The day of Quidditch try-outs dawned crisp and blindingly sunny. Harry and Ron had decided to sit in the stands and cheer everyone on, Ginny included, even if that did mean they'd only annoy the bloody hell out of her. Harry found himself wanting to run to the pitch with the other students and very nearly did. All that held him back was that Ron was still recovering from a jelly-legs jinx sent his way by one Blaise Zabini for some sort of perceived dormitory infraction. Harry had to admit that Ron may very well have been guilty of it, too. He did have a stubborn streak and could be a bit of a mess after all.

So Harry walked slowly, breathing in the scent of broom wax and freshly-groomed tail twigs.

The try-outs themselves were a bittersweet experience. It was disconcerting to know he wouldn't be flying in any games, that the Snitch was no longer his to catch. Harry found himself simultaneously envious of and excited for the fresh new faces that went zooming by as he yelled, "That's it! Lean into the turn!" and "Bloody great save!"

He already had his eye on two young ones for Gryffindor Seeker, both second year girls but with vastly different styles. He found himself admiring Shelton's daring and McDermot's cunning, Shelton's wild moves and McDermot's efficiency. It was a little like watching himself and Malfoy in action again, and Harry couldn't help the knot of nostalgia that sat in his throat at the thought.

In the middle of the action, Ginny flew over to where they sat and hovered. "Who do you like, Harry?"

"Harry?" Ron complained. "Don't you want to know who I like, too?"

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Stott and her brother would make great Beaters," Harry said.

Ginny nodded. "Dana's great. And Archie reminds me of--" She stopped suddenly.

"Fred," Ron finished for her.

They looked at one another, Ginny nodding. Ron gave her a sad smile, and Ginny sniffed, turning shrewd eyes back on the try-outs. "Who do you have for Seeker, Harry?"

"You're not going to be Seeker, Gin?" Harry asked.

She shrugged. "I like the Quaffle better than the Snitch."

Harry had to wonder if there was an underlying message there about Neville and him. He decided it didn't matter if there was. He'd never love anything better than chasing down the Snitch. He was pretty sure Malfoy felt the same. Harry cleared his throat. "Shelton or McDermot."

Ginny smiled at him. "My thoughts exactly." She went back to watching the kids go through the drills she'd set for them. "For Chasers I'm going to go with those boys there."

Harry nodded. "Not bad."

"Hey!" Ron yelled, finally having enough of it.

"Okay, Ron," Ginny sighed. "Who do you have for Keeper then?"

"Cordelia Bursnell," Ron said without hesitation. Then he nodded covertly in her direction, indicating a quite large, possibly surly-looking (or possibly just shy) fifth year girl with dark skin and a-

"Whoa!" Harry said as she made a lightning fast grab to save the goal.

"Right?" Ron nodded. "You'd be crazy not to take her, Gin."

"That I would be," Ginny agreed. "Thanks!"

With that she flew off to the centre of the pitch.

"Hey, Ginny, I've got game plans!" Ron stood and yelled after her.

She waved him off without a backward glance, and Harry couldn't help but choke back a laugh at his stricken face.

"Come on," Harry said. "We can plan our own practices."

Harry had told Ron all about his eighth year teams idea over breakfast. Likewise, after Hermione left for the library, Ron told Harry that their talk had gone well and now they had Christmas break "plans". It was more than Harry felt he should know, but he was happy for them nonetheless.

Try-outs had taken hours, and when they entered the castle, the smell of dinner assaulted them.

"Bloody hell, I'm starving, and I didn't even play!" Ron said.

They ate that evening like they were conducting a siege on food itself.

Hermione rolled her eyes but asked, "Good practice?"

Ron's mouth was too busy, so Harry answered. "Brilliant. Except for not getting to play."

"Of course." She reached over and gave Harry's hand a sympathetic squeeze.

"How was the library?" Harry asked. "Like old times?"

She let out a grand sigh. "Gruelling really. As bad as third year. I want my Time Turner back."

"Which classes were you studying for?"

"Arithmancy mostly. But I could hardly get anything done with Malfoy having all the books I wanted checked out for himself."

"You saw Malfoy in the library?" Harry asked casually.

"Mostly just his hair sticking out above a great pile of books. Do you know why he's studying so hard? It's almost frantic. Have you noticed?" Hermione took a bite of her treacle tart.

Ron swallowed finally. "I heard he's got to. If he doesn't get all Exceeds Expectations on his N.E.W.T.s--"

"That can't be right," Hermione said. "I heard he had to abide the law and all Hogwarts rules. I'm guessing he's just working hard to get good marks because he knows how hard it's going to be for him after he leaves here. He'll have a better chance if his N.E.W.T.s are impressive." She shrugged.

"Obey the rules, get good marks... Whatever the stipulation actually is, if he blows it..." Ron made a gesture across his throat with his butter knife.

"It's not funny, Ron," Harry said.

"Oi! It's only Malfoy."

He and Hermione then got into an argument about the wisdom or fallacy of the Wizengamot's decision for Malfoy's probation while Harry slowly chewed his food. When they paused for breath and fuming, Harry interjected, "So he was in the library all afternoon?"

"I believe so, why?"

Harry shrugged. His food had gone bland, and he was no longer having such a fun day. He looked down the table, toward the more Slytherin end. Malfoy wasn't there. Harry wondered if he was even going to eat at all or if he was too busy trying not to get sent to Azkaban.

To Azkaban.

When all Harry had done all day was watch Quidditch like he didn't have a care in the world.

And he didn't even know if that would be considered normal or... Well, shallow. Harry knew that 'normal' was not his speciality by any means.

What was his speciality now that he wasn't trying to save the world? Now that his broom had been grounded? Now that he was...

Gay.

Harry surreptitiously looked up and studied Ron's face across the table. Ron was decent looking. A little odd here and there, but decent. For the first time, Harry scanned himself for... Well, feelings.

He'd hardly begun, though, when he felt the ruddy unholiness of it all strike him in the gut.

"Harry? Are you quite all right? Merlin, you're positively green." Hermione reached across the table for his hand.

"No. I'm... I'm fine. Bit of a bad plum in this pudding. Beware."

Rather than suffer her concern and questions, he excused himself. When he got to the entrance hall and turned to the stairs to head back to the common room, he stopped. The doors to the front were open, letting in the cool air before it turned winter cold. He realised he could walk outside, that he could leave the grounds, that he could go anywhere. As long as he was back by curfew.

He looked back at the dining hall where his friends were. He looked up the stairs again. Then he walked outside and breathed in the fresh air.

As he wandered through the courtyard, he saw Seamus talking with Dean. Harry waved, and they called back, and then started talking together again. Harry imagined kissing Dean. It wasn't too bad of a thing. Not like Ron. He tried to imagine having sex with Seamus. And that was borderline ridiculous. He tried imagining them together, and that was pretty good, actually. Except that they were his friends, and really the whole idea was more off-putting than not.

Harry passed three more boys, one seventh year and two sixth. It was easier imagining a snog with them as he didn't even know their names. It was... okay. The seventh year, the tall one... Harry could see that. He could picture fumbling hands in the dark; trousers yanked open; hot, fast breaths.

Harry cleared his throat.

Not bad. He could be gay with that guy.

He passed Luna Lovegood and Padma Patil, and because this was a scientific experiment, he gave that a go, too. Not much happened except that he started thinking of the two of them together without him at all, and that was pretty good.

Maybe he was bisexual, then.

Maybe he was just a freak.

Maybe it was mainly, mostly...

No. He couldn't even think that. The thought made him want to run back, find that seventh year bloke, and pin him to the flagstones, kissing him until Draco Malfoy was no longer this looming thing in his mind, whispering, "It's me, Potter. It's all me. You're a dodgy, gay, poncy git for me, aren't you? Aren't you, Potter? You and your out-of-control erections. Now come over here, get on your knees, and suck my-"

Harry shook his head to clear it. He blamed Twister. He blamed Dean Thomas. He blamed Ginny for falling in love with Neville. He blamed Neville for getting all fit.

Harry had blamed half the school when he suddenly realised he was most of the way to Hogsmeade and it was getting dark. He pulled his wand and cast a weak Lumos, illuminating the path ahead. He kicked at some stones with the toe of his trainer and watched them skitter into the hedges beside the road.

"Shit," came a hiss from beyond the trees.

Harry noticed a faint silver light fizzling out. He would have thought it was someone else's Lumos except that Lumos was more white light than silver and no one had called Nox. And Lumos didn't fizzle away like that.

Patronuses did. When you didn't cast one properly.

Harry walked into the trees, toward the rustling. He palmed the thick trunks and tried to step quietly. He wasn't sure who he expected to find when he came to a bit of a clearing near a rickety fence. But the fact that it was Malfoy standing there near a broken post, the Shrieking Shack towering beyond, made an odd sort of sense to him. Malfoy stowed his wand as Harry approached. He looked guilty.

"What are you doing out here?" Malfoy snapped at him.

"Taking a walk. What are you doing spellwork out here for?" Harry came to stand a few feet away.

"It's nothing. Just wanted some privacy. Guess I can't have it."

"If it's privacy you want, try the Forbidden Forest. No one will follow you in there."

"Except you," Malfoy sneered, but Harry thought there was also something complimentary in it.

Harry smiled a little. He took a step closer. "So, what were you working on?"

"If I wanted to talk about it, I wouldn't be on my own in the woods, now would I?" There wasn't any heat in Malfoy's voice, though. Harry suspected he wasn't here because he wanted privacy but because, for whatever reason, he needed it.

He knew his alarm bells should be going off. He'd spent the better part of his years at Hogwarts suspicious of Draco Malfoy and for very good reason. But now that he was nearer, seeing Malfoy's pointy profile by the light of the brilliant half-moon, he didn't look so much guilty as ashamed.

"Are you trying to conjure a Patronus?" Harry knew he was being blunt. He knew it was none of his business and that Malfoy would likely tell him so. But... Well, the idea of it sparked something inside of him. That Malfoy, a former Death Eater, would want a Patronus, that he'd feel he might be capable...

That something in Malfoy wanted to be good.

Malfoy kicked at the fence post, dirtying his fine shoe. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter."

"Why would it be ridiculous?" Harry took two more steps forward, daring to stand beside him. He leaned on the fence and stared at Malfoy's jaw working. It was such a sharp jaw, the lines of it perfect and smooth. Harry wet his lips, waiting for his answer.

"You know why," Malfoy said.

Harry blinked at him. Then he scanned the area, looking up into the dark trees.

"What are you looking for?" Malfoy frowned.

"I think you're getting interference here." Harry pointed up to the canopy of dry leaves overhead. "For your first full Patronus, you'll need space." He took a breath and let it out. "Come on." He planted his hand on the post and vaulted over the place where the wood had rotted.

"What are you doing?"

"Come on," Harry said. "I'll show you."

"I don't think..."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell, Draco, it's not even close to curfew. Come on."

Malfoy firmed his lips, sighing. He looked around, like any moment his Slytherin friends would pop out of the bushes to make fun of him. Harry waited patiently even though he wanted to grab Malfoy's arm and drag him into the field.

"Fine," Malfoy finally spat, jumping the fence to join Harry on the other side.

"Brilliant."

"We'll see about that."

Harry smiled. "Okay, come here." He walked into the field about ten paces. "Don't worry. We can't be seen from the road here."

Malfoy stepped cautiously up beside him. Harry drew his wand. He looked at Malfoy. "Go on, then."

