, really – who could say they had such a fantastic fireworks display at their very first birthday party?

"They seem really talented, these two," said Duncan from beside Harry as the crowd began to dissipate. "Who are they?"

"Oh, that's Fred and George," said Harry with a grin. "Weasley," he added. "My best friend Ron's brothers—"

"You know the owners of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes? Wow," said Duncan, looking at Harry with seeming newfound appreciation. "Did you know they're tied with Gladrags as the most successful wizarding entrepreneurs of the decade?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Really? I didn't know that." He was going to say something else, but he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, mildly annoyed.

"Harry, I need to talk to you about something," said Dumbledore. "In private," he added.

"Okay," said Harry. "See you later," he added, looking at Duncan. The boy nodded and walked off. Harry felt a bit resentful of Dumbledore and he wondered why.

"Walk with me a little, Harry," said Dumbledore, and started up the path with the white flowers.

Harry stopped and glared. "Professor, what is this about?"

Dumbledore turned around and faced him. "Your Occlumency lessons, Harry. I doubt that you and I will have another chance to talk before the school year starts, and you need to understand that the lessons are very important."

Harry swallowed. "I do understand, Professor."

"I also have to tell you that you'll have to continue the lessons with Professor Snape."

Harry's stomach lurched unpleasantly. "Why?"

"Because if I were to teach you, I would put us both at a great risk. And Professor Snape is a far better Occlumens than I am, at any rate."

"But Professor, he hates me," said Harry.

Dumbledore sighed. "I don't think Severus hates you, Harry. He's just got his own demons to vanquish. I have spoken to him and he understands that your learning Occlumency is far more important than anything else. He's agreed to continue the lessons as long as you are willing."

Harry snorted. Snape no doubt thought he'd be doing him another favour. "Fine," he said to Dumbledore. "I'll do whatever it takes, Professor."

"I'm glad you understand, Harry," said Dumbledore in a quiet voice. He looked very old and tired. Harry wondered what had been going on with the Order and the war.

"Professor Dumbledore?" asked Harry, hesitating. "What happened to Sirius's old house?"

Dumbledore sighed again. "We've had to give up Grimmauld Place as headquarters for fear of being discovered. It belonged to the Black family, you see, and the only living Blacks are Andromeda Tonks, Narcissa Malfoy, and Bellatrix Lestrange. Technically, the house now belongs to Bellatrix."

Harry felt rage building in his chest. "But she's a wanted criminal," he said.

"That doesn't override wizarding property law," said Dumbledore. "We couldn't risk it, and Headquarters has been moved to a different location."

Harry really wanted to ask where this different location was, but he knew better.

"Harry!" called a voice from behind him. Harry turned around and saw Hermione standing near the wall of the building, looking uncertain. "Oh, sorry, Professor, I'll just—"

Dumbledore waved a calming hand at her. "Go on and enjoy the rest of your party, Harry. I'm glad we got to talk," he said.

Harry nodded. There wasn't anything else to be said. Except…

"What about Buckbeak?" he asked.

"Buckbeak's with the Weasley family," said Dumbledore. Harry's eyebrows shot up. Ron hadn't mentioned anything about Buckbeak. "We only just moved him last week," continued Dumbledore, and Harry nodded.

"Thanks, Professor," he said, and sprinted towards Hermione without waiting for a response. He wasn't sure what he was grateful for, either.

He ran up to Hermione, who had her arms folded across her chest and wore a worried look. "Is everything all right, Harry?"

Harry frowned. "Why?"

Hermione suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "Well, um… Cho is crying in the loo because you haven't even noticed her. She said that when she tried to say happy birthday to you, you just turned and started talking to Neville—"

"Cho is here?" asked Harry, blinking.

"Oh wow, you really haven't noticed, have you?" Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Harry?"

Harry was torn between wanting to find Cho and apologise and wanting to disappear so he wouldn't have to talk to her ever again. He'd forgotten all about Cho, to be honest, and he really hadn't noticed her there. "I'm guessing she's in the girls' bathroom?" he muttered.

"Yeah. Harry, is there someone else?" said Hermione in a hesitant tone.

"Um."

"Oh, Harry. It's not Ginny, is it?"

"What? No, of course not! Why would it be—"

"Oh never mind," said Hermione with a sigh.

"I think I might be gay," blurted Harry. He immediately regretted it, but there was no way to take it back now. The air around them got really quiet all of a sudden.

Hermione blinked at him. For the first time since Harry had known her, she seemed completely clueless about what was going on. "Gay?"

Harry let out an exasperated sigh and folded his arms across his chest. "Yeah, gay. Interested in other boys. A fairy. A—"

Hermione shook her head fiercely. "Harry, stop. Please. What makes you say that?"

"I don't know. It's not something I want to talk about," said Harry.

"Okay. Well if you do need to talk about it—"

"I know, Hermione. Let's go back inside. I want to find Cho."

They walked back around the pub in silence. In front of the entrance, they stopped and Harry grinned at Hermione. "Thanks," he said. "For this, I mean. It's great."

Hermione beamed. "Don't mention it."

It took the team effort of Hermione, Parvati, Lavender, and Hannah Abbott to get Cho to come out of the bathroom. Harry apologised for not having seen her. Cho seemed okay after a while, but Michael Corner looked sulky for the rest of the evening.

At a quarter to eleven, Harry suddenly remembered Aunt Petunia's warning about returning in time. He told Ron about it – there was no way he could make it back in time by train, and he wasn't allowed to Apparate. Mrs Figg, who had been dozing in a corner, perked up as she overheard their conversation. She suggested that she and Harry could use the pub's fireplace to get to her house, and from there Harry could simply walk back and make it in time.

Harry bid a hasty farewell to everyone, thanked Ron and Hermione again, then walked into the green flames. It had been the best birthday he'd ever had, even better than the one when Hagrid had shown up and told him he was a wizard.

Mrs Figg seemed to have forgotten that Harry was in a rush; she tried to ask him to stay for tea. Harry was grateful he had a very real excuse not to. Her cats were still creepy. He sprinted across the street and rang the doorbell to Number Four, Privet Drive, with moments to spare before eleven.

Uncle Vernon opened the door and demanded that Harry walk a straight line, sniffing around him suspiciously. "Well, at least you're not drunk," he said in a gruff voice.

Harry reached into his pocket and fished out some money he'd exchanged in Diagon Alley. "Here's your money back," he said, shoving the bills at Uncle Vernon. He sprinted upstairs without a backwards glance.

::

The month before Hogwarts began again passed rather quickly. On September the first, Uncle Vernon dropped Harry off at Kings Cross and sped off. Harry loaded his trunk onto a trolley and made his way onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters without any major incident. Hermione was already waiting there, talking to Hannah Abbott. Ron and Ginny showed up late, arguing about something in loud voices.

Harry relaxed. Another year at Hogwarts was still something to look forward to: he would still have Quidditch and really, the castle was like home by now. He tried not to think about the fact that this was the second last time he'd ever board this train.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny had to go to the prefects' carriage for the first hour of the trip. Harry found an empty compartment, shoved his trunk under a seat and stared blankly out of the window until he heard Ron's voice echoing down the corridor outside. Harry walked over and poked his head out, motioning him over. Hermione was hurrying up behind Ron, carrying a stack of parchment.

"You're by yourself?" asked Ron, looking around.

"Er, yeah," said Harry, raising an eyebrow. "Am I not supposed to be?"

"I'll be right back," said Ron, and took off down the corridor.

Harry stared after him for a moment, then stepped aside to let Hermione inside the compartment. "What's with him?" he asked.

"He hasn't told you about Luna's letters, has he?"

Harry shook his head, frowning slightly. "This is the first time I've heard of it."

Hermione looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Well, maybe I'm not the best person to tell you, and you really ought to ask Ron about it, but he and Luna have been writing letters to each other."

Harry grinned in disbelief. "What?"

Hermione sank down on the seat opposite and grinned back. "I know. She wrote him a letter from her expedition for Crumbly-Horned Snorky Racks. He wrote back. They've been writing like that all summer. You know what he's like, he hates writing letters, so he's been terribly conflicted."

Harry gave her a curious look. "And you're, um, okay with this?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow in a way vaguely reminiscent of Umbridge. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Harry looked away. "Um, no reason, really. I just thought—"

"I know what you thought. What I'm more interested in is your – you know. The thing we talked about at Spinners End."

Harry sighed and stared out of the window. "Yeah, that thing."

"You still think you're – you know?"

"Yeah."

Ron walked in, looking slightly flushed but considerably less anxious. "She's here, I just didn't notice her and – oh, hi, Harry."

Harry grinned. "Who's here, Ron?" Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Hermione putting a hand on her chest and throwing her head back, as though to imitate extreme gratitude.

Ron edged into the compartment and sat down with a sheepish look. "Erm, well, I haven't really mentioned this before, but I'mkindofseeingLunaLovegood."

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "Brilliant, mate," he said, grinning.

Ron sat further back and shot Hermione a furtive look. "Have you told Harry about the meeting yet? Where's Ginny?"

"Not yet," said Hermione, shaking her head. "And Ginny's gone to sit with Dean."

"The prefects' meeting?" asked Harry, turning around so he could see them both. "What about it?"

"There's a new project that Dumbledore's started," said Hermione.

"You won't believe who he's picked for Head Boy," said Ron, shaking his head.

"Who?" asked Harry. "Not Malfoy? He's not in seventh—"

"No, no, but it's a Slytherin. Liam Baddock," said Ron, scowling.

"I've no idea who he is," said Harry.

"He's not that bad," said Hermione. "Honestly, Ron—"

"He's a Slytherin, that's bad enough," said Ron, looking adamant.

"Well it won't matter much with the house unity project, will it?" retorted Hermione, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Harry felt like he was missing something crucial. "House unity project?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "The prefects are supposed to come up with activities to involve the whole school, to get students in different houses working together."

"Each house's prefects come up with a specific activity that'll represent their house, and the rest of the school has to participate," said Hermione.

"Like what?" asked Harry, frowning.

"Like the DA," said Ron. "That's what Gryffindor'll be doing, we've already decided with the other prefects. The others helped us pick people to lead the groups, and you're leader for Gryffindor."

Harry frowned again and pursed his lips. "Wasn't anyone going to ask me if I actually wanted to lead the DA this year?"

Ron and Hermione looked shocked for a moment. "You don't?"

"Not that I don't, but I'd have liked it if someone asked me if I did, you know?"

Hermione sighed. "Sorry, Harry. I guess we got really excited about it and didn't realise you might not want to – and it's okay if you don't – we just thought—"

Harry sighed and leant back against his seat. "It's fine, really. So what's this house unity stuff supposed to accomplish?"

