Author's Notes: Thank you to Marley and Amber for Beta-ing this chapter. The three of us had kittens over this bloody chapter. Chapter dedication goes out to bluebutterfly9 because she was the first to review and she wrote the best review I have ever gotten. Thank you soooo much babe! You made my heart sing.

Warnings: past-Harry Sirius, Harry/Draco, Harry/MOC, Pansy/female!Blaise, Seamus/Justin, Harry/Hermione/Ron implied, Moon/Nott implied, (eventual) Harry/Justin, OotP spoilers, fantasy, action, adventure, cross-generation, underage sex, violence, language, romance, angst

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Lyrics and quotes belong to their respective owners.

In my field of paper flowers
And candy clouds of lullaby
I lie inside myself for hours
        - Imaginary (Evanescence)

I know that kiss will be my last
No more his song
The tune upon his lips has past
I sing alone while I watch the ocean
My lover’s gone
No Earthly ships will ever bring him home again
        - My Lover’s Gone (Dido)

“You think you’re a big man, Potter. You wait. I’ll have you.”
        - Draco Malfoy (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K.Rowling)

Draco Malfoy was standing on the front step of number Four, Privet drive, Little Whinging at one o’clock in the morning.

He was also smirking at a glaring Harry, who had his wand pointed at Malfoy’s head.

Harry would have thought it rather funny, or maybe even strange, had he not been Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Always-Had-Strange-Things-Happen-To-Him-All-The-Bloody-Time.

He just found this extremely irritating. Malfoy always brought trouble and annoyance to Harry’s life, and Harry thought that he really did not need this right now.

These things were always dumped on him around this time of the year, Harry realized. It seemed as if it was always timed: a month of peace and boredom then something strange happens that throws him off guard into a whirlpool of adventure and inevitable danger. A bang at his front door and his world is thrown into chaos once again.

It was almost unsurprising that Draco Malfoy should turn up on Harry Potter’s doorstep in the middle of Muggle suburbia, Harry thought. He hated to admit it, but Malfoy had always been quite a large part of Harry’s life: someone to compete against, as well as a fountain of useful information regarding the Other Side. In reality, Malfoy had never meant to help Harry, but in a way he always did. His snide little remarks containing small hints of information, allowing Harry to piece together facts that ended up as clues of great importance.

Malfoy in the campsite forest, almost warning Harry that the Death Eaters currently parading the grounds would come after Hermione.

Malfoy on the train, dropping the hint that Harry should not be dogging around; a warning of Sirius’s safety.

Malfoy during Care of Magical Creatures class, dropping hints about Hagrid’s declining health.

Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy.

And Malfoy at the end of fourth year, expressing that Harry had chosen the losing side.

A part of Harry had found this a strange turning point in his life. Harry did not doubt that he had ever chosen the wrong side, but when Malfoy had gone and said it to him like that, it seemed to make Harry wake up and realize the truth:

There were two different sides. Good and Evil. Fighting each other.

It saddened him, and he resented Malfoy for making him feel that way.

He also resented Malfoy for currently standing on his front doorstep.

Harry had just found out all his friends had been kidnapped and were taken God knows where, and now Malfoy wanted to annoy Harry with his uninvited presence?

Malfoy was in for it this time.

A curse was on his lips and just as he was about to hex the smirking Slytherin into oblivion, a rather bushy-haired someone ran past Malfoy and enveloped Harry in a tight hug.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione whispered loudly, “we’re so sorry we’re late and oh! We have so much to tell you and how are you? And happy birthday Harry!”

“Hermione!” Harry breathed, “I was so worried,” He squeezed her just as tight, holding onto her for dear life, making sure she was real and feeling her body against his. “I thought you were kidnapped! I thought they had taken you away.”

Hermione pulled back, looked at Harry and smiled. “So the Daily Prophet came through, did it? Well, as you can see we’re alive and well.”