Malfoy frowned at him, but then he drew his wand, too.

"All right, well, the hardest part of producing a Patronus - and the easiest part, once you get it - is that you have to feel it," Harry began.

And Merlin, it was just like Dumbledore's Army! It was like Felix Felicis running through his veins. It was magic the way it had always felt to him when it went perfectly, when he didn't have to worry about dying or saving anyone and it was only about the fire flying down his arm, into his grip, and blasting out of his wand, an extension of the very best part of him - his heart and his soul and the hope in him. The fierce joy.

He didn't have to teach Malfoy posture or wand grip like he did with most of the others he'd helped. Malfoy already had those things down to an art. Harry could just cue him, and Malfoy would take a textbook perfect stance.

"Good, good," Harry said, almost wishing he had a reason to correct him, just to get to touch him. The straight, strong line of his shoulders, that regal neck, those slim hips and that arse that was just so-

Harry cleared his throat and, instead, focused on the more difficult (and less distracting) aspects, such as the deep, steady breaths, the clearing of one's mind. "And then access your happiest memory," Harry told him, feeling very relaxed and energised himself.

Harry got still, found the quiet place inside himself that was always alive with potential, focused his energy there, put intent into his grip...

"Expecto Patronum!"

The stag erupted into being, shining brightly in the clearing, the moon hanging over its antlered head like a lopsided crown.

Malfoy stared at it as though he'd never seen a stag in his life. Then he swallowed thickly. "I, uh...I should get back."

"What? Why?" With his concentration gone, Harry's Patronus diminished, galloped a couple of paces, and then faded into the darkening night.

"I just-- I think that's enough for now."

"You don't have to conjure a full Patronus, you know," Harry said. "Nobody does on their first try, believe me. A shield form can do a lot of good in a tight situation."

Malfoy holstered his wand, not looking at Harry. "Such as a cutthroat game of Twister?"

As the words sank in, a surprised laugh left Harry's lips. Malfoy slanted him a cautious smile.

"I actually can't see how that would have benefited anyone," Harry admitted.

"Nothing for it but to fall, I suppose."

"Right."

Suddenly the moon was gilding Malfoy's hair, and his pointiness softened, and his eyes shone with something not unlike... friendliness.

Harry had been so busy feeling gay about Malfoy that he hadn't once given himself the opportunity to wonder if they could be...

Friends."What?" Malfoy asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "Are you going back to the castle then?"

"Aren't you?"

"Yes. Yeah. I mean, sure." Harry holstered his wand for something to do with his hands. He hadn't had a destination, after all, so he might as well go back to his dormitory. Even though part of him wanted to ask Malfoy out for a pint so bad he could practically taste the words in his mouth. He didn't feel quite up for that yet, though, so he asked instead, "Mind if I walk back with you?"

Malfoy frowned, but as Malfoy's frowns went, it wasn't altogether harsh. More confused-looking than angry. "I suppose not."

"Good," Harry said, and one after the other they jumped the fence again and made their way back through the trees toward the road.

It was fully dark now, so Harry cast a strong Lumos to light their way. They walked side by side back toward the castle as the air grew colder and the moon rose. Malfoy stuck his hands in his pockets and watched the ground where he walked.

"So, what do you think your Patronus is going to be?" Harry asked.

"How should I know?"

Harry shrugged. "I just thought maybe you'd have a preference."

"Does preference matter?"

"I don't actually know," Harry admitted. "I have a stag like my father's, but it's not like I expected that. I didn't really expect anything. I didn't know to. You know?"

When Malfoy just pensively strode on, Harry pestered a bit.

"So, what would you choose, if you got a choice?"

Malfoy sighed. "I'm not sure. A bird maybe?"

"Brilliant." Harry nodded. "What kind?"

Malfoy lifted his gaze and peered up at the night sky as if he could see it there, flying over them. A smattering of stars winked on. "Something fast," he said. "A blackbird."

Harry envisioned a small, fast blackbird emerging from Malfoy's wand, its wings beating the air and then soaring high overhead. With how good Malfoy was on a broom, it could work. It made sense.

"What, do you think that's bloody daft or something?" Malfoy's brows descended into a deep scowl.

"No," Harry said quickly. "No, not at all. I think it suits you, actually."

"You do?"

"Yeah."

Malfoy sighed, the tension draining out of his shoulders, and Harry relaxed again. It was a new sensation, not wanting to anger Malfoy, wanting to be nice to him, wanting him not to feel bad.

Harry gazed at Venus rising over the nearing castle walls.

He might bloody well like the prat.

They reached the gate, but before Malfoy could walk through to the courtyard and, presumably, go his own way, Harry grabbed his elbow. Malfoy frowned down at his hand but then looked into Harry's eyes.

Harry dropped his hand and swallowed. "I was just wondering. If you'd want to maybe... do this again. Sometime."

Malfoy blinked at him. "Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?" Harry couldn't help but laugh. But at Malfoy's defensive jaw-firming, he sobered. "Do you mean why like, 'What's your ulterior motive, Potter?'"

"I suppose so, yeah."

Harry took a chance, reached out, and closed his hand gently on Malfoy's arm. Malfoy looked down at it and then back up at Harry's face, perplexed. Harry realised too late that he was touching right where the Dark Mark would be. But he couldn't pull back now. He couldn't change it. He just needed to say what he intended to say.

"I want to be there when you do it."

Malfoy gulped. "You do?"

"Yeah." Harry smiled at him. Malfoy's shirt was cool against his fingers, but the arm underneath exuded a very pleasant heat. Regretfully, Harry let go. "So? Would you want to?"

Malfoy wouldn't meet his eyes. "When?"

"Are you free Wednesday night?"

"I think so."

"Great. Walk over together or meet there?"

"Meet there?" Malfoy asked, and the nervousness Harry heard in his voice was heartening. It made Harry feel a lot less stupid about his own.

"Yeah, sure. Eight o'clock?"

"All right."

"Okay." Harry smiled.

Malfoy gave him a tremulous smile in return.

"Are you, er, going back to the common room now?" Harry asked.

"No. I missed dinner."

"Oh yeah, that's right. You weren't at the table."

"You noticed?" Malfoy asked.

"Sure. I mean, you're hard to miss. Er, not miss. I mean, you're very striking." Horrified, Harry kept going. "What I mean is... well... your hair..." He trailed off, utterly cringing on the inside. And yeah, on the outside a little, too.

But Malfoy didn't laugh at him. In fact, his ears had gone red again. But, Harry rationalised, that could have been the cold. The temperature was dropping fast, and Harry had begun to shiver slightly.

"Anyway," Malfoy said. "I thought I'd try to get some food from the house-elves."

"Oh, yeah. Brilliant. Just tickle the pear."

"Excuse me?"

"You know. The pear. You tickle it?"

When Malfoy just continued to stare at him, Harry flushed.

"Okay, so you don't know about the pear then."

Malfoy shook his head.

"You're going to need to follow me."

Malfoy looked sceptical, but he followed Harry inside nonetheless. They made their way down the hallway, and when they reached the painting, Harry pointed. "The pear," he said. "Tickle it."

"Are you taking the piss?" Malfoy asked.

Harry laughed. "I'm completely not, no."

Malfoy gave him a thunderous look while still reaching his graceful finger toward the pear. The sight was just almost too funny not to laugh at, but Harry managed.

"Bloody hell," Malfoy said as the door opened and allowed them into the kitchens.

"Told you."

A dozen elves lined up to do the honour of fetching Malfoy a meal, but Harry stopped them and touched Malfoy's elbow.

"What?"

"Well, if you, say, brought back cakes and pies enough for everyone, I guarantee you'd be King of the Common Room." Harry gave him a conspiratorial smirk.

Malfoy slowly nodded. "Do you think?"

"Most definitely."

Malfoy nodded again. "Two dozen of your best cakes and pies," he demanded.

Harry removed his hand again. Fuck, touching Malfoy could get addictive.

Harry was so very gay.

"Look," he said. "I, uh, I need to get back and feed Gordon." It wasn't the truth, but Harry didn't think Malfoy would like the truth, which was that he was afraid people would think it was his idea to bring sweets, not Malfoy's, and that Harry would inadvertently steal his moment. Which, it was his idea, but just because Malfoy wasn't used to thinking of others didn't mean it couldn't, eventually, come naturally, right? And he seemed to like the idea, even if he only liked that he'd curry favour by his action. What did that matter, really?

"I can manage on my own," Malfoy said.

"Good. I'll, uh, see you back there then."

"Yeah. Sure."

Harry turned to leave as five house-elves scurried past.

"Potter."

"Yeah?"

Malfoy frowned at him. "Thank you."

Harry smiled back, realising that maybe Malfoy's frowns were just a form of slightly confused smiling. "You're welcome, Draco."

It felt good to say.

It felt very, very good to say.

It turned out that Harry's Malfoy-brings-everyone-sweets idea was wildly successful, even though Harry himself wasn't there to see it. He'd stayed in the dormitory, and he wasn't sure why.

He heard about it the next day at breakfast. Ron with his mouth full: "Seriously! Malfoy! Can you believe that?"

"He's changed," Harry said, clinking a spoon around in his nearly empty teacup.

"That or he's buttering us up for something," Ron mused. "Or fattening us up. Maybe he plans to eat us." After a moment, he shrugged, apparently accepting that Malfoy had changed for the better. He shovelled some more food into his mouth.

Harry glanced up at Malfoy down at the other end of the table, but he was in a conversation with Parkinson and didn't look up.

He didn't have time to think of Malfoy after that as he had a full morning and afternoon of quizzes in both Potions and Transfiguration. Harry thought they must have been the result of some nefarious late-night staff room group decision to end them all. If the N.E.W.Ts were half as hard, they were well and truly buggered.

It was a relief to go into Defence and find that no such test awaited them.

What did await, however, was Professor Snape pairing him with Malfoy again. Harry couldn't decide if he was elated or frustrated. At least this time they weren't asked to duel at the front of the room with the entire class as their audience. Everyone else was paired off as well, and Malfoy and he took a place off to the side, well out of the way of those students whose wands were known to "backfire" on occasion.

"Hey," Harry said with a small smile.

"Hey."

Harry's hand was sweating where he gripped his wand. He watched Malfoy swallow.

"Take your positions," Snape said. "Bow. And... begin!"

It started off perfectly normal: Expelliarmus, Confundus, Immobulus, Stinging Hexes, Jelly-Legs Jinxes, and the like. Harry dodged, Malfoy feinted, and neither one of them struck true. Malfoy managed to make Harry's left arm go numb, and Harry got off an Aquamenti that drenched Malfoy's shirt, but it hardly stopped him firing off his own Stupefy which Harry ducked at the last moment.

It didn't seem to have gone on for long, but steadily Harry came to realise that the rest of the room had gone strangely quiet. He could hear one or two jinxes going off in the background, but it seemed most of the class had left off. He glanced to the side to find several of his contemporaries immobilised by spells that had hit their targets and others out of breath and shaking hands.

After several more arduous minutes, it became clear that he and Malfoy were the only ones still at it. And Professor Snape wasn't stopping them.

Harry flicked three quick wordless jinxes Malfoy's way, but Malfoy rolled and met them with his own defensive spells. Their magic met between them and sizzled together before skittering off across the room as they regrouped.

They circled each other, now panting.

"Conjunctivitus!" Malfoy threw at him.

