An Unlikely Alliance

Monotony: That one word adequately described his job and his life, Charon reflected as he lay back in his office one night. Then again, he would take monotony over the cold despair and hopelessness that was there every day ever since he took up the job until last year: lingering just outside his office and his mental shields, waiting for the chance to break through and take over.

Being the warden of Azkaban prison was not easy. While Charon would wished he had taken up a different job, the reality was that the post was hereditary. Thanks to a pact made between one of his ancestors and the tenth Duke of Azkaban, the eldest son of the family had to look after the prison ever since it was built and given over to the Ministry of Magic for use. Thanks to the twisted sense of humour of the Duke, the wardens were all known as Charon. So while Charon was not born with such an unfortunate name (and was, in fact, named Gregory at birth), he had to bear the name and all that it entailed ever since his elder brother, Charon, died in a tragic accident at the age of fourteen.

Of course, being Charon wasn't all bad. The pay was good enough and the accommodation opulent. The office he was sitting in was a prime example. Large and roomy with a massive desk in the centre that faced a fireplace large enough to fit five grown men standing side by side comfortably. The house (and the property surrounding it) that his family lived in was far away from the prison under ancient blood wards. These wards not only prevented the wretched creatures that had been pressed into service by the Ministry into guarding the prison from getting to them, but prevented the spread of their collective malaise, making it a relatively happier place to have a family.

However, all that did not prevent the feeling of depression and dread Charon felt hanging in the air when going to work. Charon had to ensure that the mental shields that were the result of the unique Occlumency skills developed by his family were at full strength every time he passed through the gates of the prison. Once inside, he was thankful for the Patronus wards that kept the Dementors at bay. But the depression and despair would always somehow manage to sneak in. Perhaps it was the weather, perhaps it was the fact that the prison was pretty drab, or perhaps the wards were weakening. But there always was a sense of gloom about the place which did not leave with the creatures.

At least this meant that the wards weren't weakening (fat load of good that did).

Charon was happy at least that the prison was in good running order. It was properly and adequately staffed by Hit Wizards, and so far he did not have any reason to press the panic button calling in reinforcements from the Ministry should the prison be besieged despite the fact that You Know Who had risen again and was terrorising the wizarding world and eleven of his greatest supporters were currently languishing in the high security wing.

Still he could not help but feel dread every time he thought of Malfoy and his ilk. There was something wrong about how they were sitting there placidly. Charon kept having indistinct dreams of flashes of light and the harsh sounds of battle that never failed to wake him up in the middle of the night, panting as if he had run a mile.

Something was definitely wrong. Only a few of the guards showed any enthusiasm about going to the wing. And he did not blame them since he also felt the same apprehension about even thinking of going there.

Perhaps his soon to be arriving guest would be able to shed some light on these strange occurrences. He sat up expectantly as the yellow flames turned green.

'Chief warlock!' he greeted the tall wizard that stepped out of the fireplace. 'I hope things are going well?'

'Ah, Gregory, yes, things are fine. How are you today?' the old wizard asked solicitously.

'Can't complain,' Charon said. The one thing he loved about his old headmaster was the fact that he was one of the few that remembered or used his old name.

'Well I hate to cut this short, but time is of the essence...'

'I understand, sir,' Charon said with a nod. 'The prisoner is waiting for you in room three. Just like the previous one. Although, I do not know what you could possibly get from it. The elf has been quite insane for a while now. It is a miracle that it has survived so long.'

'I believe that it is the house-elf magic working. Their minds aren't quite like ours...' Dumbledore trailed off thoughtfully. 'Anyway, we both have things to do, so if you please...?'

'Sure thing, sir,' Charon got up from his desk and escorted the elderly mage from his office. He did not mention that, of late, things had been rather quiet, meaning that he had little to do. For one, the number of people coming in had reduced. At first, there was on average a new prisoner per day. Now there was only an occasional prisoner. It seemed that Scrimgeour had lost some of his zeal. A good thing too, because if that rate continued, Charon was sure that the prison would be full by now.

They finally reached their destination. With a tap of his wand, Charon undid the locks. Nodding at him, The Chief Warlock entered the room, closing the door behind him.

As the door closed, Charon remembered that he had something he needed to tell the headmaster. Something about the uneasy feeling he was getting of late about the high security prisoners. Oh well, he could still mention it when the headmaster was done with the elf.

About an hour later, Charon returned to the room as requested, knocking on the door. The door opened to reveal an exhausted –looking Dumbledore.

'I hope you got the information that you came for, Chief Warlock?' Charon asked.

'Not yet,' Dumbledore replied wearily as they made their way back to their office. 'But I still have hope, so I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to set up another appointment with the elf the next week.'

'You are the Chief Warlock, sir.' Charon replied with a shrug of his shoulders. 'You may come and go any time as you please. After all, you do have the authority.'

Dumbledore chuckled. 'True, true ... however, Charon, it is your prison.' His eyes twinkled as he glanced at the younger man.

'Same time, same place next week, then, sir?' Charon asked as they reached his office.

'Indeed, have a good evening, Gregory.' With that, Dumbledore stepped into the fireplace and left in a whoosh of green flame.

'Damn it! I wanted to speak to him about something!' the warden said to himself as he saw the last of the green flame die down and the fire return to its normal yellow-orange. 'Oh well, perhaps next time ...' he shrugged as he went back to his paperwork.

Tiredly walking down the junk-bordered pathway, Harry noticed a faint glimmer in the distance just after the broken vanishing cabinet that Montague had been stuffed in last year. Squinting, he saw that it was part of a diadem sticking out. The discovery of the previous fakes had not diminished the feeling of excitement Harry felt upon seeing this. Letting out a triumphant cry, he started forward, tucking his wand in its holster. He seriously hoped that this was the one. While he knew logically that the Horcrux was somewhere here in this room, he couldn't help but feel that something had happened to it. After all, it had been a long time since Riddle had last placed the diadem in the room. Anything could have happened to it by then. It could have been moved, or somebody else could have taken it for any reason whatsoever. If that happened ... then suffice to say, Harry would be in very hot water.

During the day, Harry had managed to keep up appearances by immersing himself in training and school life. This kept the reality that was looming in front of him out of his mind. However, when the sun finally set, when the assignments were done and his friends had retired for the night, when he was alone in his bed, the pessimism set in as he thought about what lay in store for him. He was stuck between two powerful wizards (he might as well call them both Dark Lords) who both wanted him dead for some reason or the other. What was worse was that he was all alone, while both Dumbledore and Voldemort had their followers and influence to help them along. Sure there was Neville, Susan, Hannah and Hermione and Ron (while he had become distant from the last two, he still counted on them). But what could a bunch of schoolchildren do against either of the two? It all came down to him. Prophecy had destined him to end one Dark Lord, and circumstance the other.

