𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

Chapter 2

Transformation: Chapter Two

Harry had hoped to put off his first class with Tonks for as long as possible, so his appetite waned significantly when he scanned his schedule and discovered that Defense Against The Dark Arts was the first thing that morning. Ron, who was shoveling in porridge to Harry's left, showed no such trepidation.

"With some of Slytherin, I'll reckon!" he exclaimed, between mouthfuls. "Just wait'll Tonks puts them in their places!"

"But that's not proper, Ron," Hermione admonished. Whether she was referring to Ron's eating habits or Tonks's favoritism, Harry couldn't be sure. "Anyhow, Harry, aren't you worried about the Slytherins?"

"What," he said, "Malfoy?"

"Oh, not him. I meant about the DA. Some of us can already produce Patronuses. We did all kinds of defense spells last year. They'll be so far behind, won't they hold us back?"

Ron's grin burst into full bloom. "Maybe I'll get to hex Malfoy," he said, sunning in the very thought of it. "See how he likes barfing up slugs for hours in a bucket. I'll really get him this time."

"You going to keep on with the DA?" Dean asked from across the table. He was eating with his left hand only, and Harry strongly suspected he was holding Ginny's hand with his right. "Now that things have gone public, there might be more members still."

Seamus piped up also, having gained enthusiasm since the few meetings he had attended, to say he still had his Galleon. Several others at the table nodded to say they had also kept it.

"I don't know," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "I suppose it depends how today's lesson goes."

"Speaking of today's lesson, we don't want to be late." Hermione stood up and smoothed her skirt. "Come on, we might be able to speak to Tonks before class starts!"

Harry wanted to point out that he had no desire to speak to Tonks in front of anyone else, before he could warn her not to say a word about his birthday, but Hermione was already hurrying off. Luckily, the strap of Ron's bag snapped halfway there and all his books tumbled to the ground, so they arrived just before the bell and had no time to wave at Tonks, much less speak to her. Harry hid his relief and glanced around the classroom, which was buzzing with whispers. For her part, Tonks was provoking as many rumors as she could. Her hair today was still fluorescent pink, and she had several silver bracelets clinking around her wrist. She looked younger than ever, and rather than sit at the teacher's desk, she was perched atop it.

The students eventually quieted, more out of curiosity than respect. The classroom maintained its silence for a brief moment, and then Tonks swung her legs up beneath her and crossed them, Indian style. "Hem, hem," she said, sounding exactly like Professor Umbridge, and then laughed at the startled and horrified looks on many faces. Her laughter was a shock itself in the quiet classroom, before a few people began cracking smiles. "I'm Tonks," she greeted them, but no sooner had she spoken that Blaise Zabini raised his hand.

"Is it true you're an Auror?" he asked, more than a little belligerent skepticism in his tone.

"Have been for a couple of years, yeah," Tonks said, shrugging. "Got tired of the food at the Ministry, though." She gave them a grin. "Not to worry, not everybody from the Ministry's like your last professor. Or the fake Mad-Eye."

Several students were already goggling at her reference to Moody as "Mad-Eye," while some others were still stuck on the shocking color of her hair. Seamus raised his hand next. "Professor Tonks?"

Tonks made a face. "Professor Tonks is my aunt. Tonks, please, unless Professor McGonagall's around. What is it?"

"Are you really a Metamorphmagus, too?"

Tonks did not answer, but she screwed up her face, and a moment later, her pink hair withdrew to shoulder-length and became jet black. "What d'you think?" she asked, enjoying all of their gaping faces. Ron was grinning openly, and even Hermione seemed to be warming up to the prospect of Tonks as their professor. "I know, I know, black's not really my color. Violet? Green?" She squeezed her eyes shut again, and a moment later, her hair turned a very pale blonde. Pansy Parkinson started laughing shrilly.

"You look like Draco's mum," she giggled, unable to stop even when Malfoy glared balefully at her. "What? She does!"

Rather than respond, Tonks slid off the desk and stood there, hands on her hips. "I get the idea you've had quite a variety of professors in the past years," she said, "some of them awful. I know all of you passed your OWLs last year, but some of you–" Harry colored as her eyes passed over him – "are leaps ahead of others, so I'd like a general idea of how much you know. Why don't you all partner up and we'll do some demonstrations."

Harry noticed, as he partnered up with Ron, that she swiftly changed her hair coloring back to pink. He doubted that Tonks, the daughter of Andromeda, would be thrilled about looking like Narcissa Malfoy.

"This is brilliant," Ron was saying. "No 'Wands away' from Tonks!" She seemed to have heard him, because she gave him a quick smile from where she stood, and he flashed one back. "You see that, mate? She'll be on your side for sure."

"Yeah," Harry said absently, pulling out his wand. Glancing around the classroom, he saw former DA members settling into dueling stances, looking confident. He felt an odd surge of pride. Across the room, Ernie Macmillan gave him a friendly smile.

"We'll start out rather simply," Tonks said, drawing Harry's attention back to the front of the room. "I want you all to cast a simple jinx on your partner – nothing advanced, mind you – and he or she will block it. Use any method you want, even Expelliarmus." She saw Zacharias Smith giving her a look akin to skeptical disgust, and she said cheerfully, "Got to start somewhere, don't we?"

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry. "You want to go first?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure." He raised his wand and waited, as beside him, Hermione skillfully blocked a hex from Anthony Goldstein. But just as Ron was opening his mouth, a loud crash came from the other side of the room. Everyone whirled around.

Blaise Zabini was standing above Draco Malfoy, wand extended, his expression stranded somewhere between horror and laughter. Blasted by Blaise's spell, Malfoy had crashed to the floor and taken the chair behind him with him. Faced with the class's sudden attention, he clambered to his feet, pink with embarrassment.

"What are you staring at, Weasley?" he snapped, brushing off his robes with an angry look.

"Oh, Draco," Pansy simpered beside him, "are you all right?" Malfoy shook her off as Tonks approached him. Tonks waved the rest of them to go back to practicing, but Harry and Ron watched for several seconds longer, and Harry could have sworn there was a telltale curve of Tonks's lips that betrayed her amusement at Malfoy's incompetence.

"Malfoy," Ron said, speaking slowly as if to draw out the moment, "just failed to cast a simple blocking spell. In front of everyone. Ha ha, Harry, did you see his face?"

Harry had to chuckle along with Ron. It served him right, after all; when it came down to it, Malfoy was nothing but talk. "Come on, Ron, let's get back to it."

By the end of class, Tonks had started them on Stunning, conjuring several pillows to cushion their falls. Harry was paying more attention to Ron's ability to revive him than anyone else's, but when he sat up for the second time, he heard Pansy's shrill voice exclaiming hysterically, "Professor, it's not working! Why isn't it working?" Ron snickered and stuck out a hand to help him up.

"Might as well just leave Malfoy like that," he muttered, stepping back so Harry could Stun him. "Do us all a favor."

But just then, the class ended, and Hermione came over to Harry and Ron, frowning. "You can laugh at Malfoy now," she said, "but Harry, we've got Potions next." At her words, Harry's stomach sank, and he looked at Ron desperately. Ron laughed.

"Don't look at me for help, mate," he said, "I only got an A on my Potions OWL. You can partner with Herm, though, right?"

"Well, I–" Hermione faltered, looking uncertain. "I told Anthony I'd partner with him when he asked me. I'd forgotten Ron wouldn't be there," she explained, seeing Harry's panicked expression. "Oh, Harry, you can work with somebody else, don't look so awful."

"I suppose," Harry muttered, his good mood evaporating at the thought of Potions. If Defense Against the Dark Arts had gone as well as expected, it only made sense for Potions to be a disaster. Shouldering his bag, he followed Hermione from the class room. "Come on. We might as well get it over with."

Harry ended up seated beside Lisa Turpin, a tidy, brown-haired girl who gave him an appraising look when he sat down. She'd walked in with Anthony, and Harry supposed Hermione had asked her to partner with him. He was too busy to mind, however; glancing around the classroom, he found that the class, already small, was over half Slytherin. Across the aisle, Malfoy leaned over to Blaise and whispered loudly, "Potter made it into this class?" Blaise laughed, and Harry glared at both of them.