“Yes,” said Harry, “I can see that.” He gave her a quick chaste kiss on the lips. Pausing, he glanced over at Malfoy who was still leaning on the doorframe, currently glaring at Harry and Hermione, his body tense, an emotion on his face that Harry could not decipher. Harry sneered. “Hermione,” he said slowly, “What is he doing here?”

Ron chose that moment to walk through the door, grinning. “Hullo Harry!” He frowned, staring and Harry and Hermione who were still holding each other. “I think you can let go of Hermione now.” Harry heard Malfoy snicker and push himself off the doorframe to head upstairs.

Hermione let go. “Don’t worry, Harry, we’ll explain everything later, but we’ve got to hurry.”

“We don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to,” Ron said with a grimace.

Harry looked up the stairs to where Malfoy had just disappeared into his aunt and uncle’s room. “I don’t care. What is he doing here?”

Ron grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him up the stairs. “It’s sort of hard to explain, Mate, but Malfoy’s on our side.”

“Well, he isn’t really,” Hermione shouted from downstairs as Ron and Harry entered Harry’s room. “But it’s kind of complicated. Don’t forget to bring down your Galleon, Harry!” She added, as Ron shut the door behind them. Harry heard her say a muffled, “Pertrificus Totalus,” before he heard the thump of Dudley falling to the floor.

“Come on, Harry,” Ron instructed as he opened Harry’s trunk. “Pack your things, and don’t forget your broom and that magic Galleon.”

Harry gathered up the items from beneath the loose floorboard, and chucked them in his trunk. Then Ron cried, “Pack!” with a sweeping motion of his wand to gather the rest of Harry’s belongings.

Harry decided to let Ron and Hermione’s lack of an explanation for Malfoy slide for now; he trusted Ron, and if Ron could hold back on his hate for the Slytherin, maybe Harry could to. He told himself Ron would explain everything better later when they were not in such a rush to get out of the house.

Then something else occurred to Harry as his belongings were being flown into his trunk. “Ron,” he said slowly, “how can you do magic? What about the Ministry?”

“Haven’t you read the Daily Prophet?”

“Yeah….”

“The Ministry of Magic has gone down, Harry,” he said with a sigh. “They haven’t got time for half the laws now. Besides,” he added with an angry frown, “this is War. We need magic.”

Harry was happy he had finally gotten one of his questions answered, but he suddenly felt a lot more popping up in his mind. “And why is Malfoy in my aunt and uncle’s room?” He may not like his relatives, but he knew Malfoy would love to seriously hurt any Muggle that came his way. “And why are you and Hermione wearing… whatever it is you’re wearing?” he asked as an afterthought.

Ron and Hermione’s clothes seemed very strange to Harry. They both wore dark clothes under a heavy black cloak. Harry looked at Ron closely. The black, bell-sleeved robe was clean and well pressed; it looked made of thick, heavy material. The sleeves were long, and the robe did up tightly from the hips to the neck with silver buckles up the left side, where it ended with a leather collar, fastened with a large silver buckle. There were also leather straps fastened with silver buckles, similar to the one around Ron’s neck, around Ron’s arms just above his elbows, about two inches wide. Ron looked as if he had something bulky on underneath his robe, like he was wearing some very thick armour.

His trousers were long, black and thick, ending in a boot-leg. Ron’s dark leather boots peeked out from under the trousers, and the soles were thick. There was also a silver-buckled leather strap around his right thigh, where Harry could see a small knife holder and a handle peeking out from inside it. Ron also wore small leather gloves with grip on the palms, and the fingers cut off. He had a thick belt on holding up the trousers around his hips. His robe billowed around his legs and Harry thought he actually looked rather cool.

“Say goodbye to Hedwig,” Ron said sadly, ignoring Harry’s questions. “We can’t take her where we’re going.”

Harry snapped out of his evaluation of his friends’ clothes. “Why?” he blurted.

