A/N: Say whaaaatt!? I know… Please read the authors note at the end.

Part 3

Wednesday September 9th, 1998 – 7:55 a.m. (GMT-4)/12:55 p.m. (GMT+0)

-1 hour to go

Potion Status: Complete

I stared at her, unable to move or even take the note back from her. I chanced a glance at Harry, who had resorted to staring at his feet as he shuffled nervously.

Looking back to Hermione, I studied her face. She was angry. I knew I had hurt her feelings long before she had hurt mine. I knew this. I just… had a hard time admitting it. My brows furrowed in my own anger, but not at her. At myself. She didn't need to explain to me what she was talking about, because I remembered. I remembered every chance I took to look like an eternal asshole. Going as far as to look like human garbage by taking her and her friends out at the knees every chance I had, even when I hadn't wanted to, and all while they were trying to save everyone. And all because I'd been too afraid to do anything but.

But oh, how things could have be different if I could explain these things to her...

I snatched the paper out of her hand, and reached up to rip it into as many pieces as I could before losing my grip in aggravation as she watched me, hate in her eyes. She backed away as I reached for her, but I was faster, taking her face in my hands to force her to look at me.

She hit my arms once, twice in an attempt to get me to let her go before she opened her teary eyes to look up at me, and I must have succeeded in telling her how sorry I was without speaking, for she stopped her slaps.

With my eyes I apologized for everything, which was perfect for me because it was unlikely I'd ever be able to say it aloud, even though I had wanted to so many times in the past year. I projected my sorrow, and my regret, and my own sadness, as I forced our eyes to stay locked on each other, and when she seemed to quit resisting she noticeably exhaled, her eyes closing as she began to breathe again.

A tear slipped down her cheek and I wiped it away with my thumb, leaning forward to kiss her where the wet streak remained.

Her eyes opened as I pulled away from her, letting go of her as I stepped back, taking my place next to Harry who had not intervened during our interaction.

The witch looked from me to Harry, and I finally chanced looking at him myself. He was staring at Hermione, and I watched as the two had a conversation without words. Theirs went much in the same way mine and Hermione's had, without the physicality, and when they were done, their flitting eyes- which had alternated between them and me for a good twenty seconds- both turned to face me at once.

For a second I thought I was going to get beat up, especially when Hermione took a step towards me while lifting her arms. But when she wrapped her arms around my neck to pull me down to kiss her on the lips, a different fear hit me.

What about Harry?

I pulled away from her- and believe me when I say I didn't actually want to- and I looked from her to Harry, from Harry to her, and jumped when the Man Who Lived took a step towards me, only for him to put his hand behind my neck to pull me into a kiss next.

(*)

Tuesday September 8th, 1998 – 5:15 a.m. (GMT-4)/10:15 a.m. (GMT+0)

26 hours to go

Potion Status: Brewing

It took some time, but Hermione and I were finally sitting at the table with some food and a bottle of Firewhisky I had Called from home, both of us watching the potion brew and Harry heal.

After the salve had finished brewing, only minutes after the witch and I had returned from the scene of the Lethifold attack, I cast a cooling charm before I transferred some into two small bowls, one for each of us so that she and I could both begin rubbing the salve on Harry's wounds, which spanned from his Achilles' to the nape of his neck.

Hermione stood to his left, between the canvas wall and the cot, and I stood on the opposite side. She started on his feet, me at his neck, and when she reached his naked bum she said, "Nice arse, Harry."

"You're welcome," came his quiet, mumbled reply. His face was turned and partially covered in my pillow.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, a smile taking her face as she fell from where she'd been sitting on the cot onto her knees, moving to be near his face. I'd been so lost in studying the contours of the muscles in his lower back where I worked the salve, completely avoiding eyeing his "nice arse", that I had been surprised at hearing him finally speak. "Hi, love," she said in relief as she pushed the hair from his eyes. "You were attacked by a Lethifold. Malfoy and I are healing you."

"Huh…" he hummed, then asked, "Is that why I'm getting an arse massage?" Hermione grinned, and I shook my head with a small smile of my own, because he was even cheeky after something tried to eat him. "If that's healing, I'll take more of it. Wait. Was Malfoy the one doing it?"