The gleam in Hermione's eye was much like the one she got when talking about house-elves, and Harry glanced quickly at Ron, who was rolling his eyes. Harry relaxed.

"We're going to try and restore balance between the houses," said Hermione. "To get all four houses working together in various areas, we can foster inter-house friendships and cooperation."

"Even with the Slytherins?" asked Harry, shaking his head dubiously. He didn't see what could possibly make him cooperate with Malfoy, ever.

"Especially with the Slytherins," said Ron in a mocking tone. "She's been like this all the way here."

Harry pursed his lips and said nothing. He stared out the window and hoped that whatever this house unity stuff was, it wouldn't interfere with Quidditch.

::

The start-of-term feast was no less spectacular than all others; it was made slightly more festive by all the house unity speeches – Hermione had spoken for Gryffindor and Harry had to admit he was a bit moved by her appeal that focused on the friendships between Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor as well as Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw.

He wasn't thinking about house unity when he finally got to bed that night, though. Something inside his brain seemed to have switched from "oh, look, pretty girl" to "oh, look, fit bloke". As Harry drifted off to sleep, he wondered if perhaps this new development had anything to do with Voldemort.

::

Harry was walking through a dark hallway lit by torches set in low wall-sconces. There was a smell of mould and sandstone in the air and Harry wondered if these were the Hogwarts dungeons, but the place felt foreign, ominous. He heard voices from beyond a wall and pressed his ear to it.

"You cannot trust him." Something about the voice made Harry's insides churn and he heard a distant roaring in his ears.

"Severus knows nothing. So if anything goes wrong with this, we'll have to look elsewhere for our traitor, won't we, Bella?" Harry would know that high-pitched, cold voice anywhere. Was this a dream or another vision?

"Yes, Master. Though there are so few of us free now that we shan't have to look very far, shall we?" Harry wanted to smash down the wall and drag her out into the musty hallway. How dare she talk about freedom after what she'd done? How dare she?

"That will change tomorrow, when my Death Eaters will be free again, but you're quite right, of course." Harry shook his head. What would change tomorrow? Somehow he knew that this was no ordinary dream. Then he realised there were something like fingers prying at the edges of his mind, probing deeper and deeper—

Harry sat up in his bed, panting. Voldemort was planning something that Snape wasn't supposed to know about. Bellatrix Lestrange distrusted Snape. The Death Eaters would attempt to break out of Azkaban.

::

On the very first day of classes, Ron got into trouble for being late to Transfiguration, and McGonagall made him stay behind to explain himself. Harry didn't know why Ron had been late, but he figured he'd find out soon enough.

Harry and Hermione decided to take advantage of the warm weather and went out to eat lunch on the Quidditch pitch. They found a secluded spot under one of the stands and settled down with their sandwiches and bottles of pumpkin juice.

"So, have you told Ron yet?" asked Hermione, dabbing at her lips with a napkin. Harry didn't have to ask what she meant: the whole "I might be gay" business was at the forefront of his mind, which was actually quite upsetting. He really ought to have been thinking about his dream.

"Well I was going to yesterday but the others were up late right along with us. Me and Ron did stay up later than everyone, but he kept going on about Quidditch and all that, and I just couldn't tell him," said Harry, then bit into his last sandwich.

"Well, how about you try again after Quidditch practice tomorrow? It honestly can't be that hard, can it?" asked Hermione.

"You have no idea how hard it is, Hermione," said Harry, trying to keep his voice from shaking as he thought about Ron's possible reaction.

"Well, he'll have to start talking to you eventually. You're friends, Harry!" said Hermione in a reassuring sort of tone.

"Friends or not, he's not going to like this, not even if he makes peace with it. He's probably expected better from me," said Harry with a sigh.

"No one expects anything from you, Harry," countered Hermione, her tone still reassuring.

Harry sighed in frustration. "Nobody expects anything... Hermione, where have you been for the past five years? EVERYONE expects me to do something!" Harry's voice was rising despite himself, and he paused briefly before continuing. "Dumbledore expects me to go and face Voldemort like a good boy should, every other adult expects me to be brave and daring like a good Gryffindor should, Snape and Malfoy expect me to curl up and die like a good Potter should," he spat, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "What nobody expected me to be, is a bloody arse bandit. And here I am, defying all their expectations."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You're really letting this get to you, Harry. Honestly! It's not that bad. So you might fancy boys, so what? It's not the end of the world."

Harry shook his head. "Somehow I don't think being gay is going to improve my wizarding world experience. Do you know what the attitudes towards homosexuality are like amongst Muggles?"

Hermione sniffed, as though affronted. "Of course. I suppose it's little consolation, but things are similar with wizards, though it's really the pure-blood sorts who are vehemently against homosexuality, seeing as producing children is important to them."

"What about the Muggle-borns and half-bloods?" asked Harry quickly.

Hermione began to pack the leftover sandwiches into the basket they'd brought. "Pretty much the same as with most Muggles. Allowed to exist, but considered distasteful in public," she said, folding a napkin.

Harry dug his fingers into his hair and picked up a half-empty bottle of pumpkin juice. He took a deep swig then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't know, Hermione. I just don't know."

::

They ended up staying a bit longer than they'd intended and had to rush to get to Potions on time. Harry still couldn't believe he managed to make it into Snape's Advanced Potions class: his O.W.L. examination ended up just scraping into an Outstanding. Even though Harry knew he needed the class to be an Auror, he wasn't any happier about the prospect of two more years with Snape.

As if the Occlumency wouldn't be enough. Dumbledore had been adamant about Harry continuing the lessons; he was supposed to see Snape after this lesson to decide on a weekly meeting time. Snape stood outside the dungeon door, sneering. He informed them that they'd be sharing cauldrons; Harry was too distracted to wonder why. He had to remember to tell Snape about his dream.

Harry cast an apprehensive glance around the classroom before taking a seat at one of the front desks. He'd noticed the looks Hermione kept stealing at him but didn't want to talk about his predicament anymore; it was bad enough he kept dwelling on it. He glanced around to see who else had made it into the class. He wasn't surprised to see Draco Malfoy sitting at the back of the classroom with Blaise Zabini. Was it Harry's imagination, or was Malfoy staring at him?

He shook his head and sat down. Snape walked in and shut the door behind him with a sort of final thud that made Harry feel trapped.

"I trust you all have had a good lunch," said Snape in a bored voice. "One of the ingredients you'll be working with today – barnacle seeds – emits fumes that make your digestion speed up, and if you haven't eaten, you shall be starving by the end of this lesson."

Harry noticed Terry Boot and Michael Corner exchange uneasy looks. That was another thing to get used to – there had been so few people with Outstanding scores on their Potions O.W.Ls that students from all four houses were together in one classroom.

Snape waved his wand at the blackboard, where the instructions for a Healing Potion appeared. With another flick of Snape's wand, the store cupboard at the back of the classroom opened and Harry's first Advanced Potions lesson began. He was actually quite interested in the potion they were making – sufficient quantities of it would heal almost any physical ills in a witch or wizard.

Snape seemed in a better mood than usual that afternoon, judging by the fact that he merely made a disgusted face every time he looked at Harry, as opposed to insulting him at every turn. Harry still needed to tell Snape about his dream. He took a look around the dungeon to make sure no one was paying any attention to him and Hermione.

"Professor," he whispered in an undertone as Snape passed by their desk once again.

"This better be important, Potter," murmured Snape, stopping beside him.

As if Harry had ever showed any inclination to engage in small talk with the great git. "Professor Dumbledore told me to talk to you about any further… troubles I have with Occlumency and—"

Snape didn't let him finish. "What did you see?" he asked with a frown.

Harry quickly recounted the major details of the dream he'd had that night. Snape stood by quietly, his face betraying no emotions. When Harry was done talking, Snape started to speak, then cast a glance behind Harry and snapped his mouth shut.

"See me after class," he said in a low whisper and walked back to his table, where he sat down and began scribbling something on a long sheet of parchment.

"What was it, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, just about the dream," said Harry. "Do we add the barnacle seeds now?"

"Yes, it's almost time for the dragon's blood. Here," – she lifted a small basin filled with the large seeds from their ingredient tray – "just use the pincers and place three of them in at equal time intervals."

Several minutes later, Snape said, "Your Healing Potion should be a clear blue by now. If it's not, you'll get no marks for today's exercise. I shall be coming round to look at your cauldrons and supervise as you add the dragon's blood."

Harry stared at their cauldron. Well, it looked clear blue. He stole a glance at Hermione, who gave him a quick grin. Snape swept up beside their desk a few moments later.

"Well, Potter?"

Harry lifted a long clay dropper from the tray and began to add the dragon's blood to the cauldron. He stuck his tongue out and bit down, realising he was sweating profusely. He had to get this right, he had to. He wouldn't give Snape the satisfaction of seeing him do badly during the very first lesson. Harry felt sweat trickle down his cheek as he brought the dropper above the cauldron and released the dragon's blood.

Snape merely nodded and swept off. Harry wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and gave Hermione a rueful grin. She smiled back and fiddled with the flames below their cauldron.

Hermione labelled two bottles with their names while Harry put the remaining ingredients onto the tray. Hermione carried the tray to the back while Harry dropped off their flasks at Snape's desk.

He was just walking back to pick up his schoolbag when the bell went. He looked up and lifted his arm to adjust his glasses when he noticed Malfoy standing several feet away from him, just staring. Harry groaned mentally. He'd managed to avoid Malfoy completely until this moment and that suited him just fine, thanks.

"What're you staring at, Malfoy?" he asked.

Malfoy's gaze darted away from Harry's face and onto the floor.

"Nothing much, Potter -- just your pretty face," drawled Malfoy, glancing up again.

Harry's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He felt faint heat creep up the sides of his face. What was Malfoy on about?

"He's not worth it, Harry," muttered Hermione, who must have heard the exchange. She tugged on Harry's arm and practically dragged him out of the classroom. He barely had time to grab his things from the desk.

"Did you hear what he said?" asked Harry as they hurried to the library.

"He's only trying to get to you," said Hermione without turning around. "Just ignore him."

Harry frowned. "Oh no. I forgot. I'm supposed to talk to Snape about Occlumency lessons. Go on, Hermione, I'll catch up."

::

The Daily Prophet, September 3, 1996
MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN – AGAIN!

It appears that the tide of time has turned once again. On Monday evening, a critical security breach occurred at Azkaban, and a number of convicted Death Eaters escaped. The Ministry suspects Bellatrix Lestrange, who managed to evade authorities this summer, as the chief orchestrator of the breakout. It is at present unclear how the Death Eaters were able to get through the guarding wards placed around Azkaban. Since the Dementors left this summer, the wizard prison has been guarded in shifts by teams of Aurors. One of the Aurors on duty yesterday evening, Kingsley Shacklebolt, has been reported as missing. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has declined to comment, citing orders from Amelia Bones, the recently appointed Minister for Magic.