Harry dodged. "Petrificus--"

Malfoy swiped his magic through the air and tripped Harry up mid-spell, but Harry managed a Stinging Hex from the ground and caught Malfoy's wand wrist. Malfoy hissed but didn't drop his wand.

Spell after spell, it went like that. The sweat had begun to drip off Harry's hair and into his eyes. It shone on Malfoy's face as well, and he flicked his own hair out of his face. He'd let it get a bit longer again, sort of floppy and pretty, and if Harry wasn't careful--

"Expelliarmus!" Malfoy called, stripping Harry of his wand.

"Brilliant, Malfoy!" Blaise cheered.

Harry thought fast and tried something he'd been practicing on his own - a wandless hex that stunned temporarily. He threw out his hand, and his magic struck like lightning, catching Malfoy in the shoulder. He dropped Harry's wand, and Harry Accio'd it back quickly.

"Go, Harry!" Hermione shouted, and he felt the exhilaration soar through him.

Malfoy recovered fast, and then they were back at it. Half an hour must have gone by. Maybe more. The whole class had surrounded them in a wide semi-circle, and shouts of encouragement abounded on both sides. Harry realised that some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were pulling for Malfoy instead of him now. Probably the pies, Harry thought. He would have given a rueful laugh if he weren't ducking out of the way of a Knee-Reversal Hex.

Forty-five minutes. It had to have been. They were both dripping sweat and struggling to breathe, still throwing spells back and forth, neither one of them achieving the upper hand. Harry's legs felt weak, and Malfoy looked like he might collapse any time.

Finally, Snape's calm voice rang through the room. "That will be enough."

They lowered their wand arms simultaneously. Malfoy immediately dropped to his knees even as Harry collapsed onto the floor on his back. A great cheer went up around the room, and Professor Snape shouted for silence.

"Your homework will be to perfect one wandless spell from your book. Nothing from chapter eight, please. Only chapters one through seven. I expect all of you to be able to demonstrate your considerable expertise before the winter break. Thank you. That will be all."

"Great job, Harry." "You'll get him next time, Harry." "Bloody amazing, Harry," his friends chorused as they filed past his flat body on their way out.

Harry turned his head on the floor and looked at Malfoy slouched there a few feet away. Several people - not just Zabini or Parkinson - were congratulating him, too. Harry smiled. Malfoy nodded his thanks at the Patil twins before looking up and meeting Harry's gaze. He gave Harry a slow, crooked smirk.

That, more than any spell he'd fired off during their duel, nearly did Harry in.

Harry took a fast shower before dinner and then went down and ate like his life depended on every calorie.

"Want to take the pitch for an hour?" Ron asked when they were finished.

"Merlin, no. I'm too stuffed, mate."

"Suit yourself. Are you going to the library, Hermione?"

She gave him a smile. "I could probably bring my books and sit in the stands."

Harry decided to let them flirt in peace and dismissed himself. He trudged up to the dorms, replete, trying to decide if he was going to practice his wandless spell tonight or maybe work on his History of Magic essay instead.

He checked out the common room, telling himself that he wasn't expressly looking for Malfoy. He was just being thorough. But there was no shimmering blond head. No reason for his heart to skip any beats.

Harry headed down the hall to his room. There was no one else inside when he opened the door and flicked on the light beside his bed.

Harry made to sit down and then stopped.

"What the--?"

He looked at the thing sitting on his covers and frowned.

He peered around, expecting to find a sneaking Seamus or snickering Dean, but no one was there. His ferret, even, slept tucked away in his enclosure - which was a miracle considering what was waiting on the bed so very nearby.

Harry reached down and picked up the cupcake. It appeared to be chocolate with chocolate frosting. He ran his wand over it, checking for any... well... He felt silly even thinking it, but...

Dark bakery magic.

There was none.

And that's when he noticed the note underneath where the cupcake had been sitting. Harry set the cake on the table beside his bed and opened the note. The handwriting was precise, even beautiful. Harry's breath went shallow.

Since you missed out on my magnanimity, Potter. I hope you like chocolate. But really, who doesn't like chocolate?

Good duelling today.

DM

The smile that dawned on Harry's face was entirely involuntary. The blush that stole over his cheeks was, too.

But actually sitting down and sinking his teeth into the cupcake when he was already so very full? That was by choice.

Ginny posted the results of the Quidditch try-outs two days later. She'd chosen Shelton, the player who reminded Harry of himself, for Seeker. He felt strangely vindicated by that, like even if he'd been a crap boyfriend, she still thought he was a good Quidditch player.

It was something.

She'd even invited Ron and Harry to watch their first practice that Saturday. Harry jumped on the chance and decided to bring his broom -- just in case Ginny needed someone to teach Shelton a proper Wronski Feint.

It wouldn't be the same as actually playing, but still, as the day arrived, cold and cloudy, Harry was eager. Ron and he bolted down some food and excused themselves early from breakfast to get to the pitch before anyone else and do some drills of their own.

They'd stayed up late the night before coming up with different plays should Ginny decide she'd like their input. They even had charts and graphs. It had taken Hermione shuffling out at two in the morning ("I can hear you talking Quaffles in my dreams.") to get them to finally leave off.

On the way to the stadium, Harry daydreamed about their first match, how Shelton would snag the Snitch because of his tutelage and Gryffindor would reign victorious.

It was both surprising and disheartening, then, when McGonagall stopped him more than halfway to the pitch.

"Mr Potter!"

He glanced back at Ron briefly. "Yes, Professor?"

She approached him, slightly out of breath. "Mr Potter, there is a man from the Daily Prophet here to see you."

"But I--"

"I know you're going to watch the practice, and it wasn't scheduled until a fortnight from now, but he says he has to catch a Portkey to Egypt this afternoon for a long piece on... Well, something to do with Egyptian goblins and Pharaohs' gold. He says this shouldn't take but ten minutes."

"What shouldn't take but ten minutes?" Harry attempted to hem in his impatience. He looked back at Ron, but his friend had already disappeared into the dark breezeway between the stands. Harry firmed his jaw and turned back to the headmistress.

"He'd like to interview you," McGonagall informed on a smile that told Harry she either had no idea how vile Harry found interviews or was choosing to ignore this knowledge.

He couldn't help it; he sighed.

"Harry." Oh, boy. "Normally, I would not ask this of you, but..." She lowered her voice, whether conspiratorially or from mild shame, Harry couldn't be sure. "Well, you've seen the state of the castle."

"Um...yes?"

"I'll be blunt, Mr Potter. The newspaper has offered a substantial... gift... to the school, if..."

"If I'll grant this interview," Harry finished for her.

She sighed as though he'd already agreed. "Yes. That's it exactly." She smiled.

This wasn't exactly how he pictured his morning going, but... Well, he'd be doing a good thing for the school, right? Casting one last look back at the pitch, he asked, "Just ten minutes? That's all he's asking for?"

"Indeed. I'd consider it a personal favour, Mr Potter."

Harry gave her a smile and nodded. "All right."

"Splendid!" McGonagall clapped her hands together. "Right this way."

She led him, broom over his shoulder, back into the castle, through the Great Hall, and into the chamber adjacent. Harry was at least relieved it wasn't a broom closet with Rita Skeeter waiting for him in it.

"Thank you, Mr Potter," McGonagall whispered as she opened the door for him and then turned to go.

Harry walked into the room and--

Flash!

"Oi! What are you--?"

"Harvey, Harry. Harvey Creevey. I'm Colin and Dennis' da." A pudgy man in smudged spectacles stuck out his hand.

Harry blinked and then belatedly took it. "Oh. I, er, I didn't know you... I mean, I thought... You're a--"

"'Muggle'?" Mr Creevey asked readily. Then he put one hand to the side of his mouth as if to prevent even the portraits in the room from reading his lips. "Between you and me and your lovely headmistress, I'm actually a Squib. I like to say that my boys got all my magic!" He laughed.

At Harry's flabbergasted staring, Mr Creevey went on.

"I was in milk before." He nodded.

"Sir?"

"Milkman, that I was. I've, uh, I've had to learn about wizard photography to work for the paper. It's been a challenge but well worth it." He still had hold of Harry's hand and stepped in a bit closer, lowering his voice. "I decided it would be a good way to... you know... to serve his memory." Mr Creevey's eyes welled up, and he sniffed.

"Absolutely," Harry said, still feeling a bit thunderstruck.

Mr Creevey took Harry's hand in both his own. "Colin adored you, Harry. Just worshiped you, he did."

Harry felt his cheeks flame. His hand had begun to sweat, but the situation seemed to warrant his staying put. "He was a good friend," Harry fibbed. Suddenly, he felt like a horse's arse for avoiding Colin as much as possible for much of their Hogwarts experience. "He was a talented wizard. Very sharp with a camera, too."

Mr Creevey beamed. He let go of Harry's hand and set his own fists proudly on his hips. "Photography runs in the family," he said. "Always had a passion for it myself. I may have taught my boys the ins and outs, but Colin was a natural. That he was. He taught me more'n I taught him, I dare say." He sighed. "Well, I suppose we should get to it so that you can get back to your Quidditch."

"I'm happy to help, Mr Creevey," Harry said. It was true. Still, he fancied he could just almost hear Ron zinging by on his broom, laughing his head off and having the time of his life. Harry shook the image from his mind, feeling selfish and guilty.

They took seats in front of the hearth, and Mr Creevey set in with his questions.

And more questions...

And still more questions.

Harry was surprised at how many he had about the war itself. Being that he'd only asked for ten minutes, Harry had thought it would be mostly superficial rag bollocks -- not bringing up all the old pain, the suffering of his friends, things he didn't feel prepared to take on so suddenly.

Harry found it difficult to answer, but seeing the earnestness... the almost desperate need in Mr Creevey's expression, Harry pushed forward and did his best.

It was, ironically, a huge relief when Mr Creevey moved on to the subject of school, even though that led to questions about Harry's love life. ("I'm, uh, not dating anyone.")

He asked about Quidditch next. ("I'm excited to cheer Gryffindor on to another win this year.")

He asked how Harry's friendships were fairing now that He Who Must Not Be Named was out of the picture. ("Very well, thank you. I would not have made it through without them.")

"And what's your opinion, Harry, of the Wizengamot paroling former Death Eaters to further attend school here at Hogwarts?" Mr Creevey asked then.

Harry immediately bristled at the wording, even though he was trying very hard to like poor Mr Creevey. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure why my opinion matters," Harry said carefully. "The court made its decision."

"Yes, but how must it feel to continue to pursue one's education under the same dilapidated roof, or lack thereof, as former followers of He Who Must--"

"Voldemort, yes," Harry cut him off. "And I think you're speaking of one person in particular, since there really is only one such person at the school at this time?"

Mr Creevey blinked at him. "Indeed, I probably am."

Harry took a deep breath. Creevey was asking him about Malfoy. He was expressly asking him about Malfoy.

Harry recalled the rich chocolate from the illicit cupcake melting in his mouth. He recalled standing in a clearing with him and rooting for him to cast his first Patronus.

Unbidden, he recalled how it felt to hover over him, their bodies touching, trembling against one another...

He also remembered all the shit. How could he forget it? It was just as real, after all.

Merlin, how could anyone forget?

Harry envisioned whatever he said next showing up bold and embellished on the paper's front page:

Harry Potter In Cahoots with ex-Death Eater to Take Over Ministry!

Harry Potter Grandly Absolves Malfoy Family, Casts Doubt on Sanity.

Harry Potter Badly Wants to Shag Draco Malfoy into Floor! Legilimency Footage to Follow!

