With ten thousand lines to complete, Ron had to come down to the dungeons night after night after night. The first few evenings remained as strained as the first. Draco managed not to hex Ron into oblivion, but only by hiding out in his room. After about a week of that, though, the Slytherin boy grew tired of his self-imposed imprisonment. He came out and joined the family, so to speak, doing his lessons at the table right alongside Harry . . . though he acted like Ron nearby was nothing more than a patch of thin air.

With the school term well underway, Harry's evenings fell into a familiar pattern.

Dinner first, usually with Snape but occasionally alone with Draco. Before Christmas, they'd almost always ordered whatever suits from the kitchens. Now, with some new spirit of camaraderie seeming to be growing between them, Draco suggested they take turns "setting the menu," as he put it. Harry couldn't decide if it was a way for Draco to make sure that Harry was actively practicing what little magic he could--as the Floo had continued to work for him--or if the Slytherin boy was making some other kind of point. Like . . . he was trying to be less of a complete snob? He wanted to seem accepting of Harry's Muggle background? Harry couldn't be sure. For all he knew, Draco was just in the mood to try a few new foods.

It was sort of interesting to watch his reaction to Harry's picks. For instance, Draco absolutely detested meatloaf. One bite, and he was claiming, complete with theatrical little shudder, that whoever decided steak tartare would be better off cooked should be sentenced to life in Azkaban. On the other hand, he liked pot roast so much that Harry wouldn't be surprised if Draco got it the next time they asked for whatever suits. For his part, Harry found out that gigot d'agneau à la provençale was actually pretty good stuff. Escargot, on the other hand, was awful, and not just because it involved eating snails. The things were tough and rubbery, and doused in too much garlic. Harry tried just one that night, and then discreetly hid the others under his salad.

"No subtlety at all," Draco had lamented. "And such a waste of fine escargot."

"You can have them," Harry had offered.

"It's not quite the done thing to help yourself to unwanted food from a dining companion's plate," Draco had explained with a soft laugh at the very idea.

So much for Draco Malfoy trying to be less of a complete snob.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Even when Snape ate in the Great Hall --at least Harry hoped he was eating there and not skipping meals again-- he arrived home shortly after dinner. Sitting at the table with Harry and Draco, he would steadily revise all their lessons with them. On most evenings, Ron arrived while they were still doing this. He would sit down at the table without a word, drag out a long scroll of parchment, and taking up the quill Snape left out, get straight to work. After the first few evenings, he no longer bothered to bang his materials around or glare. He just sat there and wrote.

And wrote, and wrote, and wrote.

And wrote wrote wrote wrote wrote.

The same long sentence, over and over, until Harry could hardly stand the sound of that quill scratching along. He couldn't even imagine how Ron must feel.

Sometimes during the evening Harry would glance at Ron out of the corner of his eye to check just what number he had got to. Two thousand sixty one . . . then several nights later it was four thousand five hundred and three . . .

He'd taken the matter up with Snape again, of course. More than once. The Potions Master hadn't got angry with Harry's attempts to interfere --in fact he seemed to tolerate them with fairly good humour, for Snape-- but neither did he budge. Not one inch. Harry couldn't even talk Snape down to say, nine thousand five hundred lines.

Poor Ron . . . By then, Harry had to think his friend had learned his lesson. He wouldn't insult Snape again . . . or at any rate, not like that. Of course that didn't mean that Ron and Harry were on better terms. The other boy still wouldn't look at him.

But at least he wasn't glaring and muttering angry little comments any longer.

Harry actually wondered how much of that was due to the lines, and how much he owed to his fellow Gryffindors. They were visiting quite often, usually in the free time students had between their last class and dinner. And almost without exception, at least once each visit someone would claim to be "working on" Ron. Usually that was Ginny. Sometimes it was Neville or Seamus. Sometimes, it was even Hermione.

As much as Harry appreciated the support, he almost wished they wouldn't bother haranguing Ron, though. How much was a friendship worth if the friend couldn't see on his own that there was something there worth preserving?

Hermione came down at least two or three times a week, at times with others, but more often alone. The first time she arrived after Christmas, she'd been by herself. Harry soon found out why; she had some words for him about his thank you note. She actually implied that Harry had been joking about already having read the book, but she'd shut up quickly enough when Harry fetched the copy he'd never returned to Snape and set it alongside the one she'd given him.

Shortly after that, the conversation had taken a turn towards the truly bizarre.

"I think Harry's in denial about his powers," Draco had seen fit to inform Hermione. "That is, he'd prefer not to have to battle the Dark Lord, and this is how he's coping with that desire. What would be your view?"

Hermione's jaw practically hit the floor. Not a good look for her, Harry decided, even if he couldn't blame her for being shocked beyond belief. It was one thing for Draco to put on his best manners and converse with Harry's guests . . . he'd done that before. Plenty of times, by then. But treating Hermione's intelligence with respect and even eliciting her opinion . . . Draco had never, ever behaved that way before.

"Ah . . . there might be a physiological cause for his powers to be lying dormant just now," Hermione had rallied. "After all, Harry did have a . . . er . . ."

Correctly interpreting the hesitation clouding her eyes, Harry put in, "It's all right. Draco knows about the bone marrow extraction and all the rest."

She gave him a look as if to say, Is that wise?