I scoffed, saying, "I'm working on your back. Keep dreaming, Potter." I kept working, for I was almost done. Which technically meant I was close to his arse, but I had been forcing my eyes from wandering to the arse that was, indeed, so very nice. I'd been mostly successful until Hermione had mentioned it.

"Am I dreaming?" Harry asked Hermione.

"No. You're awake," she assured. "And guess what? We're brewing the mystery potion. It should be ready by 4:00 tomorrow morning."

"Wicked," he said with a faint smile. "What time is it?" He apparently couldn't move too much, for he didn't lift his arm to check the watch I never removed. It hadn't been damaged in the attack, and there weren't any wounds near it, so I let it be.

Hermione checked the face, however, and answered, "It's almost five a.m."

"So- we're still ahead of schedule?"

I had to give a small smile at his question, because I had to speculate the amount of time the two had been attached at the hip for him to have such a swotty concern at present. Years, obviously.

The witch grinned at him, and confirmed happily, "Yes. We're still ahead of schedule."

"Put her there," he said, nodding backwards as much as his injuries allowed, and her grin turned a little devious as she reached down and smacked him on the arse.

I closed my eyes as I drew a deep, stabilizing breath, recoiling as I willed my mind not head down the road too often travelled, and I asked with a frown, "Could the happy couple please avoid any further public displays of affection until the end of the feature? Thank you."

"He feels left out," Harry said easily, as if it was just so fucking obvious that I was. I frowned, and he said with a cheeky- no pun intended- tone, "Go ahead, Malfoy. Have a go."

I avoided looking at both of them as I set the bowl on the bed just above his right hip, saying, "He's obviously going to be fine. You can finish this without me."

I summoned my wand and then enlarged the broom from my pocket as I made for the door, Granger asking my back, "Going for a fly?"

"Yes," I answered as I lifted the door flap with the back of my hand and exited the tent.

From my place by the door I mounted my broom and kicked off, flying up above the trees, above the small mountain to hover high above the island to look down upon the small patch of land surrounded by an expanse of black and blue nothingness. I slowly spun my broom around in a circle, staring out over the ocean, but did not fail to notice the clouds that were accumulating in the south. There was a quick flash from within the black Cumulus, and I sighed.

"Great," I grumbled, silently wishing the storm wasn't moving towards us. That would mean I would have to stay confined in the tent with Hogwarts', officially unofficial, King and Queen… with their flirting… and their nudity. And I couldn't handle any of that at the moment.

The last thing I wanted was to be forced to stay in an enclosed space with two people I wanted to shag, but never could.

I'd been fighting the urges I had to approach either of them for some time now. Perhaps longer than I realized. The both of them were amazing in my eyes, to everyone, but they had chosen each other. I figured it was only right. It was obvious to me they were perfect for each other. It was probably obvious to everyone else, too…

Where did I fit into the Granger/Potter equation?

Oh yes. That's right. Malfoy…

I was no part of that, had no part in it, and I never would, and Harry's toying with me, mixed with what Hermione had said at the rocks, were a constant reminder of what I wanted, and yet would never attain. And Slytherins like being able to attain the things they 's a thing. So you could imagine my frustration.

For twenty or thirty minutes I sat on my broom, watching the storm slowly grow closer, before I descended back to the tent door. I took a deep breath before opening the flap, moving straight to the potion to have a look. From my peripherals I saw Hermione sitting on the edge of my cot next to Harry, running her fingers through his hair lightly.

At first I hadn't heard her singing, but as I stood at the stove I heard her words, quiet, soft and slow.

"I was swimmin' in the Caribbean,

The animals were hiding behind the rock.

But they told me, he swears,

Trying to talk to me koi koy.

Where is my mind?

Where is my mind?

Where is my mind?"

She began to hum the rest, but never looked up, not even as I cleaned the stove and began to cook the meal we now shared in silence.

Once we were settled into our awkward meal, I silently offered her a drink of Firewhisky by holding the bottle out to her. She took it from me with some timidity before setting it to her lips and taking a drink, and she shuddered lightly as she pulled it away, set it down, and slid it back across the table next to my plate.