His only hope right now was finding that thrice – cursed diadem, a founder's relic, Rowena Ravenclaw's greatest invention. An artefact that had disappeared from the history books suddenly a few months before the death of the founder. A month had nearly gone by and he had not found it yet. He was growing desperate. He had started to spend more time in the room, either training like a maniac or spending hours on end searching the Junk Room for the diadem. While he felt fine now, he knew that it would be a matter of time before the lack of sleep caught up to him. As it was, keeping up with his regular timetable was getting harder and harder. He always felt that he had forgotten something. And while Occlumency was helping, he couldn't help but feel his temper getting shorter and shorter to the point that even the smallest of things was beginning to annoy him. It was only a matter of time before he completely lost it publicly. He was becoming rougher when duelling with Neville and Susan. If they noticed it, they hadn't really mentioned anything yet.

Suddenly he jumped to the left, crashing into some detritus, causing the spell that he sensed coming to him to brush by.

Calling his wand back to his hand, Harry extricated himself from the junk. He looked intently at the direction the spell came from as he rolled his throbbing shoulder. Spotting a shock of white-blonde hair near a stuffed troll, he called out, 'You might as well come out now, Malfoy. Your glow-in-the-dark hair makes it ridiculously easy to spot you.' As he said this, his blood started pumping as some of the anger started to surface. He wanted a fight. And it looked like Malfoy was willing to oblige.

Seeing Potter jump out of the spell's path at the last second had Draco momentarily stunned. Regaining his wits, he ducked behind the troll, hoping he was fast enough.

Apparently his hopes were not to be realised. Draco's eye twitched at the mocking tone. The quip about his hair reminded him about its current condition and that just made him angrier. Letting all the frustration of the past few months build up, Draco spun out of the troll with an incoherent war cry. He'll show Potter all right. Let's see what saint Potter makes of a dueller who has been trained by the best Death Eaters was the savage thought going through his mind.

Harry grinned savagely when Draco spun out of the troll yelling at the top of his voice. It looked like the blonde was rather touchy about his hair. What a poof. Harry found himself looking forward to this fight. It would give him a chance to wipe the smirk off that pompous arsehole in front of him. The blonde picked the wrong person to fight with!

Harry dodged the first spell gracefully, coming very close to the rubbish opposite to where he had crashed into. Absently he noticed that the spell that nearly hit him was a leg – locker. A few seconds later, he sidestepped to his right, giving ample room for Malfoy's second spell to pass by. Standing in place, he just inclined his head to the left to avoid the third jet of light. From what he had learnt from his many training sessions, Slytherin's journals and from Voldemort's techniques, in a duel, it was better to use minimal movements. Why block a curse when it is safer to dodge it? And why bother diving out of the path of a spell when you can just as easily achieve the same result by taking a step?

Making a show of looking at the last curse that passed by, Harry turned back and said cruelly, 'Is that all you got, Blondie? Merlin, are you slow!'

Said Blondie snarled and hurled another volley of silent hexes curses and jinxes at Harry, this time at a much faster rate. Laughing with a vicious delight, and unknowingly reminding Malfoy of his aunt, Harry pirouetted gracefully to the left, avoiding the first spell. Brandishing his wand, he batted away the next three spells with ease as he moved backwards. Malfoy was fast, but not fast enough. 'That's more like it!' Harry taunted as the last spell pinged off high towards the right. He bared his teeth. 'You nearly got me there! But you really have to do better than that!'

By that time, they had moved into the centre of the room where the alleyways bordered by the accumulated rubbish of many centuries converged forming a square of sorts, with a large headless statue forming the centrepiece. With a snarled, 'Fight back, Potter!' Malfoy started casting more serious curses. However, in his rage, Malfoy's aim had become sloppy. Soon Harry barely needed to doge out of the way.

'Ooooh, that nearly got me,' said Harry with heavy sarcasm as a blasting curse took out the large headless statue that was a few paces to his left.

Draco had finally reached the end of his line. Pissed off beyond all reasoning, he pointed his wand at Harry and summoning all the hatred, rage and frustration he had, bellowed his first verbal spell. 'Crucio!'

Holding his wand like a conductor's baton, Harry flicked his wrist to the side, aiming his wand at a heavy stained chest at his left. With another flick, he brought the furniture flying in the path of the oncoming curse. Without wasting any time, he fluidly moved his wand anti – clockwise, banishing the shrapnel created as the object exploded upon contact with the curse. Jabbing his wand forward, he cast a low powered stunner followed by an overpowered disarming charm.

Seeing the sharp heavy wooden fragments heading towards him, Draco hastily called up the strongest shield that he could manage putting a good amount of his flagging power and a lot of desperation behind it. The shield held up to the shrapnel. However, it did not do so well against the stunner, breaking upon impact and pushing Draco back a few steps. Slightly winded, Draco was not in any shape to do anything about the disarming charm that closely followed the heels of the stunner.

Harry watched with a slight amusement the expression on Draco's face before the blonde was blown backwards off his feet as his wand was ripped out of his hand. The blonde landed with a thump on the floor, skidding for a few feet on his back before coming to a rest at the entrance of an alleyway with a groan.

Draco watched in shock as Potter absently caught his pin-wheeling wand while shooting him an arrogant smirk. He had trained, and trained hard over the holidays with one of the best duellists in the Dark Lord's ranks. Despite that, he had been beaten by Potter of all people. Potter, who he had noticed, had done nothing throughout the entire school year but sail through classes and goof off. Not only had Potter beaten him, but Draco realised that the other boy was toying with him. It meant that he really had no chance. Those spells had come to him so fast...

The fact that he was beaten by a regular bloke despite being trained so rigorously was the last straw. He felt the hopelessness well up...

Harry gave a superior look at his downed enemy raising his wand, as he debated on following up with a flame whip or his favourite lightning curse. His pulse quickened further sending him on a high as he felt the first stirrings of bloodlust. 'That was easy! You know, Blondie, Neville was -' he stopped mid-gloat when he heard a sniff coming from Malfoy.

'Oh dear Merlin,' said Harry softly to himself in horror. While he had great fun bringing the poncy git down a peg or two, seeing the blonde actually lying on the floor crying (and not the manly-type crying but the full on Cho level crying) was just... He had no words to describe it.