"Draco's on my side," Harry explained, not that he expected Hermione to take his word for it.

Another look, but that time Hermione couldn't hold in her worries or her indignation. "He's a Malfoy!"

"Yes, and your parents are Muggles, aren't they?" Draco drawled. Harry tensed, expecting something truly dreadful to come out his sneering mouth . . . except, he wasn't actually sneering. Not then. "But you're a witch."

"And your point is?" Hermione coolly inquired.

"What my father is doesn't determine what I am."

The Gryffindor girl primly crossed her legs and leaned back into the couch. "I think we've all known what you are for approximately the last five years. Or was that not you calling me a Mudblood all those times?"

Draco began to look extremely frustrated at that. Probably because while he knew that all those Mudblood comments really did put his loyalties in extreme doubt, it just wasn't his style to apologize. Especially not to a Muggleborn.

Especially not to Hermione Granger.

Harry had to hand it to him though; Draco really did try his best to get past all that.

"Truce," he suggested, drawing his wand and extending it towards Hermione with the blunt, fat end pointing her way.

Hermione glanced down at it. "If you think I'm going to touch my wand to yours to say all is forgiven, you're crazier than a loon. Besides, that's a pure-blood tradition and you've just taken great pains to point out that I'm not one!"

"It's a wizarding tradition and what I just pointed out was that you are in fact a witch!"

"It's a stupid, hypocritical tradition," Hermione railed. "Do you know how many wand-truces have been broken almost the moment they were sworn?"

"No, but I bet you do," Draco coolly returned. "No doubt you've done exhaustive research to determine the exact count."

His wand was still extended. Hermione glared at it as though it were covered in something warts or something.

Shrugging, Draco shoved it into a trouser pocket as he rose to his feet. "Suit yourself." Then, just as if he hadn't been snubbed the moment before, he was blithely going on, "I'm going to have a glass of honeyade. Would you like some as well, Hermione?"

Hermione? Draco hadn't called her that since the time he'd dedicated himself to being a sarcastic little snot. There was no sarcasm about him now, though.

"I prefer my honeyade without poison, thank you very much," Hermione smartly returned, lifting her pert little nose in the air.

The insult seemed to slide right over the Slytherin boy. Harry couldn't tell if Draco had even noticed it. "Harry?"

"Uh sure, honeyade," he agreed, narrowing his gaze at Hermione. "It wouldn't kill you to be polite," he grated in a harsh whisper the moment Draco had moved off a bit.

"Harry, all this time with Slytherins is really affecting you," she countered that, leaning forward to gaze earnestly into his eyes. "I didn't say that about the poison to be rude. It's a distinct possibility! How can you not be aware of that? I'm really worried about you!"

Harry didn't mind so much if Hermione didn't care to trust Draco--look at how long it had taken him to come around, and he'd been with the boy day in, day out for weeks and weeks. What he did mind, though, was her singular conviction that she knew what was best for him.

"All this time with Slytherins," he mocked. "Don't you get it? I am one, Hermione."

She shook her head. "That's just a technicality. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History. Parents on staff and all that. You might be in Slytherin too, but you aren't actually anything like a Slytherin, Harry!"

Draco came back and handed Harry a glass of honeyade, then remained standing as he drank his own, his eyes carefully studying the two of them.

"Yes, I am," Harry insisted. "I told you, the Sorting Hat said I'd be great there, tried to put me there, but I wouldn't agree. So it sorted me into Gryffindor, because I'm that, too. Come on, we're all of us more complicated than just one set of traits, don't you think? I bet if you'd have objected to Gryffindor, the Hat would have sent you into Ravenclaw. Now me, Hermione. I've always been both. The only thing different now is that it's official."

Hermione was still shaking her head. Stubborn, stubborn girl. "That's just plain ridiculous, Harry. You aren't even a pure-blood, not by their definition of the term."

"Harry told me I was too focussed on bloodlines," Draco broke in to say. "But have you ever listened to yourself, Hermione?"

"Stop calling me Hermione! And as for being focussed on bloodlines, you're fine one to talk. Everybody knows that Slytherins are focussed on practically nothing but!"

"There are Muggleborns and half-bloods in Slytherin," Draco told her, a slightly self-deprecating smile curling his lips. "Which I point out only to correct your blatantly inaccurate stereotypes. These days I'm trying not to think in those terms. Trust a Gryffindor to force me back into bad habits."

Bad habits? Hermione mouthed at Harry, looking a little bit baffled for an instant. The expression sat rather oddly on her face. Then she rallied, "What Muggleborns and half-bloods?"

Draco made a tsking noise with his tongue. "Such ignorance. It's positively shocking."

"Draco," Harry warned in a low tone.

"Right," he said, some trace of cunning sliding in and out of his eyes as Harry watched. "I suppose you wouldn't know so many students in Slytherin. Not that I blame you for that; I couldn't have named all the members of that little Gryffindor delegation you led down here. But I would have thought you'd be able to name at least one rather prominent half-blood who was sorted into my house." When the girl didn't answer, Draco drawled, "Tom Riddle?"

If there was anything Hermione didn't appreciate, it was being told she'd overlooked a salient point. "Well that just proves that Slytherins are evil, doesn't it?" she hotly retorted, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"I'm a Slytherin!" Harry shouted. "I'm a Gryffindor and a Slytherin both, and that just proves that not all Slytherins are evil, doesn't it! Unless you're going to go with a theory that the enemy of your enemy is also your fucking enemy!"

