Harry was used to walking around Hogwarts feeling like all eyes were on him, but this was something else entirely. Dolores Umbridge's turn as the Hogwarts High Inquisitor was like having a pink-clad stalker all the time. She was as dogged as Colin Creevey, as disingenuous as Gilderoy Lockhart, as vile as Snape, and as mistakenly sure of her own self-importance as Draco Malfoy.

It was as if Fudge had specifically designed a person with all of the traits Harry was most likely to hate.

She attended all his classes, scribbling down endless notes for what he was sure would be a scathing report at least as long as Hogwarts, A History. He'd gotten used to looking up from breakfast every day only to see that pinched, smug expression — the same one Aunt Petunia got any time she learned a particularly nasty piece of gossip about a neighbor — on her toad-like face.

The only place she wasn't stalking him was at quidditch practices — and he assumed even that was only a matter of time.

But even there, Harry couldn't get a reprieve from obnoxious annoyances.

The Gryffindor team had headed down to the pitch for their latest practice, only to find the Slytherins finishing up theirs. And, of course, they couldn't resist the opportunity to needle the Gryffindor team.

And by they, Harry meant Malfoy, who had somehow gotten even more insufferable since Professor Slughorn selected him for the Slug Club (as if that was some sort of crowning achievement).

"So, this is who you've gotten to replace Wood?" Malfoy asked incredulously, as he stared down at Ginny. He let out a snort of laughter. "I suppose the Gryffindors really do just fill their team based on who's most pathetic — it's a good thing there are so many Weasleys. First time anyone's ever said that, I suppose."

Ginny practically growled behind Harry, but Fred just crossed his arms, appraising Malfoy before he raised his eyebrow at his brother.

"Bit bold of him to say all that to the blokes who are going to be hitting bludgers his way on the pitch, eh George?" Fred said, turning toward Malfoy and offering him a wolfish smile. "Then again, why wait for the next game?"

"Leave it," Angelina hissed. "He's not worth it."

George mirrored his brother's expression. "We're the picture of restraint, us," he lied.

Crabbe and Goyle —newly minted beaters — glared menacingly at the Weasleys, but Harry supposed they were too dumb to even try to think of a retort, preferring to wait until the hitting started to join the fight.

"Let's go," Harry said, pushing George toward the pitch and earning a grateful smile from Angelina.

He was trying at this whole prefect thing, and she was right — Malfoy really wasn't worth it.

"What's the matter, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "Scared?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Malfoy, you're downright terrifying."

"He's right up there with You-Know-Who, eh Harry?" George snorted.

"More like a drunk flobberworm," Fred muttered.

Malfoy glanced down at his wand, but seemed to change his mind after appraising Harry, Fred, and George. He glared at the twins, sniffing the air in a rather obvious way before making a hideous face.

"Eurgh, we've been at Hogwarts a month and you can still smell the stench off that hovel you call a home. Or did your fat, lazy mum never teach you lot how to bathe?"

Angelina grabbed Fred's arm warningly. Malfoy turned to Harry.

"Tell me, Potter, you've been to their hovel — is it an actual pig sty? Though I suppose you might not be able to tell the difference, given you've lived with muggles."

Harry had a vague sense of Madame Hooch hurrying toward them from the locker room, and part of him wanted her to go away so they could sort Malfoy properly and the other half hoped she got there soon enough to keep Harry from becoming the first prefect in Hogwarts history to get a detention for fighting.

"As opposed to your stench, you mean?" Ginny retorted. "I can smell how pathetic you are from here. You're a no-talent hack who's never been able to best Harry — or even come close to him — on the quidditch pitch. It's no surprise you have to resort to baseless insults to try and get a rise."

"Baseless?" Draco sneered. "Have you seen your mum? She's not exactly winning any beauty prizes. Personally, I don't understand how anyone could stand to be in the same room as her to even have so many kids. Though I suppose you should be grateful.

"You too," he added, turning to Angelina. "How else would you field a team if she didn't breed like an acromantula?"

Harry felt the anger course through him and could only imagine how Fred and George felt. They might be angry with Mrs. Weasley right now, but Malfoy had no right.