Suddenly the feeling of bloodlust was replaced by guilt. Even though Malfoy was a ponce, a foul git, the son of a Death Eater and would have loved to see Harry suffer, he was not the source of Harry's problems. Harry briefly wondered if he had gone too far, before dismissing the thought. He had only used a stunner, a banisher and the disarming charm. He hadn't given into the bloodlust even though he was close (not that he did not feel guilty about that).

And I thought Cho crying on me was awkward, he thought as he saw the blonde blubbing in front of him. Somehow, he felt like he had punched a little girl in the mouth and pushed her to the ground. Shuffling forward awkwardly, he sat down next to Malfoy (after performing a detection spell on the sniffling boy – can't be too careful).

'Oh, come on, mate,' Harry said softly as he awkwardly patted the sobbing boy on his back. 'It isn't so bad ... all you need is a little more practise ... we can have a rematch later if you want...' Not that it would stop him from giving it his all and winning. And later on showing the git all the neat spells he had learnt. 'Don't cry...'

Between many loud sniffs, Malfoy muttered, 'You don't get it,' before fresh tears broke out.

'Then why don't you tell me?' said Harry, the guilt making his voice low and soft. Merlin is this awkward, he thought as he reluctantly put his arm around Malfoy's shoulders, coming to the epiphany that he much preferred holding a crying Daphne than a crying Malfoy. He looked at the boy properly. Up close, Harry could see that Malfoy looked really sickly, as if he hadn't been eating or sleeping well for the past few months. Harry wondered if the boy was depressed. It certainly looked like he was on the verge of committing suicide. Oh great, more guilt.

Draco couldn't help himself. It had been too long since someone had offered him comfort. He soon found himself leaning into Potter's shoulder as the sobbing became louder. Normally he would have been horrified that he was not only blubbering like a baby, but being held and comforted by his arch – nemesis, and more importantly, a bloke. But right now, he couldn't care less. As Potter started rubbing soothing circles on his back, Draco found the burden on his shoulders too much to bear.

Harry was outwardly calm as he listened to Draco confess everything. Inwardly, he felt a sort of hope well up in him. Draco could help with his Dumbledore problem. At the very least, Harry wouldn't need to increase the intensity of his Room generated duelling sessions. While he felt that he could cope with it for now, he knew that in reality he was slowly burning himself out. But if he helped Malfoy, then he wouldn't have much fighting to do!

After spending a femtosecond acknowledging that Ron and Hermione were right about Draco, Harry started scheming.

Draco fell silent after finishing his story. He was too spent to care about the ramifications of spilling all his secrets to the enemy. All he cared about was the lightness he felt at finally letting go. His body tensed as he waited for Potter to react. He did not want to fight anymore. He no longer had the will to do so.

'You know, we are quite alike, you and I,' said Harry idly as he looked into the distance.

Surprised by this statement, Draco pulled away and asked thickly, 'What do you mean?'

'Well, the both of us have been sent on suicide missions. Saddled with the task of killing wizards far more powerful and experienced than we could ever hope to be. Also ironically, the both of us have been manipulated into these tasks by each other's targets.' He paused as he realised the full truth of his statement.

Draco immediately stopped sniffing and surreptitiously wiping his eyes as the full impact of Potter's words hit him. 'Wait, are you implying what I think you're implying?' He said with a mix of derision and incredulity in his voice. 'I mean, I know Dumbledore is barmy and a Muggle lover, but he cannot be like the Dark Lord!'

Harry laughed hollowly. 'You'd think so, wouldn't you? I don't blame you ... I used to think the same. Then my eyes were opened. Dumbledore does a good job of keeping his true nature hidden from the rest of the world.'

Draco was speechless when he saw the face of his arch rival as Harry let his mask slip for a moment. The expression on the Gryffindor's face was eerily similar to how he felt at times. He didn't have much longer to wonder about that as the mask quickly came back on. 'The way I see it, Malfoy, both of us are in a similar predicament. So here's your choice. Either we do nothing and go our separate ways, or we help each other out. I help you in your task, and you help me with mine.'

'How do I know that this isn't some sort of a trick? How do I know that you aren't doing this so you can turn me in or something?' Malfoy said suspiciously.

'A trick?' said Harry incredulously. 'Malfoy, I have your wand. I have my wand right up my sleeve just a thought away from being summoned. In other words, I am armed, and you aren't. If I really wanted to turn you in, I think I would have done it already. After all, I am more than capable of taking you down! Not to mention that I had a lot of opportunities from the time I disarmed you until now.'

'You have a point,' the other boy said grudgingly. He looked at his school rival. In their conversation, the two had moved so that they were now sitting opposite each other. When he thought about it, there really wasn't any reason for Potter to trick him. Not when the Gryffindor had him at his mercy. Hope started to blossom in his chest. Perhaps he had found an ally. The irony that his potential ally was his biggest school enemy wasn't lost on him.

'You make another good point, Potter. But how do I know that you won't turn on me?' Malfoy replied after appearing to be thinking about it. 'I don't really trust you.'

'And it would be monumentally moronic of you to do so, Malfoy.' Harry replied. 'And if it makes you feel any better, I don't trust you either. So I propose a magical oath. That way, none of us can betray the other.'

'How about an Unbreakable Vow?' Malfoy said challengingly.

They stared at each other for a few long seconds. 'Fine,' said Harry finally after thinking about it. 'But I want to see the oath before swearing to it.

'I was going to suggest that actually,' Malfoy sniffed, taking out a shrunken roll of parchment and quill, quickly regaining his haughtiness. Although the effect was spoiled by the red eyes and leaking nose.

'What?' said Harry with faux innocence after a moment of watching Malfoy stare at him meaningfully.

'May I have my wand back, please, Potter?' Malfoy finally said through gritted teeth.

'Your wand? Oh yes, for the shrinking charm!' said Harry brightly. 'Why didn't you say something before? You know, you'd get a lot more done if you articulated instead of staring at me like you were constipated, Malfoy...'

Eye twitching, Malfoy accepted the wand from a grinning Harry. Draco was momentarily tempted to hex the Gryffindor in front of him, but then he noticed the wand discreetly pointed at him by the other boy who still had a maddening grin on his face.

Sniffing, Draco wrote down a few lines on the parchment with his self-inking quill. Then with a martyred air, he placed his wand in his pocket and handed the parchment to Harry, half expecting the other boy to get riled up at the wording.