"Er . . . maybe you should calm down before you burst a blood vessel, Harry," Draco said, actually reaching down to touch Harry's shoulder. "Or, as Severus always tells you, breathe . . ."

Harry did, and then he shrugged off Draco's fingers. The touch didn't feel like needle pricks--Harry thought he was probably completely over that particular problem--but neither did he like it.

Hermione's eyes had gone so round that Harry had the feeling she was expecting him to strike Draco for that simple touch. Couldn't she understand? Actually, maybe she couldn't. The last time Hermione had tried to touch him, he'd upended his juice or something, he'd been so startled.

"We're friends," Harry softly said, and reaching out, caught her hand in his. "See? I'm better now. It doesn't bother me to have a little human contact. Not with any of my friends, Hermione."

She just looked at him sadly. "I'd better get to dinner," she murmured, "Ron needs the moral support, having to come down here night after night."

"Yeah, I tried asking Snape to cut that ten thousand back a tad but . . ." Harry sighed. "He's determined to really teach Ron a lesson."

"And that doesn't concern you, choosing a father who's just vindictive, Harry?"

"It does, but I'm not in charge of him, you know."

"You should be worried having a man like that in charge of you," Hermione announced, jerkily yanking herself to her feet. "What's going to happen when he gets mad at you, if he's as cruel as that to Ron? Have you thought of that, Harry? Have you?"

"Cruel would be demanding Ron be expelled," Harry coldly retorted, not appreciating her dire predictions one bit.

"Harry . . ." Hermione walked to the door, then turned around just before leaving. "This . . . what you think you have, it's all going to unravel. You can't depend on Snape for anything! Can't you see that?"

"Funny, the Order seemed to depend on him an awful lot. And guess why? He was dependable!"

"That's different!" Hermione shouted. "It's your emotional well-being I'm talking about! The man's a walking neurosis complete with vengeance fantasies against your father!"

"Professor Snape is my father!" Harry shouted right back.

"You think so now, but mark my words, it's all going to fall apart--"

"You'd better go," Harry interrupted. "Now." Before I start calling you a bleating sheep.

Hermione hung her head a bit, soft hair falling across the side of her face. "I don't want to argue," she softly averred. "I love you."

"I know." Harry drew in a breath. "Listen, Hermione. I know you care, but you've got to stop acting like Snape adopting me is the worst thing that ever happened to me. It's an insult to us both."

"I'm just so worried you're going to get horribly hurt, Harry . . ."

"Then I get hurt," Harry calmly replied. "I'd rather take that chance than go through life the way I had to before, without anyone I could really call family. If you want to worry, then worry. I can't stop you. But I just don't want to hear it any longer, all right? You make me feel like I'll have to choose between friends or father. It's very bad of you to make me feel that way. And if you keep on . . . it's going to come between us, even though I love you too."

"I . . . I have to get to dinner," Hermione gulped, just before she fled.

Harry pushed the door closed and leaned against it, fighting an urge to knock his forehead into it a few dozen times.

"She loves you?" Draco said from behind him. "I thought she and Weasley . . .?"

"Not like that," Harry said without turning around. "We're friends."

"I stand by my observation that you have lousy friends."

Harry couldn't help but scoff as he whirled around to study the Slytherin boy. "You're a fine one to judge. What were Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Sycophants," Draco freely admitted. "But I knew they were that at the time."

"Let's just organize dinner," Harry sighed.

"One more thing," Draco said in a much harder tone. "Don't go begging Severus to reduce the Weasel's punishment again. Severus should be your top priority, not that foul-mouthed little prat who made such outrageous accusations."

"Severus seems not to mind discussing the matter," Harry retorted.

"I told you, didn't I, that you can't always tell when you're hurting a Slytherin!"

"Listen," Harry snapped. "He's my father, not yours, so stay out of it!"

He felt a little bad when Draco flinched . . . but not bad enough to call the words back.

-----------------------------------------------------------

"You appear to be quite comfortable with the Floo now," Snape commented one evening as they all ate the coq au vin Draco had ordered.

Harry wasn't sure he'd go quite that far. Tossing in powder and shouting for food was a far cry from travelling anywhere unaided. Not that Snape would let him go anywhere alone at the moment, anyway. So why was he bringing the Floo up at all?

"Why don't you attempt a firechat with someone?" the man went on.

"I don't really want to stick my face in a fire," Harry said, shaking his head. "Just in case it burns off, you understand. It's bad enough having--"

Snape raised an eyebrow at the rather bald silence that ensued. When that didn't work, he verbally prompted, "Yes?"

Harry just shook his head again, which left it to Draco to quietly reveal, "His scar, Severus. He thinks it actually is hideous and disfiguring."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry grated.

"I told you, it's not ugly at all--"

"I know what it looks like, thanks," Harry cut him off.

Snape stepped into the conversation, then. "Harry, I've never got the impression that your scar bothered you overly much, except insofar as it sometimes causes physical pain."

Harry gave a sort of desperate little laugh. "Well, I try not to wander the halls whinging on about things that can't be changed, Professor."