Amongst the escaped prisoners is Lucius Malfoy, captured in the assault on the Ministry this June. A confirmed Death Eater, Mr Malfoy, formerly of Wiltshire, has donated generously to support the Ministry in the past, and the rumour mill is already at work on what his escape might bring, as Mr. Malfoy had friends in very high places indeed. An anonymous source has informed us that a team of Aurors has been dispatched to Malfoy Manor. Narcissa Malfoy, the escaped prisoner's wife, has been brought in for questioning.

This marks the second breakout from Azkaban this year -- the first being in January, when a number of Death Eaters escaped, amongst them Bellatrix Lestrange. At the time, the escape was not attributed to the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as the now-deposed Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, did not believe reports detailing his return. Ministry officials have said that an official statement will be made in two days' time. It is expected that the escaped convicts will rejoin He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but the Daily Prophet urges all witches and wizards to keep their doors locked and warded. For a full list of prescribed security measures, turn to page three.

Harry threw the Daily Prophet across the room. Hedwig gave an indignant hoot and took off. Harry stared after her, then closed the window. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, asking Hedwig to bring him the newspaper early. Kingsley was missing, and it was all Harry's fault.

Ron walked in from the bathroom, dragging his feet and yawning. He took one look at Harry and squinted.

"What's wrong?"

Harry pointed at the newspaper on the floor. Ron walked over and bent down to pick it up. He read through the front-page article, his frown deepening.

"This is bad news."

"Yeah, thanks, Ron," said Harry, taking a deep breath and desperately trying to stay calm. "I noticed."

Ron gave him a dirty look. "Well at least they're calling things their proper names this time 'round."

"Yeah. Think Hermione's seen this yet?"

"You're the one with the early-bird special Prophet delivery this year, mate."

Harry grinned and hauled his schoolbag up from beside his bed. Seamus, Dean and Neville had left early and he'd only been waiting for Ron to get dressed. "Let's go," he said.

On the way to breakfast, Harry let Hermione read the article. She went very white about halfway through it, and nearly tripped over a trick step. "Oh no," she said as Harry steadied her by the elbow. "Kingsley."

"Yeah," said Harry bitterly. "If only I had kept my fat mouth shut with Snape yesterday –"

"Oh please," said Hermione in a testy tone. They were making their way down the marble staircase with hurried strides. "That you told Snape probably prevented some of them from escaping. There was nothing you could have done, Harry."

Harry wondered why her calm voice was sounding so vexing all of a sudden.

"Yeah, Harry," chimed in Ron, "you did the best you could. It's not your fault they sent Kingsley."

"Yeah, it's never my fault," muttered Harry as they passed through the doors to the Great Hall.

Their first lesson after breakfast was Advanced Transfiguration with McGonagall. Just like Professor Flitwick had emphasised in Charms the day before, they were starting to learn very advanced spells and the theoretical background would become on par in importance with the practical component of their lessons.

"Great, more time in the library," muttered Ron to Harry as they flipped open their textbooks and began to read the chapter on magical laws governing human transformations. They were going to study Animagi next; Harry couldn't wait to find out more about how Animagus forms worked.

He felt a twinge of sadness as he thought of his father and Sirius, but shook the thoughts off resolutely. The last thing he needed was to become distracted in McGonagall's classroom. Ron had told him that she made a huge deal out of his being late on the previous day and Harry wasn't in the mood for another lecture on the importance of sixth-year courses. All their teachers kept going on about it.

By the time they headed for break after Transfiguration, Harry's brain was buzzing with paragraph numbers and law headings – McGonagall hadn't been kidding when she'd said that the laws controlling Animagus transformations were strict.

"Where do you think Kingsley could be?" asked Ron, sitting down on the grass beside Harry and crossing his legs.

Harry shook his head. "I have no idea. I hope he's okay. I wish we could ask someone about the break-out but no one would tell us anything."

"Lupin might, if you ask him," said Hermione, casting a glance behind Harry.

Harry sat up a little straighter. "You think so? Maybe I'll write to him, then."

"All righ', Harry?" boomed Hagrid's voice above them, and Harry grinned up at him.

The lesson started and Harry tried not to tune out Hagrid as he talked about the importance of Advanced Care of Magical Creatures for their N.E.W.Ts. He looked briefly at the Slytherins and frowned. Why was Malfoy bothering to take this class, anyway? The pale boy wore an unpleasant sneer as he listened to Hagrid.

Hagrid didn't have any new creatures for them; instead, he took the time to go over what they already knew from their previous five years. He mentioned that they would study Acromantula (strictly in theory, yeh understan') phoenixes (got us a great one righ' here at Hogwarts, Fawkes is 'is name), as well as various types of snakes (Harry here can talk ter snakes, can't yeh, Harry?).

Harry really wished Hagrid wouldn't single him out like that. He hoped he wouldn't have to demonstrate Parseltongue when they did study snakes. When the lunch bell went, Harry tugged his schoolbag up from the grass, which was matted all around where they'd sat.

"Something tells me I'm not going to like this class. Did you hear that, Harry? Acromantula! Giant spiders!" said Ron.

"Hagrid's not taking us to see Aragog, you heard what he said – strictly in theory," argued Harry. He noticed Malfoy bending down to pick up his schoolbag and was startled by a sudden image of himself walking up behind Malfoy and running his hands down his sides.

What?

Malfoy straightened up and looked straight at Harry. Pansy Parkinson walked up and grabbed Malfoy by the arm. Harry looked away. Hormones and confusion or not, this was Malfoy. What the hell was he thinking?

They had Defence Against the Dark Arts after lunch. Harry wasn't looking forward to it, mostly because he knew that they'd only cover theory in lessons. He did like Professor Eaton, which was a good thing since he'd have to work pretty closely with the teacher to make sure that the practical component of their Defence curriculum was covered properly.

Rumour had it that the former Ravenclaw had only accepted the teaching post at Hogwarts because he believed there was some Dark magic affecting the position and he had wanted to investigate it himself. Professor Eaton wore crisp, always impeccably arranged robes of dark colours. He had long, sinewy fingers and a habit of tapping the frame of his oval spectacles nervously with them.

After the lesson was finished, Eaton asked Harry to stay behind.

"Harry, I'd like you to join us for dinner in the staff lounge. I've invited the other DA group leaders as well."

Harry blinked. "But the DA groups haven't even formed yet," he said. "Have they?"

Eaton smiled. "No, but we've already chosen the other group leaders and the sooner we get started on planning, the better. You didn't think we'd leave you lot to your devices, did you?"

::

The dinner at the staff lounge was odd for Harry; the only other time he remembered not eating at the Great Hall with the rest of his house was when he and Ron had flown the Ford Anglia into Hogwarts in their second year. House-elves brought in the food and placed it on a small table at the back of the dusty room.

The five of them – Professor Eaton, Harry, Padma Patil, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Sheridan Roper of Slytherin – settled around the table. The conversation was slow-going at first, but eventually Justin and Padma were engaged in a lively debate with Eaton about the effectiveness of anti-Dark device legislation. Harry eyed Roper apprehensively: he seemed very much the Slytherin with his darting, dark eyes, but the thick glasses made Harry think of himself. He wondered absently if Malfoy teased Roper about the glasses.

Padma Patil looked exactly like her twin; it was difficult for Harry to reconcile her serious, earnest manner with her looks – he kept expecting her to start giggling into the palm of her hand. Justin seemed very proud of himself for having earned a spot as a group leader; Harry thought he deserved it, anyway: Justin had been one of the best in last year's DA line-up.

Eaton explained to them what was expected of them. He was going to have these dinners with group leaders from all years except first and second – he would be leading those groups himself as none of the students in the lower years could be expected to be able to teach anyone anything. Harry felt like he was at last a part of something, something he helped create, and the thought warmed him.

After the dinner, Harry made a beeline for the Great Hall but found it nearly empty: their dinner had taken longer than he'd thought. He walked up to Gryffindor tower, but the common room was as bare as the Great Hall had been. Colin Creevey told Harry that Ron and Hermione had gone to the library. Harry thought about going after them, but decided to write to Lupin instead.

He got some parchment, an inkpot and a quill from his schoolbag and stared at the blank sheet in front of him. How should he address Lupin? Professor? Remus? Harry shook his head, and began to write.

Dear Professor Lupin,

Harry paused, brushing his chin with the tip of his quill. What was he supposed to say? Just get to the point? He sighed and dipped his quill into the inkpot once more.

We've all read the article about the breakout and everyone's been really worried about Kingsley Shacklebolt. Has he been found or is he still missing? I hope you're doing well.

Best,
Harry

Harry stared at the letter for a while. It seemed sort of impersonal and business-like, but he found he couldn't muster up the nerve to ask how Lupin was handling the death of Sirius – whereas Harry had only known Sirius for two short years, Lupin and Sirius had been friends forever. Harry could only imagine what Lupin must be going through.

::

Every Friday, prefects from each house had to hold an hour-long meeting before the sixth-year Gryffindor Astronomy lesson, which took place in the evening. The meetings were to be held near the Astronomy Tower, so that Ron and Hermione, who both had Astronomy, didn't have to leave early.

After Ron, Hermione and Ginny walked off to the prefects' meeting, Harry and Neville went to the library. Harry wanted to find a book on Animagi that McGonagall had mentioned in Transfiguration. He pulled it from the shelf and made his way over to one of the study tables, where Neville was immersed in a thick tome on magical plants of South-East Asia.

Harry had only cracked open his book on Animagi when he heard a cough from above him. He looked up and saw Zacharias Smith standing there.

"Hi," said Harry. He hadn't spoken to Zacharias since Spinners End.

"Hello Harry," said Zacharias. "Have a good summer?"

"Yeah, as good as it could be," said Harry. "You?"

"Yeah," said Zacharias with an odd look. "Well, judging by the birthday party Ron and Hermione threw for you, yours was really fun, eh?"

"Yeah, it was fun. Thanks for coming to that, by the way."

"It was lucky I could – we were in town for just three days. My dad had a workshop in Palermo for most of the summer."

"Palermo? Where's that?" asked Harry.

Zacharias pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. "Sicily."

"You must have been bored out of your mind," said Harry.

"Not really," said Zacharias, linking his hands behind his head. "It was funny, but I met Blaise there and so at least I had someone to talk to."

"Blaise?" Harry gave him a blank look.

"Blaise Zabini, he's a Slytherin in our year," said Zacharias. "His family's from Palermo."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. A Hufflepuff and a Slytherin? There was something you didn't hear about every day. "Cool," he said aloud. "What's it like, Palermo?"