"As opposed to your mum, you mean?" Harry asked dangerously. "She took one look at you when you were born and said, 'Never again.'"

Malfoy's eyes turned to slits. "Too bad we can't ask your mum what she thought when you were born," he retorted. "Then again, the only good mudblood is a dead mudblood."

Harry didn't recall pushing past George, but suddenly they were both running at Malfoy. He thrust his hand in his pocket to retrieve his wand; he didn't care about detention, he didn't care about prefect, he didn't care about anything except wiping that smug smile off that cockroach's face.

Something whizzed by Harry and Malfoy jolted. There was a rush of air, and Harry just managed to pull George down to the ground in time, covering both their heads because bats were flying out of Malfoy's nose and straight at them.

Harry couldn't see Ginny, but he heard the furious tremble in her voice when she spoke.

"Correction: The only good Malfoy is a dead one," she spat out.

And then pandemonium erupted. Crabbe and Goyle went for Ginny, but a well-deflected spell from Alicia sent Crabbe tossed to the side and straight into Fred. Harry heard shouting from afar — Madam Hooch, probably — and Malfoy was stumbling toward him and George, twisting around and waving his hands as he tried to swat the bats away.

Bit stupid, really, seeing as they were coming out of his nose.

Malfoy tripped over George's arm, landing directly on Harry, his elbow digging into Harry's chest. Malfoy clawed at him desperately in his attempt to escape the bats and Harry felt them move past his face, his arms, his glasses — not that he could see anything; his only sensations were the sound of angry bats whizzing around him, slamming into his face, his neck, his hands, and George landing half of the punches he was trying to land on Malfoy directly in Harry's stomach.

God, this was a monumentally stupid spell, Harry thought, as he awkwardly pointed his wand at Malfoy, unable to get a great angle considering the prat was still rolling around ineffectually.

"Finite incantatem!" he finally shouted and the world went eerily quiet.

He surveyed the scene. Madame Hooch stood, mouth in a grim line, holding both Fred and Crabbe by the scruff of their neck — they both looked like they'd gone a few rounds with a bludger. Ginny had a cut on her lip, two Slytherin chasers held up a half-conscious Goyle, Katie looked extraordinarily smug, and even Angelina's hair was angry.

"None of you lot could've tried that spell?" Harry muttered as he shoved a still whimpering Malfoy off him, standing as gracefully as he could, hoping he didn't look half as terrible as the others.

Madam Hooch's stony face swiveled between them all, landing on Harry.

"You're meant to be a prefect. Explain," she said tersely.

In the end, Malfoy ended up with a month's worth of detention, Ginny with a week, and the rest of them avoided any punishment when Harry and Angelina successfully argued that anyone else had just been trying to attack the bats and not each other.

Those bloody bats. If not for their interference Harry could've given Malfoy the thrashing he deserved for what he said about Harry's mum.

Hermione and Neville were sympathetic, but both glad Harry hadn't been able to do anything that would put him in the Ministry's crosshairs, while Ron promised him that the bat bogey hex hurt a lot more than it looked.

"She's used it on me before," he shared. "It feels awful."

Rebecca Ellerby eyed him suspiciously for about a week after the incident, but Cedric had merely clapped his hand on Harry's shoulder and said, "You do recall what I told you on the train at the end of last year, don't you?"

Harry did. Malfoy and his goons had gloated about Voldemort's return and what it would mean for muggleborns — though they hadn't used that word, of course. Cedric had taken great pleasure in hexing them, pointing out that prefect rules stop applying when someone throws around words like "mudblood."

"Yeah," Harry replied.

"Someone says something like that about your mum, and being a prefect doesn't mean you have to help them," Cedric said, admonishing Harry slightly as he shook his head.

"I wasn't trying to help Malfoy when I stopped Ginny's spell," he spat. "Honestly, I was just trying to avoid the bats myself."

While it had been good of Ginny to try to help, he wished she hadn't. If it weren't for those bats, he would have been able to hex Malfoy properly without nearly the amount of collateral damage. Or at least hit him — that would've been satisfying, too.