“Because,” said Ron, “we’re in hiding and we can’t have owls hanging around. Look,” he added as he saw Harry’s forlorn face, “you may be able to see her before school starts. We have a special way of sending and receiving mail.”

Harry crossed over to Hedwig’s cage, opening it and letting her hop onto his arm. “Why are we going into hiding?”

“War, Harry.”

“But why?”

Ron looked at Harry crossly. “We can’t talk about it now.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t know how safe it is here.”

Harry stroked Hedwig’s feathers and whispered a few sad goodbyes. He was frustrated with Ron, and it reminded him of the time when Ron and Hermione had written letters to him last year that held no information. No matter how much he had asked, they never said anything. But it was worth a try, even now.

He could not trust himself to look at Ron. “I want to know everything,” he said in a low, menacing tone. “And I want to know now.”

There was a small pause, and then Ron took a deep breath. “Malfoy went into your aunt and uncle’s room to put a charm on them so they will keep sleeping. The last thing we need is for them to wake up and delay our trip; because, we are, in fact, quite late.” Harry let Hedwig out the window, saying one last sad goodbye. “And Hermione and I are wearing uniform. Locomotor trunk.” Realizing that was all Ron was going to tell him, Harry growled and resisted the urge to spit. He picked up his broom and magic Galleon and followed Ron, stomping angrily out of the room.

Downstairs, Hermione and Malfoy were tending to what looked like a fat body wrapped in a large white bag on a long levitated stretcher.

Harry knew it was Dudley currently being tied down. “What the hell are you doing?”

Hermione turned around. “Oh Harry! Have you got the Galleon?” she asked, ignoring his question. Harry was thoroughly irritated with everyone not answering his questions. Ron took the trunk and Harry’s broom outside.

“Yeah,” he muttered, handing her the Galleon. “What are you doing with Dudley?”

“You know, Potter,” drawled Malfoy as he tied Dudley’s feet to the stretcher, “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of torturing your relatives.”

Harry could not help but agree. He turned back to Hermione. “But what - “

“Watch carefully Harry,” she interrupted, fiddling with the Galleon and holding it up to the light, “see this lone number here?”

“Yeah,” Harry said again, still annoyed. “What about it?”

“It’s a code we’ve decided on. Change the number to one, and it tells the rest of us that you’re safe. Change it to two, it tells us you are safe and that you have just completed a mission. Change it to three and it means you’re in danger and need help; and changing it to four means you’ve just completed a mission but you are in a sticky situation and you need help. Five is for back-up.

“Remember that Harry, it’s important!” She handed the Galleon back to him. “I told the others that if we found you safe and sound we would change it to two, so you should change it now.” Harry got out his wand, and stared for a second at the fake money in his hand.

It was the Master Coin Hermione had given him during a D.A. meeting last year. It had seven numbers along the edge: six were for the date, and if Harry changed the date on his coin, its daughter coins would change too. There was an extra number Harry had never known the function of, but now, he finally did. He pressed the tip of his wand to the seventh number. “Proteanis transmote two.”

Hermione turned to Ron who had just come back inside, and Malfoy. “Are we ready to go?”

Malfoy gave a slight nod as he levitated the stretcher outside, and Ron said, “Yeah, are you two?”

A few minutes later all four teenagers were outside the house, standing on the dry and crispy lawn, breathing in the warm summer air. Harry put his jumper on; he new it would be cold if they were to fly by broomstick. He had been asking where they were going, but no one wanted to answer.

Hermione was tying the stretcher to her broomstick and Ron had Harry’s trunk tied to his. Then Harry realized something and his eyes widened.

“You’ve all got Firebolts!”

“Honestly,” drawled Malfoy, “Don’t you read? You’d think the Savior of all Wizard Kind would read, wouldn’t you?”

“It was in the Daily Prophet, Harry,” Hermione clarified regretfully as the four mounted their brooms, Ron in front of Harry and Hermione and Malfoy on either side, “Diagon Alley got raided, so we managed to steal some supplies.”