Harry looked down at his lap and sighed. "The Wizengamot made their decision, and I don't dispute it."

Mr Creevey wrote quickly on his ever-lengthening scroll of parchment. "Doesn't... dispute... it... Well, Mr Potter, that ought to do it!"

Harry felt like troll snot. "Right. Thanks."

"I'll be off then!" Mr Creevey stood. "Mind if I do a follow-up later in the year?"

Harry felt something ugly bloom deep in his gut. He'd talked about his last moments with Sirius; about his own godson growing up without knowing his parents, just like Harry had; about Cedric and Moody and Dumbledore! If Mr Creevey, no matter his good intentions, was asking him to go through that again at a later date...? Harry cleared his throat. "I'll be studying for my N.E.W.T.s and doubt I'll have the time." Or patience. Or fortitude.

"Ah. Very well. I'm glad I got this one, then!" Mr Creevey waved his parchment and made to leave.

Harry let him make it all the way to the door. Mr Creevey was practically through it when a horrible feeling of guilt and anger propelled Harry out of his chair. "Wait!"

Mr Creevey turned. "Yes, Harry?"

Harry turned to him, jaw firm. "Would you take this down, please?"

Creevey whipped out his quill. "Of course!" He laid the parchment on a side table and waited.

Harry closed his eyes. The thought of another interview like this one made him want to Apparate as far away as he could, but if he refused, he'd never get another chance to say the one thing that most needed said.

"Harry?" Creevey prompted.

"Right." Harry took a deep breath, opened his eyes again, and spoke. "Draco Malfoy is an outstanding student. He's working very hard to abide by the rules of his probation, and he should be commended for that. He has the potential to be not just a good wizard but a great one. And he deserves that chance."

Creevey wrote furiously and then lifted wide eyes to meet Harry's steely gaze.

"Did you get all that?" Harry asked.

"Why yes," Creevey said quietly. "Yes, I believe I did, Mr Potter."

"Good. Now I do have a Quidditch practice to get to."

"Of course."

Harry grabbed up his broom from where he'd laid it against the wall and squeezed past Creevey through the door. He jogged to the stadium, breathing hard by the time he entered the pitch itself, only to find the team coming to ground, all sweaty and smiling.

"Great work, Gryffindors!" Ron shouted from his own broom, having obviously got some flying in. "Great work!"

Ginny was at the far end of the pitch with Shelton, and they were talking seriously, heads together. Harry had the sudden poisonous thought that they were gossiping about what a terrible boyfriend he'd been and a worse Seeker -- which he knew was patently ridiculous and indicative of some severely misplaced anger. But there it roiled, under his skin, seething nonetheless.

The rest of the team filed out past Harry, huffing from exertion and smelly as a band of trolls.

"You've been forever, mate," Ron admonished good-naturedly. "Don't worry. I used one of our game plans!"

Harry ground his teeth together.

"Next time, yeah?" Ron smiled at him like it wasn't that big a deal. "Gotta go, I'm starving!" He trotted out of the stadium. Ginny and Shelton followed.

"Hey, Harry," Ginny said as she passed. Shelton just scurried along in her shadow.

Harry stared after them for a long moment, then he turned back to the empty pitch. The bright sun rapidly evaporated the last of the morning clouds. He threw his broom to the ground as hard as he could.

"FUCK!"

Harry spent the next several weeks studying as hard as Hermione ever did. He needed something to take his mind off missing Quidditch practice and the resultant rage he'd experienced toward his formerly two favourite Weasleys. He hadn't accepted any more of Ginny's invitations to attend practices, even though he realised she was asking him because she knew how hard it was for him not to be involved. Actually, maybe he declined because he knew that was why she'd asked him.

Not because she actually needed his help. She didn't. She didn't need Ron's either, but he seemed happy to overlook that fact and had been at all the practices ever since the first.

Harry hadn't stayed angry, of course. He felt pleased for the both of them if he were honest. And they were good at coaching the team; he could tell from the players' smiles and the respect they obviously harboured for both Ginny and Ron. Harry was happy for them. Truly. He just wasn't all that happy for himself.

And it wasn't just Quidditch that had pushed Harry to adopt new priorities. After the interview, he'd lain awake that night wondering what the article was going to say -- which information would be embellished and how, which bits would get eliminated altogether, and what might be added that he'd never said at all. As much as he wanted to think otherwise, Harry didn't quite believe Mr Creevey was going to be that much more ethical than the infamous Rita Skeeter, and he reckoned he'd better prepare for the worst.

It wasn't set to publish until nearly Christmas break, so Harry found himself with plenty of time to stew. He hated stewing, so he elected instead to bury himself in his classwork. He was behind in Potions and History of Magic anyway.

"Brilliant!" had been Hermione's reaction when he'd joined her in the library. Though, truthfully, he thought she probably preferred her new friends for such a thing. She'd really hit it off with the Ravenclaw girls, and Harry almost envied their zeal for such things as memorising star charts and inventing new rune spreads in their "spare time".

He didn't really have anyone he clicked with over school stuff like that.

Well, unless you counted Malfoy and his new-found appreciation for Defence.

Their Wednesday get-togethers to work on Malfoy's Patronus were something that sat nearly always at the forefront of Harry's mind. Malfoy was trying really hard, and he'd got a fair shield form a few times. Harry often found himself thinking of their Wednesdays when he should have been thinking of other things. He'd finished reading the thirty assigned pages for History of Magic one night only to realise he'd been thinking of wand-holding techniques through a good deal of it.

Specifically Malfoy's grip on his wand.

Malfoy's sure, solid grip on his long, hard w--

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione had asked from across the table.

"Hmm?"

"Harry." She'd smiled. "You had the dreamiest look on your face." She'd looked around to make sure they were alone. (It had been nine o'clock on a Friday night, and they were in the library; of course they were alone.) "Are you interested in someone?"

"What? No!" he'd answered a little too vehemently.

Hermione had given him a sideways, mischievous look, but she'd dropped it all the same.

Truth be told, it wasn't just Malfoy's hands and his, er, "wand" that he'd been fantasising about. He'd been thinking of Malfoy casting his fast little blackbird Patronus, the way his face was going to light up, the smile he'd then turn on Harry....

And though he wasn't ready to confide in Hermione (if only because confiding in her meant also confiding in Ron, and Harry didn't think Ron's newly minted Malfoy-tolerance would extend quite that far), Harry didn't really feel any sense of guilt over it anymore. So he liked Malfoy? So he found him attractive? So bloody what? There were worse things, right?

And so the weeks passed rather quickly with Harry getting caught up on all his schoolwork such that a new Wednesday arrived like no time had passed since the last one. But then getting from morning to eight pm was like some sort of slow, agonising death. It always was.

His friends caught him checking the time compulsively at dinner.

"What's going on with you?" Ron asked. "You pull a hot date?"

"No, just..." Harry thought fast. "I'm going into Hogsmeade after dinner to buy Teddy a present." He had not yet confessed his true Wednesday destination, and before today, neither of them had noticed his absences. One of the benefits of them dating, Harry decided.

But God, had he just used his godson as an excuse to see Malfoy? Merlin's saggy arse, what a bastard!

"Ooh, that sounds so fun! Can I come with you?" Hermione beamed.

Of course she did. Girls loved babies, didn't they? Well, some girls loved babies. Maybe Hermione was one of them.

"Er... it's a surprise."

The lowest of the low.

"Oh. Okay." She tucked back into her food, and Ron gave him a sour look for it.

Harry sighed, dropped his gaze, and didn't check the time again.

He showed up early in the clearing and passed the time working on the wandless spell Snape had assigned. Truth be told, it didn't need much work; he'd mastered probably five different ones over the summer on his own. But it was pretty fun, feeling the magic concentrate in the palm of his hand and then sending it out to Transfigure yellowing stalks of grass into a bloom of wildflowers.

"They're just going to die in a couple weeks when the cold strikes." Malfoy's voice came from the darkness beyond the trees.

He emerged from the shadows, sleek and smirking. Harry traded smiles with him. "They're impervious to frost."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows and neared, jumping the fence. Harry's heart hammered with excitement. He always half-expected Malfoy not to show. Yet here he was. Again and again.

"Mind if I test that?" Malfoy asked him, walking up to stand by his side.

Harry shrugged. "Go ahead."

Harry watched as Malfoy, too, forewent his wand, held out his hand, and murmured, "Glacius."

A thin stream of cold air blasted the flowers, tried to crystallise, and then melted from the petals, dripping from them like summer dew.

"Impressive," Malfoy said.

"I could say the same. I haven't taught myself that one yet. Is that what you're going to use in class then?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe."

"Do you know others?" Harry had never met another wizard his age who knew any wandless magic, much less multiple spells, which was why Snape had given them so long to work on theirs.

"A few," Malfoy replied. "You?"

"Yeah, some."

"That's good, because I don't think Professor Snape's going to be as impressed as I am with flowers, Potter."

"Oh?" Harry found himself smiling again. He took a covert side-step, moving just a couple inches closer to Malfoy. The prat smelled amazing.

"Not a chance. Maybe something more along the lines of..." Malfoy turned his hand palm-up, whispered, "Wingardium Leviosa," and levitated the nearest heavy rock, making it hover at face level in front of them.

"But that's a charm, Malfoy. Do you really think Snape's going to lose his shit over a charm?"

Malfoy's lips twitched, and Harry even saw a flash of his teeth as he couldn't contain his smile. "I didn't think anything could make him do that, honestly."

"How about this?" Harry conjured the ball of energy into his palm, amplified it, thrust his hand out, and... "Depulso!" He sent Malfoy's rock hurling through space until it slammed into a fence post and shattered.

"Fuck, Potter."

Harry smiled at him, and Malfoy smiled back. Harry took a small step closer. Malfoy's smile faded as his gaze dropped to Harry's lips. They stood like that for a moment in the chilly night air. Harry could scarcely breathe.

After several moments, Malfoy cleared his throat. "So, how many do you know?"

"What?"

"Wandless magic. How many spells can you do?"

"Oh. Er, five, I think. You?"

Malfoy shrugged and toed the hard ground. "Twenty, maybe?"

Involuntarily, Harry's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

Malfoy just shrugged again. "It doesn't matter." There was something unyielding back in his voice. "They're stupid." He took a long breath and looked at Harry, noticeably softening again. He pulled his wand. "I'd like to learn something that makes a difference."

Harry wanted to argue that there were plenty of practical, utilitarian uses beyond bragging rights to knowing that many wandless spells, but then it occurred to him why Malfoy might know so many: he'd been without his own wand for months.

Because Harry had it.

Harry swallowed and drew his own wand. "Sure. Yeah, let's get started."

They spent the better part of two hours working on Draco's Patronus to not much avail and with the two of them casting multiple warming charms in-between. It had grown wickedly cold. But that didn't mean Harry didn't immensely enjoy himself. He enjoyed it so much, he completely lost track of time.

Malfoy had just almost managed a full, strong shield form ("That's it, Malfoy! Just relax your mind more. Feel it from the centre of your chest, not your head. You've nearly got it.") when Harry's watch chimed a Weird Sisters' tune. "Oh, shit."

The rich silver stream of magic ejecting from Malfoy's wand dwindled. "What?"

"It's five to eleven."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "But it's a fifteen minute walk back. We'll never make it."

Harry swallowed, the idea coming to him swiftly. "Take my arm."

Malfoy frowned. "Why?"