"Too strong?" I asked her, a brow lifted in inquisition.

"A little," she admitted, averting her eyes from me to take a bite, more than likely willing the taste of the liquor away. "I never had an easy time with alcohol."

"No more for you then," I said, grabbing the bottle to move it to the opposite side of my plate away from her. I then summoned the jug of pumpkin juice from the fridge to appear beside her water before Conjuring a glass flute.

She lifted a brow at me, saying, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I answered.

She poured herself a glass full and took a drink of the orange liquid before asking, "Do you want to take the first watch or should I?"

The instructions for the mystery potion stated that said potion was to be brewed on low heat, and it was to be stirred clockwise three times and four times counterclockwise once every hour for 22 hours.

"Get some sleep, Granger," I said, taking a drink from the whisky. "I can stand a couple of more hours."

"Ok," she said. A minute passed, then she added, "Thank you," once more.

"For what?" I asked. There were a number of things she could do so for, and I was curious as to which instance she referred.

"For"- she took a deep sigh, then exhaled- "dinner. For fixing the Lyre Bush and healing Harry. For helping us with the test… Need I go on?"

"Oh. Please do," I said with a smirk.

She frowned deeply.

"Fine," I said, my smirk lessening though never leaving. "I'll take that. You're welcome."

We went back to eating, and after a few bites she continued being Hermione Granger, asking me yet another question.

"How long have you been cooking? This is good."

I looked up to her as I answered, "I've never tried it before. But, I am like you in the way that I pick things up here and there. And thank you."

Instead of giving me a "You're welcome", she asked, "So your aristocratic arse can cast a multitude of cooking charms, but not a Patronus?" My jaw tightened at this, and in my pause she said with smirk, "I bet it's anything but a dragon."

I almost fell into her trap, the witch, my face first attempting to fall into a scowl before I trained it into a smile as I countered, "I think it's a Capybara."

She laughed.

She gave me an open-mouthed smile and a genuine laugh.

I couldn't stop my grin at seeing her happy, because now I was the reason her smile lit up the tent.

"Oh my, God," she said as she stopped laughing. "Now I have to know what it is!"

"When I figure it out," I said, "I'll tell you.

With this I was trying to deflect her from trying to get me to attempt the spell. There was no way I was going to try with her around. The most I'd ever gotten was a glow not half as bright as a Lumos, then it would fizzle and die.

A metaphor for my life, ladies and gentlemen.

"Have you ever heard of Peter Pan?" she asked instead of pushing me any further on the Patronus.

I furrowed my brow as I tried to recall the name, asking, "Is he a Hufflepuff?"

She gave a small chortle, then clarified, "No. He's a fictional character from a Muggle child's tale."

"Well that explains everything, now, doesn't it?" I drawled in return.

"You just said you picked things up. I was just making sure that wasn't one of them," she replied simply. I shrugged at this, consenting to her train of thought, and she continued,

"In the story, Peter Pan lives in another world, or, what I like to call, another dimension." I nodded at this, for I followed perfectly. "He flies, because he can fly, you see, too and from his dimension to ours to listen to mums tell their children bedtime stories. He memorizes them, and takes them back to his world where he tells his friends and brothers in arms the stories at their bed time."

I opened my mouth to ask her what the bloody fuck she was on about, but she lifted her hand as she leaned over and put it over my mouth. She knew me all too well. Not only did I shut up, but I was so shocked by her touching me that I remained extra quiet, and still.

She went on as she pulled away, "In the world they live in, Peter's friends, who are orphan boys that have been taken from our world to Peter's, don't grow up. They stay young forever. They call themselves Lost Boys. These boys were afraid to grow up, you see, and Peter, who was just a boy himself, coaxed them to leave their orphanages to live with him in a world where the burdens of aging and adulthood never reach them, and they are able to have fun all day battling pirates and the natives.