Harry realized this all sounded very wrong. Firstly, he was about to fly with Malfoy to a place Harry did not know. Secondly, Hermione just admitted that she stole things from a Wizarding Village, and thirdly, they were kidnapping Dudley and taking him with them.

Ron spotted Harry’s wide-eyes and exasperated expression, and grinned. “Come on, mate!” he said over his shoulder, “The Army needs its Leader!”

And with that the four of them pushed off and were suddenly high in the air, flying through the sky.

The wind was like a thick ferocious monster of the night, whispering secrets as Harry sped through the chill of an early morning of the seventh month. The rasping breath chilled him from flesh to bone, whipping his cloak around his legs and biting at his frozen fingers as he grasped tightly to his broom. It was like fresh, crispy dark pressing against his flight and freedom as he flew on air and wooden instrument, playing the song of a sad youth escaping the house that was never a home, and pushing up memories that were not thought, but felt.

Harry had been flying for an hour now, with Ron in front, Hermione below and Malfoy circling him. He felt the weight of his limbs screaming for sleep, so it was no wonder that while he was sailing the sky, he was sinking into memories of a lost lover.

When Harry had found himself in an old Wizard’s mansion known as The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black of Grimmald Place last summer, it was then that he finally saw his Godfather Sirius Black after what was to the two of them, a too long a time to be separated. Puberty had grasped Harry in such a way so as he saw Sirius in a new light of glowing lust: skin healthier than before, muscles toned and sharp as if grown in a small amount of time and hair like liquid black, feathered against his shoulder blades. It was the strange habit of only ever wearing boots, worn jeans, tight white T-shirt and cold blue eyes which gave Sirius the air of lustful danger; a darkness and strength that Harry devoured with every step Sirius took.

These variables and others allowed Harry to love Sirius in a way Harry had never deemed possible. Harry’s body sung and his mind danced with dreams, brought on by Sirius’s hair brushing against Harry’s arm, or when their legs accidentally touched under the dinner table, or the wistful exchange of smiles. Small touches and innocent looks only got more intense over the time they were secluded in the House of Black.

Over the coming weeks of being held hostage in the dark mansion and of his own adolescent desire, Harry was full of heat for Sirius, until he was almost vibrating with the anger of not being able to do anything about it. But it was when his anger expanded with help from a catalyst in the form of jealousy, that Harry had felt the need to stretch out his fingers and brush Sirius’s heart with his own.

Harry remembered wanting to grab his Godfather’s broad shoulders with hungry hands, feel the new muscles under his palms, look into those blueberry eyes and reach up and press his lips to the soft wet warmth of the other’s, until he was gasping and sweating in his own bed; his imagination the only arms to hold him when he woke up from pleasant, yet painful dreams. He would often wake up in the night and search the dark for the figure that was never there. Then one night, Harry woke from bliss involving Sirius among Indian cushions, Hemp incense and the strange taste of blueberries.

He had then gotten out of bed for a drink of water. He walked down the stairs past the heads of elves, past the portrait of Mrs. Black and into the kitchen to find Sirius speaking in low tones to Professor Lupin by the fire. The first thing Harry noticed was Lupin’s hand on Sirius’s shoulder, squeezing it as if massaging the muscles there, and Harry had felt such a sudden hot surge of hate, anger and jealousy that he had not even noticed that the two adults had ceased talking and were looking at him curiously.

“Harry,” Lupin had asked quietly, “is something wrong?” Lupin had dropped his hand by then, but Harry was still too angered to speak. Instead he had glared at Lupin as ferocious malice roared in his ears. Lupin had touched his Sirius, his Godfather who had been chosen specifically for Harry by his own father.

“Harry.” It was the abnormally soft voice from Sirius. “Harry, would you like to talk?”