"'Why, why, why?' Because you're kind of crap at Apparating, Malfoy. I can get us just outside the gate, then it's only a run through the courtyard."

Harry could see the wheels turning in Malfoy's mind: risk censure for not making curfew or Side-Along with 'Potter'. Which was worse? He met Harry's eyes, gave a brief nod, and took a step toward him.

Harry took a step closer, too, until they were just inches apart. "Take it." He held up his elbow.

Malfoy tentatively reached up and curled his hand around Harry's arm -- above his elbow, fingers tightening around Harry's biceps. They looked at each other. Harry didn't think he could do it gazing into Malfoy's eyes, though. They'd probably end up in a swamp somewhere. So Harry closed his eyes and felt Malfoy's fingers grip harder. He focused his mind, and then...

The telling crack, sucked through space, only a little bit of nausea, and they were deposited just outside the gates of the castle.

"Go!" Harry shouted.

Malfoy released his arm, and together they took off at a hard run. Their pounding footsteps echoed on the stone. Malfoy's breath came hard beside him, his slightly longer legs giving him the edge over Harry. Harry pulled some extra effort from deep inside and ran faster.

"Plonker," Malfoy panted, speeding up, too.

Harry laughed breathlessly. "It's not... a race."

"The fuck it's not!"

"Bugger!" Harry was gasping for breath as Malfoy hit the stairs ahead of him and took them two at a time. He itched to draw his wand and immobilise the bastard, but he was pretty sure he heard Malfoy laugh as his hand touched the door handle first, and the sound obliterated any and all desire Harry had to win.

Malfoy wrenched the door open, and they both stumbled in, stopping just inside to lean over, hands on knees, and take great, loud gulping breaths.

"What... time...?" Malfoy gestured tiredly to Harry's wrist.

Harry summoned the energy to lift it, and then let it drop again. "Ten... fifty-nine." He slanted a smile Malfoy's way.

Malfoy smiled back, and then gave him a pathetic shove. Harry was just knackered enough to stumble from it. He laughed and shoved Malfoy back.

"Prick," Malfoy said.

"Arsehole."

They looked at each other, panting a little less, and they laughed.

They laughed together.

Harry felt light enough to fly.

Malfoy stood next to him, huffing a sigh. "Bloody hell, I don't think I'm going to make it up those infernal stairs."

"Want me to Levicorpus you?"

Malfoy grinned at him. "And have you smack my head into every stair step all the way up to the third floor? No, thanks, Potter."

Harry shrugged. "Suit yourself. Might smack some sense into you, though."

Malfoy shot him two fingers.

Heat rushed into Harry's cheeks. "Race you to the common room?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes in answer, and they ascended the stairs slowly instead.

It was sort of marvellous. He could smell Malfoy's sweat, and far from finding it repulsive, Harry thought it was bloody wonderful. God, did that make him a freak? That he loved how Malfoy smelled even when it wasn't the scent of his expensive cologne but the salty, muskiness of his exertion?

Harry knew they'd just been doing spellwork -- nothing he couldn't have done with Ron or Hermione or Luna or any other of his friends -- but that wasn't what it felt like, dragging his arse up the stairs side by side with Malfoy.

It felt like they'd been on a...

Well, a date.

And not like the dates he'd been on with Cho where what he mostly felt was out of sorts and as though he couldn't say one thing right. It wasn't even like his dates with Ginny when he'd felt more like himself and had enjoyed her company.

No, this was different.

This was exhilaration.

This was something deep in his gut blooming with rightness.

This was Malfoy.

They arrived just outside the door to the common room, and neither of them made a move to grasp the handle.

Malfoy seemed suddenly in love with his own feet, seeing as how he wouldn't look at anything else.

"I think you're really close," Harry told him, thinking of his shield form.

"What?" Malfoy looked up sharply, taking a hasty step back.

"I meant the Patronus." Harry smiled as Malfoy relaxed again but kept frowning. Harry felt something very Gryffindor come to life within him. He took a step forward, eliminating the space Malfoy had just put between them. "It's going to happen," he said. "You can feel that, right?"

Malfoy looked up at him. "I--" He stalled as though his mouth had gone too dry to speak.

This time it was Harry who dropped his gaze to Malfoy's lips. They were thin and trembling but looked soft.

Soft enough to touch.

Soft enough to kiss...

Harry leaned forward an inch. He closed his eyes.

He held his breath...

The common room door slammed open behind him, and Ron stormed out, his freckled neck red with anger.

Malfoy moved back so fast it was practically Apparition.

"See how you like it if I spend all my time in the library," Ron spat through the doorway.

Hermione's frizzy head shot out, though she kept her body inside. "The library's closed, and I doubt you'd remember where it is anyway."

"Guys," Harry tried but to no avail; Ron went on as though he'd said nothing.

"I'd rather not know where it is than be afraid to leave it."

"Merlin, what does that even mean?" Hermione laughed without humour, and Ron looked like he might explode, unable to answer. "Where do you think you're going, Ron? It's past curfew. Do you want a Howler from your mother?"

"Better than getting ignored by you!" Ron pushed past her back into the common room and stormed off down the hall to his dormitory. Harry heard the door slam from where he stood, dazed and perplexed, out in the hall.

Hermione looked at Harry. Her lip trembled. She took two steps out into the hall, then slumped down the wall and began to cry.

Harry blinked. "Hermione... Shit."

"Yeah," she agreed, her voice muffled from her head resting on her knees. "He's a complete shit."

He'd actually never heard her use that word.

Malfoy appeared as bewildered as Harry felt.

"Hey," Harry said gently, squatting in front of Hermione and placing a hand on her head, smoothing down her hair. Malfoy and he blinked at each other a moment, and then Malfoy stepped into the common room without another word and shut the door, possibly giving them privacy but just as possibly getting away from them himself.

Harry turned his full attention on Hermione. "What happened?"

She lifted a tear-streaked face, but there was hardly weakness in the set of her jaw or the anger in her eyes. "It's like he suddenly expects me to be a different person. Now that there's no war, it's like I should just burn all my books and devote my life to snogging him!" She cast a disgusted look at the door in lieu of Ron himself.

"I--" Harry began. Merlin, this could get tricky. They were both his best friends. Although, he supposed he and Ron had put Hermione in that position, too, when they were on the outs. He sighed. "I doubt he wants or expects you to stop studying."

"Oh really? What did it sound like to you, then?" Hermione's frustration evaporated just as soon as she'd spoken. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you, Harry."

He shifted around and sat next to her on the cold stone, their shoulders touching. He reached his arm up and around her shoulders, and she leaned into him easily. She felt good there. They both sighed.

"How did it all start?"

"Well, he found me in the library to tell me about the next game night, and--"

"What next game night?"

"Oh." She waved her hand and sniffed once more, though she was finished crying. "In the Room of Requirement. Dean was supposed to find you and tell you, but I guess he didn't. Were you with Malfoy? Where were you both?"

"Oh. It was nothing. We were just... duelling," he fibbed. He seemed to be fibbing more than usual lately. And while it felt necessary with Mr Creevey, this was Hermione, and that small twist to the truth made him feel slightly sick.

She didn't seem to notice and went on with her story. "Okay, well, I asked Ron what date and he said next Saturday night." She looked at Harry like this should mean something.

"Yeah? And?"

"And that's when Padma and I got permission to catch a Portkey to Wales for the tour!"

Harry blinked at her. "Uh, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"This is the first I'm hearing of it. The tour of what? What's in Wales?"

She frowned. "You know, the school?"

Harry didn't know, and he shook his head.

She went on, "The Griselda Marchbanks School of Wizarding Law. We got permission from Professor McGonagall to travel and from the dean of the school to tour it and decide if we want to apply. I mean, I know I do. I'm trying to convince Padma to as well. I didn't tell you?"

"No."

She edged out from under his arm and stood. "Are you sure, Harry?"

"Yes, I'm quite sure. But you told Ron, right?"

"Of course, I told Ron! He's the first person I told. And he seemed fine with it. He seemed happy for me."

"Maybe he was."

"Yeah, until it interfered with his plans."

"Maybe he just forgot," Harry ventured.

"Well, maybe, but does that give him the right to be upset with me about it?"

She had a point.

"What game are they going to be playing?" he asked nonchalantly. He loved Hermione dearly, but he couldn't help but wonder if that Twister mat would be involved -- and if he could conveniently fall on top of Malfoy again.

She waved her hand dismissively. "Spin-the-Bottle, I think. But what difference does that make? I have an appointment at the Griselda Marchbanks School of Wizarding Law. You don't just cancel your appointment to see the most renowned law school in wizarding society to make out with a boy whose tongue you already have intimate knowledge of." She blinked, then blushed, though she crossed her arms defiantly.

Harry was having trouble tearing his mind away from its own fantasies now, all of which involved Draco Malfoy's tongue and next Saturday night.

"Harry."

"What? Oh. Yeah. You do have a point, I guess."

"You guess?"

Harry shook all stray thoughts of Malfoy from his mind and stood. "Okay, so what if he's not upset about you going to tour this school? What if..." Harry exhaled hard and gathered his wits about him. "What if he feels like you're... prioritising the future over your present with him?"

She frowned. "But that's ridiculous! I--"

He took a step toward her and softly grasped her elbow. "Do you think Ron will end up going to Wales with you? If you get into the school, which of course you will, but if you decide to go, that is?"

Hermione blinked at him. "Well... I..." Her face fell. "No," she admitted glumly. "God, Harry. So he thinks I'm leaving him?"

"I dunno. Maybe. Maybe he's just afraid of something he doesn't know."

Harry thought of Malfoy in that meadow, striving for a happy memory and coming up short, time and again.

He thought of his own future and how everyone was going to expect him to be an Auror, maybe Head Auror, maybe eventually Minister. He'd turned down three more interviews and knew McGonagall was disappointed. Maybe even worried for the school. Everyone still expected him to save them.

He thought of his Quidditch broom collecting dust.

He thought of kissing Malfoy.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Hermione asked.

"You were thinking about something that's important to you." Harry let his hand drop. "There's nothing wrong with that."

She looked him in the eye in a penetrating way that bespoke more than intellect. "There is if I forget the people I love."

He gave her a small smile and reached out to smooth her hair again.

She returned his sad grin. "Think he'd want to come on my trip with me?"

"You won't know until you ask."

"I suppose you're right." She hugged him. "Thank you, Harry," she said against his cheek.

"I didn't do much."

She pulled back. "You do plenty," she said with a look that insinuated situations far removed from the one they faced in the hallway. It was a common look for her, even if Harry often couldn't read her undercurrent. He felt like he could this time. She put her hand on the knob. "Are you coming in?"

"Sure," he said. "Library's closed, right?"

She gave a soft snort, said the password, and opened the door.

If Harry had been hoping Malfoy would be waiting for him in the common room, he was to be disappointed. There was only Luna Lovegood turning up the Wireless and trying to teach a miserable-looking Millicent Bulstrode the words to Obstinate Owl Post's "Waddiwasi Blues".

"Do you think I should let him cool off and sleep on it?" Hermione asked.

It seemed like sound advice.

He shook his head. "No, I think you should settle it tonight. You'll both feel better."

She nudged him in the arm affectionately. "You're good at this."

"Good at what?"

"Teaching people how to do what's already in their hearts," she said before she disappeared down the boys' -- no the men's -- hallway.

"Hold me, suspend me, launch me to the moon!" Luna sang joyfully while Millicent glowered. "Just don't give me the Waddiwasi blues!"