Cedric grinned, shooting Harry a knowing look. "What spell would you have used?"

"Certainly not the magical equivalent of a whoopee cushion," Harry muttered.

Moody had taught him all those spells last year for a reason, hadn't he? If seeing the bat bogey hex in person had taught him anything, it was that most of Harry's friends were in no way ready to face Voldemort or any of his followers. Sirius had his work cut out for him.

Cedric's grin faded, his gaze focused on something beyond Harry. "Probably just as well the bat bogey hex kept you from doing anything," he murmured quietly, and Harry turned to see what he was looking at.

Umbridge.

Her expression was unreadable, but as soon as he looked at her, she began scribbling in her notebook. Harry rolled his eyes, hoping next time Ginny would choose a pinker target.

With his new stalker following him around even outside of class, Harry found himself spending more and more time in the library — or in the library room Hermione had once conjured up in the room of requirement when Umbridge really got on his nerves.

Tonight they were in the actual library, having gotten the supreme satisfaction of watching Madam Pince shoo Umbridge out for distracting the students from their studies — Harry suddenly understood why Krum might have felt so comfortable in the library last year.

As soon as Umbridge flounced out, Harry and his friends put away their Transfiguration essays, and Hannah pulled her family's journals from her bag, passing them around. They'd all agreed that, while they weren't doing anything wrong searching for Helga Hufflepuff's secret room, the less Umbridge knew about anything to do with Harry, the better.

It was hours later, close to library closing, and all Harry had accomplished was learning that Oleander Abbott hated his Potions professor about as much as most of the students hated Snape.

No one else seemed to be having much luck either, Hermione and Hannah the only ones studiously reading through their chosen journals, while Harry, Neville, Luna, Susan, and Ernie alternated between skimming and discussing the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.

"Have you ever been to the Whimpleblott Gallery?" Luna asked, flipping a page in the journal.

The Gallery was in Hogsmeade, and Luna and Dean had made plans to go for the first time this weekend. Luna was very excited about the prospect of seeing the paintings in person.

"No," Susan answered, looking bored, as Harry and Neville also shook their heads.

"They have some of the best examples of modern illusionism," Ernie offered importantly, puffing out his chest. "My aunt is a curator for the Morgana, and she says the owner of the Whimpleblott has the best eye for new talent."

"What's the difference between modern illusionism and regular old illusionism?" Susan asked, though Harry gathered she wasn't truly interested in the answer, but whether or not Ernie actually knew it. He had noticed Susan asked those sorts of questions of Ernie quite a lot.

"Well…" Ernie started uncertainly, and Harry reckoned he didn't know a thing about illusionism except what his mum or dad or someone had said in passing once.

Luckily for Ernie, Luna came to his rescue. "Modern illusionist paintings always have at least two different images in the same frame," she explained. "And which one you see all depends on your perspective."

"Like an optical illusion?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hermione said, surprising Harry. Her head was still stuck in the journal, but she was apparently following along with the conversation. "Although it's a magical painting, so it does actually move and transform, too."

"That sounds pretty cool," Neville said.

"Oh, it is," Hannah agreed. "Mum and I went to see an exhibit in Diagon Alley last summer."

"You lot should come, too!" Luna said excitedly, her eyebrows raised as if surprised she had friends to invite along — or any plans at all to be able to invite anyone, perhaps.

Hannah turned toward Neville questioningly, her face red. Susan leaned forward, finally interested in the conversation.

Neville shrugged awkwardly. "It sounds fun," he agreed, and Hannah grinned happily.

Ernie agreed, but Susan said she wouldn't be caught dead doing something that sounded educational on her day off. Luna turned to Harry and Hermione to see if they wanted to come.

Of course, they were going to Hogsmeade together — even when they had just been friends they'd gone together — but they'd never discussed any specific plans. Harry glanced at Hermione, who did seem interested in the gallery.

"We can go if you want," he said, tracing the loops of Oleander's writing, "but I er, did have something planned."

Her mouth formed a shocked little "oh" before breaking into a brilliant smile.