Just then, Lisa nudged him in the arm, and he turned back to the front, just as Snape strode in. He looked out at them, the small cluster of thirteen or so students, and scowled silently. Only when he'd set down all his materials and stepped around to the front of the desk did he finally speak.

"Well, well," Snape intoned, folding his arms, glaring as sourly as Harry expected. "You are the incompetent idiots who managed to fail your OWLs so spectacularly, I see. I typically only accept those students proficient enough to receive an O. Without the Headmaster's intervention, none of you would have the privilege of attending." It seemed that his eyes bored right into Harry.

"Professor," Malfoy said, raising his hand leisurely. "Not all of us did abysmally on our OWLs."

Snape pressed his lips together. "Yes, well, apart from two or three of you, the rest of you are complete disappointments. And don't think this ineptitude means that I will go easy on you. I expect perfection from every one of you, or it is completely within my jurisdiction to remove you from my class."

His eyes swept across the classroom and landed, furious, on Harry. "Potter," he barked. "How many Jobberknoll feathers are required for Veritaserum?"

Harry swallowed. Had they even studied Veritaserum ingredients? All he could recall in a desperate attempt to come up with an answer was Snape telling them it was NEWT level. "I don't know."

"What was that, Potter?"

He gritted his teeth. He had expected Snape to pick on him; after all, he doubted Snape hated any other student as much as he hated Harry. But he was willing to bet that, aside from Hermione, no one else knew the answer, either. "I don't know," he said again, more belligerently.

"Oh?" Snape said, advancing on Harry. "What do you know, Potter? Do you know how many days a Mandrake restorative draft must simmer? Or exactly what shade a Swelling Solution must be before stirring? Don't remember? Think hard, Potter, we learned this in second year, or were you too busy posing with Lockhart?"

"Gee, I still don't know," Harry said, glaring back at him defiantly. "Why don't you ask Malfoy, he looks about to burst if he doesn't tell you the answer."

"Perhaps," Snape hissed, his eyes glittering dangerously, "you do not belong in a NEWT level course, Potter."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Harry shot back, his temper flaring. He knew he'd only got an E on his Potions OWL, but he'd worked hard for it, and he would bet that even the Slytherins hadn't all got O's.

"You are here," Snape said, his words careful, "because of a special exception from the Headmaster, and that is the only reason." He scowled down at Harry. "There you have it, Potter: an exception made for you. Again."

"I'm not the only one!" Harry retorted, aware that across the room, Malfoy was sniggering at the news that he'd needed Dumbledore's help just to get in the class. "You just said it yourself, we're all incompetent failures."

Snape stared at him and then said in an even tone, "Ten points from Gryffindor for three incorrect answers, Potter. And, I think, ten points for calling the rest of the class incompetent."

"But you just–" Harry began hotly, when Lisa stomped on his foot to shut him up.

"I will speak with you after class, Potter," Snape added, giving him one last dark look before sweeping away down the aisle. "The rest of you, open your books to Chapter Four. I expect you to have read . . ."

While he spoke, Harry turned to glare at Lisa. She stared back at him.

"You can lose all the points for Gryffindor you want, Potter," she whispered, "but don't you dare provoke him when I'm your partner."

"I," Harry said, "it's just–"

"You can't control your temper, yes, I've heard," Lisa said dryly. "Do give it a try; I'd rather not fail Potions because of you, thanks. Now, be quiet, I need to take notes."

Harry ruefully watched her begin writing, unsure whether he liked her or hated her. But by the end of the class, she clapped him on the shoulder after sticking her notes in her bag and said, deadpan, "Cheer up, Potter, I didn't get an O either." By the time he looked up at her, she was halfway to the door.

"Lisa's a bit odd," he muttered to Hermione when she stopped beside his desk.

"Oh, Harry, she's very nice once you get to know her," Hermione assured him, picking up his bag and handing it to him. "Come on, you've got to talk to Snape, remember?"

"Probably needs remedial Potions already," Malfoy muttered audibly as he passed; he and the other Slytherins only snickered when Harry scowled. In struggling to pay attention to Snape's lecture, he had forgotten that he was supposed to speak to Snape.

"Shall I wait outside?"

He shrugged at Hermione. "Go on ahead and find Ron, I'll meet you."

Hermione left the room behind Malfoy, and Harry approached Snape's desk with reluctance. Snape did not look up.

"You wanted to see me?" Harry said, rather rudely.

Snape lifted his head and stared at him for a moment without answering; then, pushing back his chair, in one fluid motion he stood, pointed his wand at Harry, and said with a flourish, "Legilimens!"

Caught entirely unprepared, wand still in his pocket, Harry's mind swam. His thoughts raced with images, flashing by him . . . he was in the hall of the house on Privet Drive and Dudley was shoving him backwards . . . he was at the club in Diagon Alley and Malfoy was sneering at him . . . the Knight Bus was pulling up beside him . . . Tonks was grinding up against him in a blur of neon shapes and pulsing lights . . . Sirius's laughter was fading to shock as he arced backwards, out of sight . . .

"NO," Harry yelled. He was leaning hard on Snape's desk, but he had his wand in his hand, and Snape was rubbing his shoulder.

"You must learn to control your emotions," Snape said, as coolly as ever, staring down at Harry.

Harry shoved to his feet. "Well, I'm finding it a bit hard to do that when people've just died," he snarled.

"I see you are as mannerless as ever," Snape hissed. "Need I remind you that I am to be addressed as 'sir' or 'Professor' at all times?"

"Sirius just died, Professor," Harry bit out.

Snape eyed him coldly. "There is a time and place for everything, Potter, and when we are practicing, I told you to clear your mind. If I am to waste my time attempting to school you in Occlumency, you will practice emptying your mind of emotion. Unless, of course," and his eyes glittered, "you want to join your godfather in the ranks of the dead."

"Don't you talk about Sirius that way!" Harry shouted.

"In my own rooms, on my own time, I will talk about Black however I wish," Snape snapped. "We will meet on Thursday evenings, Potter, at six o' clock exactly. I expect you won't be late."

"No," Harry scowled.

"No, what?"

"No, sir," Harry muttered, glaring at him, and stomped his way out of the classroom.



&*&*



Despite a string of miserable Potions classes, the first weeks of the term flew by, so that by the time that autumn settled in with a vengeance and the grass on the Quidditch pitch during morning practices was stiff with frost, Harry had filed Dudley into the same category of Cedric, that of nightmares and late-night guilt, but little else. He sent a letter by Muggle post to his aunt and uncle, but he'd got no response, and he hadn't really expected one.

The first Hogsmeade weekend dawned chilly and bright, the sun high and gold by breakfast. When Harry reached the table, Ron was ripping savagely at his piece of toast, scowling. "Not bloody fair," he muttered, "never asked to be a Prefect, nobody said I'd have to do this–"

"What's going on?" Harry sat down, looking curiously at Hermione. She was flipping through a thin manual on Apparation that she had received shortly before her birthday, but glanced up when Harry spoke.

"Professor McGonagall, considering the safety of students off school grounds, decided it would be a good idea to split the third-years into groups and have each Prefect take them to Hogsmeade for the first weekend, as they haven't ever been," Hermione explained. "Oh, Ron, it's not so bad. Isn't everyone's safety more important than a little fun?"

"Oh, you should talk," Ron snapped back, "you and your precious Anthony are taking them to Scrivenshaft's, aren't you?"

"They've the best quills," Hermione responded primly. "Anthony's got this lovely one that never runs out of ink. I shouldn't think I have enough money to buy that one, though."

"Well, you can take them to Zonko's," Harry suggested, "right?"

"Oh, no, that's not the worst of it, Harry," Ron said darkly. "We split up, you see? McGonagall's gone off her rocker, thinks we should work with Slytherins."

"She's only taking the Sorting Hat's warning from last year to heed," Hermione said. "Each prefect takes part of their house's third years, Harry, and works with a prefect from another house. Anthony and I are together. So're Ron and Pansy."

"Pansy Parkinson?" Harry said, immediately getting an unwanted mental image of her, slippery against Malfoy's body.

Ron looked grimly at his plate. "Is there any other?"

"Who's Malfoy's partner?"