Harry had snapped out of his glare, anger suddenly abated, and had looked at Sirius, then nodded. Lupin went to get a glass of water, and Sirius had opened his arms. Harry ran, feet padding on the stone floor, and then had let himself be enveloped by the warm and strong arms. “I - I had a nightmare,” Harry had lied, before he breathed in the scent of Sirius: butterbeer, log-wood fire and the strange mix of carpet and the homely scent of dog.

“That’s no good,” Sirius had murmured as he ran fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry remembered cherishing the feel of those long, strong fingers pressing themselves over sensitive skin. Sirius had continued in a low voice, tightening his grip around Harry’s shoulders. “Is there anything I can do?”

Harry had so desperately wanted to say, you could kiss me, or even come back to bed with me, but thought it would scare Sirius away. His hands were around Sirius’s waist, and he had slowly moved them up under the white shirt to touch the hot skin of his lower back. When Sirius had stiffened, Harry had pulled away and said without looking at his Godfather, “No, thank you. I’m fine,” which Harry had thought was one of the biggest lies he had ever told.

Later, after declining the drink from Lupin and instead drinking from the upstairs bathroom, Harry had gone to bed. Frustration was taken out on his bedding and throat as he kicked, punched, cursed and growled at his pillows. He only stopped when Ron had woken up to tell Harry to go back to sleep.

Now Harry was riding through a sky that could tell so many stories, written in so much black ink that it had darkened, and there was no longer any space to write. With an inky blackness so deep, Harry wished he could speak the language of the night and read the tragedies the sky had seen in its old life. Little did Harry realize that his face was cold because of the frozen tears that littered his face, nor did he realize that the small group of teenagers were descending, as he was too busy thinking about what kind of story his and Sirius’s would be. A romance? Not likely, he thought, considering the ‘romance’ had ended when Harry had left for school. A part of Harry wished he had been expelled a year ago as he had feared he would be at that time.

“Oi, Harry!” Ron called over his shoulder, wind whipping red locks into his face. “We’re almost home!”

Home. Something Harry had once called Grimmald Place, The Burrow, Hogwarts and Sirius’s arms. The group descended, and landed on rough gravel. Harry took the time to look around while the others dismounted and proceeded with untying their load.

They had landed in what looked like an old Muggle School. The Courtyard they were standing in was surrounded by stone buildings of which had a lot of windows and large black double doors. There was a high up, long walkway that snaked around and was attached to all the buildings, so that you could walk to each building without having to cross the courtyard.

Harry peered through the moonlit darkness at his three companions, who were looking wind burnt and ruffled. “If you’re done gaping at this Muggle atrocity, Potter,” drawled Malfoy, grey eyes glinting in the moonlight, “maybe we can get out of this bloody cold and greet the others so I can go to bed.” Malfoy turned on his heel and entered the nearest building with a bagged, bound and stupefied Dudley floating in his wake.

The three Gryffindors were left to smile tiredly at each other. Ron sighed and pulled out the dagger from its holster. Walking towards Harry, he dug the tip into his own left index finger, drawing blood. Neither boy flinched. “These buildings,” began Ron, “are protected by an Ancient Blood Magic, making it unplottable and unapproachable to people not protected by it. Open your mouth,” he requested, before pressing the bloodied finger between Harry’s lips and smearing salty warm blood on his tongue. They looked into each others eyes - green and brown merging as naturally as grass and earth - and Harry thought it was rather erotic to have Ron’s finger in his mouth.

Ron pulled away and healed his finger with a press of his wand. “Swallow.” Harry did. “Holding some protected blood within you will allow you to enter and stay within the school for a short amount of time. The magic recognizes that you are my guest and that you mean no harm.” Silently Ron entered the same building Malfoy had, trunk following magically, as Hermione took Harry’s hand and walked him to a different building. The two entered and Harry blinked in the sudden torch light.

The large room was full of tables and chairs littered with parchment and stationery. Standing there in pajamas, dressing gowns and slippers was all of the members of Dumbledore’s Army, save Ron, beaming at him.