"Draco is correct; it is not ugly--"

"It's not pretty either," Harry snapped. "But that's not why I don't like it. The majority of the world hasn't been blessed with Draco's perfect features, after all! It's what it means, all right? Two things, actually. That I've always had it instead of a mother, and that every person I've met since I was eleven assumes they know me inside and out the minute they see my face!"

Snape steepled his fingers, then solemnly nodded. "As you said, some things cannot be changed."

Harry appreciated, more than he could say, the respect he heard in that comment. "Yeah," he agreed, wanting to drop the subject. "Anyway, back to the firechat. I don't think it's such a good idea."

"I will be right next to you to pull you out if you experience any difficulty," Snape promised, his dark eyes unblinking.

"Plus, he's got plenty of burn salve on hand," Draco added. "Come on, Harry. What if your magic is a bit like a muscle, and you have to exercise it to make it grow stronger?"

"Samhain," Harry protested.

Usually, that word was almost like an incantation, it held so much power of its own. Harry could count on it to make the others back off. Not this time, though.

Draco openly scoffed. "You've already sent your whole body through the Floo, twice, so don't tell me you can't stand the thought of flames. It's like I told your Muggle cousin--"

"Don't call him that!" Harry erupted. "We all know he's not a wizard. You don't have to mention it every time he comes up! I thought you were going to be less focussed on blood!"

As a distraction, it didn't work so well. "Fine. It's like I told Dudley," Draco went on with hardly a pause. "You're just chicken."

"I hardly think names are going to help matters," Snape mildly inserted.

"Oh yeah?" Draco challenged. "Chicken!" he yelled. "Chicken, chicken, chicken!"

"Draco!"

"Oh, it's all right," Harry laughed. "It's pretty funny, him thinking I'm that easy to manipulate."

"Well, you are part Gryffindor," Draco drawled.

Harry jumped to his feet. "Don't you insult Gryffindor!"

Then it was Draco's turn to laugh. "And the boy thinks he's not easy to manipulate," he lightly sneered to Snape. Then with a more solemn air, he turned to Harry. "Sit down. Now, listen, because this time I'm not just trying to get under your skin. You're letting fear control you, and it has to stop."

"And there I thought I was simply avoiding recklessness," Harry countered.

"You're just avoiding danger," Draco corrected, leaning forward. "Or perceived danger, since there really isn't any. Where would you be if Severus had done the same? Do you have the slightest idea how dangerous it was for him to lie to the Dark Lord time and again?"

Harry sighed, recognizing the debt he owed. Turning toward Snape, he asked, "Who did you want me to firechat with, sir?"

"I thought perhaps you might like to speak with Hagrid."

Harry blinked. "Hagrid's hut is on the Floo Network?"

Snape's shrug was entirely too casual as he tossed out, "It is now. I asked the headmaster to arrange a connection."

"Well, that was certainly Slytherin of you." Exasperated, Harry shook his head. "I can't turn down a chance to talk to Hagrid and you know it. All right, fine. But . . . I would like you right beside me, like you said. Just in case."

"Certainly."

Draco, Harry noticed, was wrinkling his nose. He decided to ignore it, instead saying to Snape, "Hagrid came to see me in the hospital wing, a bunch of times, but it seems like forever since then. I expect the dungeons remind him of how Tom Riddle got him expelled, though, so I guess I can't blame him for keeping his distance."

"You could," Draco huffed, "blame him for never once writing."

"No, I couldn't," Harry disagreed. He'd never seriously expected a reply to any of his letters. Hagrid just wasn't big on the written word. It all went back to his not being able to spell so well. Standing, Harry strode over to the Floo powder, took some in hand, and knelt. "Let's do it, then."

As soon as Snape was kneeling beside him, Harry drew in a big breath and initiated the firechat, hoping "Hagrid's hut," was enough of a name to satisfy the Floo Network. Then again, Snape would have said something if it wasn't. The rush of fireplaces whirling past was nauseating, but Harry gripped the inside of the hearth tightly, his fingernails finding purchase against stone, and then it was over, and he was looking out at the interior of Hagrid's rather oddly furnished little cottage.

The half-giant's back was to him, but the moment Harry called his name, he whirled around, a blur of furry coat and patched leather boots, his enormous face breaking into a grin as he sat straight down on the floor to get close to the boy's face.

"Harry!"

Harry smiled, adjusting his position a little so it was easier to look up at the half-giant, who towered over him even when sitting on the floor. Then it occurred to Harry that kneeling on the hearthstones was a bit silly. Obviously, the Floo wasn't going to burn him up; if it was, he'd be singed by now. With that thought in mind, Harry started to crawl forward so he could have a proper visit with Hagrid.

Two things stopped him. One, the feel of strong hands suddenly grabbing his ankles and holding him in place from behind. And two, Hagrid's own hand on his shoulder firmly pushing him back until once more, only his face showed.

"Yeh better stay safe down in Professor Snape's rooms, Harry," Hagrid explained, his voice thrumming with gentle regret. "I'd not say no to a visit, yeh must know that much. Still, better safe 'n sorry, I always say."

"All right," Harry said, understanding. He really should have thought of that himself. Hagrid's hut wasn't warded with Dudley's blood, after all. Of course, Snape's cottage in Devon hadn't been, either, but that was a bit different. "I've missed you, Hagrid," he added.

