And so the week went.

They would never arrive together, but every night, and ten o'clock, no matter the weather, Harry would find himself lacing up his skates by the side of the frozen pond in the company of Draco Malfoy.

He was a slow learner, but having got over his initial reservations he now appeared determined not to give in. It had got to the stage where he no longer constantly needed Harry's hand, which Harry found he regretted despite the fact he was pleased by the progress of his pupil. It was comforting, having that regular physical contact with someone else.

As he had grown older, Harry began to appreciate how touched starved he had been under the care, or lack thereof, of the Dursleys. It wasn't until he had joined school and made friends that he realised how deeply comforting the feeling of someone's hand on your skin was, or even better, the reassurance of a warm embrace.

If he was truly honest, it was what he missed most about the brief time he and Ginny had been together. He liked to wrap his arms around her, and feel her tucked under his chin, the sensation of one heartbeat thumping in sync with another. So when Draco began to need to hold onto him less and less, Harry wasn't all that surprised that he still stayed close, shoulder to shoulder, ready to reach out and grab him whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Most nights were so cold they had to start off wearing gloves and hats and numerous layers under their coats to keep them warm. But as they started to speed up and work their bodies more, they became free to shed their clothing, becoming freer and lighter. It made Harry's heart flip to see that fine blond hair whip in the air as they grew bolder, zipping around the edge of the lake, then venturing into the middle more, away from the safety of the bank.

Harry had never spent this much time talking with Draco before, despite knowing him for over seven years, but he was starting to think he never really knew him at all. He was funny for one thing, his dry sense of humour and sarcasm continuously cracking Harry up now he was no longer afraid to wield it in front of him. He was intelligent too, which Harry had sort of gleaned from their time on the ice, but more so from the Wednesday morning they had surprised everyone, including themselves, when they paired up in Potions for the assignment of the day. Harry had watched on as Draco quietly got on with complex calculations, only interrupting him when he got too advanced and lost him.

They had paired up again on Friday too.

Saturday had found them staying for much longer at lunch than normal as they'd got into a passionate debate over this season's Quidditch line-ups, both in the professional league and at school, and a full two hours had passed before he realised they were the only Eighth Years still sat at the table.

Tuesday afternoon they did their Charms homework together. Thursday they played chess, and Draco got very loud as he indignantly accused Harry of cheating, much to Harry's delight. Sunday they walked to Hogsmeade together to join a group of mutual friends for a roast dinner, sitting side by side as the evening drew in as they split a bottle of wine.

By the last Tuesday of the year, Harry realised he had spent the better part of a month almost exclusively with Draco.

And still every night they skated.

As he knew he would be, Harry was proud to say Draco was now utterly proficient. Backwards, forwards, side to side, they traversed the ice without fear or hesitation, racing each other up and down the lake and daring one another on to increasingly higher leaps and spins and jumps.

By the time the final few days before the Christmas break rolled around, Harry realised that Draco made him happy. He missed him when they were apart, and was constantly thinking about what stories to tell him about his day when they were together again. He knew he was going to feel his absence keenly once they went home for the break. Harry still didn't have an owl of his own, not willing to replace Hedwig just yet, and although there were always ones he could borrow it wouldn't be the same, they would only be able to communicate every few days at best.

Which is why he found himself digging through his trunk on the penultimate day before they departed, searching for something in particular to share with Draco before they left.

They took to the ice as usual that night, but Harry could feel himself being quiet, nervous about what was to come. He had stopped questioning the affect Draco's presence had on him; he knew it wasn't normal, but he didn't really know what to do about it other than embrace it. He liked spending time with him, he liked him, so why should he fight it? They had taken many opportunities to talk over the past few weeks about their unfortunate history, and it wasn't like all was forgiven, but a great deal of water had passed under the bridge, and they were certainly making a lot of progress, so why shouldn't Harry enjoy their new friendship?

But he wasn't sure how Draco was going to react to what Harry had to give him, or if he was making a much bigger deal of it than he should. For all he knew, Draco wasn't feeling half as melancholy as he was at the prospect of spending three weeks apart.