"Maybe next time, Luna," Hermione said immediately, not taking her eyes off Harry. She was beaming at him, and Harry felt an awkward little swoop in his stomach, his nerves getting to him. He'd never planned a real date before — Hermione would definitely like what he had planned, he knew her well enough to know that, but it wasn't exactly normal for a date.

Maybe he should run it by Sirius. He'd done pretty well helping out with Hermione's birthday gift.

Course, Sirius was also dealing with the Ministry-approved stalker and dating advice seemed a bit trivial in comparison.

"Oh my God!" Hannah cried suddenly, her fingers curling excitedly into Hermione's arm so tightly Harry was sure it would leave bruises. Hannah's eyes were transfixed on the journal in front of her, her mouth agape.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, leaning in eagerly.

"It's Rosalind's journal," Hannah exclaimed.

Rosalind had been Tiberius Abbott's cousin and close confidant. They had theorized that she might know something about the missing pages from Tiberius' journal and his secret with Magnus Smith.

"Did she say something about Helga Hufflepuff's office?" Ernie asked.

Hannah nodded. "Listen to this," she said, reading off the page: "Tibby and Magnus spent the night drinking in the Hog's Head — such is the life of a seventh year, I suppose — and came back to the common room quite in their cups. Both were troubled; Tibby was what I could only describe as morose. I couldn't get much out of him… only that he made me promise to stay away from the secret room he told me of. 'Only darkness lives there, Rosalind,' he said. 'Dangerous magic capable of corrupting your very soul.'"

Hannah looked up, her eyes wide. The rest of their friends wore expressions that ranged from puzzled to scared.

"Does it say anything else?" Hermione asked, half grabbing the journal from Hannah, and flipping the pages.

Hannah shook her head, her face ashen.

All of the Hufflepuffs looked sort of queasy, if Harry was being honest. Luna and Hermione were the only ones who didn't seem scared. Luna's expression was one of mild interest, like Hannah had just told her the secret room was made of sweets, while Hermione's was contemplative. Neville looked just as nervous as Ernie and the rest, but Harry was used to that.

"Not even in the next entry?" Harry asked, a bit incredulous. "She just says something like that and then goes back to writing about classes and exams? She doesn't even try to get more out of her cousin? She doesn't try to find the room?"

Hannah blinked. "Why would she go looking for a room full of dark magic?" she asked, just as incredulous.

"You're talking to a bloke who went looking for a basilisk," Susan retorted, though her voice sounded shaky at the prospect.

"I didn't go looking for a basilisk, I went looking for Ginny," Harry corrected her, feeling a bit annoyed. "And I don't know about you, but if I found out there was a room full of dark magic somewhere in Hogwarts, I wouldn't want to just leave it there for someone like Malfoy to find."

Or the various Death Eaters who had infiltrated Hogwarts over the years, he didn't add.

If anything, the Hufflepuffs looked even more frightened.

"We should tell a professor," Ernie declared.

"They already know about the secret room," Harry pointed out.

"But they don't know that it's full of dark magic!" Susan countered.

"We can tell Siri— Professor Black," Hermione reasoned, "though it won't do us much good until we actually find the room."

"You still want to find the room?" Hannah asked, her eyes wide. "Let the professors do it."

"Because their track record is so great at this sort of thing," Harry muttered.

He looked up, and Ernie, Hannah, and Susan were all looking at him with a mixture of fear and awe.

"Look, Hermione told you what this was about — we need to know about house elves and that'll keep Voldemort from being able to use them like he did Winky," he said, ignoring the way they all flinched when he said Voldemort. "Did you really think that finding a way to thwart Voldemort wouldn't be a little bit dangerous? Don't you think this is important?"

"Of course it's important," Ernie said, before his face shifted, looking more uncertain than Harry had ever seen him. "But there's a big difference between finding information about house elves and finding magic that can corrupt your soul."

Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione — the Hufflepuffs had been keen to help when this project had just been a mystery, but they'd never really been involved in anything dangerous. If the room really could corrupt your soul, he wasn't sure how far they'd be willing to go.

