The park was empty, excluding, Draco, when Harry arrived. He expected as such, which is probably why Draco chose it. Along with the fact that no one else but Harry and Draco knew about it, of course.

He could recall in seventh grade, the early months of their rivalry when things were a bit more violent and a lot less clever. It had been a while since the boys had throttled each other, and Harry couldn't say he missed it.

Draco was leaning against a pole of the swing set, his posture relaxed and nonchalant. Harry tried to mimic it, but he could not mask his anxious nerves.

Draco, Harry noticed with wide eyes as he neared him, was holding a thick journal to his chest, almost protectively. It had an emblem on it, a sheild like shape cut into fourths, an animal in each quarter. A snake, a badger, an eagle, and a lion. Harry had seen something like it before.

"You have Hermione's notebook," Harry said, coming to a stop about six feet from him, "The one where she records other's knifes. How'd you get your hands on that?" The girl hovered over the book anytime it was not hidden in her bag, and if it wasn't with her, it was with Ron or Neville, and they were just as relentless as not letting anyone get their hands on it.

"It's not Hermione's," he tosses the book to Harry, who catches it with ease.

"It sure as hell looks like hers." Harry's hands held the book delicately, not opening it. It would be an invasion of privacy, Harry felt. He knew he would eventually flip through the pages, studying them diligently (he wanted to know the Secret and this was a clue, after all), but he would not do it now. Not yet.

"It's a copy," Draco stated simply.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "How did you get someone to copy it?"

"Did you know Ron hands his knife off to Neville during football practice?" Draco said with a smirk. "I cornered him when he was defenseless. My threats were very intimidating, it seemed."

That made sense. What did not make sense was Draco's reason for all of this. "Why," Harry asked, "are you acting nice? Why don't you want to be my rival anymore? What changed?"

Draco's face flushed for a moment, but only for a moment, before it cleared entirely. "Was I not clear in my letter? It is petty and boring. Imagine the things we can accomplish as friends, Harry. We'd be unstoppable."

"I mean," Harry said, "I guess you're right."

Draco smirked, stepping away from the swing set, and held his hand out to Harry. "Friends?" he asked.

Harry took his hand, shaking it. "Can I ask you something? About the journal."

Draco released his hand, going to sit on a swing, "Of course, Harry."

"Have you read it?"

"Yes," Draco said. Harry sat in the swing beside him.

"What do you think the Secret is? From what you've seen?" Harry hugs the book close to his chest.

Draco stared off in the distance for a moment. "I have a working theory," he said slowly, "But you won't agree."

"C'mon," Harry paused, "I wanna know either way."

Draco sighed. "I don't think there is a Secret," he said.

Harry stared at him, as if trying to decypher if he was joking or not. "But Ma- Draco," Harry insisted, "the knives are designed after who we kill. It's been seen time and time again! And the Ministry knows if you kill someone, or if someone takes your knife. There's something. There's obviously something. How can you so confidently say there's no Secret?"

"They're bugged," Draco says simply, "The knifes are bugged, so of course they know that shit."

Harry took this in. "That could be so, but what about the way they're designed for the victim's?"

"Consider this; you grow up hearing about how your knife is designed after the person you're going to kill. It becomes a firm belief, and when you finally do kill someone, your mind matched that person and your knife qualities because it knows it supposed to. Their favorite color was green, and your knife blade is green, or they were wearing green that day or had one time dyed their hair green. It's not real. The Secret is that there's no Secret."

Harry snorted. "I seriously doubt it."

"You'll see," Draco said, "Read through that book and you'll see. There's no hint in it. And these were made by people who have been working toward this almost their entire lives. The book is no help. There is no Secret."

Harry looked down at the book, rubbing his hands over the rough cover. He wanted to push more about the Secret, but he didn't. He had a feeling it wouldn't be of any help. His fingers paused at the emblem. "This symbol, what's it mean?"

"I don't know exactly," Draco stood, "But I know some people who do. I plan to look into it. You should, too. Let's meet tomorrow to compare notes, yes?"

Harry realized truly what Draco had meant when he mentioned the things they could accomplish together- with their vastly different styles of study, the amount of information brought to the table would be more helpful than if they did it solo. "Sure," Harry smiled. "I'll be looking forward to it."

Draco nodded, leaving the park at his own slow pace. Harry sat there for a while longer, the book in his arms becoming more of a weight in his shoulders the longer he held it.

No hint. No Secret. Not real.

The words echoed in his head, and Harry felt the childish and familiar feeling of wanting to prove Draco totally and utterly wrong- but this time it was different. He wanted to prove Draco wrong not just for Harry himself, but for Draco, too.

Harry began the long walk home. He knew he would not be sleeping long. He had too much to do.