Smirking, Harry read the parchment while watching his cousin out of the corner of his eye, his wand still trained on the blonde.

'Not bad ... cousin,' said Harry finally. 'It seems that you can be honourable after all.'

Draco flinched at the mention of the familial connexion shared. 'I am glad you think so, cousin.' He fairly sneered at the last word, surprised that the Gryffindor had not taken offence to the wording. It definitely meant that Potter did not worship the ground Dumbledore walked on. He wondered what had changed...

Harry just rolled his eyes and, brandishing his wand, shifted forward till he was kneeling in front of Draco, 'Now, if you please?'

Draco also shifted forward till he was mirroring Harry's position. Clasping his wand in his left hand, the he gripped Harry's right hand.

'Do you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, swear to aid me, Harry James Potter in my quest to rid the world of your master, Voldemort also known as Tom Marvolo Riddle?'

'I do,' said Draco flinching reflexively at the feared name being uttered. Immediately a thin tongue of brilliant flame snaked out of Harry's wand and wound around the clasped hands.

Taking this as his cue, Draco spoke up. 'Do you, Harry James Potter – Black, swear to aid me, Draco Lucius Malfoy in my quest to rid the world of your master, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore?'

'I do,' said Harry quietly. Another tongue of flame burst out, this time from Draco's wand. It wound itself around the first rope of flame, forming a fine chain that circled their hands.

'And do you swear that we shall not speak of this Vow to anybody without the express permission of the other?' Harry concluded.

'I do,' Draco was initially surprised, but decided to agree to this. He should have thought of that. Both their wands shot out a tongue of flame. Winding with each other, they then knitted with the first two tongues of flame till it looked like their wrists were bound by a thick rope of fire.

As soon as the rope sank into their skin, the two unclasped each other's hands and scrambled back to their spots, looking at their hands. The enormity of what they had done slowly sinking into their minds.

Looking at his new ally of sorts, Harry said, 'Well, I think this calls for some celebration.'

With a flick of his wand, he summoned a bottle of firewhiskey from his cellar. Opening it, he took a swig and handed it to Malfoy.

Giving Harry a look of deep disgust, Malfoy conjured a glass of his own and poured himself a drink. 'Philistine,' he muttered.

'Poncy git,' Harry shot back, taking a pointed swig from the bottle. He hummed in pleasure as he felt the drink burn down his throat.

'At least you have some taste Potter,' Malfoy said after taking a sip of the whiskey. 'I half expected swill to be honest.'

'Please, since we are conspirators now, call me Harry.' Harry said with humour. 'Also, we are cousins. Unless, of course, if you'd rather prefer "Potter-Black"?' he smirked arrogantly.

Draco just sniffed as he took another sip of his drink.

In short time, the alcohol had worked its magic and had dissolved any lingering barriers between the two former enemies. In short order, they were nearly done their first bottle when Harry decided to summon two more bottles.

'I have a question, Harry,' slurred Draco as he took the bottle from the other boy (the glass lay on its side forgotten). Pausing to take a swig, he continued. 'What do you plan to do ... you know ... after?'

Harry, feeling a buzz himself, replied with a question of his own. 'After?'

'Yes, after!' said Draco as he gestured around them with the bottle. 'After, after all this is over?' he looked at Harry meaningfully.

'I dunno Draco.' Harry snatched the bottle from the blonde and took a swig. 'I think I'll settle down. Marry ... have kids ... play some Quidditch ... maybe buy a deserted island and move in there.' he smiled vacantly as he stared off into the distance.

Draco snorted as he took the bottle back. 'Sounds bloody boring to me mate. Moving in with Greengrass and living with her all alone?' he suddenly broke into giggles before subsiding. Taking a swig, he said gravely. 'But seriously, Potter ... Harry ... once we kill those old tossers, we won't be pawns anymore. We'll have reached the other end of the board. You honestly don't mean to tell me that you aren't going to take the promotion.' He handed the bottle back to Harry.

Harry accepted the bottle with a belched 'thanks'.

'You have a point,' he said after a while. Taking a sip, he pondered on Draco's sentence further. 'Yeah, becoming the queen would be a good idea. That way, nobody can mess with us again!'

'Didn't know you were into dressing up, Potter!' said Draco giggling. He suddenly gave a hiccup, causing Harry to start laughing at him.

'You know what I mean, you prat!' said Harry. Holding the bottle up, he realised that the bottle was empty. Shrugging, he set it aside next to the first one and turned his attention to the remaining two. Selecting one, he opened it. Taking a long drink from the bottle, he smacked his lips in satisfaction. Not being able to hold his thoughts in anymore, he blurted out, 'You know, this whole mess wouldn't have started without those damn Muggles!'

'What do you mean,' said Draco looking at him curiously.

Were Harry sober, he wouldn't have blurted out the previous sentence. After all, he was in Gryffindor and most of his housemates had some familial connexion to Muggle world. During the summer, when he had gone out at night, Harry had controlled his alcoholic intake to ensure that nothing slipped out inadvertently when he was among the Muggles. However, here, not only was he well on the way to being piss drunk (not that he wasn't pissed already) but there wasn't anybody within earshot who could take offence at what he had said, or was about to say. 'Well, without those Muggles, Tom Riddle wouldn't have been seduced by a squib and Tommy junior wouldn't have daddy issues. Then Voldemort wouldn't have existed, and we all would be so much happier! For one, the first ten years of my life wouldn't be so crappy.' He felt the anger and bitterness build up as he thought of all the Muggles he had met before Hogwarts up till last summer. From the teacher in his old Muggle school who blamed him for turning her wig blue (even though there was no proof) to the neighbours who treated him like rubbish and finally to the Dursleys. 'But noooo, those Muggles just have to be there and ruin everything!' Panting hard, Harry did not realise that he was strangling the bottle until he heard the glass squeak. Startled by this, he handed the bottle over to Draco.

Draco did not know half of what Harry had said, but was too drunk to care. 'Hear, hear,' he said raising the bottle up violently, causing some of the liquid to spill down the side.

'That's what we should do,' the blonde said finally after he licked the spilled whiskey off the bottle and his hand as if it was a cone of melting ice cream. 'Those bloody Muggles don't understand shit about how to raise a magical child! Fucking animals.' He held the bottle out to Harry.

'Uh, no thanks, you keep that.' Harry said with a disgusted look on his face. He wasn't so pissed that he was going to be comfortable with holding a bottle coated with Draco Malfoy's saliva. Opening the last bottle and taking a swig he declared. 'Yeah, no magical child should grow up with animals! There should be a law against that!'