Ron gave him an odd look, but Hermione only took a sip of her orange juice and said, "I don't know, actually. Padma, maybe. Yes, that's right, she said she wasn't looking forward to the weekend."

"If you're so thick with the Ravenclaws, why don't you just move into their House," Ron muttered, but Hermione didn't hear him. She finished her juice, smiled, and stood up.

"Come on, Ron, we don't want to be late. Professor McGonagall says we're to meet the third-years at the front doors. Sorry, Harry. We'll see you there, I'm sure."

Ron gave Harry a look that distinctly said he would rather spend the day with Harry, but slumped off after Hermione, looking as if he'd just lost a Quidditch match for the whole Gryffindor team. Harry had to smile.

"You can come with me and Dean," Ginny offered, at his elbow. "Or," cheekily, "it looks as if Lavender and Parvati are going, you could walk with them."

Harry glanced at Lavender and Parvati, who were whispering over a magazine under the table. "I'll come with you," he said, to which Ginny giggled. He wasn't sure if he liked this Ginny better; old Ginny might have blushed and looked away, while this Ginny would probably be just as likely to plant a frog in his bed. Or tease him about Parvati. His face suddenly burned with the thought of Ginny knowing about Tonks.

"You're flushing, Harry," Ginny teased him. "Look, Dean. I think he's got a crush on Lav."

Dean grinned at Harry. "Lav's going out with some bloke from Hufflepuff, I think he's a seventh year," he said. "And Gin, leave him alone. He's probably got better things to think about. Like the way Professor Tonks winks at him every time she sees him."

Harry's gratitude turned swiftly to embarrassment, especially as Ginny laughed harder. "Come on, Harry," she said, patting him on the shoulder. "We don't want to be late to Hogsmeade. Besides, Hermione said all the professors have to be there, for security's sake. Maybe you can buy Tonks a drink."

"I bet she winks at you, too," Harry said sourly, but he followed them out of the castle, glad when Ginny's attention turned to Seamus, who was waiting for them halfway to Hogsmeade. He, at least, gave back as good as he got.

Hermione had been right about security precautions, in any case; when they entered Hogsmeade, they passed by the disdainful presence of Professor Snape, hovering awkwardly around the milling students. And, just as he spotted Ron's head towering above his gaggle of third-years, Harry also glimpsed a familiar cat vanishing into the crowd. McGonagall, he'd bet, keeping an eye out where she could.

He left Ginny, Dean, and Seamus at the entrance to Zonko's – "Fred and George's is loads better," said Ginny scornfully – and leaned into the Three Broomsticks, but the only person he knew in there was Luna, alone in the corner looking dreamy and stirring her drink. As he was leaving, Terry Boot and Michael Corner jostled past him, and Terry nudged him hello on the shoulder, but he wasn't in the mood for talking to them, either.

Even if he had been looking around for Tonks, he didn't see her. Maybe she'd changed her appearance on purpose, he thought, which didn't help at all. But then, he wasn't supposed to be searching the crowds for his professor, of all things, and Tonks had a job to do.

Bored, Harry found himself doing the same as the professors, scanning the streets for danger of any sort. He passed McGonagall, once, perched on a windowsill, but he wasn't sure if it was her, and even if it were, he'd feel silly talking to a cat. He settled for giving it a knowing look, hoping that no one caught him making faces at it.

His wandering eventually brought him to Scrivenshaft's, and remembering that Hermione planned to visit, he climbed the stone steps and pushed into the shop, letting the smooth, heavy door click shut behind him. A tiny bell rang above his head, and he thought he heard the low burble of some kind of bird from the back of the shop. Everything was old wood and dust. He could see immediately why Hermione liked it; after all, the shop felt just like a library.

Harry passed the small selection of books and the rows of quills twice without seeing Hermione. Next was a long aisle of parchment, of all colors and sorts, and he was fingering the edible stuff with curiosity when he heard a shrill, familiar voice from the front of the shop. Unable to leave well enough alone, he moved towards the door.

". . . and you dare suggest that I, a Malfoy, would be in bad credit?" Malfoy was hissing, one fist clenched at his side. "I told you to put it on my father's bill, you simpleton, is that so difficult to understand?"

The store owner was a tall, thin man, his nose like a beak. He looked very nervous and twitched as he said, "Now, Mr. Malfoy, I'm very sorry, but we just cannot accommodate–"

"My father is Lucius Malfoy," Malfoy shouted, "you will damn well accommodate anything I choose to ask of you!"

"I'm afraid," the tall, thin man said, jumpily, "I just can't do that. You, ah, seem like a nice enough young man, I would help you if I could. But The Ministry sent out a very specific memo, it's very clear, I could show you–"

"I don't want to see it!" Malfoy snapped, mouth taut and pale. "Well, fine! I shall just pay you next month. I'll even owl the money to you, if you like." His words were sharp and low, as if it pained him to even say them.

"Well, now," said the owner, "you see, we just don't do purchases on credit. Caused us quite some trouble years ago, so we stopped altogether. We do, ah, do orders, if you'd like to owl an order with the payment, and then we–"

"I won't be ordering anything," Malfoy said furiously, "and I won't be returning to this inferior shop, you can be sure of that. I shouldn't be surprised if my father shuts you down completely. Just you wait." He whirled away, a fistful of quills in his right hand, only to glimpse Harry standing near the door. If possible, his eyes narrowed even further. "Potter," he spit out. "What are you doing, gloating? Get out of my way."

"Here," Harry said, before he realized the words were leaving his lips, "ring them up, I'll get them," and he dug in his pocket for the coins he knew were there. The shop owner gave him a relieved look and immediately set about making change.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was livid. "I don't want your charity, Potter," he snarled, white-knuckled. "Or is this how you buy friendship? Is this why the Weasel's friends with you, you buy him things, those disgusting dress robes–"

"Shut up," Harry said, patiently. He thanked the owner and pocketed his change before facing Malfoy. "Don't you dare say a word about Ron. Though I shouldn't think you're in a place to mock the Weasleys about money ever again."

"I'm not poor," Malfoy hissed, and shoved the handful of quills at him. "And you can take your fucking quills. I don't want them now."

"You might as well keep them," Harry said. "Anyway, it isn't charity. I do expect something in return, you know."

"I never agreed to that," said Malfoy sharply, though there may have been a glint of admiration in his eyes. "Well, what is it, Potter, want me to fix the next Quidditch game? Want the answers to the next Potions exam? Maybe an apology for your little Mudblood friend–"

"Call her that again and I'll hex you," Harry said, fierce. "No. It's a loan. You can pay me back when you get a chance."

"By tonight," Malfoy snapped.

"If you want." He felt, somehow, absolutely empty of hate. There was something pathetic about Malfoy, furious and futile, gripping a handful of quills in the door of a dusty shop. "Oh, by the way, aren't you supposed to be watching the third-years?"

"I've better things to do than wipe their noses for them," Malfoy scowled. "The Ravenclaw can handle them."

Harry didn't know why, but he smiled. "Right," he said, and stepped out of the shop, into the cool autumn sunlight. Malfoy didn't follow, but inexplicably, Harry felt lighter, weightless. Up the street, he caught a glimpse of Hermione, looking windblown and happy, several books under her arm. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he hurried to catch up.



&*&*



Two weeks after Hogsmeade, a nondescript owl fluttered past Harry's plate at dinner and dropped a parcel in his lap. He stuck it in his pocket without unwrapping it, though quizzical looks from Ron and Seamus prompted him to lie, "It's from Lupin. It's nothing, we just made a bet on something. A Muggle game."

"I didn't know Lupin paid attention to Muggle things," Ron said, but he didn't question it further. Hermione looked about to say something, probably something disapproving about gambling, but just then, she cast her eyes to the space behind Harry and said, enthusiastically,

"Oh, hello, Tonks!"

Harry almost jumped when Tonks slid onto the empty bench beside him. "Wotcher, Hermione," she said, cheerily. "I tell you, if old Sprout tells another story involving her prize petunias, I'll about go mad. I think Flitwick's dozed off in his potatoes." Her hair, a deep purple color, had changed from straight as a pin to curly since the day before. She didn't appear to notice that everyone in the Great Hall was staring at her. "How's your mum, Ron? I did owl her a new vase for the one I broke, but I still don't think she's forgiven me."