"Hot," said Zacharias unhelpfully. "Very hot."

"Harry," called Neville. "It's almost time."

"Right then. See you, Zacharias," said Harry. "We've got Astronomy."

Zacharias gave him an understanding look. "Rotten luck, Astronomy on Fridays. Well, see you."

Harry and Neville made their way up to the Astronomy Tower. The classroom was still locked and Professor Sinistra was nowhere to be found. Ron and Hermione were standing near a wall, talking in low voices. Harry and Neville walked up to them.

"Hi, Harry. Where were you?"

"Oh, library. I was talking to Zacharias Smith," said Harry, noticing that Ron began to scowl. Apparently, he still wasn't a fan of Zacharias. "He told me he was in Palermo this summer – that's in Sicily – and get this, he was hanging out with that Slytherin bloke, Zabini."

"And didn't get eaten?" asked Ron with a sceptical look.

Harry snorted. Hermione looked very disapproving for a moment, and Harry mimicked her expression, causing her to laugh despite herself.

"Speaking of Slytherins, you won't believe what Malfoy just did in the prefects' meeting!" said Hermione between giggles.

"Not going to die of shock, are you, Granger?" called Malfoy's snide voice. Harry stopped grinning and turned around. Malfoy was standing there, with Pansy Parkinson on his arm, looking smug.

Ron took a step towards Malfoy and pointed an accusing finger at him. "I don't know what you did to Ernie, Malfoy, but you'll be sorry. You better not be in the same DA group I am in."

"DA?" mocked Malfoy. "Dangerously Addle-brained? I'm terrified. I always knew you were a snivelling hypocrite, Weasel, babbling about house unity when other prefects are around, then abandoning all pretence when it's just you, the Mudblood, and Scarhead here."

Ron lunged, but Hermione grabbed his arm. "Just. Ignore. Him," she ground out.

Harry looked at Malfoy, taking in the curled upper lip and the narrowed eyes. He wondered distractedly what Pansy saw in the pointy-faced git, resolutely ignoring the thoughts that had run through his mind in Care of Magical Creatures earlier this week. Malfoy had bumped into him before Potions on Thursday, and Harry knew Malfoy had done it on purpose.

Professor Sinistra's voice startled Harry and he turned away. Malfoy was clearly just grasping at every straw in reach to get to Harry, and Harry wouldn't give him that satisfaction. He walked into the Astronomy classroom without a backwards glance.

"What was that about Ernie, Ron?" Harry asked as they were settling in for the lecture portion of the lesson.

"Oh, we think Malfoy's threatened Ernie with something," said Hermione from one desk over. "Ernie made this great show of passing Malfoy some potion ingredient lists and Malfoy made just as big of a show of loudly saying that he'd have the research for Ernie shortly."

Harry frowned. "That's a lot of Slytherins and Hufflepuffs being friendly with each other."

"Yeah, that, and Ernie is going out with a Slytherin – that Daphne Greengrass girl, you remember her, right, Harry?" said Hermione.

Harry shook his head. "I'd probably remember if you pointed her out." He would never cease to be amazed at Hermione's ability to know everything in every book ever written in addition to every piece of school gossip.

::

On their way back to Gryffindor tower after Astronomy, Ron and Hermione told Harry and Neville about all the different house unity-related activities that the prefects were planning. Harry already knew about the Gryffindor project – the DA groups, which would replace the practical component of Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons and foster teamwork amongst the students.

The Hufflepuffs would be organising small gatherings for all four houses on the weekends, in various locations around the school. Hufflepuff would provide the snacks, drinks, and music. The only catch to the parties was that people would be invited exactly ten minutes beforehand and wouldn't know who else was coming. Hermione told Harry excitedly about a goblet they'd bewitched to work like the Triwizard Tournament's Goblet of Fire – it would spit out twenty random names, not one at a time, and it would always be five names from each house, all in the same year. Hermione had helped with that and she seemed quite proud of herself.

Ravenclaw house was organising homework groups for each year with two members from each house per group. They asked all the professors to create extra credit assignments on which these groups could work together to raise their grades. Students taking their O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts that year were guaranteed extra points towards their mark if they participated in all the meetings. Harry privately thought that the Hufflepuff parties sounded like a much more fun type of activity than these study groups, but he said nothing.

The Slytherins had the most inane project – not that Harry was surprised. They seemed to think that members of other houses didn't really understand the Slytherin students, and so the Slytherin house unity project involved trying to show the other houses that Slytherins weren't like their stereotype. Each Slytherin would write an essay about themselves and their thoughts on various subjects, and students in their year from other houses had a month to try and figure out who had written each essay. The essays would be read out and their writers identified publicly starting on the night of the Hallowe'en Feast. Harry thought it a great load of rubbish. Everyone knew that Slytherins were a bunch of jumped-up Voldemort sympathisers.

Harry was sure he'd spot Malfoy's essay after the first paragraph. "I bet you anything it'll start with 'I'm the best Seeker at Hogwarts, and Potter can just curl up and die'," he said.

Ron snorted. Hermione looked extremely disapproving. "Look, you have to give this a chance. If we don't, we're being just as bad as the Slytherins."

"How can you say that, Hermione?" demanded Ron, turning around to look at her as he paused in the portrait hole. "Even after they're the ones with the house unity project that requires the least amount of work?"

"I think Pansy Parkinson will have her work cut out for her trying to get them to write, anyway," said Hermione in a testy voice. "I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, shaking his head.

::

On the following Wednesday, Ron and Harry were walking into the common room after dinner when they came face to face with Ginny.

"There you are. I was about to go look for you."

"What's going on?" asked Ron, un-slinging his schoolbag and lowering it to the floor.

Ginny gave him a pointed look. "The Slytherin Quidditch tryouts are tonight. I'd have thought you'd be interested in Malfoy's new line-up, that's all."

Ron slapped his forehead. He'd been thrilled when McGonagall told him he'd been named Quidditch captain. Gryffindor only needed one new Chaser this season; Ron had decided that Kirke and Sloper would do as Beaters – he seemed rather inclined to give them a chance, remembering his own rather poor performance as Keeper. Ginny was by far the best out of those trying out, and the Gryffindor tryouts last week had been short.

"Yeah," said Ron. "I want to see how Malfoy manages to pick a team. Let me just get a clipboard from Dean; I saw him with one the other day."

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances. Ginny shook her head. "Hurry up," she said. "They'll be starting soon and we don't want to be late."

Harry decided he'd go along – not that he was particularly interested in the Slytherin tryouts, but he didn't much feel like doing homework all by himself. Hermione had gone off to the library and Harry didn't feel like walking all the way up there.

Ron reappeared with Dean's clipboard moments later, and the three of them made their way to the Quidditch pitch with hurried steps.

The Slytherins were assembled near a lower section of the stands. Malfoy was standing in the centre of the group and hadn't seen Harry, Ron and Ginny. Harry could see that some of the Slytherins had noticed them. A moment later, Malfoy turned around, his eyebrow raised.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Don't get your back up, Malfoy," replied Harry. "We've just come to watch your tryouts."

Malfoy sneered. "And what entitles you to said privilege, Potter?" he asked in a mocking tone.

Harry shrugged. "We don't need to be, er, entitled."

"You are banned from Quidditch. Banned for life, if I recall correctly."

"The ban's been lifted, Malfoy," Harry shot back. "It was on only as long as that toad Umbridge was here."

Malfoy made a face, and Ginny piped up. "Bet you miss your Inquisitorial Squad, Malfoy! Shame you can't do any boot-licking this year."

"Ginny, don't." said Harry in a warning tone, his eyes trained on Malfoy's. They were grey and cold and empty.

"Shut your face, blood traitor," spat Malfoy, cold fury in his voice.

"Look, Malfoy, don't make a scene," Harry said with a tired sigh. Ginny made a small noise beside him and Ron was looking apoplectic.

"You are not going to watch our tryouts!" snapped Malfoy.

Harry wondered why he'd let Malfoy get to him so many times before. He was clearly just an insufferable, spoilt child.

"Try and stop us then," said Harry, looking straight at Malfoy, who seemed unnerved.

"So I suppose they made you captain, did they, Potter?" asked Malfoy.

"No. Ron's captain," replied Harry.

"They made him captain?" Malfoy smirked. "Well, Professor Snape shall be very happy to hear that the Quidditch Cup is as good as ours then."

Ron's evidently had enough. "Shut it, ferret-face," he growled, and Malfoy gave him a disgusted look, then turned to Harry.

"So how does it feel being bested by Weasley once again, Potter?"

"I get by," said Harry. Malfoy's eyes narrowed even more and he whirled on Ginny.

"And the mini-Weasel?" he ground out.

Harry wanted to punch him in the face. Ron, apparently, had the same idea, because he took a threatening step towards Malfoy. Ginny was staring daggers at Malfoy, who was glaring at her with a hateful sneer. Harry put an arm around Ginny's shoulders, mostly because she looked like she was about to pounce on Malfoy.

He could see Crabbe and Goyle step closer to their team captain. The last thing they needed right now was a fight. Harry didn't want to risk being banned from Quidditch again – Umbridge may have been gone, but all Malfoy had to do was tattle to Snape and Harry would be facing at least probation.

"Ginny's the new Chaser, she's taking Angelina's place," said Harry, forcing his voice to be calm. "Now if you'll excuse us, Malfoy, I believe you have tryouts to supervise?"

Malfoy's face was a study in contempt, but he waved his hand dismissively at the three of them. He turned back to the other Slytherins, who had gone very quiet. Harry pulled Ginny with him and Ron followed reluctantly. They made their way towards the top-most bench.

Ron extracted an inkpot from his pocket and tried to balance it on his knees. It wobbled precariously and Ron snatched it up quickly, then bewitched it to hang suspended in mid-air. Harry grinned; there were definite advantages to being a wizard.

"Why does Malfoy hate you so much, Harry?" asked Ginny, who was digging in her robe's pocket for something.

"I don't know, to be honest," said Harry. "Probably because I chose Ron over him in first year."

Ginny's head snapped up; she nearly bumped Harry's forehead. "Really? Malfoy wanted to be your friend?"

"More like his boyfriend," said Ron with a murderous glare in Malfoy's direction. "He does seem the fairy type, doesn't he?"

Harry's insides froze.

"Er, I don't know," he mumbled. "I wouldn't know about the, er, fairy types."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course," added Ron, smoothing the piece of parchment on the clipboard in front of him. "But this is Malfoy we're talking about."

Ginny giggled and Harry felt like a huge weight just dropped off his shoulders. "So you don't think there's anything wrong with, you know, being the fairy type?"

Ron gave him a sideways look. "I'd have to be pretty thick, what with Charlie and all."