“Hullo Harry,” Fred Weasley said, grinning, as his sister Ginny ran up to give a bewildered Harry a hug. “’Bout time you got here.”

“Yeah,” yawned Fred’s twin brother, George. “We’ve been waiting for ages. What took you so long?”

Luna Lovegood also gave Harry a hug, followed by Cho Chang. “Well he’s here now, isn’t he?” snapped Ernie Macmillan, “so you can all go to bed!”

Most occupants of the large room groaned and complained at the brisk order from the Hufflepuff. “Ron, Ernie and I have been temporary leaders while you haven’t been here, Harry,” explained Hermione quietly, but proudly. “We’re sort of, um, your ‘Court’, you could say.”

“Right,” said Harry slowly, finally finding his voice. He was tired, hungry, cold, and on top of not feeling well, he was very confused. Only a couple of hours ago, he had been lying on his bed at his Aunt and Uncle’s house, and now he was in an abandoned school surrounded by all his friends. “Can someone tell me what the Hell is going on?”

“Never mind about that now, Harry,” said Luna softly, who was staring at Harry with unblinking eyes. “Are you feeling alright? Did zamparion red-tongues attack on the way here?”

“What?”

“Zamparion red-tongues are not real!” snapped Hermione, angry scowl in place, as others around the room started to chat excitedly between themselves.

“Yes they are,” cried Luna. “There was a sighting the other day - “

“There was not!”

“There was too! They attack peoples’ memories.”

“They don’t exist!”

Harry interrupted. “Why are we all here? Is it because of Voldemort?”

The reaction of everyone in the room was what Harry thought it would be. They stopped talking and fell completely silent, expressions turned serious and all attention was on Harry. After about a minute, someone at the back of the room took pity on him and broke the silence. “This is war, Potter,” said Angelina Johnson darkly. “The Ministry of Magic is down, Diagon Alley is gone, Azkaban is useless and five Wizard families are dead, as well as several Muggle families…” She trailed off and shrugged. “We’re an Army and we’re here to train.”

“That’s right,” said Ernie loudly. “We’re Dumbledore’s Army, and there is no doubt we will be the one’s to bring You-Know-Who down!”

“As well as be the last army standing,” muttered Zacharias Smith.

Harry took on an angry and determined look and started pacing the large room. “The Daily Prophet said you were all kidnapped. What’s the story?”

At this point Ron entered the room and walked down a flight of rickety stairs. “That was just a front so we wouldn’t have to tell any adults where we were.”

“Right,” said Ginny proudly. “So in other words, we kidnapped ourselves!”

“Of course, I was against it,” said Hermione quickly. “But it is good, because we don’t have the Order of the Phoenix or anyone else to tell us what we’re not allowed to do.” She grinned at Harry, and Harry could not help but smile back.

“And we have lots of food,” added Ron, “and beds and equipment and such.”

“We have a lot of books and research material,” said Anthony Goldstein seriously. “But every now and again we have to go on raids to get more.”

“We’ve also designed a way to send and receive mail without exposing our location,” added Justin Finch-Fletchley.

“Not to mention we’ve got really cool uniforms!” piped up Lavender Brown.

“Designed by yours truly,” Pavarti Patil said smiling broadly.

“And me!” said Lavender hotly, flicking blonde hair out of her eyes.

“Of course, they still need some minor adjustments -“

“True.”

“- And we’ve designed some new additions -“

“Right.”

“- And we’re always upgrading -“

“Absolutely.”

“- And we’re constantly testing them and making sure they’re practical -“

“Yet sexy!”

“- And we can’t wait to dress you up!” Pavarti and Lavender exchanged glances and squealed with delight. “It’ll be so much fun!”

Harry, now scandalized and rooted to the spot, looked around for an escape from his two classmates, who were often found curling their hair with their wands and who made homemade eye shadow in the middle of Potions class, when his eyes lit on someone unfamiliar - but not unpleasant.