"Mum's like that," Ginny interjected, grinning openly. "Are you allowed to do this? Come down here and sit with us like this?"

"Well, you don't see the Slytherins inviting Snape to dine with them, but I think it's all right," Tonks grinned. "Anyway, I've got an excuse. Harry," and she turned to him, "what with the DA and all – oh, Lupin filled me in, all right – you know more about some people's skills than I do. D'you mind sparing an hour or two going over what you covered with me?"

"I, uh," Harry said, horrified to find that he was flushing again, "of course, sure."

"Great," Tonks said, and, without preamble, added, "My rooms, eight o' clock!" She swung one leg back over the bench and, tousling Ginny's hair, set off back for the table of Professors, whistling some irreverent tune that probably had a lot of awful words to it. Harry thought Sirius would probably have known it.

"Oh, that's wonderful, Harry," Hermione said immediately. "I always thought the DA and Defense class shouldn't work separately. Make sure you tell her about the Patronuses!"

"And how I could hex Malfoy," Ron added. "Ask her if she'll let me hex Malfoy. For a demonstration, of course."

"Ngh," Harry said, some sound of acknowledgement, while inwardly his mind was racing in circles. Eight o' clock? That was nearly two hours away, and his palms were already sweaty. He'd never felt this way around Cho, not even when she'd kissed him in the Room of Requirement. Something about Tonks made him feel as if all the nerve endings in his body were about to be rewired.

And, what was worse, the entire Great Hall was whispering about it. He was sure he heard the words "In her own rooms" pass from the Gryffindors to the Hufflepuff table, and he felt his neck burn.

It's just lesson planning, he thought studiously. Lessons. Defense. That whole club bit, I'll bet she's forgotten it already.

He told himself the same thing on his way from the Great Hall, with everyone's eyes upon him, and all the way through Hogwarts until he was standing at her door. It took him three tries to knock. He wouldn't have admitted to mussing helplessly at his hair beforehand, but nevertheless, he smoothed it desperately one last time just as she came to the door.

Tonks appeared in the doorway with wet hair, wearing a faded black T-shirt with some Muggle band, and flashed him a grin. "Harry," she said, sounding happy to see him, "come in," and he thought, desperately, This is for the DA, before letting her shut the door behind him.

"Want something to drink?" Tonks asked him, returning to her place on the couch, setting down the book that was spread on the seat. "Haven't got much, but–"

"I'm fine," Harry said nervously. "Um."

"I hope I didn't embarrass you at dinner."

"No, I." He couldn't seem to finish his sentences. He rubbed the back of his neck distractedly. "I just. Oh, I brought some notes, I didn't know–"

"Smart of you," Tonks grinned. "And look at me, I haven't got any parchment out at all. Here, why don't you just tell me a little about what you've done, and we'll go from there?"

Harry said awkwardly, "I suppose I could do that." He realized there was an awkward gap between them, him hovering by the doorway and Tonks reclined on the couch, and he couldn't decide whether to perch opposite her in the chair, or sit on the floor, or –

"Sit down, sit down," Tonks encouraged. "So? Sirius said you were working hard."

The way she said Sirius's name sounded as if Sirius had just brought it up the other day over tea, and Harry had to swallow several times before he trusted himself to speak. "We were working a lot on Patronus spells," he said tentatively, folding and unfolding the paper in his hands. "And I thought it'd be a good idea, what with the Dementors leaving Azkaban, and working with Voldemort now. We did, um. Well, we started out with Expelliarmus, even though Zacharias Smith thought it was dumb–"

Tonks snorted. "And yet I expect you're the reason he got an E on his OWL."

"Did he?" Harry said, feeling somewhat more at ease. "I didn't know that – well, we worked on basic blocking techniques, and some common spells – covered Stunning, but Seamus is still a bit rusty on that – I was trying to work on technique, more lately, how to be alert and watch all around you, like it would be in a real battle, but there was only one of me and I couldn't focus on all of them."

"I'll bet Terry Boot was rubbish at that," Tonks said. "He can't even keep his eyes on his target. Brilliant on theory, but leaves a little to be desired on spellwork."

"Oh, yeah," Harry nodded. "Well, I think his problem is that he's too distracted. Sees something and turns towards it, even if there's already an enemy in front of him." He caught himself. "Well. A hypothetical enemy – the only ones I've seen in battle are–"

"I know," Tonks said gently. "I was there."

The space between them turned awkward again, just as it had been going well. Sirius, Harry thought, Sirius . . . "I forgot," he muttered. "But you didn't – you didn't see him–"

"I was unconscious," Tonks told him. "But I heard. Harry, I'm sorry."

He felt, if possible, even more uncomfortable than he had when he was dancing with her. "I," he said, but he didn't want to say It's okay if he didn't mean it, and there was nothing else. Finally, he said, "Did you know him well?"

"Sirius was close with my mum," Tonks shrugged. "I was only eight when he was sent to Azkaban, but I remember him coming around sometimes. More when I was younger. He didn't agree with her about the Order. But I still remember him begging to take me on his motorbike when I was five or six. Mum would have none of that, even though it was all I'd talked about since his last visit."

Harry imagined Sirius being the one to slide the cover off his motorbike, hand on Harry's shoulder, rather than Lupin; he imagined Sirius's face lighting up as he said, "Isn't she beautiful? Go on, give her a try." He felt a sudden shock of Sirius's absence, and he couldn't look at Tonks while he said, "Disagreed about what?"

"Oh, my mum was never part of it," Tonks said, an unreadable expression crossing her face. "She said that she couldn't bear it, facing her choices like that, coming up against Bellatrix or Regulus and having to fight them. I still remember them fighting about it in the kitchen one day. Sirius called her a coward and then my dad punched him. That's all I remember."

"But she wasn't – she didn't help the Death Eaters, did she?"

"No, she was friends with some of the Order members. It broke her heart, what happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But she still wrote letters to Narcissa and–"

"Narcissa Malfoy?" Harry said, incredulous. "But–"

"She never wrote back," Tonks assured him. "My mum kept writing, though. Nostalgic, maybe. She said she was always closest with Narcissa. She tells me stories, you know. I think she gets lonely, sometimes."

Harry found it hard to believe that anyone could feel nostalgic for the cold and forbidding House of Black, but he only frowned. "Does she still write?"

"Stopped when I became an Auror," Tonks said. "We got a polite little card from the Malfoys. All flourishes and elegance, congratulating us on having an Auror in the house. Mum ripped it up and stopped writing. I suppose she got what she wanted."

"But how could your dad put up with that?" Harry asked, setting his DA notes on the table. "I'll be he's relieved she doesn't write anymore. I would be."

Tonks gave him a strange look. "Harry," she said, almost softly, "didn't anybody tell you? He was killed the first week in July."

"Oh," Harry said. There was a plummeting feeling in his stomach, and he stammered, "I'm – I didn't know, I thought–"

"No, not many people knew. I thought maybe Remus had told you."

"Was it Voldemort?"

Tonks shrugged, looking down at her hands. "Close enough. Bellatrix, I assume, or one of her friends. I came home and found my mum Stunned and covered in his blood." She wasn't looking at him, only the carpet. "Their idea of a joke."

Harry felt ill. "Is your mum all right?"

"For now." Tonks sounded so different from her usual cheerful self that Harry had to wonder how much, exactly, she kept hidden day by day. He'd seen her laughing countless times since the beginning of July, and yet her dad had been killed. Part of him wanted to know how she kept it locked away. Some days, the very mention of a Grim in his Divination notes could make it all flood back. "Makes you realize you could just be a picture on the wall someday, doesn't it? Not a comforting thought."

Harry had no idea what to say.

"And here you are, listening to me ramble," Tonks chuckled, giving him a rueful smile. "I'm not in the habit of killing the mood, I promise. Kirley always told me I was the life of a party. Got a reputation to keep, don't I now?"

"I'm sorry about your dad," Harry said, seriously. He didn't ask who Kirley was, and didn't care.

The corner of Tonks's mouth twitched a little, and she said, with a regretful look in her eyes, "Me too, Harry."

They sat in silence for another few moments. And then, as simple as that, as if nothing had been said between Harry's entrance into the room and now, Tonks flashed him a grin and said, "Gave me the shock of a lifetime to see you in that club."