For some reason, the half-giant blushed a bit. "Yeh saw me most ever' day when you was laid up in hospital."

"I didn't see you much at all," Harry weakly joked. He hadn't intended to discuss this, he really hadn't. He'd defended Hagrid to Draco and meant every word. But now that the others couldn't overhear, he realised he was blurting, "Why haven't you come to visit me at Snape's? I know you're awfully busy with your classes and your creatures and all the rest, but Hagrid . . ." His voice broke. "I thought we were friends!"

"Course we're friends, Harry," Hagrid assured him, one big hand reaching out to ruffle his hair just as though he were still eleven. "It's jus' that yer new father, he said--"

"Wait, you heard about my adoption?" Harry questioned. "Who told you, Hermione? Ron? One of the other Gryffindors?"

"Jus' hold up there a minute, Harry," Hagrid laughed. "Professor Snape told me hisself."

All the staff will be informed at once, of course, Harry heard Snape saying in his mind. "Oh yeah, right," he murmured. "So what did Snape say? You were going to tell me something."

Hagrid appeared to debate with himself, his jaw sort of moving as he thought. "He came here to ask summat about yer snake," he finally told Harry. "Said the poor little mite was sleepin' in the Floo and likely to be gettin' sicker 'n a cursed niffler agin. Asked me what ter do. I thought a charmed box for sleepin' might be jus' the trick."

"It works great." Harry beamed his pleasure. "That was a really good idea, Hagrid. Sals hasn't misbehaved once since Christmas. That's when Snape, uh, Severus, gave me the box."

"I heard a fair bit 'bout yer snake, Harry. If yer father woulda let me visit, I'da had me a good look at Sals ter see if she's summat magical."

"If my father would have let you visit?" Harry questioned, a dark suspicion growing in his voice.

"I shouldn'ta told yeh that," Hagrid realised with a twang.

"So that's why I haven't seen you for months!" Harry shouted, outraged. "It wasn't anything to do with you hating the dungeons! And what, you just agreed, Hagrid? I don't care if he is my father and these are his rooms, he's got no right trying to keep my oldest friend away!"

"Wasn't nothin' like that, and yer doin' Professor Snape wrong, sayin' it was," Hagrid said, shaking his head. "You was havin' trouble with yer magic, that's all, an' the Professor, he said it'd be best if when yeh was ready to use the Floo by yerself, yeh had a real good reason to want to."

"I still think it stinks!"

Hagrid balled his hands into meaty fists. "Would yeh've used the Floo ternight, Harry, if yeh'd seen me ever' couple a days since yeh got out of hospital? I don' fault yer father fer doin' what he thought yeh needed. An' yeh're not ter, neither, yeh understand?"

"Yeah, all right, Hagrid," Harry agreed, mostly because he didn't want to fight about it. "Um, you sound like you think it's all right how I got adopted. I'm getting a lot of that. It's really nice. But Ron and Hermione are being total gits. I don't suppose they've talked to you about it?"

"Yeh don't think on that, Harry," Hagrid advised. "Don't yeh think on that 'tall. If yer happy with Professor Snape, the rest'll sort itself out. Yeh'll see."

"Yeah, all right," Harry said again, though he had serious doubts about that.

"I got some treacle fudge right here. Want a piece?"

"Uh, no, Hagrid." Harry felt heat begin to wash over him. "I think I'd better go, actually," he admitted. "The Floo's starting to not work so well for me. 'Bye!"

He was already drawing back into Snape's living room when he heard Hagrid bidding him good-bye.

Harry collapsed on the hearth rug, panting, his face and shoulders blazing.

"Here, burn cream," he heard Draco's voice say, and then Snape was smoothing it over his face and neck. Harry sighed with relief--Snape's salves were really very good--and once he felt a bit better, managed to sit up and shrug out of his shirt. Without a word, Snape applied the cream to his back as well, then let him do his own chest.

"Better?"

"Yeah." Harry glared, a little balefully. "I told you my magic wasn't strong enough for the Floo!"

"It should be strong enough to travel on your own," Snape corrected. "Staying in the fire long enough to chat requires more magic."

"Well, thanks for explaining that in advance!" Harry shouted.

Snape's nostrils flared. "Hagrid must have told you."

"Told him what?" Draco asked.

"Only that Severus here wanted to make sure I'd be willing to try the Floo, so he made Hagrid promise not to come visit me!"

"Oh, good thinking, Severus," Draco approved.

Harry saw red as he rounded on Snape. "Secrets are not good thinking! It was bad enough when you were just keeping things from me. Now you're actually creating things to keep secret!"

"Hardly a secret," Snape scorned. "Had you asked me about Hagrid, I would have told you that you could see him as soon as you were ready to brave the Floo. As it was, you left it to me to suggest you see your friend."

"Because I wasn't about to badmouth Hagrid for not visiting!"

"How was I to know that was your reason?" Snape asked, his tone so utterly reasonable that it made Harry long to throw something. "Were you keeping secrets from me?"

Harry stared for a long moment, and then gave in. "Oh, shut up," he muttered crossly. "It wasn't like that and you know it, but I don't want to fight."

"I've no wish to fight either," Snape assured him.

"So you'll tell Hagrid he can come down anytime?"

"That's not a capital idea. He frightens Draco something awful."