"To be able to travel there, however, they must fly. A sure fire way was using pixie dust." She held her hand up to quiet me again, because I'd come back to my senses and was going to attempt another question, this time about the pixies. I obliged her silent request, save next time she went to quiet me was with her fist, and she continued, "Peter's best friend is a pixie, and with her help he was able to get the boys to their new home. But, there was one stipulation with the pixie dust. After having it sprinkled on them, they had to think happy thoughts."

"Ah," I said, cutting her off for sure this time. "I see where this is going."

And here I thought she'd changed the subject.

Wrong!

"Do you?" she asked, feigning innocence, though I knew the woman hadn't had her innocence in some time. She was still kindly in most ways, but she was hardened by the world and the burdens it had cast upon her.

She then said, "Enlighten me."

"You're trying to get me to cast a Patronus, and that's not happening, Granger."

"Why not?"

"Because I am not a Lost Boy. Never had I ever wanted to be anything but a grown up. I have moments of immaturity, but I never really had a choice in my wanting to be older. My parents wanted it, and I wanted it because they did. Then I wanted to grow up for another reason, because doing so would lift some of the weight off of my shoulders of constantly being under my father's scrutiny." She frowned at me with a lifted brow.

"Granted," I went on, stealing her own move and lifting my hand to silence her, "in most cases this is just called rebellion… Naivety, even. Would you call my want to balk against my father simple insubordination?"

The hardened witch I earlier mentioned was back as she replied with a lowered tone, "That depends on your motives for wanting to balk against him in the first place. Surely it wasn't for basic human rights."

I sighed, not really sure that there was a way for me to explain myself without saying something utterly pointless in her mind, or perhaps digging myself into some hole that ended with her burying me in it, so I tried to go about my answer in the best way possible.

"There are no memories strong enough for me to cast the spell. All the ones I had, the ones of my father teaching me how to charm my hair and do minor alterations on my clothes to be perfectly tailored, are all shadowed by the fact that he's a cunt. All memories of my mum taking me to galleries and holidays, and of either of them reading me bedtime stories, are overshadowed by all of the memories of the nights I spent in that same room this past two years. Nothing works, ok? But, whenever I get the chance to change that, you'll be one of the first to know, because I'm pretty sure you're the only one who even cares."

She nodded at me, then stood, saying, "I thought you'd say as much… So I guess you did get where I was going with that." She turned and moved to her bunk, sitting on the edge and kicking off her shoes as she went on, "There has to be something good enough for you to use… That, or stop fighting it, Malfoy, because I want to see that Capybara."

I gave her a small smile, glad that she'd actually come off it and seemed less stern, and shook my head as I said, "I'll think about. Goodnight, Granger."

She climbed under her sheet, saying, "Goodnight, Mr. Darling."

I frowned at her in confusion, asking, "What?"

She ignored this, though, and asked, "Have you ever heard of "The Secret Garden? There's a character in the book I think you'd really identify with."

"No. And, no, before you go asking, I do not want to hear about it," I said. I really didn't.

"Suit yourself, Lord Collin."

(*)

Tuesday September 8th, 1998 – 3:00 p.m. (GMT-4)/8:00 p.m. (GMT+0)

16 hours to go

Potion Status: Brewing

(Potion complete in 13 hours)

Hermione and I traded off sleeping, she getting three hours before I laid down for three of my own. By the time I'd been able to go to sleep I'd stirred the potion four times, and unsuccessfully cast my Patronus twenty. I'd even tried using the memory of Hermione laughing at my Capybara joke, and though the light of the spell was brighter than ever before, nothing more came of it.

By the end I was frustrated, because I came to the conclusion for the millionth time that I had never been truly happy before, and if I had, it had been erased to make room for utter rubbish.

I was wishing for a giant rodent by the end of my watch, though I still would have been pissed if a fucking ferret came running from the end of my wand.

I awoke to the storm I'd seen growing closer as I'd practiced; it now beating a steady rain against the canvas walls. At sitting up, my mind moved from the storm to the witch- I was to relieve Hermione from her post- and I found her rubbing salve into Harry's back.

I hoped to Hades that she'd already gotten to his arse as I asked, "Has he woken up again?"

The man had slept soundly the entire time I'd watched over him.

"Hey, Malfoy," Harry answered for the witch.