"Oh," Harry said, heat rising in his face. He had hoped that, while unlikely, Tonks would never mention it again. "In the, um. With. Yeah."

"Quite a birthday," Tonks continued on, raising her eyebrows. Harry almost wished they could talk about Sirius again. "Go there often, do you?"

"I'd never been before. Ron took me."

"Kind of an escape," Tonks said, shrugging a shoulder. Harry wondered, for a swift moment, what she was escaping from. "Pretty safe, though, and the music's not bad. Once I saw Lumos there, and I caught The Mermen last month, do you like them?"

"I haven't heard of them," said Harry, whose taste in wizarding music was largely limited to The Weird Sisters. "Are they good?"

"'Ennervate' is a pretty good song, I'll have to play it for you sometime."

"Yeah," Harry said, "okay." Tonks was looking at him strangely, almost wistfully, and he frowned. "Do you miss your dad?" It came out without him thinking, and he realized as an afterthought that, when people asked him about Sirius, he typically responded by freezing up and snapping at them. "You don't have to – I mean–"

Tonks shrugged a shoulder. "It's all right. Yeah. He wrote to me every week I was at Hogwarts, you know? I'm closer with my mum, but she gets a little vague, sometimes, she tends to forget time passing – the war was hard on her. Anyway, he was the one I'd tell about all my mischief, and the hearts I'd broken, and all of it. He always said he was proud of me."

For some reason, the idea of weekly letters made something around Harry's heart seize up, and he had to glance away quickly. "I'm sorry," he said, again.

"We all do what we can," Tonks shrugged. Harry thought it was an odd response to sympathy, but he said nothing. Tonks went on, "Your DA, for instance, that was brilliant. We had some awful Defense teachers in our time, but then, it wasn't too important, back then. We all thought You-Know-Who was gone for good."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Well."

"Things were easier back then," Tonks said quietly. She wasn't grinning anymore, but openly looking at him instead, head tilted slightly. For no reason at all, Harry felt a strange ache in his stomach.

He said, rather hurriedly, "D'you want to – look at my notes? Er, now?"

From the way she was looking at him, she didn't appear to have heard a word of it.

"Come here," Tonks said.

Harry swallowed. His mouth was dry, and he felt as if his stomach were plummeting to his feet. "I don't – " he tried to begin. Instead, Harry found himself beside her on the low couch, feeling as if his limbs weren't quite attached to the rest of his body and having no idea how he had got there. She was smiling up at him. He had to remind himself that this was quite normal, that he liked Tonks . . .

"Harry," Tonks said, and put one small hand on the denim of his knee, rubbed it reassuringly. He felt the pit of his stomach warm. She slid her hand a little higher, he could feel the heat of her palm. "Harry, I don't really care about your notes right now."

"I," Harry said, hoarsely, "I uh, really like you, Tonks–" He halted again. It felt strange to be calling her Tonks when she had her hand halfway up his thigh and was smiling at him so.

One corner of her mouth quirked upwards further. "Oh come on," she said, "just kiss me, will you?" And she rose to her knees, swung one leg over his lap, and ended up straddling him, mouth hot and eager over his.

Harry shut his eyes, some small sound caught in his throat; she was rubbing against him like a cat and pulling at his shirt. Tonks slid a hand between their bodies, arching her neck when his mouth slipped to that soft place under her chin. "Just," she breathed out harshly, "just, oh, like that," as his teeth skimmed her skin. She had her nimble fingers tugging at the button on his trousers and was yanking the zipper down, then, and Harry jerked in surprise, hips bucking at her touch.

He was dizzy with the suddenness of it; it seemed that one moment he'd been sitting in an armchair talking about her dad and the next, her fingers were wrapping around his cock, her breath coming swift and hot in his ear. "I, wait, wait," he managed, and the next thing he knew, she had climbed off him completely. He felt even more foolish this way, still hard, his trousers left open and his breathing harsh.

"Sorry," Tonks said, and laughed, lightly, as if nothing at all had just happened. She squeezed his knee again. "Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to jump on you like that. I just figured–"

"No, I've never," Harry said, flushing as bright as Ron usually did. "It's all right, uh, I–"

Tonks was, for some reason, snickering. "I probably scared you half to death," she snorted, having to stop and catch her breath. "Well, now I feel ridiculous. We can talk Defense, if you want."

Were things always this awkward? First she'd been all over him, and now he was sitting here, still aroused despite his embarrassment, and she was offering to talk about Defense. "It's all right," he said, hesitantly, still red.

"Look at you blush," Tonks laughed. "All right. Slow, maybe?"

"Slow," he repeated, hazy, and then let her kiss him – slow, careful.

"All right?" Tonks said.

"Yeah," Harry said faintly. And then, suddenly, "Wait, Tonks, can you – can you get in trouble for this, isn't it somehow–"

Tonks grinned at him wickedly. "As my good friend Mundungus Fletcher might say, 'Nothing's a crime unless you get caught.'"

"But what if someone finds out?"

"If you don't want to–"

"I do," Harry said, too quickly.

"Sure?"

Harry was sure he was red-faced. Why was there so much talking? In his imagination, it had never been this awkward. "I'm sure," he said, a little hoarsely.

"Good," Tonks said, as if that settled the matter, and she leaned in to kiss him again.



&*&*



By the time Harry stumbled into Gryffindor Tower, it was beyond curfew, and he had to tiptoe into their dormitory, already hearing Neville's rattling snores rising from his bed. It was never quite safe to trip through their room without a light, but he managed to skirt around the large dark shape that was Neville's latest plant and to slip over the various assortment of clothes that had been strewn about and left there, all without waking any of them up. As he passed Ron's bed, he heard Ron mumble, "I only eat the blue ones, I already told you," but it wasn't unusual for Ron to talk in his sleep, and he shrugged out of his robes with a sigh.

For some reason, while he knew Ron would come straight to him if he'd just got the first blow job in his life, and probably even shout it to the whole Gryffindor common room, he didn't much feel like sharing.

In fact, he could hear Ron's voice for himself. "That's brilliant!" Ron would say, grinning widely. "What was it like? What was she like?"

And Harry would rather forego that conversation.

It wasn't that he didn't like it. Granted, he'd come almost immediately, but Tonks had only laughed and patted him on the head, as if he was – well, as if he was a sixteen year old boy in her Defense class. "All right, Harry?" she'd said, and he thought he'd nodded, and somehow he had ended up in the corridor headed for Gryffindor Tower, scarcely able to remember if she'd done up his trousers for him or not. (She had.)

He'd felt relieved, mostly, that he apparently wasn't expected to navigate the further awkward mechanics of pleasing a girl, as the most he knew came from several sloppy kisses with Cho, one botched attempt to put his hand on her breast when it actually ended up somewhere on her ribcage, and the suggestions of Seamus's more sordid magazines, which Ron sometimes stole from him and waved around the room, shouting things like, "Will you look at those knockers, Harry, she's bloody stacked!"

It occurred to Harry, somewhat ironically, that Ron had probably given more thought to Tonks's breasts than he had.

Just then, Ron rolled over noisily, and Harry froze, one sleeve still on. The last thing he wanted to do was to talk about his evening, even to a half-asleep Ron who would probably be thinking more about the dream he'd just had. But Ron gave a strangled snoring sound and flopped over again, and after a moment, Harry, relieved, pulled off his robe entirely and dropped it on the chair. He just – didn't want to think about it right then. Or ever, maybe. He was supposed to face Tonks in class. He was supposed to hand in homework to her, and practice Defense with her, and work with her on the DA. And she'd –

Harry frowned. Something in his robes had clinked heavily on the chair leg, as if hearing his silent plea for distraction. Kneeling, he felt in his pocket absently, wondering if he'd stuffed an old ink bottle in there, or perhaps an empty tin of Cockroach Clusters that Ron had left about. Then he realized what he had crammed there: Malfoy's package.

Pulling it out, frowning at its knobbly shape, Harry climbed onto his bed and pulled the curtains. Were coins shaped like this? Sitting cross-legged, he whispered, "Lumos."

What fell out of the small parcel was not, as he expected, a few coins, or even some kind of prank. Instead, something heavy and smooth tumbled into his palm, and he held it to the steady light of his wand.