Needing to study for big tests in Transfiguration, Charms, and History of Magic meant Harry and Malfoy couldn't meet that Wednesday night or any night that week at all.

Harry missed getting to see him. Sure, he saw him in class, but they were both so busy that it hardly counted. A glance here, a nod there. It wasn't like getting him alone.

It wasn't like almost snogging.

And speaking of almost snogging...

Saturday night arrived after the coldest day of almost-winter they'd yet had. Christmas break was one week away, and they were due to have their first snow even sooner than that. Harry had slept in and therefore missed Hermione's departure for her Welsh law school. She and Ron had worked things out, and though Ron wasn't making the trip with her, he seemed to bear her no further ill will about it and had agreed to forgo attending the Spin-the-Bottle game in her absence. There had been a lot of make-up making out in the common room Friday night. Harry suspected that if they'd had the privacy...

Well, that didn't bear thinking about. Harry shuddered inwardly and shook his head to clear it of that image.

Merlin, what would they think about him if they knew what he wanted to do to Malfoy?

What would they think of him if they knew he was dying to play Spin-the-Bottle if it meant he could taste Malfoy's lips? If it meant he might have to?

Harry might have awakened late Saturday morning, but he woke so hard he felt like he could duel with his prick. He'd smiled at that, turned toward the wall, and fucked his fist slowly until he came.

And as fast as the week went, the day crept by like someone kept spinning a Time Turner, sending him backwards every few minutes. Harry checked his watch over and over again. And he kept his eye out for Malfoy the whole day, even with Ron by his side like an abandoned crup.

"Mate," Ron had said, "where do you have to be? Are you catching a train?"

Harry had smiled. "No."

And yet, that was how it felt.

He even had a plan all set out: If Malfoy spun the bottle and landed on him or Harry landed on Malfoy, he'd kiss him on the lips, certainly, but he'd keep it short so as not to arouse suspicion that he actually wanted to be kissing the git. Still, Harry was determined that it not be too chaste. He thought three seconds would suffice. He could covertly sneak his tongue to Malfoy's bottom lip in that amount of time, and maybe nobody would even notice.

These were the thoughts that dogged him all day, and yet as the hour neared, Harry found himself worrying that he wouldn't actually get the chance. They were a large group. The odds of him landing on Malfoy weren't solid. He might be doing a lot of fantasising and planning for nothing.

Yet fantasise and plan, he did, and when Ron gave him funny looks, Harry just shrugged it off as preoccupation with the upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw.

Yes, because Quidditch made one hard.

He felt bad about leaving Ron when curfew rolled around and it was time for them to make their shifty forays up to the seventh floor. Harry was relieved when Hannah Abbott and Anthony Goldstein both begged off, too, in favour of a quiet night in.

"Exploding Snap?" Goldstein asked Ron, and Harry felt even better when his friend readily accepted.

His gaze then fell on Malfoy, who'd very decisively closed the book he'd been reading to join the group crowded around the door preparing to go. Harry felt everything inside him burn with anticipation. He met Malfoy's eyes briefly, until Malfoy frowned slightly and looked away, edging closer to Zabini and Parkinson with whom he'd be Disillusioning.

Harry swallowed thickly and then waited his turn with Seamus and Dean.

They made it to the Room of Requirement without incident, although Harry heard, once they were all safely inside, that Parvati, Luna, and Millicent had a near run-in with Peeves on the fifth floor landing.

"But Millie distracted him by casting Piertotem Locomotor on a nearby statue and moving its hand two inches," Luna explained. "It was brilliant."

Millicent looked too stunned by the compliment to be grateful, but at least she was no longer scowling. Stunned was actually kind of a good look on her, Harry noticed.

But then, after he looked away, he couldn't help but notice the room instead.

Specifically, the cushions in a circle around the floor and the bottle, at rest, in the middle of it.

Harry swallowed down the sudden feeling of anxiety that rose in him and that sped his pulse. He looked around the room to see if anyone else might be regretting coming along. Or looking overly randy. Or had chapped lips.

That was when he saw Ginny, and at nearly the same moment, Neville approached him and whispered, "I hope you don't mind, Harry. It didn't feel right not inviting her."

Across the room, Ginny gave him a little smile and a wave. Harry waved back and then murmured back to Neville, "Er, not at all. She's your girlfriend, right?"

Neville gushed out the goofiest laugh ever. "Yeah," he breathed.

Merlin, he had it pretty bad.

Harry patted him on the shoulder. "You okay if she spins and lands on somebody else?" Harry blinked. "Wait. No. I meant--"

"If the bottle lands on somebody else. Oh yeah. We've got our ground rules: Minimal tongue and under five seconds." Neville nodded confidently.

Harry nodded back, impressed. "Sounds appropriate." He tried to imagine what kissing Ginny would be like now that they'd been broken up for months. Now that she and Neville were an exclusive item.

Now that he was dying to shag Malfoy.

Harry cleared his throat and took a cushion on the floor as the others meandered about and did the same. He ended up between Luna and Dean -- and directly across from Malfoy, who'd sat with his Slytherin friends. Harry couldn't blame him for that. Harry, too, needed of a bit of friendly moral support. He resisted the sudden urge to check the state of his breath and wished he'd thought to pop a mint ahead of time.

At least he hadn't consumed any garlic at dinner. Although, if he landed on Pansy that really would have been a benefit.

"So," Dean said once they'd settled and an oddly puritanical silence had fallen over the room. They'd all been so excited to get up here, and now, as Harry looked around, everyone seemed so sombre they might as well be in detention. "How should we decide who goes first?"

Harry looked at him. Actually, everybody did.

"Me?" Dean all but squeaked.

"You, mate." Seamus nodded.

"You're going to be regretting that when the bottle lands on you, you plonker." Dean leaned forward and gave the inaugural spin.

It seemed to take forever, but as it slowed and landed on Bulstrode, Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. When Dean exclaimed, "Well, all right, Millicent! Let's snog then," and Pansy snorted, Harry felt a good deal of tension leave him. He wasn't first, and right then, that was all that mattered.

Dean leaned forward. Frowning, Millicent didn't.

"Well, you have to meet me halfway, right?" Dean asked. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck.

Millicent harrumphed and then scooted forward. She leaned toward him a bit and closed her eyes so hard they seemed to disappear into her face, leaving only a few trembling eyelashes behind.

Dean closed his own eyes, the room held its breath, and their lips met. Three brief, tongueless seconds. Then when Dean drew back, Millicent hauled off and slapped him across the face.

"Bloody hell!" Dean wailed, cradling his cheek, though the slap had hardly been anything that would sting. Likely she'd just been so flustered she'd reacted on instinct and hadn't put much muscle behind it.

"Sorry." Her face went red and her eyes wide. "I don't... I'm not sure why I did that." She sat back on her cushion.

As Dean sat down, rubbing his maligned cheek, Seamus cleared his throat, leaned over to Dean, and said, "We're going to need some alcohol for this."

Thus began a frenzy to get the Room of Requirement to cough up a bar of some sort, which it staunchly refused to do. Again. Probably some of Dumbledore's magic still at work to prevent this very thing, Harry thought. Or perhaps it was McGonagall, since Dumbledore himself was a bit of a rule-bender if not a resolute breaker. Whatever it was, all of their attempts were unsuccessful.

"Hey, guys?" Ned said quietly when there was a lull in spells cast. "My uncle works for Ogden's. I, er, sort of have two bottles in my trunk."

"You what?" Pansy laughed.

Ned shrugged.

In between people patting Ned on the back, they somehow decided that Harry should try to Summon the whiskey. The consensus was that if he could Summon his broom while facing an angry Hungarian Horntail, he could fetch them a couple of bottles of Ogden's.

Harry wasn't as certain, but then again, he hadn't been certain about the broom either and his life had been on the line. This was just... Well, all of them risking another slap from Millicent.

"Is your trunk locked?" Harry asked as the others practically man-handled him toward the door.

Ned shook his head.

"It bloody will be after this," Blaise said under his breath.

Harry pulled the door open.

"Wait," came a voice just behind him. Harry looked over his shoulder. It was Malfoy, drawing his wand. He gave it a decisive flick. "Muffliato. Just in case." His penetrating gaze made Harry feel a bit weak. Malfoy then shot him a half smirk.

"Thanks." Harry cursed inwardly at the breathy quality of his voice. From what? Malfoy standing near him? (Quite near him, really; their arms brushed.) But it probably also had to do with the fact that Malfoy was helping him. That he wanted to help Harry.

That his gaze was so intense as he and Harry stared at one another.

Harry swallowed.

He looked away from Malfoy, (who, again, smelled lovely), cleared his throat, lifted his own wand, and... "Accio Ned's Firewhisky!"

They waited a moment. Silence greeted their ears.

"Do you think it--?"

"Shh! Just wait."

Then a strange sound cut through the quiet. It was almost a whistle. The quick and telling zing of invisible electrons made the air buzz with potential. Harry could sense the sharp sensation of his own magic working across several levels of the castle. He almost didn't have time to duck as the first bottle flew around the corner and into the room. But duck he did. Malfoy's hand shot out and caught the bottle, and Harry was beginning to straighten when--

"Look out." Malfoy's free hand touched hot to Harry's back.

Harry ducked again as the second bottle of Ogden's soared into the room, flew over his head, and slammed right into Neville's stomach, toppling him over and sending him to the floor on his arse.

The room promptly broke into a wild cheer. Well, everyone except Neville, who might very well have lost his breath from it. Ginny sank to her knees beside him.

A few people patted Harry on the back as they shut the door, but Malfoy wasn't among them. No, he was already walking back over toward his cushion. Harry could still feel the heat of his palm in the middle of his back.

"You all right, mate?" Harry offered Neville a hand up.

Neville nodded. "Yeah. Probably just some bruised internal organs."

Ginny gave Harry a small, grateful smile, and Harry awkwardly returned it before making for his own cushion once more.

By the time he was seated, Seamus and Dean had conjured a Wireless and turned up Bloodroot's cover of "Rebel Yell". Pansy uncorked the first bottle loudly.

"Bloodroot bloody rocks," Seamus said, banging out the drumbeat with invisible sticks.

"You like Bloodroot?" Pansy asked after she'd taken a pull off the bottle and passed it to Blaise.

"Fuck yeah, I like Bloodroot." Seamus plopped down on his cushion.

Pansy looked like she wanted to say something else, maybe even something complimentary, but all she managed was, "Well, I guess you can't have crap taste in everything."

Seamus shot her a lopsided smile at that, and to Harry's surprise she quickly looked away. She might even have been blushing.

Blaise passed the bottle to Parvati on his left, and it made its way around the circle. Dean passed the bottle without drinking when it came to him ("Need to keep my wits about me in case another slap comes my way."), and Luna abstained as well, claiming inebriation on life which no-one could dispute. Harry had taken only a small sip, and, when it was his turn, Malfoy did the same.

And then the game began anew.

"Harry," Dean said. And, indeed, Harry was on Dean's left. Did that mean he was next? He wasn't ready to be next. But Dean said, "Your spin, mate," and then everyone was looking at him expectantly. Several people even clapped for him.

"Go, Harry!"

"Spin it, Scarhead!" Pansy called when she came up for air from guzzling more Firewhisky.

Harry took a deep breath. He couldn't help glancing at Malfoy, who had been leaned back on his hands but now sat forward, watching Harry with a mixture of calm and intent. Harry concentrated on the bottle, sent up a little prayer to whoever was in control of these things, and spun.