"I thought we weren't going to let fear control us," Harry sneered at the Slytherin boy.

"That's enough, Harry," Snape said in a stern tone. "You can firechat with Hagrid again sometime. We'll wait until your magic is a bit stronger. Until then, letters will have to do."

"It's not my fault Draco tried to get Buckbeak killed, or that he's been a snot in Creatures class ever since Hagrid got the job! I shouldn't have to be the one to suffer for it!"

"If you think that Draco is not suffering for his poor past decisions," Snape growled, "then you are sadly deluded!"

Harry supposed his father did have a point. "I need some more burn cream," he muttered, snatching it up and smoothing it up and down his arms. When he'd finished, he announced, "Guess I'll go to bed, then."

"It's pretty early," Draco put in. "Weasley isn't even here yet."

"I'm pretty tired!"

An exaggeration at best; Harry just didn't know how to cope at that moment. He wasn't going to get his way when it came to Hagrid; he could tell, and that realisation made him simply furious. How dare Draco tell the Potions Master not to let Hagrid come down!

How dare he not face his own damned fear, after he'd lectured Harry to do just that!

"What are we supposed to say when Weasley asks where you've got to?" Draco inquired, arms crossed.

"How about we tell the open, honest truth for once?" Harry sneered. "Tell him I'm mad at my father for deciding he has to Slytherin me into doing things instead of treating me like a reasonably intelligent wizard!"

A strange look crossed Draco's face. "Oh, I hardly think that's going to help matters."

Harry glanced at Snape to see that he, too, had a similarly odd expression. "What?"

It was Draco who replied, his gaze hard again by then. "Do you really want Weasley spreading it around Gryffindor that things are falling apart already? That Granger was right all along?"

"No," Harry admitted. As upset as he was, he didn't want to imply anything like that. Not to Snape, and certainly not to Hermione, who was just waiting for Harry to come crying to her.

"We'll tell him you're a bit under the weather, then," Draco announced, nodding with some sort of smug determination that baffled Harry. He had the feeling he was being left out of something. As usual.

"Snape better tell him," Harry sniped. "You're a terrible liar, remember?"

Draco turned to Snape, his eyes flashing with anger. "Let's tell Weasley that what Harry's got is life threatening. Then we'll see if this is all a waste of time, if he hates Harry!"

"If I wanted to check if he hates me, I'd ask him to pet the griffin!" Harry shouted. "But I haven't! Guess why not? It's a little thing called trust between friends! He's going through a hard patch, and Snape's just making it harder--" With that, Harry glared at his father. "Don't go mucking about with stupid stories that put me at death's door. This is between Ron and me!"

He turned to go, adding, "If Ron asks after me, just say I needed an early night."

Snape's voice forestalled him. "Harry." Expecting some sort of rebuke, Harry turned back, but all his father said was, "Do you still have an adequate supply of Painless Sleep Potion?"

Harry blinked. "Yes. Why would you ask . . . oh, the burn? No, it's just about gone, I think." He ran an experimental finger over his arms and neck. "Yeah, feels a bit like a sunburn, is all."

"Do not hesitate to come get me if you need anything," Snape said in a low tone.

Harry nodded.

"I mean it," Snape stressed. "You must wake me if you need me, is that clear?"

"I . . . yes, sir," Harry weakly answered. What did Snape think was going to happen? Nightmares? Wild magic? Or was this just one more Slytherin plot, Snape's way of trying to say he cared? Harry really did feel tired now. Too tired to fathom it all out.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Harry lay in bed with the lights fully burning, because of course he still couldn't spell them off. The heat of them slightly irritated his reddened skin, but after that scene out in the living room, he wasn't about to go ask Draco for help. He'd rather lay in the blazing light all night long than say three friendly words to the Slytherin boy.

It was difficult to stay angry with Draco for long, though, considering what happened when he came to bed. Actually, first he did all the usual things, including singing those pretentious foreign songs in the shower. But then, as Draco was sliding between his sheets, he murmured, "Harry? Are you still awake over there?"

Harry debated answering, then finally called, "Yeah. Um . . . did Ron ask where I was?"

"No." After a moment, Draco added, "Sorry," but Harry thought he didn't sound sorry at all about it. In fact, he sounded glad, which made Harry want to throttle him, but only until something else occurred to him.

"Draco," he ventured. "Um . . . maybe you don't know this, but a person can have more than one friend."

"Have you been drinking unauthorized potion or something?" Draco scathed. "Of course I know that!"

"I don't think so," Harry murmured, as politely as he could. "I mean, have you ever had a friend, let alone several at once? You said yourself that Crabbe and Goyle were just hangers-on."

He heard Draco say on a sigh, "What's your point?"

Unsure really how to get to it, Harry tapped his fingertips together as he talked. "You . . . well, you seem a little threatened by the fact that I have other friends. I think you believe that if I start getting along with them better, it'll leave you out or something."

"Oh, please," Draco sneered. "What do you think I am, five years old? Afraid I'll lose you to your other friends . . . I've never heard anything so infantile."

"Is it?" Harry questioned. "I'm sure you're well aware that my other friends would strongly prefer I have nothing to do with you."

"Well, there is that," Draco gruffly admitted.

