"The Half-Blood Prince?" I repeated. She nodded quickly. "May I know why?" For a moment, she hesitated. But she owed me and she bloody well knew it.

"Harry found this used potions book in Slughorn's classroom," she started to explain slowly, as if she was very carefully picking out words. "It has shortcuts and substitutes for every potion, plus newly created spells. It doesn't have a name on it . . . Just the 'Half-Blood Prince on the inside cover."

My mouth was half-open, ready to reply, right before the door creaked open. Draco stood in the doorway, his eyes falling on Hermione.

"Granger," he said, his lips twisting distastefully. His eyes widened when they fell on me. "Steele? What are you doing here?"

"I might say the same for you. Are you a prefect?" I asked.

"Yes."

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. "You became a prefect? I didn't even know."

"That's because you've been too busy stalking me. Were you waiting here for me? Want to see me-"

"Shut up, Malfoy. I had something important to discuss with Hermione," I scowled. "Will you get out?"

"No."

"Draco!"

He stood there, waiting. "How about you and the Mudblood go to your dormitories and do whatever the hell you were doing there," he suggested.

"Don't call her that," I said through gritted teeth.

"What," he laughed in disbelief, "are the Mudblood and Blood Traitor friends now?" I walked up to him, pulling back my fist.

"I will hit you."

"By all means, go ahead. But I'm satisfied you finally know your place," he smirked, and then I let my fist fly. He grabbed my wrist, pulling it down. "Get. Out." I yanked my fist back.

"Granger's right. You are a foul, loathesome, evil little cockroach," I spit out, walking past him. Sometimes I felt bad for him, but sometimes I wanted to hex his lips together for the rest of eternity.

Hermione followed me out, shutting the doors to the bathroom.

"That was brilliant," she said, throwing her head back and laughing. "Oh, God, I really enjoyed that. Even if you didn't really land a blow."

I grinned.

"How did you remember what I said?" she asked, trying to calm her giggling.

"The foul, loathsome thing?" She nodded. "How could I forget? After you punched him in the nose, I think of those words every time I see him."

She doubled over. "I swear, I wish I could do it again."

ϟ ϟ ϟ

I entered the library, peeking around for Madam Pince. She was nowhere to be found.

Ah, there.

Tracey Davis was bent over a book, her quill flying across the page. I made my way towards her, pulling up a chair and taking a seat.

"Essay?" I asked, setting my books down on the table.

She paused, looking up at me with panicked blue eyes.

"Six pages! Due tomorrow! Forgot!" She groaned, looking back down to continue writing.

"Tracey," I said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder, "take a deep breath. You've lost the ability to speak in full sentences. Look at me."

She looked up. "El, I'm doomed."

"I'll help you," I assured her. "Don't worry. I've got mine done. But I have a question."

"What?" She said her quill down.

"Do you know anybody in our house-or any house, really-that calls themself 'Prince', or something of that sort?"

She blew out through her lips. "No, not really. But I know someone who acts like a right prince."

"Yeah? Who?" I leaned in closer, itching to find out who it was.

"Draco, of course. Ordering people around, acting like he owns the world."

"Oh." Could it be him? But if was Harry who found the book . . . Draco should've already taken the potions class. Which he hadn't. But then again, I hadn't realized he ha was a prefect either. He could've taken advanced potions last year and used that book. But the Half-Blood Prince? Why half-blood?

"You alright?" Tracey asked me. I nodded, pushing back the chair and getting to my feet.

"Davis, keep an eye on my things. The essay is in between the pages of Transubstantial Transfiguration."

"Thank you," she said, shoulders dropping in relaxation.

I started by looking through the bookshelves. "Half-Blood, Half-Blood . . . Ah." I pulled out a book titled A Guide to Magical Families, probably written for muggles or muggle-born witches and wizards. I looked through the table of contents. Squibs, muggle-born, pureblood . . . half-blood.

Half-blood is the term commonly given towizards and witches who have a Muggle/Muggle-born parent and magical parent. By the 1990s, half-bloods were the most common type of magical person, as the wizarding population would have become extinct had they not inter-married with Muggles and Muggle-borns.

Due to the dominance of the magic gene, children born to at least one magical parent will almost always be magical themselves. A non-magical child born to a Muggle and a wizard is considered a Squib (not a Muggle).

So it couldn't be Draco. I personally knew his parents; I'd seen them around. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, both magical. His family was strictly pure. Maybe that's why his ego was so inflated.

I slid the book back into the shelf. There was nothing more I could do. Hermione probably already knew it couldn't Malfoy. Now, all I could do was keep my ears and eyes open.

ϟ ϟ ϟ

I sat in front of the fireplace in the common room, watching the orange flames flicker and dance.

"This is my place at night," Malfoy said, appearing from the shadows. "Find another spot to stain with your-"

"Yeah, yeah," I sighed, slowly stretching across the emerald-green sofa, "dirty blood. I get it." He sat on the right, keeping his distance. "Did you have a nice bath?"

"Why would you ask a question like that?"

I sat up. "Where have you been? Why are you skipping classes? You know, I have a way of finding things out."

"I don't care. I don't have to report snything to you."

I looked closely at his face. There were bags under his eyes. Draco seemed dreadfully tired.

"Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Stop it."

"You've got dark circles and you're skipping classes. I don't care if you don't want to tell me why you've been acting so shady but you're my partner in quite a few classes, and I'm having to a lot of work by myself." I crossed my arms over my chest.

He took a look at me. "I've been busy."

"I'll only accept your excuse if it has to do with Dumbledore or something important like that."

He froze, his face slightly paler than before. "Yeah. Something like that."

"Fine. Let me ask you something, alright?"

"Why can't you shut up for a moment?" Draco scowled. "You never stop running your mouth."

"Are you a half-blood?"

Draco seemed taken aback by the question. Suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed coldly. "Me, a half-blood? What, are you looking for someone pure to carry down your family name? Sorry, but I'll never sink to anyone as low as you."

"What's eating you?" I glowered. "No one appreciates your smugness. No one."

"You keep violating my space."

"Is ten feet your space, blondie?" I said, giving him a dirty look.

"It's better if I don't see you around. My eyes hurt. My head, my ears . . . your presence irks me," he said as if we were carrying on a normal conversation. "You're too loud, too hyper. You think you're some investigator and if you ask the right amount of questions you'll solve the puzzle. But you're not," he said, lifting himself off the chair. He towered over me, his lips curled into a sneer. "You are annoying. A brat. You don't belong here."

"As you keep saying for the past five years," I said, trying hard not to show my hurt feelings.

"It will always be that way," he said, pushing his hands in his pockets. He turned to walk away. "Work hard on those projects you had to do with me. I won't be showing up for couple of days."

My chest clenched. He was truly horrible.