It seemed like it would never end. Harry cursed having spun it so hard. He was getting dizzy from watching it. He certainly wasn't drunk. Finally, it slowed. And slowed. And stopped. On Luna right next to him.

Harry let his breath out on a small sigh of relief as they easily leaned in toward each other and briefly kissed like they'd been exchanging friendly kisses for years. Really, he could not have landed on a safer person.

"Your lips are really pillowy, Harry," she said.

"Yours, too." He smiled at her.

"Boring!" Pansy blurted.

Malfoy was leaning decidedly forward.

He was watching. Like a bloody hawk.

When Harry met his eyes, Malfoy blinked and then quickly looked away. Harry's heart beat rapidly for reasons having entirely nothing to do with the sweetness of Luna's lips.

She spun then, landing on Parvati.

"Oh, yes," Seamus said under his breath. Harry noticed that most of the boys shifted slightly on their cushions, like a really great Quidditch match was about to start.

"Hello, Parvati," Luna said as she moved to the middle of the circle.

"Hi, Luna." Parvati joined her.

Their lips met, parted, and met again. The entire kiss couldn't have been more than five seconds, but Seamus grabbed Dean by the arm as though he'd likely have a heart attack from the bliss he was experiencing. Harry had to admit, it was probably a lot more entertaining and interesting than Luna kissing him.

When they parted, Seamus whined like a crup left out in the rain.

"What?" Parvati asked cheekily.

"More!" he wailed. "More is what!"

"Quit hogging that whiskey, and maybe there'll be more next time," she said. The room 'oohed' in response.

Harry laughed and, for the first time that evening, felt himself start to relax.

Ned and Dean shared the most awkward peck ever; Neville and Luna had their 'five seconds with minimal tongue' as per Neville's contract.

Then Ginny spun, she landed on Neville, and for the first time that night, there was plenty of tongue.

Really more than enough.

Watching them kiss for all of ten bloody seconds, Harry tried to analyse if what he felt was jealousy. It was tight and odd. It sat high in his chest and made it hard to breathe. But it wasn't quite jealousy. It wasn't envy. He didn't want to be kissing Ginny. He didn't want to be kissing Neville. The thought brought a rueful smile to his lips, in fact, as they parted.

No, it wasn't any of those things. It was something else. And Harry suspected that the something else was a someone.

He wanted that with Malfoy: what he saw as Neville and Ginny looked into each other's eyes... how they just knew how to kiss one another... that there was no time limit; there were no limits at all beyond those of pure public decency.

That was what Harry wanted for himself. He wanted it to be easy to kiss Malfoy. And even if they happened to land on one another tonight, there was one thing Harry couldn't see it being, and that was easy.

The others clapped and whooped for the first real kiss of the night. Except for Pansy, who rolled her eyes. "Salazar, that doesn't even count!"

"Oh, shut it, Pans," Millicent said.

"Did you just tell me to shut it, Bulstrode?" Pansy asked, revving up for a duel, it seemed.

But Millicent wouldn't even look at her -- was suddenly struck with an apparent lack of courage in the face of Pansy's anger -- and just sat there staring down at the floor. Blaise took Pansy's arm as she'd risen from her mat, swaying a bit, and she sat back again on her arse with a quiet thud.

"That's what I thought," Pansy crowed. Millicent's cheeks went a fiery pink. "Spin then and slap someone else, would you? I'm bored out of my mind."

Harry glanced at Malfoy to see him frowning deeply. But then all attention was on Millicent once she spun. Harry had to admit he didn't fancy a slap in the face any time soon. The Ogden's made its way around to him while the empty bottle slowed, and Harry took a fortifying gulp, just in case.

It didn't land on him, though.

It landed right next to him. On Luna.

"Use Protego, Luna. She's got a wicked right hook." Dean winked at her.

Luna spared him a placid glance. "No need." She crawled over to Millicent, bypassing the bottle altogether, sat up on her knees, threaded her fingers gently into Millicent's hair, and kissed her.

It wasn't like the kiss she'd shared with Harry. It wasn't even like the one she exchanged with Parvati. No, Luna kissed Millicent like Neville had kissed Ginny, slipping her tongue into Millicent's very stunned mouth and letting it go on and on.

"Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah," Seamus chanted, squirming.

Parvati slapped him in the arm. "They're not doing it for you, arsehole."

"Does it look like I care?"

Neville let out a hushed, "Wow."

Luna sat back and licked her lips. Millicent slowly opened her eyes and looked into Luna's like she was seeing her for the first time.

Luna shot a look at Pansy next to her. "Still bored?" she asked. Then she pressed a second kiss to Millicent's cheek before coming back to sit on the cushion next to Harry's.

Harry knew he was staring at her, but he couldn't seem to stop. Luna looked at him. "Sorry, Harry, but her lips were even lovelier."

"Is it just me or is Lovegood doing a disproportionate amount of snogging?" Pansy crossed her arms.

"Seems about right to me," Millicent said, though her blush escalated to tomato-hued.

Still, Harry thought it was rather brave of her. And telling. And because of how telling, that much braver. Maybe Luna was onto something with this Bulstrode fixation after all.

"Well, go on then, Draco," Pansy said, nudging him with her elbow, unwilling to uncross her arms. "Give it a spin."

Harry immediately dropped any musing about Millicent or Luna when he heard that -- because this, right now, was the first since they'd sat down that it truly struck Harry full on:

Malfoy was about to spin. Malfoy could land on him, and that would present both untold complications and incalculable excitement.

Or he could land on someone else entirely and give them the kiss that was meant for Harry.

Malfoy could, any moment now, be kissing someone else.

And why hadn't Harry thought of this even once before he'd decided to play this stupid game? Because that was absolutely not on.

Not on!

Oh, Merlin...

Eyes wide with this new and unpleasant knowledge, Harry looked at Malfoy. Malfoy was looking back at him. He wore no sneer or smirk and by all accounts appeared just as nervous as Harry. He leaned forward at Pansy's re-urging, dropped his gaze to the bottle, spun it rather hard, then sat back.

Harry didn't know whether to watch the bottle and where it landed or Malfoy's face so that if it landed on him, Harry would have an unimpeded glimpse of Malfoy's unguarded reaction.

But the temptation to follow the bottle's hypnotising rounds was too much, and Harry, like everyone else, became rapt as it slowed.

It wobbled and careened, and Harry bit the inside of his lip as it passed Blaise, passed Parvati, passed Seamus, seemed like it was going to stop on Dean, and...

It came to rest exactly between Dean and Harry. Just exactly. There was no way to tell which one it might be closer to without breaking out some calipers or something. Harry was shoring himself up to be gracious and even feign relief if the room's consensus was that the bottle leaned more toward Dean or if they wanted Malfoy to spin again. But in the next breath of a moment, the bottle twitched, almost imperceptibly, and suddenly it was pointing straight at him.

Straight at Harry.

Harry brought his gaze up quickly to look into Malfoy's eyes, but his gaze could not be met as he looked anywhere but at Harry. Their friends exploded with reactions that seemed mostly scandalised and mirthful. Not that the bottle had shifted at the last moment -- none of them seemed to have noticed that -- but that Malfoy would have to kiss Harry and Harry would have to suffer being kissed by Malfoy. Dean pounded Harry on the back, and Seamus fell onto his own, laughing and holding his stomach. Such a snort came out of Pansy Parkinson that it sounded like she'd Sonorused herself.

Harry looked at Malfoy's face again, and this time his gaze did lift and meet Harry's. There was something so raw and real there, it was almost frightening in its intensity.

Harry blinked.

Malfoy licked his lips.

Harry slowly rose up onto his knees, and Malfoy mirrored his movement.

"Go, Harry!" Parvati shouted, giving a whistle.

"All right, Harry!" Neville joined in.

Likewise, Pansy was egging Malfoy on, giving him a hearty shove, while Millicent clapped her hands in glee.

Harry crawled on unsteady hands and knees toward the middle of the circle where the bottle sat, pointing at him in accusation: You want this! it seemed to sneer.

Harry gulped. Malfoy crawled toward him, too, just as slowly. His ears were as pink as they'd ever been, and for some reason, that made Harry feel better. Safer. He took a deep breath as they neared each other.

He'd just stick to the plan. Three seconds, hint of tongue to Malfoy's bottom lip. No problem. He'd vanquished Voldemort. He could snog Draco Malfoy.

He was so close now he could hear Malfoy's quick breaths, and Harry realised that he, too, was barely breathing. The rush of blood through his own head was dizzying. He either needed a lot more Firewhisky to pull this off or a lot less.

But then there they were. Too close. Just close enough. And it was either kiss Malfoy or chicken out and head back to his cushion.

And that was absolutely not an option.

Harry felt Malfoy's breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory.

Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy.

Malfoy felt inevitable.

Harry inched one hand closer, into Malfoy's space.

Malfoy's lips trembled.

Harry closed his eyes, titled his head slightly, leaned that essential inch forward...

Their lips met with a gentle, moist sound.

Malfoy's were soft... as soft as Harry had dared imagine. And they were warm. They were pliant, his breaths against Harry's face quick and scared.

One...

Two...

Three.

The seconds ticked by inside Harry's buzzing skull. He had not attempted to touch Malfoy's bottom lip with his tongue. He'd let that chance go by. But oh, Malfoy's lips. They were perfect. The kiss was perfect. Harry's heart thundered so hard and so fast he feared everyone would see it pounding there, wanting this.

He leaned back half an inch to take a fortifying breath, breaking the kiss. Though it felt less like something breaking and more like defying electromagnetism. Malfoy didn't move. Despite Harry's fears that he might, he did not scurry away. He didn't scoff or play it like he was repulsed and glad it was over. He just hovered there, breathing hard against Harry's cheeks. Harry opened his eyes to meet Malfoy's gaze. They looked at each other for a moment -- Malfoy's eyes shone, dilated and deep and smouldering.

Dear God. Harry had made someone smoulder.

There were snickers around the room, some murmuring, some ribbing. Nothing Harry could actually make out and certainly nothing he cared to try to decipher.

Nothing he cared about at all.

All he cared about in that still, shining moment was right in front of him.

Harry closed his eyes again. It felt like it took as much trust and surrender to do so as to let Voldemort strike him down with the Killing Curse. Before he knew what he was doing, Harry closed the distance and pressed his lips to Malfoy's again. And though he gasped, Malfoy let him. His lips parted, and Harry barely slipped his tongue between, just enough to find Malfoy's tongue and touch it.

Something extraordinary happened then. Like some wild beast set loose after a long, lonely time in captivity.

Malfoy let slip a choked whine at the touch of Harry's tongue.

Pansy might have said, "Holy fucking shit," but it hardly mattered.

Because suddenly they were kissing. Really kissing. Malfoy's lips parted still more, and Harry pressed his tongue into his mouth. Malfoy let all his breath out, tilted his head still more, and started kissing Harry back.

There were hoots and hollers, clapping and expressions of disbelief, but Harry banished it all from his mind. He concentrated on Malfoy. On the tender way Malfoy's tongue met his, how they teased one another, withdrew, met again... and then the ferocity that built until it felt like they might devour each other rather than kiss. They changed the fit of their mouths together, and then Harry kissed him hard, bruising his own lips against Malfoy's, plunging his tongue into his mouth again and again.

It was indescribably, indecently brilliant!