"Charlie's gay?" blurted Harry.

"You didn't know?" asked Ginny.

Harry shook his head. This made things loads easier. Thinking he might be gay and not being able to talk to Ron about it had made him edgy, and he knew that Hermione didn't like having to hide things from Ron, either.

He glanced over at the Slytherins in the air above the pitch. Millicent Bulstrode had a powerful throw. Harry watched apprehensively as a pass she made nearly knocked Malcolm Baddock off his broom. Harry watched as Malfoy flew higher to hover above the others, his white-blond hair slicked back by the wind that was just starting to pick up.

Harry sniggered as Goyle hit a Quaffle thrown by Millicent with his foot. He turned to Ron.

"We ought to introduce Goyle and Dean, they could swap football tips," he said.

Ginny sniffed loudly beside him and Harry turned around to look at her. "What's up?"

Ginny turned away, and Harry instinctively put an arm round her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. She pursed her lips. "Dean and I aren't talking."

"What? Why not?" demanded Ron, dropping his quill. "Did he hurt you?"

"You know, Ron, the whole jealous brother thing's getting old," said Ginny in a huffy tone. They'd apparently had many fights throughout the summer on the subject of Dean and Ginny's relationship.

Ron rolled his eyes and Harry was fleetingly reminded of Hermione.

"So, you want us to give Dean a talking-to, Ginny?" asked Harry, attempting to sound playful.

Ginny grinned. Ron grabbed hold of his own throat with both hands. "We'll give him a talking-to, all right," he croaked, and the sound that came out was so ridiculous that Harry laughed.

"No, really, I'll sort it out," said Ginny, "but thanks, Harry. Don't hurt yourself, Ron."

Ron gave her a mock glare and picked his quill back up. "Look, they're landing. I bet you anything it'll be Bulstrode, Baddock, and that squishy-faced fifth-year."

"What makes you say that?" asked Harry.

"Well, Bulstrode's obviously good, even though she's a girl. Baddock's the Head Boy's brother and these are Slytherins we're talking about. The fifth-year's pretty good too. I wonder what his name is."

They watched as the Slytherins assembled in a circle not far above them. Malfoy hovered off to the side. He said something and Malcolm Baddock let out a loud whoop of joy. Malfoy turned and said something to a bunch of sulky-looking Slytherins, who promptly began to start landing.

Harry looked at the people left and realised that Ron had been right about whom Malfoy would pick as new Chasers.

"Impressive," he said to Ron, who tried not to look too pleased with himself.

Harry's gaze wandered back to Malfoy, who was saying something to his new Chasers, who were nodding. He turned and barked an order to Crabbe and Goyle, who sped off and landed near the other Slytherins near the lower bench. They threw their broomsticks down and settled on a bench; Harry realised Malfoy must have sent them off to rest. He didn't understand why: did Malfoy care if they got rest?

The Keeper tryouts were tedious – the hopefuls came up to the goalposts one by one. Ron was sure that Avery, a wiry seventh-year, would be picked. Malfoy ended up picking Blaise Zabini. Harry wondered if Malfoy only picked him because they were friends. The boy had been pretty bad – better than Ron had been during his first practice, but still bad.

Ron agreed that Zabini had only been picked because he was Malfoy's friend, but refrained from commenting on Zabini's Keeping itself. Throughout the Keeper tryouts, Ron scribbled furiously on his clipboard while Harry and Ginny chatted about Fred and George's new joke shop. The two were making a lot of money because they carried unique products that weren't available in any other joke shop and as Harry was learning, wizards of all ages were extremely fond of practical jokes.

As it became evident that Malfoy had ended the tryouts, Harry rose from his seat and walked in front of his friends. Ron was making another futile attempt at convincing Ginny that their father had, indeed, used Skiving Snackboxes to get out of work. They passed the Slytherins and Harry was starting to breathe more freely – he'd been sure that Malfoy would start something again.

He hadn't been wrong. "Be afraid, Weasley," Malfoy called. "We've got a strong team this year, as you no doubt have noticed. With those sorry excuses for Beaters you've got, and two Weasels on the team, Gryffindor ought to be hurting."

Ron's face went red and he started to turn towards Malfoy, but Ginny tugged on his robe sleeve.

"Come on, Ron," she pleaded. "Don't let him get to you."

Harry shot Malfoy a look full of contempt and the other boy seemed to be surprised by this. He took a step backwards and didn't say a word as the three of them resumed walking.

Harry wondered if it would be too much to ask for Malfoy to drop dead.

::

After Potions on the following Monday, Harry was putting his things away when Pansy Parkinson asked Hermione to step outside, ostensibly to talk about something to do with the house unity project. Harry indicated that he'd catch up and Hermione walked out with Pansy, looking apprehensive.

"Potter," came Malfoy's voice from above him and Harry looked up, blinking.

"What now, Malfoy?" he asked, wondering if Pansy calling Hermione away had anything to do with this.

Malfoy took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you wanted to come to Hogsmeade with me and Blaise."

Harry stared at him. He realised they were the only people left in the classroom. The silence in the room was almost palpable. Harry wondered if any of this was actually happening or perhaps he'd dozed off and was having an unpleasant dream.

"What?" he asked.

"Do you have trouble with your hearing, Potter? I asked if you wanted to --"

"I heard you, Malfoy," said Harry, still staring at him. "I can't believe you just said that."

Malfoy shifted from foot to foot. "Well, the year's theme is house unity. What better way to unite the houses than try to settle old feuds?" he said.

Harry's mouth fell open. "Er…" he said. What was Malfoy playing at? "But I... but your dad... but you said..."

Malfoy waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Look, Potter, I realise this is very sudden for you." He looked at Harry pointedly. "Just come out with us, it'll be interesting."

"Uh," Harry said, recalling what Ron had said about Malfoy being the fairy type, "I'm already going with Ron and Hermione, erm, Malfoy." He looked up at the other boy and quickly dropped his gaze again, feeling distinctive heat spreading across his face. "Um."

Malfoy looked slightly taken aback, then shook his head.

"Well, perhaps you'll join us at the Three Broomsticks for some drinks, then?" he offered. "If Weasley and Granger let you, that is," he added in a snide tone.

Harry sighed deeply. This was Draco Malfoy and that couldn't mean anything good. "Look, Malfoy. How do I know this isn't another ploy of yours to get me into trouble?"

Malfoy made an innocent face. "Paranoid, are we? You've got nothing to worry about -- the Three Broomsticks is a public place, there'll be lots of other people there. Unless, of course, you fear being seen with us," Malfoy said. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would have said Malfoy sounded disappointed.

He looked up at Malfoy. "No, I don't. Fear being seen with you, that is. I just wish you'd tell me what you want from me."

Malfoy smiled indulgently. "Just an hour or so of your time, Potter. We'll have some Butterbeer, talk about girls and Quidditch. The usual. Unless, of course, you deem us nasty Slytherins undeserving of your time," he said.

"I don't," said Harry. He really didn't like Malfoy's indulgent smirk. "I just don't trust you, Malfoy. Not as far as I can throw you, anyway."

Malfoy frowned. "Look, Potter, I'm not proposing marriage," he said, his tone light. Harry wished he'd stop with the references to marriage and all things related, because this blushing in front of Malfoy thing was getting old. "Just drinks. We have to start somewhere," said Malfoy.

"Start what, Malfoy?"

"The long hard road to house unity, of course," Malfoy replied with an ever-so-slight emphasis on hard.

Harry wanted to fall right through the floor as he glared at his hands, which were folded in his lap. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to stop thinking about Malfoy and hard things. He looked up at the Slytherin boy, who had folded his arms across his chest. Maybe if Harry played along, Malfoy would finally leave him alone – at least until the Hogsmeade weekend.

"Fine, Malfoy, I'll meet you and - uh - Zabini. What time?"

"Two o'clock on Saturday," said Malfoy. Harry really didn't like the gleeful tone his voice took just then. "Cheers, Potter," Malfoy said airily, rounding Harry's desk and heading for the door.

Just then, the door to Snape's office opened and the professor walked into the classroom.

"Why are you still here, Potter?" asked Snape, his eyes narrowing.

"Uh, I was just—"

"I had to talk to Potter about something, Professor," Malfoy broke in, causing Snape to whirl around and face him.

Harry goggled at them both. Did Malfoy just defend him, after a fashion? He made a mental note to check that the sky was still in place when he went out on the grounds.

"Very well," said Snape after a pause. "I needed to speak with you anyway, Potter," he said with barely masked contempt. "Will you excuse us, Draco?" he added slightly more genially.

"Of course, Professor." Malfoy bowed slightly and hurried out.

Harry picked up his schoolbag and walked over to Snape.

"Well, Potter," said Snape. "The Headmaster has asked me to inform you that we are to redouble our efforts at Occlumency. Now that the school year's on track, I expect you in my office twice a week. Thursday evenings and Saturday afternoons."

"But Professor—"

"What now?"

"Quidditch—"

"Ah, yes. Professor McGonagall insisted that you be exempt from Occlumency training during those times when Gryffindor plays against another house."

Harry exhaled, making a mental note to thank McGonagall in person. "Okay," he said.

"You may go," said Snape, and swept off towards the back of the classroom. Harry glared at his back. He was sure Snape would have made it so Harry had to miss out on Quidditch. Had it not been for McGonagall, he would have succeeded, too.

Harry mumbled a goodbye and walked out of the dungeon, looking around for Hermione. She was leaning against the wall opposite with a contemplative look on her face.

"Harry, did Malfoy talk to you just now?" asked Hermione.

Harry blinked. He hadn't had time to think about this. He didn't know what to make of Malfoy's little invitation, and he didn't want Hermione to get the wrong idea. Vaguely feeling like he'd regret this later, he looked away. "Er, yeah, just the usual insults, you know. Then Snape came out and he had to bugger off."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."

"What is?" asked Harry.

"That Parkinson would call me out just now. He didn't try to hurt you or anything, did he?"

"No more than usual," said Harry, wondering if he should tell her about his conversation with Malfoy after all. Thinking that it would probably look really stupid to admit he'd concealed the truth just then, he decided to tell her and Ron later.

::

After a particularly long and gruelling Quidditch practice on Saturday, Harry and Ron were up in their dormitory, getting their homework things together. Harry noticed movement out on the grounds and looked down into the courtyard. Cho and Marietta Edgecombe were sitting on a low wall beside the statue of Circe, talking about something and occasionally laughing. Harry wondered why he couldn't muster up any of his old feelings for Cho.

He heard movement behind himself and realised Ron was looking over his shoulder. "You're not still after Cho, are you, Harry?"

"Erm, no. I just noticed them sitting out there, actually," said Harry.