It looked like a miniature dragon.

Harry frowned. He'd expected repayment in exact change, even if Malfoy had been forced to borrow money from Parkinson. Or even, if Malfoy had been particularly rotten, the quills themselves, returned to him. Instead, he'd got . . . this. Whatever it was.

Probably a dark heirloom that's going to kill me in my sleep, Harry thought wryly, even as he doubted it. Malfoy was full of whinging and threats, but Harry would bet he didn't own a thing that could be considered Dark magic.

Besides, the Ministry had raided the Malfoys' house for Dark artifacts, hadn't they?

Still, he wasn't taking any chances. He wrapped it back up and crept from bed to lock it in his trunk. Whatever damage it could do there, it wouldn't get to him unless it breathed fire. And the little figurine looked stationary enough to him.

Exhausted, bewildered, head aching and vision swimming with fatigue, Harry stumbled back to bed and tossed his glasses on the table beside his bed. He felt as if he'd just fought a Hippogriff. Tonks, Malfoy, the dragon, Voldemort – it could wait until morning. Thoughts still swimming with Malfoy's furious eyes in the shop and the way Tonks had grinned at him, he slipped, effortlessly, into sleep.

Harry dreamt of water. He was under the tree by the lake, watching the lights reflected on the surface, but the sky was a lake too, full of floating stars. The grass was soft against his neck and he was watching stars slip across the sky, tiny swimmers striking out for the horizon, but at the same time he felt a sense of urgency itching against his thoughts, some unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. When he heard a noise, he sat up suddenly, and realized why. Wading through the shallows was Malfoy, his pale reflection wavering before him like a reverse shadow.

"Malfoy," Harry's dream-self said. It was then that he realized he was naked.

Malfoy was too. Water droplets were like stars on his pale chest, glittering in his hair. He strode through the water, shallower and shallower, and soon only his legs were submerged, then only mid-thigh, then his knees. His cock was pale in the moonlight, like the rest of his skin, and Harry suddenly wanted to touch him.

"Malfoy," he said again. Harry was standing, palms braced behind him against the tree trunk, and Malfoy came forward until he was close enough that Harry could see that his pale, fine hair was perfectly dry. He reached out a hand, slid his palm up that white skin. "Malfoy."

The pale boy dropped gracefully to his knees and, without a word at all, slipped first his hand and then his mouth around Harry's prick. He could feel the tree bark against his skin, the cold breeze, Malfoy's mouth was hot and his tongue eager, thumbs bruising into Harry's hips. Harry came moaning out Malfoy's name, and it was on his lips when he woke up, jeans wet and cold.

Harry made his way to the bathroom and showered in silence, the water echoing. He wanked mechanically, one arm braced in front of him on the tile, legs spread. When he came his knees nearly buckled and his mouth worked, soundless, breath harsh and rapid.

Harry was mid-dress when Ron came in, and he tried to put his dream – and all the events of the night before – out of his mind, in case any of it showed on his face. Something must have come through, because Ron looked at him curiously.

"You all right, mate?" Ron said, splashing water on his face. He looked up from the sink, mouth dripping. "You look a little pale."

Harry shrugged. "I'm fine. Just worried. Dreams. You know."

"Oh," Ron said. Harry could tell he was thinking about Voldemort and who could have killed Dudley. Perhaps, Ron was probably thinking, Harry and Tonks had stayed up the night before and talked about the war. Harry didn't bother to correct him. He would rather have Ron preoccupied with thoughts of the Dark Lord than thoughts of Draco Malfoy on his knees in front of Harry, mouth red, eyes closing blissfully . . .

Harry wasn't aware he was flushing in horror. He had turned towards the door, luckily, and Ron was too busy brushing his teeth to notice anything.

Nice going, Harry thought furiously at himself as Ron yawned and stretched. Snape tells you to block Voldemort out and you dream about Malfoy instead. There was something really wrong with him. After all, he'd dreamt about Malfoy.

Malfoy.

"Came in after curfew, did you?" Ron said, looking at Harry now, something of a grin catching in his expression. "Must have been some meeting. Hey, did you talk about Malfoy?"

"I – no, we didn't talk about Malfoy," Harry answered, attempting to sound as if he were scornful of Malfoy's existence, instead of overwhelmed by the mere suggestion of Tonks and Malfoy in the same sentence. Was that what had brought it on? It was just a dream, after all. He'd been thinking about the dragon, and he'd been thinking about what Tonks had done. It was practically expected.

Wasn't it?

In an effort to change the subject, Harry said, "By the way, Lupin wrote." Though the letter hadn't come with the tiny package Harry'd claimed was from Lupin, it was still true. Harry'd received it several days before, filled with Lupin's neat, scrawling script.

"About the Order?" Ron asked, looking up from the sink. "Any news?"

"If there is, he didn't tell me," Harry said bitterly, finally finding something to take his mind off the previous night. "It's all 'Keep an eye out' and 'Work hard' and 'Practice your Occlumency,' like that's all there is to worry about! Something's got to be going on; you heard them all summer, hiding behind doors."

"Why'd he write, then?" Ron said, looking unimpressed. "Just to tell you to study?"

Harry paused. "He wants me to come for the hols."

"To Siri–" Ron caught himself. "He wants you to stay at Grimmauld Place?"

"Yeah." Harry found, once again, that he didn't want to talk about it any longer. Grabbing his towel, he moved towards the door. "Come on, or we'll be late for Quidditch practice."



&*&*



Harry was always famished on the days Gryffindor had early morning practice, and this morning, Jack, the captain after Angelina, had run them extra hard. They played Slytherin in two weeks, the first match of the year, and with Gryffindor's team sorely depleted after Angelina, Alicia, and the Weasley twins had left, they were on a tight schedule to train.

"Natalie's not bad," Ginny offered, trudging into breakfast between Harry and Ron, all three of them shivering and damp with the morning fog. She'd become the other new Chaser once Harry rejoined the team as Seeker. "Kirke's okay, although he's rather slow, isn't he? I told Jack we should have held new tryouts for the other Beater, that Kirke was just a replacement for Fred and George, but he doesn't listen. Doesn't want to be reminded that he was a replacement too, I suppose."

"And he never shuts up," Ron muttered. "Every time I miss the Quaffle, he's all over me. Don't see anybody getting on his case for anything."

"Catch the Snitch early," Ginny suggested brightly to Harry, as if it were that simple. "We thought Angelina was bad, but Jack's really living in Oliver Wood's shadow. Saw him poring over all these diagrams yesterday, like some kind of battle plan."

Harry was about to respond when they reached the Gryffindor table and Hermione looked up, her eyes serious. "Sit down," she said, earnestly, without preamble, and pushed her copy of the Daily Prophet across the table at them. "Read this."

Harry took it from her, noticing that most of the others were similarly absorbed in their papers; the chatter was low and urgent, and there was a tension in the whole Hall, a trepidation.

He read the article. Then he passed it to Ron and Ginny, mouth a firm line.

"It had to happen sometime," he said to Hermione. "We said it was only a matter of time."

"But all of them loose?" Hermione looked torn between storming to Azkaban herself to put things to right and sitting down to cry. "And who knows who else is gone besides Lucius Malfoy's friends. Any number of criminals."

The entire Auror force has been deployed to recover Azkaban's prisoners and return them to their jail, the article had read. Next to the article, there had been a strip of fugitive pictures. One of them was Lucius Malfoy. Another, Dolohov, and Harry had recognized the scowling faces of Macnair and Rookwood.

"We've got to talk to Lupin," Harry said. "He'll know what's going on."

Ginny frowned, having just finished the article. Ron took it from her to read the last paragraph. "Do you think Tonks will have to leave? Being an Auror?"

Tonks. At the sound of her name, the memory of last night – had it only been last night? – flooded through Harry, and he was overwhelmed by guilt. There he'd been, while Lucius Malfoy and his cronies were, no doubt, rejoining their master. Voldemort was planning while he was – what? Acting like he was any other boy in the middle of adolescence. He swallowed sharply. He had no time to spare for thinking about such things. He needed to work on Defense. But first he needed to talk to –

"Tonks!" Ginny exclaimed, looking relieved. "Tonks, what's happening, what's going on? Have you talked to Lupin? Our parents? Is there–"

"Not now," Tonks said, leaning on the table between Harry and Ron. Harry expected a shiver of recollection at her close proximity, but all he felt was tired. The smile she gave him was reassuring, nothing more. "Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny. My rooms, after dinner tonight. We'll talk then."