'Yeah!' said Draco thumping the floor. Suddenly getting a thoughtful look, he commented, 'We should write this down so we don't forget.'

'Capital idea, cousin!' Harry raised his bottle up. 'You aren't so dumb after all.'

Draco shot him a filthy look before putting quill to parchment. After a few moments of furious scribbling, he looked back at Harry and pushed it across, 'Here, you keep it.' having said that, he drained the remaining whiskey in his bottle, spilling quite a bit of it all over himself. Giving out one last belch, the blonde promptly passed out.

Harry shook his head at the blonde. 'Can't hold his liquor ... pathetic,' he muttered. Getting up, he swayed a bit trying to get his bearings. Closing his eyes he tried willing himself sober. Opening them, he noticed that it hadn't made much of a difference. Mentally and physically slapping himself seemed to help though. Feeling slightly clearer-headed, he picked up the piece of parchment filled with Draco's scrawls and left the softly snoring boy. At the last minute he came back and using the blonde's quill, scratched out a note about a future meeting on the back of the Slytherin's own hand. He supposed he could use the parchment that was lying next to the boy, but then he reasoned that Malf – Draco (he must remember to call him that) might lose it. This way, it was right under his pointy nose.

The blonde didn't even flinch as Harry scrawled out his missive. Seizing the opportunity, Harry amused himself by doodling a bit more on Malfoy while stifling his laughter as the other boy slept through it all.

Sniggering, Harry stepped back to observe his handiwork. Satisfied, he called for Kreacher, stuffed his partly finished bottle into the elf's arms and instructed the elf to send it back to the cellar.

Violently shaking his head again, Harry set off, retracing his steps till he got back to the spot where he remembered standing before being cursed.

'What was I looking for again?' he asked himself as he glared at his surroundings. He shook his head violently. 'Think Potter, think!' he slapped himself again. 'Oh, the diadem! Now where was it? Ah!' Spotting the diadem, he squinted as he looked at it closely. It seemed to resemble the one he was after, but he couldn't be sure. He closed his eyelids as hard as he could and opening them, glared at the object as if willing it to identify itself. When the headpiece did not oblige, he huffed in annoyance. On a whim, he picked the diadem up and stuffed it in his pocket. Then twirling around (and stumbling slightly) he meandered towards the entrance of the room.

Halfway towards the Gryffindor common room, he regained some of his wits and was sober enough to have the presence of mind to successfully activate his map. Seeing nobody about in his vicinity, he concluded that it was well past curfew. Quietly tiptoeing forward, he made it to the portrait which opened (the subject within deciding forego the lecture she was about to give upon noticing his clearly drunken state when he gave her a glare).

Entering the common room, he tiptoed towards the sixth-year dorm where he collapsed on his bed, fully clothed.

Draco slowly regained consciousness the next morning. With a groan, he sat up, holding his throbbing head. His mouth felt like it had been subjected to an extremely strong Drought Charm and he was sure that a shrunken herd of Erumpents was currently rampaging in his head.

Looking around blearily, he noticed that he was not in his dorm. It took him a few moments to recognise his surroundings and recollect the events of the last night that led to his current location (the empty bottles of firewhiskey and the smell of the same liquor on his robes helped). Swearing to himself that he would never drink again, he slowly got to his feet.

Draco still could not wrap his head around the fact that Harry Potter, the bane of the Dark Lord's existence (if the way the wizard's eyes twitched every time the boy's name was mentioned was any indication), a person who was considered by many to be Dumbledore's heir apparent, the ultimate Gryffindor, and all around good guy had not only found out about the plot on the headmaster's life, but had offered to help! He had even gone so far as to swear an Unbreakable Vow to that effect. Just to make sure, Draco fished out the parchment where he had written the words from his pocket and read it. Yep, it was official; the world truly had gone round the twist. What next, self – casting wands?

Feeling slightly dizzy, Draco put his hands on his knees as he breathed in deeply willing himself not to sick up. Once he was sure he had his bearings, he opened his eyes and stared at an object on the ground. Finally his brain registered what his eyes were telling him.

'Is that my quill?' he asked himself bemusedly. Picking it up confirmed his suspicions. The luxury eagle feather self inking quill was definitely his. After all, it did have his initials and the Malfoy family crest embossed on the twenty four carat magically enforced gold nib. However, if the small bar on the stem above the nib was to be believed, half of the quill's ink was over.

Draco puzzled over this as he straightened up. He distinctly remembered filling the quill up the last evening before coming to the Room. It was then that he noticed the hand holding the quill. And then the bit of exposed flesh of the arm attached to the hand. Horrified, he hurried towards a cracked mirror.

'Curse you, Potter!'

Albus Dumbledore straightened up as he was disgorged from the fireplace in the office of the Warden of Azkaban. 'Evening, Gregory,' he nodded at the warden.

'Evening, Chief Warlock,' said Charon as he got up from his desk.

'I think we should hurry, sir. In the week that you have been gone, the prisoner's health has been deteriorating rapidly. I fear that it doesn't have much time left on this earth.'

'Indeed,' said Dumbledore with a small amount of alarm as he lengthened his strides, making the shorter man jog a bit to catch up. While Albus would have waited for the warden, as Gregory said, time was of the essence. He did not want Hokey to die before he had extracted all her secrets. Well, actually, he didn't want Hokey to die. Period. He knew that she was just a victim of Tom Riddle's manipulations as was Morfin Gaunt, and had been imprisoned unjustly. But alas, one couldn't have everything one wanted. What was that terrible saying? "If wishes were Hippogriffs..."

Barely sparing the warden a glance and a cursory nod, Albus walked into the interrogation room and closing the door, regarded the former house elf of the House of Smith. The warden was right; the elf did not have much longer to live.

Pulling his wand out, he took a deep breath and plunged into the elf's mind.

'Was your interrogation successful, Chief Warlock?' Charon asked an hour later.

'Indeed it was,' said Dumbledore sombrely. It had not taken him that long to find that one elusive memory. During his "exile" form Hogwarts the previous academic year he had spent a lot of time in Knockturn Alley in disguise. It was well known that his former student had once sought employment at Borgin and Burkes. Knowing of the establishment's reputation for finding rare artefacts, Albus could see how much the shop would appeal to Tom. After all, the young man would get to meet some very rich clients and handle rare objects. What was more, the shop had reported a great increase in business in the duration of Tom's employment as a greater number of customers came willing to sell some rare articles and heirlooms. Naturally this required further research.

