Lizzie's POV:

The rest of the hols and New Years passed with an unnerving rapidity and brought no occurrences worth being noted. Grayson went to work every morning at 8 am and came back at 7 pm with an exhausted expression and a half empty butterbeer. While he was busy counting knuts and galleons, I spent my time bedecking the bedroom that Gray had deemed mine and cleaning the other rooms without magic, and since Gray hardly ever did any sort of cleaning, I had loads of distractions.

The most prominent thing I needed distracting from was obviously the war. The telly Gray had only had a few news stations, but the muggles seemed to be noticing something different. The weather men spoke of unforgiving rain that had been pelting the London area and the coldest and darkest winter in 28 years. The anchors reported all of the muggles who have gone missing, talking about how the police claimed that they had no leads. They claimed that the people had simply disappeared.

By the time that the beginning of term came around, Grayson's flat was organized alphabetically and scourged to the point of shining. He claimed that it was cleaner than when he first moved in and I didn't doubt it. I put so much effort into the cleaning and organizing that my elbows hurt when I bent them and I had blisters all over my hands.

I had taken each plate, bowl, mug, pot, pan, piece of silverware, and every other kitchen utensil, scrubbed it clean until I could see my reflection clearer than I could see it in a regular mirror, put it through a round in the dishwasher, and arranged them in the cupboards so that the bowls were stacked on the top shelf, the mugs on the next below, the plates one below the mugs, and the silverware in a drawer below (forks on the left, then the knives, and then the spoons). The pots and pans were in a cupboard below the silverware drawer, stacked by size.

After I had finished that task, I moved to the refrigerator, which was mostly empty due to Grayson's great lack of motivation to go grocery shopping. I removed the few items inside before erasing any sign of grease or food residue with a scrubbing sponge. Once I was satisfied, I sorted through the items that had been in the fridge and threw out the outdated items before organizing them inside by size and then alphabetically.

I did things like this throughout each room in Gray's flat, even thoroughly cleaning out his bedroom, which rendered him speechless when he had come back from work. The bookshelf was organized alphabetically by author, his wardrobe was sorted by color, his bed was made neatly (with recently washed sheets), the floor had been mopped and vacuumed twice, the shelves had been dusted and arranged tidily, and I had scraped all of the nastiness from his window.

When I had made my way through each room, I started from the beginning again, cleaning the kitchen, lounge, bathroom, and bedrooms from the start.

"You know, Liz," Gray had said the day that I had finished cleaning the loo for the second time, "cleaning like this isn't very reassuring. Not that I'm complaining because I've haven't been able to see the floor in my bedroom in ages, but are you okay?"

"What?" I asked, surprised. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"I mean, you are obsessively cleaning even though I haven't asked you to," he replied with a raised eyebrow, holding his arms out, palm up.

"I want to clean, Gray, you're flat is absolutely filthy," I responded. "I'm not sure how you live in this mess."

"I just think that this whole thing is getting to you," he sighed, sitting down beside me on the sofa.

"What 'whole thing'?"

"The war. I think you're trying to distract yourself from it by cleaning manically."

"Are you calling me mad?"

He thought for a moment before speaking again. "Not directly."

"I'm not mad."

-----

"I'm going to miss you, Gray," I said quietly. "Be good to Charlotte and write me as often as you can."

The air around us on Platform 9 ¾ was impregnated with so much smoke that I thought I might suffocate from the weight of it. This mixed with the murmurs from other families around us made me want to scream.

"I'll miss you too," my brother replied, his sandy hair blowing in the slight breeze the floated through the platform. "And I promise to write you loads. Maybe I could send you a parcel with some sweets since you can't go to Hogsmeade and buy them yourself."

"I'd love that," I smiled, pulling him into an embrace. His hair smelled of honey. So strongly, in fact, that it made me wonder if he used it as shampoo.

"Please behave," Gray muttered into my hair, holding me tightly to his chest. "Please do what they tell you and lay low."

"That's a very cowardly thing to do," I replied with a frown.

"It might be," he whispered. "But you'll stay alive. And that's all that matters."

"Grayson, have you been reading my letters?" I pulled back from the hug and looked at him seriously.

"I have," he said, gravely.

My eyebrows furrowed as I stiffened my body and let go of him, suddenly becoming tense. "So you know what they're doing to kids. They're forcing students to use the Cruciatus on twelve year olds who have done nothing more than have robe sleeves that were a quarter inch too long. And on the last day of term before we all came home for the hols, they locked a fifth year on the astronomy because his Dark Arts essay was a sentence too long for their taste. Someone has to stop that."

"That's Harry Potter's job," he said through pursed lips.

"And where is he now?" I exclaimed just a tad bit too loud. Some of the families closest to us turned and stared with wide eyes. "Harry Potter has been missing for months. No one even knows if he's alive anymore. It hurts me to say this, but we can't count on him, so someone needs to fight back, and what better than an inside job?"

"Elizabeth Alexandra May," Grayson snapped harshly. "You will not do anything of the sort. You will keep your head down and study hard so you can get a good grade on your N.E.W.T.S."

"I will not give up on those kids. Just try to stop me," I seethed, walking away from him and ignoring all that he was saying in my wake.

I stomped my way onto the train and walked along the corridor to see if Draco was in any of the compartments. When I discovered that he wasn't, I chose one out of the way and drew the blinds that led to the corridor before curling myself into a ball in the corner with my forehead on the window.

'What a stubborn little... Hufflepuff.' I thought to myself angrily.

How could he know about the torture of children who didn't deserve it and not want to do anything to help them? Aren't Hufflepuffs supposed to be loyal and kind and empathetic?

While brooding about my row with Gray and waiting for Draco, I found myself dozing off.

-----

"Hey, love," a soothing voice hummed beside me, shaking my knee slightly. I groaned and wrapped my arms around myself. "Come on, we're almost to the castle. You should put your robes on."

"Piss off," I grumbled, pulling my arms up to my chest. "I'm sleeping."

"I see that, but we've almost arrived at Hogwarts," he repeated with a chuckle.

"I slept that long?" I asked hoarsely, opening my eyes slowly, to see the dimly lit compartment where Draco sat beside me, a hand on my shoulder and already dressed in his robes.

He nodded. "I didn't want to wake you. It looked like you could use a nice nap."

"I missed you," I whispered, sitting up and embracing him, burying my face into his neck. I took a deep breath, inhaling his peppermint scent that I had come to so love.

"I missed you too," he chuckled, "but you've got to get your robes on before we arrive." He retrieved my robes and set them on the seat beside me. "Up you go." He slipped his hands under my arms and gently lifted me up.

With a load of griping and cursing, I slipped into my robes and lay back down on the seat, my head resting in Draco's lap and my knees pulled up towards my chest. His lips curved upwards a bit as he looked down at me and brushed his fingers through my hair.

The next thing I knew, the train was grinding to a stop and Draco was stroking my face his cool fingers and whispering to me. "We're here, Liz. It's time to go in."

"Do we have to go in?" I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. "What if we just stay in here? They'll never know."

"I'm afraid we do, love. This is what you get for dating the Headmaster's godson," he replied.