Hermione looked solemnly across the table at her. "So it's true?"

Tonks nodded. "Every word of it. I'll see you tonight."

When she had gone, Ginny said grimly, "I'll bet Malfoy's doing cartwheels over this one."

Harry looked up. Malfoy was, indeed, absorbed in the article, but he seemed to be just as anxious as Harry and his friends. His face, from Harry's distant perspective, looked sharp and worried. He certainly wasn't smirking with ill-concealed glee, as Harry had expected.

Hermione looked over too. "He looks almost sad," she observed, after a moment. "Don't you think?"

Ron laughed harshly. "Well, I'd be sad too, if my dad was Lucius Malfoy and he was coming back for me."

Later, Harry and Ron climbed the steps to the Owlery with a letter for Lupin, too important for someone to recognize Hedwig and intercept it, only to run into Malfoy there. Harry said, more suspiciously than he meant to, "Who're you sending a letter to, then?"

"It's hardly your business," Malfoy retorted savagely. He shoved his owl out the window, as if in an act of defiance.

Harry frowned. "What happened to your owl?"

Sharply, Malfoy drawled, "I'm so glad you care, Potter. She's busy, if you must know."

He hadn't been paying particular attention, but now that he thought about it, Harry hadn't seen Malfoy's distinctive eagle owl for weeks now. If the creature were still delivering a message, it had either been detained or was going to Australia. He doubted either option.

Harry glanced at Malfoy while he fixed his message to his owl. There was a quiet about Malfoy he hadn't noticed before, as if something had been drained from him. Still, after his dream the night before, the very sight of Malfoy was disconcerting, and he tried to put those thoughts from his mind. It was easier now – Malfoy wasn't naked and glittering in the moonlight, after all, and mostly just looked peaked and small.

Just as Harry began to feel pricks of pity for Malfoy, Ron opened his mouth.

"Doesn't matter if your dad's out of Azkaban," Ron shot at him. "He's dead meat. And you're never getting your stuff back. My dad said the Ministry's taken it all."

Malfoy sneered back without hesitation. "Perhaps he can steal it and buy a bigger hole for all your sniveling siblings. I heard you all sleep in the same bed, Weasley, you and your stupid sister too."

Ron's fists were clenched. "Shut up about Ginny, Malfoy, or–"

"Bet she loves that, getting it from her brothers and her father. I shouldn't think your fat old mother keeps him happy anymore–"

"Stop it," Harry shouted, before Ron could pull his wand. Ron glared at him. So did Malfoy.

"I told you that you picked the losing side, Potter," Malfoy hissed. He gripped his wand in his pocket and threw poisonous glances at both of them before stalking off down the stairs. Harry released the breath he'd been holding.

"Harry," Ron complained, "I could've had him, you know I could have! One good hex–"

Harry sighed. "Do you really want to get in trouble now? He's not worth it, Ron, and you know it."

"But you heard him! He said–"

"What he said isn't true, and even he knows it," Harry said, starting down the stairs. "Don't let him get to you. It's only Malfoy."

Only Malfoy. This was Malfoy, the same bigoted, small-minded little ferret he had hated for years, the one who taunted Ron and paraded around with Umbridge and reported to his father. And who had looked at Harry so knowingly in his dream, knelt before him, and –

A dream, Harry told himself, walking faster. Ron hurried to catch up. A mistake of a dream that meant nothing. Malfoy wasn't worth a second thought.

Harry thought, darkly, that his birthday night had begun all of this. This fixation on Malfoy, this almost pity for him, this thing with Tonks. He couldn't keep on like this. Not with Death Eaters loose. Not with Malfoy's father, with all of them, rejoining Voldemort at any minute. Not with his life in danger and the only way out to kill, or be killed . . .

"At least Tonks will be straight with us," Ron said staunchly, reminding Harry suddenly how much he'd kept from Ron. The prophecy, the club, last night, Malfoy. Harry felt suddenly guilty. "None of this babying Mum does," Ron continued on, oblivious. "You reckon she has to leave?"

"I don't know," Harry responded, his mind elsewhere. "Could be. Who'll teach Defense then?"

Ron groaned, "I hope it's not Snape."

"Maybe Lupin will come back," Harry said hopefully. "He's only doing Order stuff now, isn't he? Anyway, nobody cares if he's a werewolf, now that Lucius Malfoy's not on the board."

Grimly, Ron said, "I hope they catch Malfoy's dad and lock him up forever."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Yeah. Come on, or we'll be late."

Harry was strangely grateful that Ron hadn't wished Malfoy's dad dead. He'd probably thought it; so had Harry, more than once. In fact, sometimes he had lain awake and wished for nothing more than to have Lucius Malfoy at his wandpoint, his sneering face transformed by terror. But it suddenly seemed callous to say out loud that he should die. Harry thought of Malfoy's drawn, quiet face. He wondered how he would feel.

No. No, he shouldn't wonder. Malfoy had just accused Ron of sleeping with his sister, after all, without a second thought. And this was the boy he wanted to –

I don't want any boy to do that, Harry thought quickly. He was addled by the events of the night before. If anything, shouldn't he be thinking about Tonks? Her cool fingers, her mischievous smile, flashed just before she lowered her head to his lap. The way she had practically leapt on top of him, lips hungry on his, as if she had forgotten – or was trying to forget – everything they'd talked about just before.

Harry strode more quickly at Ron's side. In the past twenty four hours, life had got altogether more complicated than he'd expected.



&*&*



Hermione and Ginny were standing outside Gryffindor Tower when Ron and Harry stepped out of the portrait hole. ". . . he didn't," Ginny was saying, low-voiced, looking impressed. "That's so sweet, Hermione."

"Yes," Hermione said – rather more pointedly than necessary, Harry thought. "Anthony is a very sweet boy."

Ron stuck his hands in his pockets and said grumpily, "What did he do now, buy you a library?"

"Close," Ginny answered, before Hermione could. "He gave her the password to Ravenclaw and told her she could use their library whenever she wanted. How's that for romantic?" After a moment, she added, "Well, I mean, I wouldn't want a library from Dean, but he certainly knows what Hermione likes, which is what counts."

"Splendid," Ron muttered, "why don't you just invite Anthony along, then?"

"Well, there's no need to be rude about it," Hermione said briskly. "We'd better hurry, Tonks is waiting for us."

Ron whispered to Harry, "Well, if we hadn't wasted time talking about bloody Goldstein for so long," and Harry grimaced in what he hoped would be taken as sympathy. He didn't entirely blame Hermione for growing frustrated at Ron's obtuseness, but Ron was his best friend, and that counted for something.

They walked quickly, not speaking, though Ginny kept casting knowing looks at Hermione and grinning, upon which Hermione would press her lips together, as if to keep from smiling. At this, Ron would glower at the floor, and Harry would hurry them along, eager to get to Tonks and hopefully change the subject.

When they reached her rooms, however, all four heard voices from inside, and Hermione frowned. "That sounds like Tonks," she said. "Should we knock, do you think? It's nearly half past."

It was certainly Tonks who was speaking, though none of them could make out any specific words. Finally, Ginny stepped up and rapped loudly on the door. The rest of them hung back, waiting.

"Ginny!" Tonks said, pulling open the door. "Glad you all came. Come in. Do you mind waiting in here for a few minutes? We're just finishing up."

"That's fine," Hermione said, speaking for all of them, and Tonks gave them all a familiar grin before disappearing into the next room. Harry watched Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all settle down on Tonks's couch – the couch he'd sat on the night before, with Tonks all over him – and swallowed uneasily. After a strange look from Hermione, he sat down in the armchair.

"Who do you think is here?" Ginny whispered, eyes curious and bright. "Do you think it's Dumbledore? What are they doing?"

"Maybe they're having a meeting," Ron suggested.

"They do have a staff room," Hermione said, a bit too scathingly. "Honestly." There were a few voices, and she frowned.