"Hey, Potter," I said, standing from the cot and stepping into my trousers, zipping them up and buckling my belt as I walked over to check on the progress of the skin-gro. We'd all gotten over our modesty once Harry laid around naked for ten hours. Hermione had surprisingly stripped out of her clothes before laying down, even after our awkward moment at the stove. I'd half wanted to throw a frustrated fit, and half wanted to take her there on the cot.

Harry sleeping on the cot a meter away deterred me.

He looked much better, though. Not totally healed, but his skin was closed and what would have been scars if left untreated- like all of the other ones he had- were dark pink as the dittany did its work. I said, "I'm going to let Granger get some more sleep. You look much better. Are you feeling better?"

"Merlin!" Harry exclaimed. "I like him so much more since this test started. He's so friendly when you're working with him towards the same goal," Harry commented and I raised a brow at the witch who chose to look up at me with light frown.

She then said, "Quite," before turning her lowered gaze from mine.

Hermione was giving me whiplash, to say the least. She wasn't amused at Harry's observation, but I couldn't say I was happy with it, either.

"Give him more potion?" I asked her.

"Yes," she said. "He's high as a giraffe's bollocks."

Harry gave the dumbest chuckle I had ever heard, and I had spent every waking moment for years with Crabbe and Goyle.

"But there's only one more dose," she said, ignoring her boyfriend's giggles. "He's looking much better."

"He is," I agreed with a nod. "Alright, Granger. Hit the sack."

Harry giggled again.

The witch rolled her eyes as she wandlessly cast a Scourgify on her hands, then turned to me to say, "Ok. But make sure his surly arse doesn't try and get up."

"You can't tell me what to do, woman!" Harry declared.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry," the witch commanded evenly without even blinking.

He did.

"Ok," she began, grabbing Harry's arm to check his watch for the time. "The potion needs to be stirred in 54 minutes."

"Got it," I said as she stood and walked towards me and the bunk bed. She began to undress, hanging her shirt and skirt on the metal frame before using the ladder to climb into her bed. I didn't care to continue watching her once her shirt came off, only listening to her as I kept my eyes on Harry's back.

When she was settled in, she said, "You talk in your sleep, Malfoy."

"Lovely," I said, knowing that my conscious statements got me into enough trouble already. "Did I say anything interesting? Incriminating, perhaps?"

"Yeah," she answered, pulling her sheet up to her shoulders as she snuggled into the cot. "I can't recall all of it, for most of it was nonsense, but there was something about Lethifolds being cunts, and something about Harry's arse."

"I heard it too," the man with the cute arse said, his voice still muffled where it was halfway stuffed into a pillow.

"Liars," I accused, my brows knitting and my heart rate picking up in my embarrassment. I moved from Harry to the fridge for some water, anything to distract myself and keep me from making eye contact.

"Nope," they chorused, and Harry added, "I mustn't tell lies."

"Well- I'm obviously scarred from this morning," I attempted rather lamely. It wasn't a lie, though. I would never forget what it looked like watching Hermione Granger give Harry Potter an arse massage. Not ever. It was a scar, just of a different variety.

"Whatever. Goodnight," Hermione said, and rolled over.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked, turning to look at both of their backs, already very annoyed at the subject. "I was sleeping. I have no control over what I say while I'm sleeping."

"Dreaming about Harry's arse, more like," the witch muttered.

Harry chuckled again.

"Merlin. Can you just drop it?" I snapped. I was attempting to keep my cool, because now I knew how Hermione felt when I talked about her bush. Her earlier anger was suddenly justified to me.

I turned from them so that neither could see the color in my face if either chose to roll over and look at me. They didn't. They dropped it.

Nothing else was said for a while. Hermione went to sleep, and I assumed Harry had too until almost an hour passed and he asked me, "Is she awake?"

I jumped in my place at the table where I had been reviewing all of the potions Hermione bookmarked that included our ingredients, all done while Harry and I had been sleeping.

Hermione didn't say anything as I waited to see if she moved after hearing Harry's voice, and I answered him, "I guess she is."

"Check, would you?" the Gryff wizard pushed.

I sighed in annoyance, asking in an even tone, "Granger? Are you sleeping?"