He wasn't even sure how far Hermione was willing to go. He knew she wanted to know the truth about house elves, but was this really the only way?

They didn't actually know that Helga Hufflepuff knew anything.

Then again, they didn't even know if Tiberius had been telling the truth about the room. What if he just said that to Rosalind to keep her away from Helga's treasures or something?

And, honestly, wasn't Helga Hufflepuff supposed to be the nice founder?

Hermione bit her lip, but there was a fire in her eyes — she wasn't about to let this go.

"We don't even know if Tiberius was telling Rosalind the truth," she said, echoing Harry's thoughts.

"Drunk people say all sorts of nonsense," she added airily. Harry recognized that tone — Hermione didn't believe what she was saying for a moment, but she wanted the others to believe her so they wouldn't derail from the mission.

Maybe Rosalind's entry was nothing more than the ramblings of a silly schoolgirl. Or maybe her cousin had lied to her to keep her out of his business. Or… maybe there was a very good reason why Tiberius had ripped those pages of his journal out. It wouldn't be the first room full of darkness Harry had found at Hogwarts, after all.

Harry's eyes locked with Hermione's, steady and sure. The Hufflepuffs might be wavering, but they, at least, were fully on board.

Harry had been to Hogsmeade with Hermione loads of times before, but he'd never gone as her boyfriend. It came with a lot more panicking.

Specifically, fretting about what you should wear without letting Ron or Seamus or Dean notice you were fretting about what to wear. To be fair, Harry wasn't entirely sure if it was the date or just the fact that he actually had choice now.

He'd found himself changing up his apparel loads over the summer, and it had almost been a relief when they got back to Hogwarts and he didn't have to think about anything but putting on his Hogwarts uniform.

Ron had it easy in a way when it came to Hogsmeade — just wear the newest jumper Molly had made that Parvati switched to blue. Harry's wardrobe used to be like that — a mish-mash of school uniforms, Molly's jumpers, and Dudley's castoffs, but now that he had a proper guardian he had all of these options.

Thank God for Neville, who finally saw fit to toss a grey jumper at Harry as he made his way to the washroom to brush his teeth.

One slight change was that Hermione wasn't waiting for him in the common room like usual, so he sat at a table with Dean and Neville, discussing vague plans to possibly all meet up later at the Three Broomsticks. They were meeting Ernie, Luna, and Hannah outside the Great Hall and, at Harry's insistence, left ahead of him and Hermione. He didn't really need an audience for his date.

Ron had already gone to pick up Mandy from Ravenclaw Tower, and Harry noted that Seamus marched out of the portrait hole with a stack of books, sniffing about how OWL year was too important to waste time on nonsense like Hogsmeade weekends.

As if anyone believed that.

It might be petty, but Harry was secretly glad that Seamus didn't have anyone to go to Hogsmeade with. Maybe he'd think about that before having another go at Harry.

But that thought quickly vanished when Hermione stepped downstairs looking exactly like herself in a purple jumper and trainers… except for… was she wearing lip gloss?

As if her lips weren't distracting enough.

"Hey," Harry said, walking over toward her, and she beamed at him, giving him an awkward little wave that told Harry she was feeling a little nervous.

Soon enough they were passing by Filch's scrutiny, walking the well-worn path to Hogsmeade.

The sun was bright, but the day was cold, the wind whipping their hair about; Harry was glad for it because it was a good excuse to slip Hermione's hand in his.

She snuck a glance at him, the expression on her face contemplative and almost shy.

"Is this weird?" she asked. "Going on a Hogsmeade date?"

"I'm pretty sure going on a Hogsmeade date is the least weird thing you and I have ever done," Harry pointed out. "It's the dragon births and time traveling that have been a bit weird."

Hermione shot him a slightly exasperated look. "No, I mean… this feels a bit like any other time we've gone to Hogsmeade, yeah? And yet…"

And yet it definitely didn't.

Harry shrugged. "It beats sneaking into Hogsmeade through Honeydukes."

Hermione laughed. "Is that how you and Sirius came last time?" she asked. "When you got my birthday present?"