Of all the customers that the shop had serviced over the years before and after Tom's employment, five had died under mysterious circumstances. Out of the five, it was the death of Hepzibah Smith that drew his interest. The death had been announced seven days before Tom had resigned and subsequently disappeared from public view. Ergo, Tom must have obtained something very valuable from Hepzibah.

It had been a simple matter of looking through old records to find out who had served as Tom's scapegoat this time round. Although, it would have happened sooner had Albus had more time on his hands.

And now, after days of searching through the elderly elf's mind, he finally found the memory he was looking for. Tom had hidden it quite well. Albus still hadn't found anything within the elf's mind that implicated the Slytherin in the murder of her master.

Albus doubted that he would ever find anything that even suggested that the elf's mind was tampered with. What was disconcerting was that even getting close to the memory had triggered a deterioration of the elf's health. Something that Albus realised belatedly had also happened to Morfin's mind. Albus always knew that Tom was gifted in the mind arts. He was a natural, a prodigy. Then again, the same could be said for all the fields of magic Tom had deigned to apply himself to.

Except transfiguration of course ... the boy was relatively hopeless at it. Sure he was good, better than most wizards. But he wasn't great. And Albus knew how much that bothered the twisted man. And one mustn't forget about the power of love. It was something that many underestimated.

Albus hoped that Harry had managed to coax the memory from Slughorn. It was vital that he found out what his old friend had told Voldemort about Horcruxes. It might give him a clue about the number the twisted monster had made.

Charon watched as the great wizard left his office. 'Damn it!' he cursed again as he remembered that he had once again forgotten to mention his suspicions regarding the Death Eaters. 'Oh well, perhaps some other time.' With that he got back to his business.

He did not realise it, but that was the exact same thing he had done every time an official from the mainland came visiting, and those words were also the exact same thing he said to himself when they left.

Harry woke up late in the morning after his impromptu binge with Draco Malfoy of all people feeling thirsty. It was the first time that he had seriously indulged in booze and he was honestly expecting to feel the effects of veisalgia, having heard about it. Instead, other than a grumbling stomach and a desire to drink a lot of water, he felt fine.

Not about to question his luck, he got up from his bed. As it was Sunday, he decided to forego his run and workout. Something he hadn't done ever since he had seen Slughorn's tainted memory. The last night had lifted his burden somewhat. Once Draco had repaired the cabinet, with Harry's help, all he would have to do is watch as Draco and the Death Eaters made short work of the headmaster. Of course, dealing with Dumbledore would not be a walk in the park. The headmaster would probably consider a ten to one duel boring. But if Harry played it right, he might be able to land a fatal blow on the old mage when his back was turned and avoid suspicion at the same time. He just needed to figure out how and when.

Harry supposed that he should feel a bit bad about doing this, but then he remembered that the old man was planning on killing him. It did alleviate the guilt somewhat.

Now all he had to do was find that diadem and a way to destroy the Horcruxes.

Entering the bathroom, he made to remove his robes but paused as his hand felt an unfamiliar weight in his pocket.

Frowning, he started emptying his pockets. Along with a few knick – knacks, he came across a piece of parchment full of untidy writing. Frowning, he looked at it trying to decipher what was written. A moment later, his expression cleared as a vague memory of Draco giving it to him came back.

Shrugging, Harry put it on the side with the other items and then searched his other pocket for the bigger item. Immediately, his hand closed in on something cold and metallic. Startled, Harry struggled to extricate the object lodged inside.

Finally he managed to get it out into the open. What he saw nearly made him drop what he was holding.

'The diadem of Ravenclaw!' he whispered to himself as he beheld the tarnished headpiece. It looked just like what he remembered from the memories. A smile broke out of his face as his body was slowly filled with excitement.

Shakily, Harry called one of his elves and handed the diadem over, instructing the elf to store it in a secure location.

Done with his ablutions, Harry descended the staircase intending to go to the Great Hall for some breakfast.

'Hey!' he cheerfully greeted Neville as he spotted the other boy in the common room. He was slightly taken aback upon seeing Susan and Daphne also sitting there, but he greeted them enthusiastically nonetheless.

'Please, sit, Harry.'

Nonplussed at Susan's grim expression, Harry sat down on the indicated sofa. 'What's going on?' he said warily as Daphne put up privacy wards.

Not answering him, his two friends and fiancé all sat down, the girls sitting on either side while Neville sat down opposite him.

After a moment of silence, Neville finally spoke up. 'Uh, Harry, are you all right?'

'Never better Nev, why?' Harry replied, puzzled at his friend's sombre face.

'It's just ...' Neville struggled for words 'Um...'

'What the dolt is trying to say,' interjected Susan irritably as she gave Neville an exasperated look that made him blush. 'Is that you haven't exactly been all right these past few weeks, so we aren't so sure that you are, in fact, to use your words "never better".'

Harry turned to look at Susan as she said this. He noticed that she too had a grim look of concern on her face.

'What do you mean?' Harry said slowly as he looked at his friends. What was going on?

'Well, Harry,' Neville began delicately. 'It's just that, the past few weeks or so, you've been ...' he trailed off.

'The words, "withdrawn", "intense", and "depressed" come to mind' said Susan rolling her eyes as she glared at Neville with a muttered 'Honestly'.

'Of course, there's also "moody", "snappy" and "distant".' Daphne who had been quiet all this time interjected helpfully, causing Harry to start and swivel around to look at her.

'Yeah, Harry, you've been running yourself ragged. We barely see you anymore and when we do you're tired.' Neville exclaimed.

'We can't see you kill yourself like this Harry.' Daphne said passionately, taking a hold of his hand. 'I understand that you are prophesised to kill The Dark Lord, and you need all the training you can get, but this is too much.'

'But ... I'm not...'

'Oh please, Harry, we've noticed that you have been disappearing to who knows where.' Neville interrupted a bit harshly. 'Well, more than usual, but you know what I mean! And even though you try to hide it, I know you are dead on your feet half the time from being up so late. Hell, I just saw you this morning, completely passed out on your bed! What's worse is that you have become rather short tempered. I've personally noticed on more than one occasion where you have nearly lost it. Not to mention how ruthless you have become in our duels. If you continue like this, I don't think we can duel without risking our lives!'

'What do you mean, "passed out"?' Susan gasped, aghast.