A boy a few years older than Harry, tanned with dark hair and eyes, was half-sitting on one of the tables, legs crossed at the ankles. He was smiling, eyebrow raised, thick strands of hair licking at the smooth skin of face and neck. Harry swallowed and found his voice. “Sorry,” he croaked, before clearing his throat and continuing. “But, who are you?”

The boy chuckled as Cho sidled up to Harry. “I forgot to introduce you!” she said happily, “he’s a new addition to the D.A., Harry.” No doubt a replacement for the Sneak who had gotten the D.A. in trouble last year, Harry thought dryly. Cho went to stand next to the boy. “Meet my brother: Quan Chang.”

Quan got up and held out his hand, which Harry briefly shook. “Good to meet you, Harry,” he said in a smooth, deep voice that made Harry shiver.

“Er - hi,” Harry stuttered stupidly. Cho exchanged an enigmatic smile with her brother.

She giggled. “I told you he was cute, didn’t I?” She laughed when both boys blushed and tried to look anywhere but each other. Harry was fiddling nervously with his glasses as the door Ron had come through opened and Draco Malfoy walked in and sauntered down the stairs. He was followed by seven others Harry recognized as the sixth form Slytherins. Like the sixth form Gryffindors, there were eight in total, all of whom were glaring and scowling at an equally repulsed Harry.

He could put names to the first three faces immediately, because he knew them to be the largest in his year, as well as the ones to follow Malfoy anywhere. Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode; all with rather blank, yet still menacing, faces. The two smallest of the group Harry recognized as Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. They were currently both clad in very skimpy nightgowns, and Harry could never remember them ever wearing more than short skirts or dresses. Zabini’s curly dark hair had been cut very short, and she was now grasping tightly to Parkinson’s hand, whose long honey brown hair was in pigtails.

The last two Slytherins were standing close together and off to one side and Harry had to rack his brain to remember their names. They were both tall, blank faced and extremely skinny. The boy had chestnut brown hair, where a large amount of which fell into his face so it covered the right side of it, and Harry never remembered ever having seen Theodore Nott’s right eye. Harry had the same feeling he got when in the same room as Mad-Eye Moody: as if he was being watched by an all-seeing eye that was constantly scrutinizing him through a deceiving veil. Nott’s companion, Harry remembered, was the enigmatic Artemis Moon, who was always quiet and blank, with a pale face, long silver hair and haunting amber eyes.

Malfoy had taken off his cloak and robe. He now wore long leather gloves cut off at the fingers, reaching up past his elbows, a black feminine-like corset as well as a leather collar with a silver buckle much like Ron and Hermione’s. He wore thick, tight black pants that hung low on his hips, and thick soled black boots. Silver strands of hair fell into his eyes, and Harry felt himself stare ungracefully before he caught himself. To think of Malfoy, of all people, in that way was a very scary thought.

He glared at Harry. “Oh so sorry to interrupt your happy little reunion -“

“You should be,” snapped Quan from beside Harry.

Malfoy ignored him. “- But I think it best that the Blood Charm be preformed before the temporary effect wears off.”

“We’ll do it in the morning,” said Hermione quickly. “It’s not a good idea to do it so soon.”

“Says you.”

“Yes, says her,” Ron spoke up angrily. “It’s four in the morning, so let’s go -“

“No,” said Harry loudly, once again finding his voice and Gryffindor confidence. “No. I want to know what this Blood Charm is and what the hell it has to do with this nasty group of Slytherins.”

Ron sighed tiredly and rubbed his eyes. “Can we please talk in the morning? It’s too long a story.” At Harry’s annoyed look Ron’s shoulders slumped and he continued. “We cut a deal with them, that’s all.”

“That’s right,” said Pansy Parkinson hotly. Harry turned to her. “A temporary alliance.” She scowled. “Welcome to Pegasus Lair.”

Malfoy caught Harry’s eye and smirked. “Yes, Potter, welcome home.”

-TBC-

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