"They could be having a meeting," Ron muttered, looking defiant, but just then, the door opened, and Mad-Eye Moody came out. Tonks followed him, looking even more cheerful beside Moody's suspicious scowl, and then . . . Malfoy?

He looked even paler than he had that afternoon, something scared and angry in his posture. Yet at the sight of Harry and his friends, Malfoy's expression went from bitterly relieved to furious in a second.

"What are you staring at?" he snarled as he passed them, and though he was speaking to all of them, his eyes bored into Harry. Moody took him sternly by the elbow, then, and he jerked so sharply away that even Moody's scarred visage screwed up in surprise. Harry watched the sad hunch of Malfoy's back until he passed through the door.

"What do you think Malfoy was doing here?" Ginny hissed in a low voice, once the door had shut behind Moody, Tonks, and Malfoy. "Do you think he's a spy?"

Ron snorted. "Him? More like a suspect. Moody probably just scared him half to death, did you see him? Looked ready to piss himself." He grinned widely, more cheerful at the idea of a terrified Malfoy.

"They probably want to see if he has any leads on where his father is," Hermione said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he did."

"If he does, he doesn't know it," Moody boomed, having limped back into the room without their notice. His vivid blue eye rolled around the room, as if an enemy could have appeared in his brief absence. "A good dose of Veritaserum and some thorough questioning and still nothing. Gave the boy a good scare, though. Seemed to be quite terrified of me."

"It's your charming personality," Tonks drawled. "It stuns the best of us."

"Your impersonator turned him into a ferret once," Harry said quietly.

Mad-Eye Moody continued on as if he hadn't heard either of them. "The boy's a waste of time," he said. "Still, Dumbledore knows to keep an eye on him. Been checking his post. We'll keep watching him, just in case."

"So will we," Ron interrupted eagerly, "he's been up to no good since we met him, him and his Slytherin friends! They're always after Harry."

"Well," Moody growled, "constant vigilance, Weasley," and stumped off out the door. At their bewildered faces, Tonks laughed.

"Good old Mad-Eye," she said. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"It's all right," Harry spoke up. "Did Moody come here just to talk to Malfoy?"

"We thought he might have some contact with his father," Tonks said. "Well, we thought Lucius would be smarter than that, but sometimes the answer's under your nose, so we had to check. All he could do was whinge about the Ministry locking half their belongings up, though, so Moody went and gave him a good scare. Nothing like Mad-Eye to put you in the mood for confessing. Though even Veritaserum got us nowhere."

"Isn't Veritaserum a last resort?" Hermione said, with some concern. "Did Dumbledore know about this?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Moody likes to say," Tonks explained. She chuckled a little too forcedly. "In fact, that's probably why he came out of retirement for the war; he'd never do anything Fudge asked otherwise. But you came here to hear what's going on. It's true that loads of Aurors are being called on to hunt down the escaped prisoners. Moody's demanding a screening process, sure that some of them are friends with Lucius Malfoy and his like, so I've got to go and search with the Order Aurors before everybody else is processed."

"But who will teach Defense?" Hermione asked, at the same time Ron groaned, "Please don't let it be Snape."

"Not Snape," Tonks laughed. "You might be happy to know that Remus has agreed to take over for the short time that I'm gone. Meanwhile, Harry, I want you to start up the DA again, this time with Remus's help. It's important."

"I will," Harry promised, though he flushed when he saw paper scattered on the table beside the couch. They were his notes on the DA, which they had never touched.

"And the rest of you need to keep an eye on Malfoy and his gang," Tonks continued. She affected Moody's gruff bark. "Constant vigilance! Dark forces! Beware!"

Ron laughed, and Ginny smiled, but both looked absolutely committed to watching Malfoy's every move. Hermione squeezed his arm, as if she sensed his anxiety. "Just think, DA meetings again," she said to all of them as they got up, trying to get him to smile, too. "And Professor Lupin will be here. Not that I don't like you, Tonks," she hurried to correct herself, "we just learned a lot from him in third year, that's all."

"Good luck!" Tonks called after them, sounding almost falsely cheerful. "And don't forget your essays on what makes Dark magic, I'll be telling Remus about them!"

"Great," Ron muttered, as they walked back to Gryffindor. "Tonks would've taken twenty inches, I know she would've, but Lupin never will."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, frowning. "The assignment specifically says twenty three to twenty five! You'll never make it to your NEWTs with that attitude."

Rolling his eyes, Ron muttered, "Oh, save it, Hermione. I bet Goldstein's already revising for NEWTs, is that it?"

"We're all doing work to prepare ourselves for the exams," Hermione said briskly. "That's why every assignment is important. And, Ron, don't you think this essay is most important of all? We're starting to study what makes Dark magic what it is. Understanding something is the key to knowing how to defeat it."

"Understanding something is the key to knowing how to defeat it," Ron mocked her. "You sound just like Dumbledore."

"Well, he is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, I should think his advice is quite sound!" Hermione shot back, rather pink. "Honestly, Ron."

"And I think–"

"Oh, shut up, both of you," Ginny said, without much rancor, intervening before Harry could snap the same. "If you're just going to argue, we might as well not even talk. Besides, we should be thinking about the attack. I'll bet Mum and Dad know something, Ron. If we were just at the headquarters, maybe we could overhear–"

"Yeah, and wishing we were there does a fat lot of good," Harry said before he could stop himself. Somehow, he'd found one more thing he just didn't want to talk about.

Ginny glowered at him, but she said nothing. In fact, the rest of their walk was relatively silent, marked only by the scuffing of shoes and Ginny's occasional huffy exhalation. When they climbed through the portrait hole, Harry only spared the girls a gruff "See you" before climbing the stairs after Ron.

"She's taking this whole House unity thing too far," Ron muttered, looking darkly back at Harry, who was half-inclined to ask who Ron was talking about, before realizing, who else? "First she's got to be friends with the Ravenclaws, now she's bloody going out with one of them–"

Harry made what he hoped was a noise of assent as he yanked off his shirt and pulled on his pyjama top; he'd heard Ron rant about Anthony Goldstein so many times in the past fortnight that he thought he might hate him simply for having to hear about him daily. It was only when he heard the word "Occlumency" that he broke out of his reverie to say, "What?"

"Goldstein's probably got a secret deal with Snape," Ron repeated, looking as if Harry were not quite right in the head. "Remember what I told you yesterday, about him at dinner, when Snape–"

"The thing you said about Occlumency," Harry said patiently.

"You should look out for him next lesson, I said. Hey, isn't that tomorrow?"

Harry, who'd sat down heavily on his bed, lay back and closed his eyes. "I forgot."

"Well, you'd better remember, Harry." Ron cast him a sympathetic look. "Snape's been looking extra vicious lately, have you noticed?"

As if the three potions he'd been forced to redo for no significant reason hadn't been a sign. "Yeah, I've noticed, Ron," Harry said dryly. "I'd have to be thicker than Goyle to miss it."

"Maybe it's got to do with the attack," Ron speculated, looking hopeful. "Maybe the slimy git's the one who got them out, and now–"

"Maybe," Harry said tiredly, only half-listening. "'Night, Ron."

"What? You're going to sleep?"

"I've got to," Harry said. "I've got to work on my Occlumency."

After a minute, Ron said, "Oh. Good luck." He yanked the curtains shut around his bed, and Harry suspected that Ron was probably off to have a good wank. He wished, for a second, that his life was uncomplicated enough to do the same. Up til the day before, it had been, more or less. He could pull himself off to nameless witches Seamus had tacked up, and if his fantasies were mostly vague and quick, what of it?

Harry rolled over, sighing. He was getting distracted again, and he had Occlumency the next evening. How had he forgotten? The last thing he wanted was Snape to see his memories of the night before or, worse, his dream of Malfoy. He tried his best to clear his mind, but it was no use; his thoughts were dashing between the escaped Death Eaters, the way Tonks had grinned at him only one night ago, the scared, defiant look Malfoy had worn as he'd scuttled out of the room before Moody . . .

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. By the time he fell asleep, he'd succeeded, with the fuzzy relief of knowing he could tell Snape he'd been practicing and not be telling a lie. As he slipped into sleep, for what might have been the first time that day, Harry felt better.

He dreamt about Malfoy again.