"It doesn't help that you've spent five years calling Hermione a Mudblood and making fun of Ron's family," Harry added, biting his lip in the dark. "I'd really rather we could all get on, but I suppose that's probably asking a bit much, considering. Why don't you just try really hard to not insult them from now on out, all right? That would help."

"You didn't notice how perfectly pleasant and conciliatory I've been with Hermione?"

"Yeah, I have noticed, actually. What's up with calling her Hermione all of a sudden?"

He heard Draco rolling over to face him. "Well. Severus said--"

"Oh great, now Snape's sticking his nose into how you treat my other friends?"

"No, he's not, just listen! Severus said to call you Harry, remember? I didn't want to, but it turned out to be easier to get along, that way. So . . . I thought I'd try it with Hermione, that's all."

Harry thought about that for a moment. "All right, that makes sense, I guess. Except, why would you want to get along with Hermione?"

"Because I'm not stupid! If you end up in the middle of a war zone among your own ranks, it can't be good for any of us." Harry nodded, thinking that was probably true, only to hear Draco add in a small voice, "Besides . . . I don't want you to have to choose."

If Ron or Hermione had said that, Harry would have known it was because they were being a real friend. From Draco, he figured it meant something else. Draco was afraid he wouldn't be the one Harry would choose, that was all. And to Draco, that meant danger. He was still terrified he'd end up abandoned by the Light.

"It's good to have you on my side," Harry said by way of reassurance. "Really, it is. I think you'll make a great friend, Draco."

For some reason, that comment appeared to perturb the Slytherin boy. "You were right before," he abruptly announced. "I don't know how."

"You're doing all right."

"No, after what you said before, a friend would . . ." His voice fell silent.

"What?"

"Look, it's just . . ." Draco rolled to one side, then the other, then announced, "I don't have perfect features, all right? My lips are too thin."

The remark was so unexpected that Harry almost did a double take. "Uh, all right," he managed to reply, wondering if he was supposed to agree, or argue, or what.

"And my eyebrows are almost invisible, they're so pale," Draco lamented. "And the bridge of my nose is too long, and one of my cheekbones is a bit higher than the other--"

Now that was just too much. Harry rolled over in the dark to face Draco, grateful that Snape's Potions had repaired his eyesight so well that he could see in little light now. To Harry's surprise, Draco looked distraught, not dramatic. Like . . . he really didn't think he was Merlin's gift to the wizarding world. Now how could that be?

"But you're completely vain about your looks," Harry protested. "I mean, everybody knows you are! And all those showers pampering yourself, the time you spend on your hair . . ."

Draco huffed, the sound of it defensive. And insecure, though of course the other boy would never admit to that in words. Actually, Harry was surprised how much Draco had admitted to. He thought his lips were too thin? Why on earth had he suddenly come out with that? Surely not just because Harry felt bad about his scar! Then again, Harry had sniped about Draco's "perfect features" during that same conversation, and here was Draco trying to prove he wasn't so perfect-looking after all.

Except, he was. "You could be a model, all right? You've got no worries."

"Model?"

"Muggle thing. It means . . . um, you've got the kinds of looks the rest of us envy."

"Oh, sure," Draco scathed.

"I bet you've had loads of girlfriends."

"Ha. I certainly don't have girls wandering down here to say they love me."

"I don't either!"

"Only two in as many months," Draco retorted.

"They didn't mean it like that!"

"Don't be coy, Potter. You could have any girl you wanted just by snapping your fingers, and you know it."

"You think I want some girl that likes me because I'm the effing Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Ancient history," Draco mocked. "You're Tri-Wizard champion, that's what you are."

"Only because Crouch cheated to get me through the tasks."

"Hmm, I know . . . Death Eater gossip . . . but on the other hand, everybody else was cheating, too."

"Not Cedric."

"Hmm," Draco said again. "Anyway, you're barmy if you think the boy-hero mystique is all you've got. Even girls in Slytherin go on about you. Girls whose parents are Death Eaters, whose parents would kill them for so much as thinking about any sort of . . . liaison with Harry Potter, and they ooh and aah and giggle and basically just make the rest of us want to sick up! You should hear them!"

Harry thought he'd actually like to, not that he could. So he settled for the next best thing, which was clearing his throat and asking, "Um . . . well, what do they say, exactly?"

Draco gave a low laugh. "What don't they say? Listen, I'm not going to lie in bed and list all your good points, because that would be just too weird. But it's all about how you look, Harry. Ye gods, I sometimes think that's why some of us in Slytherin started hating you even worse these last couple of years. We were just so sick and tired of listening to them call you handsome Harry," he finished on a sneering note.

Harry laughed too, self-consciously. "Well . . . I think the girls in Gryffindor really disapprove of you. You know, Draco Malfoy, Death-Eater-to-be, Slytherin, mean, heartless, cruel--"

"I get the point," Draco sourly interrupted.

"No, I meant, they think all that, all right, but even so . . . um, I hear them talking too. About you. Er . . . same sort of stuff you said the Slytherin girls said about me."

He could practically hear Draco perking up. "Oh, really. What do they say?"

"You didn't really tell me what the girls in Slytherin said," Harry pointed out, feeling a bit Slytherin himself as the words emerged.

"Well, let's trade. You tell me one thing, and I'll do the same. You go first, since the trade was my brilliant idea."