Nothing.

"I think she's out," I stated.

Harry shifted his head and turned to look at me, then chanced a glance back at Hermione before going up onto shaking hands and knees. I watched him teeter, and I was up out of my seat and helping him sit at the edge of the cot in a millisecond, readily ignoring the glimpses of skin I got to see while doing so.

We settled on the cot, and he took in a deep breath as he leaned forward on his elbows, exhaling and saying, "Merlin, I am so happy I landed face-down."

I grinned at him, shaking my head as I said, "Potter. You never told me you were secretly funny."

"Tell me you wouldn't feel the same."

"You caught me. I'd feel the same."

"I see you and Hermione made it out without getting hurt."

"Yeah. Lucky for you."

"Indeed."

"It doesn't hurt to sit?"

"Nah. I mean, yeah, but I've had worse."

"I'm sure. And much worse if your curse scars are any indication," I agreed, my eyes scanning the zigging and zagging and swirling red/pink scars that covered the majority of what I could see of him.

"Have you seen the best one?" he asked, turning his chest to me. I got a good look at what it was Hermione's hand had been hiding the first day: a scar that was eerily similar in size and pattern as the lighting-bolt on his forehead, though slightly longer and more exaggerated.

"Madness!" I exclaimed, reaching out to touch it without even thinking. My fingers only lingered a second or two before I pulled away sharply.

"It's all good," he excused as he noticed me stiffen as I pulled away. "It is pretty gnarly."

"Did"- I almost didn't ask this- "Did it hurt?"

We all knew he was Harry Potter, the Man Who Lived Twice. I had just never thought about him getting another scar. I'd been taken by the thought of it immediately.

"No, mate. I learned long ago that death is painless. It's life that hurts," the wizened young wizard said.

"But being dead doesn't make things any easier," I said.

He gave me a strange look, a tilt of his head, and he said, "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice?"

"What?" I asked him, brows scrunched. "Was- that a potion ingredient?"

Harry gave a smile and a shake of his head, accompanied with a "Nevermind. It's a Muggle thing," before he ran his hand through his wild hair. A second or six ticked by before he finally said, "Thank you, Draco. You, quite literally, saved my arse."

I exhaled loudly and dropped my chin to my chest before asking, "Can we not talk about your arse, or Granger's bush, anymore?"

Though I wasn't looking at him I could hear the smile in his voice as he said, "Yeah. If you're struggling that bad with it."

I frowned, mumbling, "I am."

"Sorry," he said. "We're only joking."

"Well it isn't funny."

"And why is that?"

"Because it's disturbing," I said honestly.

"Whatever," he said, leaning back on his palms, which only aided in me being able to appreciate the length of his torso, down to where the sheet had slipped low on his hips at his movement, showing the tell-tale bulge of his package below the thin fabric.

I abruptly stood, making my way back to the books and my seat. I began to peruse the pages again, to distract myself and quell the blood rushing through my extremities, as he Summoned a bottle of water from the counter.

He took a long drink from it before asking, "Find anything at all useful in those books yet?"

"Maybe. Out of all of the potions Hermione marked, three of them stand out to me. A mind-healing potion, a muting potion, and a crazy form of Felix. I'm starting to think that McG found a potion one can make in dozens of different ways, and gave us a variation we'd be unable to pin-point, because, believe it or not, our sterling reputations are built on a shifty foundation of rule-breaking. She probably assumed we'd go looking for the answer, even if she told us not to."

"I have no reason to doubt that. Not in the slightest," he consented, then mused, "A mind-healing draught, a muting potion, and Felix… Why would we need to take any of those?"

"She's either saying we're fucked in the mind, we need to shut the fuck up, or we need more luck than we've already got," I broke down for him.

"Hm… Why would we need more luck?"

"I don't know. Like I said, we seem to have a pretty good amount already."

"Do we need to shut the fuck up?"

"Everyone needs to shut the fuck up from time to time."

"Are we fucked in the mind?"

"Do you even need to ask that?"

"Hm…" he hummed again. He then stood, taking hold of the sheet to wrap it around his waist, and towel tucking it, making his way to the fridge to look for food.