Ron walked over and stood in front of him, obscuring the window from view. "I've noticed she's been moping around like a lemon lately, and I just thought—"

"Nah, she's probably having problems with Michael Corner," said Harry.

Ron shook his head. "I don't think so, mate. I mean, you know I'm not exactly a genius around girls, but I've noticed her looking at you."

"Well, she can forget it," said Harry flatly.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "You sound really sure."

"I am. Er," – Harry wasn't prepared for this at all – "actually, um, you know, Ron, I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but—"

"You don't fancy Luna, do you?" asked Ron with a guarded look.

"What? No, um, no," said Harry.

Ron looked very relieved. "Well, what's going on then?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Er, I think I might be gay."

Ron blinked. "You—"

"Yeah," said Harry, turning away. "Um."

"D'you fancy someone in particular that makes you say that?" asked Ron, his tone careful.

Harry looked over at him and noticed that he looked very uncomfortable. "Er, not really, no."

To his surprise, Ron looked very relieved. "Are you—er—I mean—" Ron trailed off with a sheepish grin. "How'd you know?"

"I don't, really. I just think so," said Harry, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Does Hermione know?" asked Ron.

Harry shuffled his feet. "Er, yeah. I told her on my birthday."

"Your birthday? Blimey, Harry!" said Ron, looking slightly affronted.

"I didn't know how to tell you. Um."

Ron gave him a sidelong glance. "Well, I'm glad you did."

All in all, the conversation had gone just like Harry would have imagined, had he actually sat down and thought about it before stressing himself out about Ron's reaction. This was his best friend, after all.

Now he just had to tell Ron and Hermione that Malfoy had for all intents and purposes asked him out. Well, not really. Did he? Harry shook his head, wondering what the hell Malfoy had up his sleeve this time.

They gathered their things and walked downstairs to the common room. Hermione was sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace with her feet tucked under her. Crookshanks perched atop the back of her chair, pretending to read the book she was immersed in. Dean, Ginny and Seamus were gathered on a sofa near the back of the room, talking to Colin Creevey, who was gesticulating wildly.

Harry sat down on a sofa across from Hermione and pushed his glasses up his nose. Ron flopped down beside him and started rooting around amongst his things, cursing inkpots for being so bloody small. Harry cast a furtive glance around the room and coughed.

Hermione looked up from her book. "Harry?"

"Er," said Harry. "Here's the thing, um. Malfoy's asked me to meet him at the Three Broomsticks during the next Hogsmeade visit."

The silence that greeted his words was so thick that it even made Crookshanks stop purring and look over at Harry.

"What did you just say?" said Ron. Hermione frowned.

"It's not, um, that kind of meeting," said Harry quickly. "He's asked me to meet him and I thought, you know why not? I figured I'd listen to what he's got to say."

"You're barking," declared Ron. "What if he tries something?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, Harry. Malfoy's not exactly the model student, you know."

"Well he's a prefect. Aren't we supposed to be giving other houses a chance?" said Harry.

Ron shook his head with a rueful look. "Yeah, but this – this is Malfoy! He deserves to be put into a house of his own. Poncy-git-erin would fit him."

Harry grinned. "True. But I figured it can't hurt."

"Can't hurt? Harry, that's all Malfoy's been trying to do for the past five years! Hurt you!" said Hermione. Ron nodded fervently, then extracted a Chocolate Frog from inside his schoolbag and tore the packaging open with his teeth.

Harry knew they were right. He knew that there wasn't anything he and Malfoy could possibly say to each other that wouldn't end in wands being drawn. He suddenly wondered why he'd accepted the invitation in the first place – what had he been thinking? Or was he too busy staring at Malfoy to really process who he was talking to?

::

Harry was going to talk to Malfoy during Care of Magical Creatures, he'd even taken a step forward and opened his mouth to call him aside and tell him that the meeting wasn't happening. Malfoy's eyes were half-closed – he was looking at something on his sleeve – and Harry's words died in his throat as he looked at Malfoy's white eyelashes feathered out against his pale skin. He hadn't realised Malfoy even had eyelashes. Why the hell was he thinking about Malfoy's eyelashes?

It was too late; Malfoy looked up at Harry and gave him a slow smirk. Harry's cheeks were becoming flushed again, mostly because he was picturing himself doing rather lewd things instead of telling Malfoy that the meeting was off.

Hermione tugged on his robe sleeve and Harry looked at her, startled. Hagrid was there and the lesson had started. After the lesson, Harry wanted to attempt calling the meeting off again, but Malfoy had simply nodded very slightly in his direction and walked off with his cronies, not looking back.

The two of them seemed to be in the middle of an uneasy truce, and by the fourth week of classes, tongues were wagging about the "sudden change" in Draco Malfoy. Colin Creevey told Harry that most people speculated that Malfoy was afraid of Harry because of something his father had told him. Harry didn't believe it for a second. Malfoy had an agenda of some sort, and Harry would be on guard. He'd go and meet Malfoy, but he would go prepared.

::

Hogsmeade weekend dawned grey and dreary. Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way out of the castle just behind a throng of younger Hufflepuffs. Neville caught up with them shortly after they set off on the road leading to Hogsmeade. Harry had wanted to talk to Ron and Hermione about his upcoming meeting with Malfoy, but he didn't want to start the conversation with Neville there.

The four of them chatted about lessons as they passed Hogsmeade Station. Neville started doing a rather believable impression of Professor Sprout; Harry and the others laughed loudly. Ron remarked that Neville was wasting his natural acting ability.

Their first destination was Zonko's: Fred and George had asked Ron to nose around for them. Apparently, since Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had taken off, old Zonko's business had taken a dent and he no longer welcomed the twins in his shops. They browsed around the new merchandise for a while, then headed to Honeydukes to stock up on sweets. Neville left them there to join Dean, Ginny and Seamus, who said they were going to try the new éclairs at Madam Puddifoot's.

It was almost two o'clock by then and Harry needed to get to the Three Broomsticks. He turned to face Ron and Hermione, who were bickering over where to go: Ron wanted to follow the others to Madam Puddifoot's while Hermione insisted that he should leave Ginny in peace.

"Guys?" interrupted Harry, causing them both to look over at him as though surprised he was even there. "I have to go and meet Malfoy now, you coming?"

Ron blinked. Hermione looked uncomfortable. "You're actually going to?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "I thought you were going to tell him you're not coming."

"I was, but it didn't work out."

"So what? Don't go, and that's it," said Ron with a near-scowl. "Knowing Malfoy, he'll have an unpleasant surprise for you, like setting the Three Broomsticks on fire and you having to take the blame. Remember first year?"

Harry nodded. He remembered Malfoy's little duel challenge all too well; it had very nearly landed the three of them in serious trouble. On the other hand, the Three Broomsticks was a public place and there would be lots of other Hogwarts students there. Malfoy wouldn't dare do anything in broad daylight.

"I'm going anyway," he said. Hermione looked disapproving but said nothing.

Ron frowned. "Well, I'm going with you."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione stepped next to Ron. "Me too," she said.

To be honest, Harry was relieved. Even though Lucius Malfoy had escaped from prison, Harry imagined Malfoy still held a grudge over the fact that his father had gone to Azkaban in the first place. It would be good to have his friends there with him. He nodded and turned on his heel, walking towards the Three Broomsticks. It took them less than ten minutes to reach the pub. When they walked in, a high voice called from the back.

"Hello!"

Harry turned and saw Luna Lovegood waving at them. She was looking at Ron, who pretended to cringe, but Harry thought he looked very pleased. Luna's letters hadn't stopped with the summer's end; she still regularly wrote to Ron and he grudgingly wrote back. Hermione thought the whole thing hilarious, considering her correspondence with Viktor Krum and Ron's attitude towards that.

"Well, she's seen you, mate. You might as well go over there and say hello," Harry said, grinning. He looked around and added, "Malfoy isn't here, anyway."

Ron ducked his head between his shoulder blades and walked towards Luna's table. After some hesitation, Hermione followed him. Harry looked around again and saw a pair of dark eyes trained on him, from another table near the back. It was Blaise Zabini.

Zabini raised a hand in a little wave, and Harry remembered that Malfoy had mentioned him during their talk in Potions. Malfoy must have stepped out or something. Harry gestured for Ron, who was seated beside Luna and looking uncomfortable, to wait. He walked over to where Zabini was sitting.

"Er, hi," he said, stopping about a foot from the table. The way Zabini's hair framed his face made Harry think of Sirius and he hated these unexpected reminders more than anything.

"Hi, Potter. Sit down?"

"Uh, okay. Where's—where's Malfoy?" asked Harry, pulling out a chair across from Zabini and sitting down.

"He had an urgent errand to run, but he'll be here shortly," said Zabini, leaning back in his chair. Harry placed his elbows on the table in front of him, then quickly took them off. There was something unnerving about Zabini's ease, or perhaps Harry just didn't trust any Slytherins.

"D'you know when he'll be back?" asked Harry, feeling more and more ridiculous. Here he was, asking Zabini about Malfoy, as though it had been Harry's idea to meet here in the first place.

Zabini gave a little one-armed shrug. "No idea. In the meantime, why don't we get drinks?"

"Yeah, good idea."

They called Madam Rosmerta over and ordered drinks; Harry asked for a Butterbeer, Zabini for a Gillywater.

"So, uh, you're the new Slytherin Keeper?" asked Harry, mostly to fill the odd silence that seemed to settle at their table. It was positively jarring amidst all the chatter.

Zabini leaned on the table in front of him using his elbows and linked his hands together. "Yeah. I've never been much for Quidditch, but Draco tells me it's a great way to get girls."

Harry wasn't sure what to say so that. "Oh. Slytherin girls like Quidditch players?"

Zabini smirked. "All girls like Quidditch players, I think." He turned slightly and nodded towards Hermione, who was staring open-mouthed at Luna, looking flabbergasted. "Except maybe her," he added with a wink.

Harry blinked. Was Zabini insulting Hermione? "What do you mean?" he asked, trying not to sound too defensive.

"Well, she's the brightest girl in our year, isn't she?"

Harry relaxed a little. "You think smart girls aren't Quidditch fans?"

Zabini took a pull on his straw. "They'd have to know better than that, wouldn't they? I mean, look at us," he said, pulling a face that made him look like Crabbe trying to concentrate.

Despite his best intentions, Harry felt himself relax even more. He grinned at Zabini, who certainly didn't look like he would have any trouble getting girls. He remembered what Zacharias had told him about his summer a few weeks ago – if Zabini, a Slytherin, were willing to befriend a Hufflepuff, he couldn't be as bad as Malfoy.

"So, Zacharias tells me you're from Sicily," he said to Zabini.

"That's right. I didn't know you were friends with Zacharias," said Zabini with a guarded look.