'I mean that he had come in well after one in the morning, I know because I waited that long before falling asleep, and this morning when I woke up, he was lying on top of his bed, fully clothed. He hadn't even taken his shoes off!' Neville said succinctly, not taking his eyes off Harry as Susan and Daphne gasped.

Harry felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment as he thought of the others looking at him passed out drunk.

'Ha, I knew it!' Susan exclaimed. Grabbing Harry's other hand in both of hers, she gave it a tug. 'You can't ignore the signs, Harry. You have been pushing yourself too hard. It has got to stop.'

'It's not what it looks like!'

'Oh?' Susan said sceptically. 'Then why were you found passed out on your bed, hm? And why did you decide to come in after one in the morning?' she looked at Harry challengingly.

'It wasn't ... I was ...' Harry sputtered trying to think of something to say. He couldn't exactly tell them that he had been out drinking with Draco Malfoy which was why he was in that state to begin with.

'And you missed yesterday's tutoring session, you know.' Daphne's words interrupted Harry's thoughts.

Harry closed his mouth and considered what his friends had just told him. They did have a point. Looking back on it, he realised that he had been rather distant and preoccupied. 'I missed the tutoring session?' he asked Daphne numbly. In answer, Daphne just nodded primly.

'And it wasn't the first time either,' she said severely. 'I've had to cover your arse twice, Potter!'

Harry grimaced. 'All right, I guess the three of you have a point,' he said slowly. 'But, at the same time, I would like to say that there is no need to worry anymore. Something amazing has happened last night, and because of that, some of the burden has been lifted. So, yeah...' he finished lamely, running out of words.

'And what is this "something"? I'm sorry, Harry, but we're going to need something more than that. How do we know that you won't be going off and doing something completely daft again?'

Harry took a deep breath and looked at his friends. His first reaction was to tell them to sod off and that it was none of their business. But then he reconsidered when he saw the look of genuine concern on each of their faces. Neville, Susan and Daphne each had become close to him over the past few months, just as close as Ron and Hermione. If he could tell Ron and Hermione about the full contents of the prophecy and about the "lessons" he had with Dumbledore and what he had learnt from them, he could tell his future wife, Neville and Susan. He could definitely trust these three.

Coming to his decision, Harry exhaled and said. 'Fine, I'll tell you. But not now ...' he gestured at their surroundings. 'Not here. We'll speak again in the evening. Is that all right?'

His friends gave him a sceptical look before acquiescing. 'Good, now, I don't know about you, but I am hungry.' Harry patted his stomach that took that moment to let out an audible rumble. Laughing, the four of them headed out towards the kitchens.

That evening, in the security of the Room of Requirement (a place that fascinated Daphne to no end) Harry told them everything. While they knew that there was a prophecy concerning Harry and Voldemort, they did not know its full wording. Harry then told them about Dumbledore's "lessons" and Tom Riddle's history. At first he thought of telling them the full truth; that he knew of the Horcruxes, what they were and how he had come to this knowledge. But then he held back at the last moment, sticking to the story that he had to extract the true memory from Slughorn. He did not feel that they would be able to handle the whole truth. No, that fact would be kept to himself.

'So let me get this straight,' said Neville finally. 'You are the only person who can get rid of the darkest Dark Lord in wizarding history and Dumbledore's solution to helping you is to take you on trips down memory lane?' seeing Harry nod, he exhaled violently. 'Is the man insane?'

'I think that Dumbledore has a valid reason to do that,' said Susan. 'After all, it is important that you know about You Know Who's past and what makes him tick so you know how he thinks and how to take him down.'

'True,' Harry conceded. 'I think that Slughorn's memory would be the key to finding Voldemort's weakness. But you have to admit, Susan, I also do need to know how to bring the bastard down. And Voldemort has a lot of experience. So Dumbledore could at least teach me how to fight him properly instead of letting me fend for myself. After all, I have seen those two at it. And Dumbledore is more than capable of defeating Voldemort. It's only due to the prophecy that he can't.

'And it isn't as if he does not have the time. These lessons I have with the headmaster are infrequent with large gaps between them. While I know he is a busy man, at the very least he could give me some books or tell me about some spells that I can practise. Yet he hasn't done that.'

'But why would he do something like that?' Daphne asked, puzzled. 'It's almost as if he isn't interested in your survival.'

'You would be right about that.' Harry said darkly.

'Why would he want that?'

Harry looked at Neville incredulously. 'Why do you think?' he asked as if the answer were obvious.

Neville sat there a moment looking at Harry before he spoke. 'No, Harry ... We agreed she was barmy, remember?'

'We did not agree on any such thing. We agreed that we wouldn't talk about it. You just speculated that she was addled.'

'Sorry, but who are you talking about?' Susan interjected, confused.

'Bathilda Bagshot,' Harry replied. 'You know, the Bathilda Bagshot, author of a History of Magic? Sweet old lady, lives in Godric's Hollow, knew my parents.'

'Also stark raving mad and living under the delusion that Dumbledore is secretly a Dark Lord who made Grindlewald a dark wizard.' Neville spoke over Harry.

'Anyway, that's not what I am talking about.' Harry said dismissively. 'No, I am looking at the evidence so far.' He paused as he collected his thoughts. 'I think you all know how much I hate those Muggles I had been staying with?' seeing them nod, he continued, 'Well, what you probably don't know is that I ended up with them thanks to Dumbledore. Also, another unknown fact is that he left me out in the fucking cold like a bottle of milk in November! I was just a few months over one year old and he saw fit to leave me outside on the stoop, in the cold, in the dead of the night with nothing but a blanket and a letter! He did not even have the courtesy of going there during normal hours to talk to them first. It's like he didn't care what happens to me, or perhaps he was hoping I would die from pneumonia or something. I mean, what are the chances that a one year old can survive the cold?

'And that isn't accounting for how my so-called relatives treated me. I won't go into the details, but my life there was hell.' Harry took a deep breath to reign in his emotions. 'At times I marvel at the fact that I managed to survive ten years there ... but the best bit is that Dumbledore had me watched all those years! One of his spies was even my babysitter for crying out loud!

'None of them did anything to help me. What was more, that babysitter of mine actually had the gall to tell me that she had to keep me miserable at her house to ensure that the Dursleys didn't get suspicious. So not only did she prove that she knew, but she didn't do a shit thing.' Harry's voice trembled in anger at remembering what Mrs Figg had told him. Taking another deep breath he then continued calmly. 'Of course, then we have my first year. Remember at the end of the year how the three of us saved the Philosopher's stone? Well, here's a fun fact: All those traps that were standing between Ron, Hermione and I and the stone were a joke! Any one of us could get through them. Hell, three first-years got through them with ease! Slughorn himself said that one of the more effective of the obstacles was easy to get through!