When he bent low, and I could see the definitive outline of his sack through the damnable sheet, I felt another heat rush through my body, and I quickly turned to look back at my book.

(*)

Wednesday, September 8th, 1998 – 4:00 p.m. GMT-4/ 9:00 a.m. GMT+0

"What... is this?! Is it supposed to be music?!" I asked loudly, a frown of fear and disgust lining my features from chin to crown.

"Shush!" Harry retorted with his own frown of light annoyance. "Just listen you… judgmental- toss."

The song played on for about twenty more seconds before my jaw dropped at the lyrics, and I looked to Harry, incredulous, to ask, "Fuck the police?"

The bespectacled man rolled his eyes at me, then said with a small smirk, "My cousin, Dudley, who I swear you'd get along with if he weren't a Muggle-"

"What? I have nothing against Muggles," I countered quickly. He ignored me with expert ease, because he knew I was lying. I just figured that, perhaps, one day, if I said it enough, I would mean it.

"- went through this hip-hop faze in sixth year, so I've listened to a lot of this."

I furrowed my brows as I asked, "Is that who you're Calling these records from, Potter?"

After teaching the man the Calling spell, which I'd told him about during my explanation of all of the potions I'd taken a few moments to store, he'd decided to start Calling all of records from their place at Grimmauld.

He gave me that mischievous smirk that confused me; slap him or fuck him? I somehow managed to refrain from doing either as I turned away muttering in exasperation, "I swear, you and Granger break more laws than my father, and that is saying something."

"Noted," he admitted. "However, we do things in the name of Good. Not Evil."

"You mean to say that this hip-hop isn't Evil?" I asked, though I was joking.

"It isn't. It's fucking good. And be careful with your words, Malfoy." He teased me. "This is the music of Hermione's people." He nodded to the dark-skinned woman who slept under the umbrella of a silencing charm only a meter away. "Her parents, despite their lineage, don't appreciate it. So, over the summer while we were hanging out in Grimmauld Place, we played hip-hop only. We also watched a lot of movies, but mostly we listened to rap. For, like, two straight months. The three of us. Ron lives there too, kind of. You know, back and forth between there and The Burrow. But the three of us know every word to this song, and… I don't know…" His face became distant, and all apprehension for the vulgar music went out the door when he finished,

"It was the first really, really good time the three of us have had in awhile. We were pissed off our arses. Drunk as hell. Even Hermione." He smiled here, and I did the same, especially after the witch's earlier admission to disliking the effects of alcohol. "We got into the beat and started jumping all over the living room. All over the couches and the chairs… It was like we were just three delinquent teens thrashing some run-down house we were squatting in. It felt reckless, like we like it" – I couldn't help but laugh here- "but safe. It was just a good time, and so I can't help but enjoy it when I have that memory."

"I won't say anything about it, then," I said, understanding him entirely. My mates and I may have seemed harsh and boring, but only to those outside of our circle. Once you were one of us, well… Let's just say there's never a dull moment.

"Is it really that terrible?" he asked me, looking let down.

My eyes went a little wide as I thought of the lyrics I was listening to, before saying, "It isn't my preferred cup of tea."

Harry nodded, then went up on his knees to remove the needle from the record and put it away. The two of us sat on the circular rug near the table, the record-player that I Conjured was before us on the floor. He'd insisted I sit right next to him, and, since I'm not completely stupid, I didn't fight it. I sat down beside him, and then the two of us began to "hang out" for the first time ever.

"I can live with that," he nodded. "Let's try something a little closer to home, shall we?"

With a slight wave of his hand, a new record appeared. He removed the record from the dust sleeve with practiced precision, then inspected it for scratches before pulling his wand from his pocket and repairing the damage he saw. He then set it on the platter and replaced the needle. He sat back down beside me, his arm touching my own, and yet neither of us moved, before the next song began to play.

I must admit that I was apprehensive. I had no idea what the unkillable, crazy bastard had in store for me if hip-hop had been his first choice when it came to him introducing me to Muggle music. However, the new track that began to play was instantly pleasing to my ears, so I sat still and quiet to take it all in.