"He was in the DA last year," said Harry. "Back when it was still, you know, not allowed."

Zabini flashed him a smile. "I wouldn't know anything about that."

They continued talking for a little while, about Quidditch and Snape's latest Potions essay, until a hand fell onto Harry's shoulder and he jumped a little. "Hey, mate, we've got Quidditch practice in an hour," said Ron.

"All right," said Harry. "Well, I have to go," he added, turning to Zabini.

"Sure," said Zabini. "It was nice talking to you, Potter."

"You too."

They'd spent over an hour at the Three Broomsticks and Malfoy hadn't shown up. Harry should have known Malfoy was just having him on.

::

Harry was startled out of a deep, pleasant sleep on Sunday morning by a loud knocking sound. He poked his head out from between the bed hangings and peered at the window. Hedwig was fluttering outside, looking unhappy.

Harry got out of bed, shivering as he padded across the cold hardwood floor. He let Hedwig in and shut the window quickly to avoid letting in any more of the cold air. He untied the parchment tied to Hedwig's leg and unrolled it quickly.

Dear Harry,

Thank you for your letter. We don't know anything about Kingsley, unfortunately. Even if we did, I wouldn't be able to write to you about that. I hope your year so far is going well – enjoy it, it's the last year you have before you have to do the NEWTs, and those are murder. I heard you had Kinsey Eaton teaching you Defence Against the Dark Arts this year – I'm not surprised. I bet he's a great teacher. He was a few years ahead of us in school and he had a reputation for his essays on Dark Magic; I think there's even a book of them published somewhere. He really knows his stuff, so if he teaches you something, take note. I hope you're holding up well.

Kind regards,
Remus J. Lupin

Harry lowered the letter and sighed. He found his robes and pulled them on, then stuffed his feet into his trainers, not bothering with undoing the laces.

There went finding out about Kingsley. Worry gnawed at his stomach; what if Kingsley was dead somewhere? He felt responsible for what had happened during the breakout. He felt so helpless, standing there in his pyjamas, Hedwig staring at him with her large round eyes as though she, too, expected him to somehow sprout wings and fly off to save Kingsley.

Harry shook his head, thinking about Lupin's letter again. He'd mentioned that Eaton had been at Hogwarts – that must have meant he knew Harry's dad and Sirius! The thought seemed to make Harry even sadder. He didn't want to meet any more people who'd known his father and godfather longer than he had. Every time someone mentioned either of them, Harry would feel tense and jealous: why was it that others got to have memories where Harry only had corpses?

He sighed, feeling ridiculous once again. He held out his hand for Hedwig, who hopped on it and hooted. "Come on, fuzzball," he said. "Let's take you to the Owlery. I fancy a walk anyway." Hedwig didn't seem to like being called a fuzzball because she made no response. Harry thought about visiting Hagrid as he walked towards the Owlery, but shook his head.

He'd tried to go and spend some time with Hagrid twice in the past two months, but each time the conversation would steer to Sirius. Harry didn't want to talk about Sirius – not now and maybe not ever. Both times he'd fled from Hagrid's hut, making up some lame excuse. Harry sighed as he entered the Owlery and walked towards the window.

"Scourgify," he muttered, cleaning the wide windowsill of owl droppings. He clambered onto it and crossed his legs. The day was promising to be a bright, sunny one; a light breeze ruffled Harry's hair and he turned his face up towards the sun, closing his eyes.

Hedwig landed on his shoulder with a soft hoot. Harry smiled into the still-warm sunshine. Here was someone who would listen and not offer empty advice.

"What do you think, Hedwig?" he asked, turning to her. "Should I go visit Hagrid, or will he just want to talk about Sirius again?"

Hedwig hooted again and nipped at his nose affectionately. Harry smiled.

Someone behind him coughed. He jumped a little and turned around to look at the newcomer.

It was Malfoy, looking slightly dishevelled and holding a package of some sort. Harry thought back to the previous day and his gut tightened. Sodding Malfoy and his stupid games. He felt his smile fade.

"Potter. Nice owl," said Malfoy, then gave a startled yelp as his eagle owl landed on his shoulder. The blond boy glared at her.

Harry swung around on the windowsill and hopped off. Hedwig flew up towards the rafters and he looked at Malfoy. "Thanks," he said. "Yours is nice, too."

"Listen, Potter, I—" started Malfoy, but Harry shook his head. He didn't have time for this nonsense.

"Forget it, Malfoy. You want to play games, I'm not interested. I've got bigger fish to fry."

With that, Harry stalked out of the Owlery without a second glance. What a way to start a Sunday.

::

When Harry walked down into the common room on Monday morning, the first thing he noticed were the different-coloured parchments on the notice-board by the door. Ron and Hermione were standing next to them. Ron looked gloomy and Hermione sounded like she was lecturing him again. Harry walked closer and squinted at the parchments.

They were the member lists for the Defence Association groups and the Ravenclaw study groups. Two scrolls for each year – one in Gryffindor colours and one in Ravenclaw colours – they listed neat rows of students from all four houses. Harry searched for his name on the red-and-gold scrolls.

DEFENCE ASSOCIATION - GROUP 1 - MONDAYS - 19:00 - CLASSROOM ELEVEN
Bones, Susan
Boot, Terry
Corner, Michael
Granger, Hermione
Longbottom, Neville
Macmillan, Ernie
Malfoy, Draco
Nott, Theodore
Potter, Harry (leader)
Turpin, Lisa

"Oh great," groaned Harry. "Hermione, Malfoy's in our group." He noticed Hermione and Ron exchange looks. Harry whirled on them. "What?"

"We just thought that you and Malfoy—" Hermione started to say.

"Me and Malfoy, honestly, Hermione," interrupted Harry. "We don't even belong in the same sentence."

He'd refused to talk to the two of them about what had happened in Hogsmeade. He somehow felt like a bit of an idiot, being stood up by Malfoy; at the same time, he felt ridiculous thinking about it in terms of "being stood up". It wasn't as though it had been a date or anything.

"It was good of you to try and give him a chance," said Ron suddenly. "'S a lot more than I would have done."

Hermione rolled her eyes and studied the blue-and-orange scrolls more closely. Harry bent over her shoulder to look as well, searching for his name.

RAVENCLAW STUDY GROUP 2 - TUESDAYS - 18:00 - CLASSROOM EIGHT
Harry Potter
Seamus Finnigan
Terry Boot
Padma Patil
Zacharias Smith
Megan Jones
Blaise Zabini
Theodore Nott

Well, at least he wasn't in the same study group as Malfoy. He felt a light twinge as he noticed Zacharias' name and wondered why he was oddly glad that they'd be in the same group.

"Oh great," groaned Hermione. "I've got study group with that cow Pansy."

"At least you didn't get Crabbe," said Ron in a peevish tone. "And you two get to be in the DA group together. I'm in the Slytherin-led group, some bloke named Sheridan Roper. Who drew up these lists, anyway?"

"The Head Boy and Girl," said Hermione. "I think it was random."

"Roper's okay, Ron," said Harry, hoping to cheer him up. "I've talked to him during the meetings we had with Professor Eaton. He's not a typical Slytherin."

"Oh no," said Ron, and Harry frowned. That was weird. Then he realised that Ron hadn't been talking to him. He was staring in horror at the student lists.

"What is it, Ron?" asked Hermione, who also noticed Ron's slack-jawed gaping.

"Quidditch! Our team is scattered, we're all over the week, look! You've got DA on Mondays and study group on Tuesdays, Harry; I've got DA on Wednesdays and study group on Thursdays, and the rest of the team is no better, not even on Fridays – Ginny's got study group then."

Harry sighed. He hadn't even thought about what the house unity projects would mean for Quidditch. Ron was scooping up his schoolbag from the floor.

"I have to go talk to McGonagall about booking the pitch. I hope Malfoy has broken a leg or something and can't get out of bed this morning. We need that pitch," he said quickly and sped out through the portrait hole.

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks. Harry wanted to follow Ron but he wouldn't be any good to him. "We'll go and meet him by McGonagall's office, all right?" he said to Hermione, who nodded.

"Speaking of house unity, Harry," said Hermione as they made their way out of the common room. "I was talking to Ernie and Hannah the other day, about the Hufflepuff parties, and they want to have the poor house-elves run around the castle looking for people!"

She was giving him an expectant kind of stare and Harry tried to look properly shocked, though he didn't understand what she was getting at. He made a noncommittal noise in his throat.

"I was thinking," continued Hermione, evidently taking his silence as encouragement, "if you could help them by using your dad's old map?"

Harry frowned. He didn't like to show his father's map to people, Hermione knew that. "Hermione, I don't know if that's such a good idea, what if Filch gets wind of it?"

"He won't! I promise you he won't, and the house-elves will keep quiet about it if you tell them to, anyway."

"Well, I'm not giving them my map," said Harry flatly.

"You really don't have to! You can just show up with it when they pick out the names and they can look and Apparate to wherever the people are," said Hermione.

They were nearing McGonagall's office now; Ron was nowhere in sight. Harry hoped he'd still be inside, or they'd have come here for nothing. He sighed.

"All right, I'll do it," he said to Hermione.

"Thanks so much, Harry!" cried Hermione, looking ecstatic. "It's really going to make things easier for the house-elves."

Harry shook his head and started to remark that Hermione really needed to get her priorities straight, but just then McGonagall's office door opened and out came Ron. He looked surly.

"Sodding Malfoy," he said in a bitter tone. "He'd got Snape to book the pitch for every second day of the week, plus Saturday afternoons. We have to make do with what's left. At least I'd beaten the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to it."

"See, Ron, if you had been the one to get the lists from McGonagall, you would have known even before Malfoy," said Hermione in that lofty way she had.

Ron just scowled. "Let's go, I'm starving," he said.

::

On the following Monday, Harry had a serious case of butterflies in his stomach. The week since the student lists went up had gone by much quicker than usual, or so it seemed to Harry. The DA last year had been one thing – it had been secret, illegal, and very informal. Now he had to teach, as though he were a real Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor.

Harry hurried along the corridor to classroom eleven. He noticed Malfoy and a thin, stringy Slytherin boy Harry was sure was called Nott go through the doors. Harry's stomach did a flop. He'd forgotten all about Malfoy being in his DA group. The git was sure to cause a scene if he wasn't told who was boss from the beginning, and Harry didn't care what people might think. He wouldn't let Malfoy disturb the group meetings.

He walked through the door and grinned at Hermione, who was sitting beside Ernie Macmillan. Malfoy was leaning against a far wall, pretending to examine his fingernails while angling his head ever so slightly towards Ernie and Hermione. Harry ignored him and strode over to the lone desk that stood near Ernie and picked it up. He carried it to the middle of the room and set it down carefully.