Even though it was dark and Draco couldn't see him, Harry blushed. He didn't want to go on about Draco . . . but the deal was too good to pass up. "Um . . . well, one time when I came down into the common room, a bunch of third- and fourth-years were giggling something awful. I sort of . . . er, stopped on the stairs to listen . . ."

"Harry Potter, champion eavesdropper," Draco gibed. "Well? Well? Go on. I didn't say I objected, did I?"

Harry crunched his eyes shut. "It was all about how you stalked down the hallways between classes, looking . . . uh, darkly majestic, I think, were the words they used, and how they all just wished you'd corner them in an alcove sometime and . . . um, kiss them breathless."

"Names, Harry, I need names," Draco drawled. "I don't fancy snogging the wrong girl and getting slapped for my trouble. Or slugged, even. Hermione taught me that girls know how to land a punch, too."

"I'm not giving you their names."

"Then I'm not telling you what I hear the girls go on about."

"Yes, you are," Harry told him.

"Oh, very well," Draco replied in a long-suffering tone. Probably, Harry thought, he was using it to cover his own discomfort at discussing Harry's physical attributes. "One thing I've heard far too much about is your eyes. Such a stunning green, they say. I could stare into his eyes all day long, that sort of thing. Nauseating, really, and just think, that was before you lost the glasses. The minute you get back upstairs, you'll have girls falling at your feet! I'll probably just have my ex-girlfriend trying to kill me again."

Harry all but gaped. "You mean Pansy?"

"Yes, I mean Pansy! Just how many murderous ex-girlfriends do you think I've got?"

"I mean . . . I knew you took Pansy to the Yule Ball year before last, but I didn't think it was serious . . ."

"Oh, it wasn't serious," Draco breezed, but underneath the airy tones, Harry thought he heard a world of hurt. "If it was serious, she'd have let me at least explain why I switched sides. But no. All she cared about was that I wasn't a--" here, Draco began to sneer, "proper Slytherin any longer, and that was that! As if being a proper Slytherin means you have to switch off your brain and hand it over to some maniac who's going to get you killed at worst and make an abject slave of you at best! But would she listen to me about what it's really like at those damned Death Eater meetings? Noooooo . . . She's never been to one, how would she know anything? But would she trust me, trust my judgment? Nooooo . . . "

Harry really hadn't meant to open up such a Pandora's box. "Well, she doesn't sound like much of a girlfriend," he told Draco. "You're well-rid of her."

"I'd like to be completely rid of her!" Draco snarled. "But Bumblemore, with his typical anti-Malfoy attitude, won't believe me about who set that snake on me!"

"I think he just needs evidence," Harry said in a placating tone.

"Ha!" Draco shouted, incensed. "How much evidence do you think he'd need against me if, say, Pansy showed up dead? Now there's a pleasant thought . . . But anyway, motive alone would be enough if I were the one being accused, but when it's anybody but a Malfoy, we need to have evidence . . .!"

"Breathe, Draco," Harry advised, his voice as dry as Snape's sometimes got, and at that, Draco chuckled slightly.

"Yeah. I should get over it, I know. Water under the bridge, all that. Like you and your cousin. Ha, see? There. I didn't call him anything but your cousin that time. Anyway, though . . . yeah, I had a bit of a thing going with Pansy. Ten to one that's the only reason she managed to catch me off-guard with that snake." He sighed, a heavy sound in the stillness of the room.

"Maybe what you need is a nice Hufflepuff girl. You know, somebody really loyal." Harry grinned in the dark. "Susan Bones . . . now she's pretty cute, I think."

"Yeah, if you like the vapid, brainless type."

"She is not!"

"She's a Hufflepuff."

"That doesn't mean stupid any more than Slytherin automatically means evil, you git."

"Slytherin means cunning, not evil, you git."

"My point exactly," Harry agreed. "And speaking of cunning, how about this? You apply a little of your fabled Slytherinness to getting over your fear of Hagrid. Personally, I think you ought to start by apologizing for the whole Buckbeak incident. Oh, and also for complaining about his teaching to that toad Umbridge."

"I do not fear him," Draco loftily informed Harry, conveniently ignoring all the advice about saying sorry. "Those were Severus' words, not mine."

"Fine. I'll tell Snape you don't mind if Hagrid has dinner with us tomorrow, then."

"All right, all right!" Draco erupted. "He's not my favourite person."

"He's one of mine, so you're going to have to get over your . . . whatever."

"Or," Draco proposed, "you could get over your . . . whatever . . . with your magic, and get out of here and back to your regular life, in which you can visit your big hulking friend to your heart's content."

"I'll work on that," Harry promised, as he fussed a bit with his blankets. Even after he'd got as comfortable as he could, sleep seemed a long way off. It was always like that when he was angry. For Snape to manipulate him like that about the Floo . . . to use his friendship with Hagrid against him . . .

Harry sighed. His father meant well; he knew that. But somehow, that made things seem worse instead of better. Why did everything with Snape have to be so . . . Slytherin? What was wrong with talking occasionally, instead of hatching plots inside plots, as Draco had once put it? No matter what the Sorting Hat had said when he was eleven, Harry just didn't think that way. Too many years in Gryffindor, perhaps.

He might be half-Slytherin, but as he was finding out, that was a far cry from being cunning clear through . . . or approving of those who were.

At that moment, it seemed to Harry that he and Snape were never going to learn to get along.