"No," Harry said. "We didn't take any secret passageways. Sirius wanted to since it was a quest and all — his words — but he nixed that when I told him Fred and George said his favorite passageway had caved in and the only one we could still use was the Honeydukes entrance. Apparently, he has a history with the proprietors."

Hermione shot him an alarmed look. "Do I even want to know?"

Harry shook his head. "Probably not."

"So are we going to the shop where you got my candle?" she asked, as they made their way onto High Street.

"We can later," Harry said, glancing at his watch, "but we've got somewhere to be now."

Hermione raised her eyebrow, a curious look on her face, but she didn't question him, content to wait for her surprise. Harry noticed a bunch of awed-looking third years huddled on the corner.

"What are they waiting for?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"The walking tour," Hermione replied. "It's like a rite of passage for all third years. One of the locals takes you around and tells you all about the history of Hogsmeade. He does it every Hogsmeade weekend, but the first one of the year is always the biggest."

She had a dreamy look on her face, and Harry felt a pang in his gut, remembering how jealous he had been of Ron and Hermione back in third year when they'd gone off to Hogsmeade the first time and he was stuck in the castle.

"You must have loved that," Harry mused.

"Oh, I've never been," Hermione replied, trying to make her voice matter-of-fact. Harry's jaw nearly dropped.

"But it's exactly your sort of thing!"

Hermione looked at him like he'd just said something very dumb. "But it's not exactly Ron's thing, is it? Everything about that trip was very…" she trailed off, choosing her words carefully. "Let's just say there was a lot of compromising."

Harry didn't understand. "When you came back, you both looked like you'd had the time of your lives!"

"Are you sure you didn't just see that because you were so miserable that you couldn't come — disappointment at having been left out?" she asked. "Don't get me wrong. It's not like I had a bad time that day. Ron and I had fun, but… well, things are never easy between us, are they? We don't have a ton in common, so we had to stick to the things we both wanted to do or… well, you know what we're like."

They'd fight. Harry knew that. And yet that day… had he really only seen what he'd wanted to see so that he could confirm how miserable he was?

"We can go on the tour," he said. "I know we're not third years anymore, but I've never been either."

Hermione gazed at him, squeezing his hand as they continued to walk. "Maybe next time," she said. "I want to see what you have planned and besides, we've got plenty of Hogsmeade visits in the future for it, haven't we?"

Harry smiled at the idea of more Hogsmeade dates with her.

Hermione likely wasn't feeling that way when they reached their destination.

"This is where you want to go on our date?" Hermione asked, askance, as she looked up at the garish tea shop. Her trepidation was obvious. Harry was quite sure Ron would be more excited about a date with an acromantula.

"Yep," Harry grinned.

Hermione gulped, clearly trying to be diplomatic. "Well, it's…"

Harry almost laughed at how hard she was trying not to offend him and decided to put her out of her misery.

"Technically, it wasn't my choice," he explained. "It's where she said she wanted to meet us."

"She? We're meeting another girl on our date?"

It looked like she was debating whether this was better or worse — Harry hadn't chosen this ridiculous tea shop, but she clearly wasn't sure what he was playing at.

"She's more of a woman than a girl, actually," he explained. "Remember that woman Sirius told us about? Bathilda Bagshot? The one who was friends with my mum?"

Hermione nodded. "She wrote Hogwarts, A History."

"I'm well aware," Harry said. Hermione talked about that book often enough. "Sirius got her contact info for me and we've exchanged some letters. I figure who better to tell us about Hogwarts than her? There's always loads of stuff historians leave out of books, right? She might actually know about this secret room. Plus, she wrote A History of Magic, too. Figured you'd love picking her brain."

Hermione just looked at him, her eyes owlish.

"You got me a historian for our first date?" Her voice sounded faint.

Harry nodded.

The next thing he knew, Hermione had surged forward to meet him, hand in his hair, lip gloss smearing across his lips, her tongue tangling with his in a very uncharacteristic public display of affection. Not that he particularly minded.

"Best boyfriend ever," she whispered in his ear, a tantalizing glint in her eye before she grabbed his hand and practically dragged him into the gaudy tea shop.