"Honestly, Potter, haven't you ever heard of levitating objects with your wand?" asked Malfoy in that infuriating drawling voice of his. Beside Malfoy, Nott sniggered.

Harry shot them both a dark look but refused to rise to the bait. He hopped onto the desk and turned to Neville, who had been sitting on the floor with his nose in a thick book.

"Neville, can you please close the door?" said Harry, and Neville put down the book obediently, then scrambled up and ran over to shut the classroom door.

"Thanks, Neville," said Harry, grinning. He surveyed the people around him and tried to find his voice. "All right, well, most of you were in the DA last year, so you all know me. For those of you who weren't here last year, I'm Harry Potter of Gryffindor, and I will be your group leader this evening," he said with an impish grin at Lisa Turpin, who was standing off to the side near the entrance. Lisa grinned in response and tossed her hair back. Everyone else in the room returned Harry's smile, except for Malfoy and Nott. Harry heard Malfoy snort loudly.

Harry whirled to face him. "Have you got a cold, Malfoy?" he asked icily. Several other people giggled.

"Oh no, but thanks for your concern, Potter. I just find your Junior Auror antics amusing," said Malfoy slowly, looking straight at Harry.

Harry wanted to leap off the desk and clobber Malfoy. Where the hell did he get off talking about Aurors? What did Malfoy know about Harry's future plans? Harry was determined not to let Malfoy get to him, so he looked away.

The meeting was short. Harry explained the goals of the group – to learn effective defence against the Dark Arts beyond what they were taught in class. He explained about the weekly meetings between group leaders and Professor Eaton, as well as about Professor Eaton leading the first-year and second-year DA groups.

At several points during Harry's speech, people interrupted him to clarify details about the group's activities. They'd decided with the other leaders that the new DA would practise defensive spells only. Harry broke up the meeting after about thirty minutes, deciding that it would be enough for the first day.

As they were getting ready to leave, Nott spoke up from beside Malfoy.

"I've noticed you haven't mentioned the June trial by fire in the Department of Mysteries, Potter. Care to give us an insider's look into fighting Death Eaters?"

Everyone fell silent. Harry turned to stare at Nott, feeling his facial features freeze into a sort of mask. "I don't talk about that," he said quietly.

"Why not?" Nott asked with a sneer.

"That's none of your business. We're not here to talk about me, anyway."

Harry was having trouble controlling his temper. Who did this wanker think he was, calling Harry into question as though he owed him something? He was vaguely reminded of last year's meeting in the Hog's Head and Zacharias' attitude.

Hermione walked over to Harry and put a hand on his shoulder. Harry vaguely noticed Malfoy shaking his head. He wanted to turn around and shout at Malfoy; he was no doubt finding it distasteful that Harry was letting a Muggle-born witch touch him.

"Much as I loved this little get-together, I really must be going now," drawled Malfoy.

This broke the tension in the room, surprisingly enough. Harry looked away from Nott, who fled the classroom immediately. Malfoy shook his head again.

"You'll want to control your housemate, Malfoy," called Hermione. "As a prefect, it's your duty to ensure—"

Malfoy's eyes flashed in her direction. "When I want an opinion from you on how to carry out my duties, I'll give you one, Mudblood," he spat.

Several people gasped, staring at Malfoy in shock.

Harry had had enough. "You will not call her that again, Malfoy," he said quietly. "Not during one of these meetings, anyway."

"You and what army will stop me, Potter?" asked Malfoy with an indulgent smile.

Harry was struck by a moment by how white Malfoy's teeth looked. He shook his head slightly. What was wrong with him? "I will personally make sure the Head Boy knows you're being deliberately uncooperative," he ground out.

Malfoy looked shocked for a moment, but he seemed to recover quickly – his insufferable smirk was back. "Fine, but only because you look so pretty today, Potter," he said in a low, lazy tone.

It sounded so intimate that Harry's face grew hot instantly. Malfoy's smirk broadened and he winked at someone behind Harry, then walked out of the classroom. Harry stood rooted to his spot, dumbfounded, until he felt a tug on his robe sleeve. He turned and saw Hermione looking at him with concern.

"Harry?" she asked in an uncertain voice. "Do you think Malfoy might know about – you know?"

Harry shook his head. "The only people who know are you and Ron. I've no idea what he's on about."

::

Harry's first Ravenclaw study group session went far better than the first DA meeting. His partners were Zacharias, Terry Boot and Blaise Zabini. They all had the same lessons, which was lucky – especially considering that all of them were strong in different subjects. Terry suggested that they draw up timetables for studying together outside of the scheduled weekly meeting.

"The only thing we don't all have in common is Quidditch," remarked Zacharias, leaning back and squinting at Terry. "You don't play, do you?"

Terry scrunched up his nose a little and shook his head. "Nope. Not my thing, really."

Harry glanced at him. "You don't like Quidditch?"

"Oh, I like Quidditch fine. It's the flying that I'm not a big fan of," said Terry, pushing away a piece of parchment.

"Any particular reason?" asked Zabini. He was trying to poke Zacharias' hand with the tip of his quill, without success.

Terry pursed his lips and stole a glance around. "I'm not very good at it," he said, looking rueful.

"Hey, if you want, I could help you with that," said Harry.

Terry looked grateful but vaguely apprehensive. "I'll think about it. Thanks." "It's no problem, really. Flying and Defence Against the Dark Arts are just about the only things I'm any good at," said Harry.

"You can't be very bad at Potions if you're in Snape's NEWT class," interjected Zabini.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I still don't know how I got in, really. Some major luck on my OWL exam, I imagine."

"You know, you really ought to stop writing everything off to luck," said Zacharias, leaning forward a little. "You tried to sell us that line last year in the Hog's Head, and I wasn't buying it then, either."

Terry coughed. "Unless we get on topic, none of us will be getting very lucky this year," he said.

"Oh, on the contrary. I plan on getting very lucky this year," said Zabini with an odd look at Zacharias, who rolled his eyes.

Harry looked from one of them to the other, puzzled. He glanced at Terry, who didn't seem to have noticed the weird exchange. Harry shrugged. "So, Mondays. I've got DA so I'm only available after that. Zabini, when are your Defence meetings?"

"Name's Blaise," the Slytherin boy said with a pointed look at Harry. "If we're going to help each other not fail all our classes, I'm afraid I'll have to insist on a first-name basis."

Harry grinned. "Sure. Blaise it is then. I'm Harry."

Zacharias reached over and slapped him on the back, grinning. "I think he knows that, mate."

"Well, it never hurts to remind me," said Blaise in an amiable tone. "Especially when all I hear in the common room is 'Potter this' and 'Potter that'."

Harry snorted. Terry looked up from his parchment, on which he was scribbling something in neat, economical rows. "That can't be very fun, having Malfoy around all the time."

Blaise pursed his lips and stared into the far corner of the classroom, his expression suddenly wistful. "He's not that bad, really."

Zacharias looked as sceptical as Harry felt. "Right, mate. Next thing you'll be telling us is that Goyle's a tortured artist."

"He really is," said Blaise with a solemn look, and they burst out laughing.

Harry had a feeling he was going to enjoy these study groups far more than he'd originally thought he would.

::

One Saturday near mid-October, Harry was summoned to classroom eight, to help the house-elves locate students for a Hufflepuff party. He unfolded the Marauder's map on the floor and waited for the house-elves to activate the magical goblet with the names. It was one of the regular dinner goblets, only it was painted yellow and black and had a large letter 'H' etched into the base.

One of the house-elves snapped its fingers and the inside of the goblet shone golden for a moment, then spat out a stack of thin, folded pieces of parchment. Harry snatched them up from the air and started to unfold them one by one – it was going to be a sixth-year party. His name was on one of the slips of parchment – the other Gryffindors were Ron, Hermione, Lavender and Seamus.

Harry quickly located the other nineteen students on the map and soon the air in the classroom was filled with the soft popping sounds house-elves made when using their own brand of Apparation. "Mischief managed," muttered Harry and folded the map, then slipped it into his robe's pocket. Several of the Hufflepuff prefects showed up moments later, along with the Head Boy and Girl. Harry helped Ernie load snacks and drinks onto a rickety table near the back of the room.

Soon, people started to arrive – the other Hufflepuffs were Zacharias, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley and a burly-looking girl Harry didn't know. Parvati's sister Padma led the Ravenclaws in moments later. Terry grinned at Harry as he walked in, but didn't leave Lisa Turpin's side; they were arguing about something in low voices. Michael Corner and his friend Anthony Goldstein both gave Harry careful looks. Harry wondered idly if Michael was still going out with Cho.

The Slytherins arrived last with Pansy Parkinson in the lead – Blaise was among them and he immediately joined Zacharias near the snack table. Crabbe towered behind Pansy, who seemed to be delivering a lecture of some kind to Daphne Greengrass and Sheridan Roper. Daphne kept stealing glances at Ernie and Sheridan looked extremely bored.

As soon as everyone had arrived, Brock Logan, the seventh-year Hufflepuff prefect, called their attention.

"Welcome to the Hufflepuff Hullabaloo!" he said, his tone cheerful. Several people sniggered; even Harry couldn't resist despite the fact that Ernie was standing right beside him. Ernie's eyes widened. "It's a good ice-breaker," he muttered defensively. Harry grinned.

After about an hour of eating, drinking and conversation, Liam, the Head Boy, called their attention once more. "You've probably heard from your younger housemates that these parties aren't just mingling and free Butterbeer," he said in an important tone. Harry leant back against the wall and wondered if Liam had been anything like Malfoy when he was younger. He seemed like an agreeable fellow, for a Slytherin at least.

"Tonight's game involves blindfolds," said Liam with an impish grin. Conversation seemed to die down a little as more people turned to listen. "Yes, you heard right. Blindfolds and dancing, to be exact," continued Liam, his smile positively feral now. "You're going to be blindfolded, all of you. You will then spin and stumble around, and grab the first person you can reach."

Pansy Parkinson giggled. "Is everyone blindfolded, Liam, or just a few people?"

"Everyone, naturally," said Liam. "Then the music starts."

"And then?" asked Zacharias.

"And then we dance," said Ernie.

"What about the blindfolds?" Terry wanted to know. "When do those come off?"

"When the music stops," replied Liam.

Ron elbowed Harry in the side. "Stick close to me and Hermione, mate. You don't want to end up dancing with Parkinson."

Brock Logan passed around a bag filled with different-coloured blindfolds. Harry took one and stared at it. The three bottles of Butterbeer he'd had had settled his stomach into a comfortable warmth and he really didn't feel like dancing with anyone at all. He would much rather have sat down by the floor and taken a nap.

At Li