'And between then and now, Dumbledore did nothing whatsoever to train me. He didn't even tell me why Voldemort was after me, keeping me ignorant about something that important. Hell, he never told me about my family vaults, where my parents were buried or about my family heritage. And he was supposed to be my magical guardian! And when he was finally forced to reveal the prophecy to me, instead of finally getting off his wrinkly old arse, he starts these glorified movie nights and calls them "lessons". So at best he doesn't care about me or my life, and at worse he actually wants me dead, but is too cowardly to do it himself. I even wonder if he had orchestrated all those events from Second year all the way to Fifth year as well.

'Of course, he could also be playing these games to manipulate me to further some nefarious scheme of his where he uses my popularity to boost his standing with the public. But I doubt that, since he already is pretty famous by himself.'

The room was silent for a while as Neville, Susan and Daphne digested what Harry had said. Finally Susan spoke up. 'It certainly seems that way,' she began slowly. 'But are you sure you aren't reading too much into this, Harry? After all, the man has done quite a few great things for Wizarding Britain. He was the rallying point in the first war against You Know Who, and still is now.'

Harry sat back, closed his eyes and replied tiredly, 'Susan, I assure you I have thought about this for quite a while, and I'm afraid that I cannot come up with another reason for why he did what he did, or why he continues to do what he is doing with regard to me. Of course, if you have another theory, please do share. I seriously wouldn't mind. Anything is better than this.' Opening his eyes, he looked at Susan inquiringly. Seeing her shake her head, he let his head fall back as he chuckled quietly, 'I thought so. And no, I don't want to go and talk to him about it. If my hunch about him is right (which I assure you it is) then it is likely that he will not react favourably.'

The room lapsed into silence again. 'So what do you plan to do about it?' Daphne asked Harry finally.

Harry was silent for so long that Daphne was about to ask again. Finally, with a shrug Harry replied. 'I will continue as normal. Of course, I will cut back a bit on the training. But at the same time, I am going to keep an eye out. That old bastard isn't going to be sticking me into another life threatening situation again.'

The next morning at breakfast, the Great Hall was treated to a show after breakfast to lift the Monday blues.

'Romilda, oh, Romilda,' the squeaky high pitched voice of a first-year drew the attention of some of the Gryffindors sitting nearby.

'My sweet, fair, Romilda,' another boy, this time a second year, cut in.

'Oi, bugger off, I saw her first!'

'No I won't you little titch! And you better watch that mouth of yours before I hex it off!'

'What's going on?' the girl in question asked slightly fearfully, nervously glancing at the two younger boys and the growing interest she was engendering. The past few weeks had not been good on her. Initially nobody had known about the love potion mishap, but that was ruined soon enough. While the teachers thought that being impaled on her own sword was punishment enough, they still had informed her parents. And her mother felt that a good scolding was in order. Thanks to the resultant Howler, the whole school knew that Romilda had tried to dose someone with a Love Potion. While it wasn't known who she had tried it on (thankfully professor McGonagall had decided not to pursue the investigation seeing as all evidence of the potion had mysteriously disappeared) the fact that she had ingested her own love potion was funny enough for her peers. And so, she had been the butt of many a joke. Most of which were terrible ones involving her last name.

At the sound of her voice, the two boys who were fighting suddenly perked up and turned toward her with bright grins on their faces.

'Romilda! Your voice is so beautiful!' said the older student in what he thought was a suave voice.

'I got you a frog!' said the younger one, taking the amphibian out and practically shoving it under her face.

Romilda stared at the frog for a long moment, transfixed. The spell was broken when the frog gave a loud croak, causing her to shriek at the top of her lungs.

'Idiot, she doesn't like frogs!' the second year could be heard loud and clear in the now suddenly silent hall as every eye was focused in the general vicinity of the scene. Crossly cuffing the younger boy on the head, the twelve year old said. 'I heard that she likes spiders!' with that he turned to her and reached into his pocket. 'Check this baby out ... babe!'

With that smooth line, he removed a particularly large spider that looked even larger on his small palm.

'Get it away from me! Get it away from me!' Romilda shrieked as she scrambled away from both the boys and up the table. Still screaming, she ran across the table, paying no heed to where her feet landed in a desperate bid to get away from the creepy slimy things.

'Wait, come back!' Both the boys called out as they gave chase.

The Hall was silent for a moment before somebody snorted. This set off the rest of the students as conversation began with renewed fervour, with quite a bit of laughter mixed in.

Unnoticed by their friends, Daphne simply smiled blandly at Neville's narrow – eyed glare.

'I cannot believe you,' Neville muttered under his breath later that week. He was pretty cross with Daphne by now, and with good reason. The week had become more interesting, much to Romilda's misfortune and everyone else's general amusement. By lunch the next day, she had five third – years clamouring for her attention and following her like little lost puppies.

After that, Romilda was inundated with gifts at random times from "secret admirers" which turned out to be an assortment of various amphibians, reptiles, and insects.

Things had finally come to a head by the end of the week when the poor girl received a particularly inventive box of maggots that had been charmed to violently regurgitate its contents the minute it was within range of the recipient.

'I don't know what you are talking about Neville.' Daphne said coolly as she watched her fiancé practically gasping with laughter as Romilda Vane made her exit pulling at the maggots that had got into her hair.

She looked like really enjoyed my gift, Daphne allowed a sinister smirk to play on her face as she thought of the box of maggots that had just exploded in Vane's face.

'You can't just dose all those poor kids with Love Potion! That's just cruel, it is!' Neville whispered furiously. Unable to contain his curiosity, he added, 'How did you manage to get enough to dose so many throughout the week?' He grimaced when he realised that he had asked that question out loud.

'Oh, I broke all those spiked Cauldron Cakes into little pieces and sprinkled them into the pudding.' Daphne said serenely. 'So it was a mild dose. Not enough for Vane to get stalkers, but still enough to cause her ... some discomfort. And a note anonymously suggesting that Vane loves all those animals got her those little gifts.' She smirked. 'Oh come on, Longbottom, admit it! You found it funny!'

'It isn't funny!' said Neville. He had to grit his teeth as he said it because he found (much to his horror) that a guffaw was begging to be let out.

'If you say so, Neville, if you say so ...' said Daphne with an enigmatic smile.