After over a minute I finally asked, "Now who is this? They're fantastic."

"This is a song named "Whole Lotta Love" by an old-school band from London. Led Zeppelin."

"Hm," I said agreeingly, nodding my head to the beat, loving the guitar's wail.

"I'll let you listen to some blokes from Liverpool in a bit, but you always save the best for last. We'll also be listening to Michael Jackson around the same time."

"Michael Jackson? Is he from England?"

"Nope," was his quick answer. "No idea where he's from exactly. Could be Mars. I'll show you a picture some time. Not right now, though, because that's not our main focus. Next will be Pink Floyd. Ever heard of them?"

"Nope," I answered quickly.

"The Who?"

"Who?"

"Rolling Stones?"

"Uh..."

"Queen?"

"No idea who she is," I said.

He grinned at me before shaking his head again. He then knocked his shoulder into mine before saying, "You have so much to learn. "

"And you plan on teaching me?" I asked with a smirk. "Been spending too much time around Hermione, wouldn't you say?"

His grin never faltered, especially not as he said, "One can never get enough of Hermione."

I willed the pallor of my skin to retain its shade as I tried not to let my mind wander to the possible implications of his words, and decided to avoid it completely by asking, "So how are you going to teach me all of this in the short amount of time we have left?"

Harry leaned back a bit to give me a crazy look before saying, "Uh… We have the rest of our lives for you to catch up. I'll go get copies of these on my own after school is up, because I will be paying for them, after we pass this exam, and you can come over to Grimmauld if you'd like."

He hadn't been looking at me during his invitation, and I was glad he didn't. I'm sure I looked gobsmacked. I was gobsmacked. Never would I have thought that not even after a week of being back at school, Harry would be so willing to befriend me. To spend time with me. He was even flirting with me, and all of it was almost too much to handle.

Almost…

To be honest, it felt like a dream; one that was both fake and real at the same time. I'd fucked up my chances to be his friend before- because I was a selfish arse- and if that was all I was ever going to get from him, his friendship, I would take it. I wouldn't fuck up again.

"Sure," I said after finding my words. "That sounds- really- yeah. I think I could do that."

Ok. Perhaps I'd found too many words, for he looked over at me with that goofy smile of his at having noticed my stumble, but I still stood my ground and smiled back, just as the song came to an end. He broke eye-contact to look at the record, saying, "Oh! This is the track I was looking for. I couldn't remember if it was two or three. This song makes me think of you."

I went quiet as I began to listen to the words that had already begun to be sung, my brows knitting, my heart racing at the thought of Harry listening to a song that reminded him of me. I tilted my head closer, my disheveled hair falling over the one side of my face facing him, because I couldn't control the heat that flushed me at the thought of him thinking of me… and admitting it.

"…Take my hand, child, come with me.

"It's to a castle I will take you, where what's to be, they say will be…"

"It's called 'What Is and What Should Never Be'," Harry said before quieting again, the both of us listening to the words, listening to the switch in tempo; the beat; the emotion. From what I could make of the lyrics I liked it very much, and I was sure that I was going to buy this particular record for myself long before Christmas.

During a break in the lead-singer's feral moan-singing, he said, "The next song makes me think of Hermione."

"What's it called?" I asked, looking at him.

"'The Lemon Song'," he said. "It's a personal favorite."

When 'What Is and What Should Never Be' ended, track three began to play, and I learned about 'The Lemon Song'. I was yet again wide-eyed by the time it ended, at least a little red around the collar, and Harry was trying not to laugh at me.

"What was that last line? I think I heard it but…"

"He says, 'I'm gonna leave my children down on this killing floor'," he clarified.

"Wow… Are you serious?"

"Muggles are awesome," he said as he grinned at me.

A/N: Ok. I'm going to be honest. This chapter has been done for a year. A whole. Feckin. Year. Probably longer, actually. I didn't upload it because the beta did the math on summoning spells and how long it would take for ingredients to cross the ocean, which was at least a week, and I decided I would have to change all of that. I decided to call the spell "Calling", so that's what that is all about. I decided I'd just do this anyway, or it would never happen. Sorry for the craziness.