Harry groaned, so aroused it was painful. He wanted to reach up and thread his fingers into Malfoy's hair so badly it frightened him. He wanted to touch that slender jaw with his thumb, to feel, under gentle fingers on his throat, the reverberation of Malfoy's small sounds of pleasure...

Harry wanted to touch him.

He wanted to touch him everywhere.

He balled his hands into fists against the floor to keep from doing just that in front of everyone.

And no sooner had he thought this, done this, than Malfoy pulled back. They were both breathing hard as they separated, barely at first, just looking at each other. Malfoy's eyes were dilated, his lids heavy, and while Harry looked into Malfoy's eyes, Harry's cock twitched hard.

"You are fucking kidding me," Pansy said, and Harry watched something in Malfoy, in Draco, shut down at that. He broke their eye contact, blinking and sitting back on his cushion compliantly.

Harry did the same, though it was less compliant as it was bloody stunned.

"Leave off, Pans," Blaise murmured as Draco's ears went a deep blister red. Harry was surprised at the quiet admonition, at the compassionate expression on Blaise's face. Draco was too busy avoiding anyone else's prying eyes to see it, though.

"Blimey, mate," Dean said next to Harry with something like awe.

Seamus seemed shocked into a mute state.

Luna smiled at him much like she normally did, which was a nice comfort.

Ginny and Neville were holding hands, looking too into each other to give a flying Quaffle about anyone else.

But Malfoy...

Draco...

When he finally lifted his gaze to Harry's, Harry saw emotion after emotion parading there: fear bordering on terror, confusion, possible regret...

But also something almost predatory in nature.

Something that made Harry's body respond as though it were being pulled across the room by a spell.

Something that made him yearn.

And yeah, he was hard. Of course he was hard. No surprises there. But just how hard he was... That was the thing that felt a bit frightening. Harry wanted to let out a giddy laugh.

And his lips... Dear Merlin, Harry's lips felt swollen and ravished and wonderful. Just wonderful. He didn't know lips could feel that wonderful.

He simply hadn't known...

Before Draco could duck his head and look away, Harry shot him a tiny smile with his well-kissed lips. He tried to convey this feeling of fearlessness he was experiencing, though it was probably temporary and therefore utterly dangerous. He let Draco see the unnameable something he felt in his chest, something built of both light and fear. But the good kind of fear. The kind that makes you leap.

Draco looked away. Harry expected nothing else. It didn't feel like a rejection. What else could he do? Strip off his clothes and say, "Hey, Potter, let's go for it"? Harry could sense that he felt it, too -- that it was like a line of magic drawn between them, crossing that invisible and important threshold. And that because of this perfect, liminal sphere they'd made of cushions, Firewhisky, and something veering on fraternity, he and Draco could have that together, and nobody else had to know.

Pansy's spin landed the bottle on Seamus. "Come here, you bloody bastard," she growled. And whether it was too much Firewhisky, too much Luna, too much Harry and Draco, or just too little spotlight, one could never really know. But Pansy launched herself over the bottle, straight into Seamus' lap, straddling him, and she kissed him so fervently, so -- cannibalistically -- that they both tumbled over backward to the floor.

Dean laughed so hard he cried. He passed the Firewhisky to Harry, and Harry took a nice gulp, feeling it calm his crazy insides. Pansy's legs tangled with Seamus'. His surprised squeaks turned into a sort of helpless moaning. Harry could just see his hands where they held Pansy's waist and then shifted down to grasp her arse. Pansy seemed disinclined to prevent this if her own moaning and writhing were anything to go by.

Harry passed the Firewhisky along. Blaise threw up his hands with a hearty, "Oh, for fuck's sake!" and spun the bottle, landing on Parvati even as Pansy and Seamus rolled this way and that.

Laughing, Harry met Draco's gaze across the circle. His laugh died to a smile. And while everyone was distracted by Pansy's full frontal attack on Seamus, the corners of Draco's lips lifted, and he smiled back.

Merlin, he was smiling back.

The game went on, and they didn't land on one another again, but neither did they share the sort of kiss they'd exchanged with each other with anyone else. Harry locked dry lips with Blaise and then Millicent (sans violence). He shared only a slightly softer and more prolonged version with Ginny. It was a kiss which could only be described as three seconds of true closure. She'd blinked at him after and smiled. It had felt like both her blessing and an unnecessary apology. He'd returned the gesture, feeling like a door had snicked gently shut between them.

It was, more than anything, a profound relief.

He'd caught Draco's eye just after but couldn't discern his feelings over it other than that he didn't appear to be enraged, only pointedly interested.

For his part in the rest of the game, Draco exchanged a drab and coerced-looking peck with Ned and then something less fraught with Parvati. He landed on Luna the next time around and suffered through her peppering his face with enthusiastic smacks. Harry had to laugh as Draco's face screwed up with a mixture of embarrassed disgust and involuntary humour. Luna did tend to have that effect on people.

"Thanks ever so much, Lovegood," Draco had said as he sat back on his cushion, thoroughly assaulted by her affection. He didn't look upset, and Harry's heart sang to see him enjoying himself for once.

Through it all they shared furtive glances, small smiles. Harry felt more drunk on those than on the few sips of Firewhisky he'd had.

Pansy got totally pissed such that when Ned spun and landed on her, she had to wave him off, hand over her mouth, while the Room gave her a door to a loo in which to go vomit. Ned's face fell, and when asked if he wanted to re-spin and snog someone else, he just murmured, "No, thanks," with a dejected shake of his head.

The only other eventful snog had been between Dean and Blaise. Not that it had turned into anything like Harry's with Draco or Pansy's with Seamus (who, smeared with burgundy lipstick, still seemed to be recovering). It wasn't anything that could be called romantic, but if Harry had to describe it... well, it resembled a sort of Firewhisky-aided truce.

"You've got the breath of a Bandicoot," Blaise said afterward.

"And you'd know this how?" Dean replied.

To which Blaise had actually smiled. Harry had never seen that expression on Blaise Zabini's face before. It was rather like what happened when Millicent's scowl got replaced by stunned shock.

There were human beings under those facades.

There were scared, maligned kids.

Harry glanced at Draco once more.

Sitting there on a cushion, gangly arm wrapped around one bent knee and waving off another sip of Firewhisky, was a boy who dearly wanted to be able to cast a Patronus.

Sitting there with his hair flopping into his flushed and smiling face was a boy who kissed like his heart was aflame.

Their eyes met once more, and Harry felt the heat of his own blush as Draco licked his lips slowly. For once it was Harry who broke eye contact first, suddenly becoming very interested in Dean's left trainer.

"I simply cannot kiss another one of you," Parvati announced around two in the morning. The group seemed to agree on the whole (though Harry very much would have wanted another go at Draco, of course, even though he, too, couldn't stop himself from yawning).

So, exhausted and fresh out of snogs, the group packed up to depart. It was decided that the last group to leave the room would stash the empty bottles back inside. That group would be Harry, Draco, and Ned.

Harry didn't know if they'd get the Room of Hidden Things or if the fire and subsequent destruction of the Horcrux had disabled it permanently. He sort of hoped that was the case; he didn't want Draco to have to see it otherwise. But when Harry gave him a questioning look across the room, Draco just nodded back, resolute.

Millicent and Blaise had the honour of making sure Pansy made it back to the dormitories without throwing up all over the castle. Neville said he would accompany Luna to Ravenclaw tower and Ginny to the Gryffindor common room before meeting everyone back on the third floor.

Once Harry's group had given the others time to presumably make it back, Harry drew his wand. "Ready?"

The other two nodded, so Harry wrenched open the door, and they stepped out. They let the door shut behind them. Harry checked with Draco one last time, but before Harry could so much as think about a place to hide their contraband, a way-too-intelligent-looking tabby cat rounded the corner of the hallway and then morphed swiftly, becoming the most thunderously frightening version of Minerva McGonagall Harry had ever seen.

"Gentlemen," she said, her voice steely and sleep-deprived. "In my office. Now."

Once Harry ascertained that Draco was not, in fact, being expelled or sent to a dank cell in Azkaban, the abject terror bled away. They each got three months' detention, two for "whatever misguided lark you saw fit to conduct after hours" and the other for not disclosing whomever else might have been involved. Because not for one minute did Professor McGonagall believe the three of them had polished off two bottles of Firewhisky in one sitting by themselves. None of them had ratted on the group, and Harry had to fight the feeling of pride and its accompanying smile even as the headmistress chastised them, because he was certain Draco Malfoy had never once in his life kept his silence when ratting out someone else would have bought him leniency.

Yet there he had stood, chin as pointy as ever and lips sealed.

The only other punishment they got was the professor's scathing disappointment, which really was terrible enough. Harry had felt like every good thing he'd ever done had been erased in her eyes.

Still, between that and the detention, it wasn't that much more than Harry was used to; he knew this was the professor's job and she didn't actually think he was a terrible person (though he felt reasonably guilty for drinking on school grounds, he had to admit). However, Harry would have readily gone back to reminiscing about the unbelievably good making out he'd done with Draco; getting caught would have easily been worth it. It had been Draco's response once they left McGonagall's office that truly left an empty feeling in Harry's gut.

He hadn't met Harry's gaze at all, and all of Harry's attempts to talk to him on the walk back to their dormitories were met with stony silences and Draco's strides lengthening as if he wanted to lose him.

What made it worse was that even if Draco had been in a talking mood, Ned was with them, and talking about what had happened -- really talking about it -- was rather out of the question.

They reached the common room and, finally, when Harry couldn't take it anymore, he grabbed Draco's arm. Draco met Harry's gaze for the first time since McGonagall caught them.

But once Harry had his attention, he found he wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

I'm sorry?

It'll be all right?

Can I kiss you again?

Did you like it?

You seemed to like it.

I liked it.

I fucking loved it, Malfoy.

They just stood there, though, Ned hanging back and making it impossible to do what Harry wanted most, which was not talk at all.

Fuck, all he wanted to do was kiss him again.

But Draco's expression was so wary. It seemed even like he might be warning Harry not to. Harry couldn't help it, though, and took one step closer until they were only inches apart. Draco stiffened. He appeared to be holding his breath.

Merlin, he couldn't. Not like this.

"Goodnight, Draco," Harry said.

Draco swallowed, his gaze dropping. "Goodnight."

Harry let go of Draco's arm.

Draco turned and quickly disappeared down the hall.

Ned smiled at Harry, oblivious. "Guess we're lucky, right?"

Harry managed a half-hearted grin. "Yeah. Lucky."

The next morning, Ron caught him in the common room before going down to breakfast. "You snogged Malfoy?"

Harry blinked. In all the excitement, he'd sort of forgotten that Ron didn't know. "Er, yeah," Harry said. "Who told you?"

"I heard Zabini whispering to him about it."

"To Draco? Er, Malfoy?" Harry's face went instantly hot. The sensation spread down his neck, and he felt a little dizzy.

"Yeah. So I asked Neville in the loo."

"You and Neville talked about me and Malfoy kissing... in the loo."

Ron stared at him. "Harry. You kissed Malfoy!"

"Yeah, so? That's the game, isn't it?"

"The game says you have to tongue-fuck him for five minutes?"

"Uh..."

"Merlin, Harry, how drunk were you?"

Harry's gaze darted to the side as Malfoy walked into the room. "Er..."

He didn't get a chance to lie or tell the truth either way because Ron went on. "And I heard you, Malfoy, and Ned got it from McGonagall, too! How long's your detention anyway? Will you miss the game against Hufflepuff?"

The whole time Ron talked, Harry's eyes were on Draco. He walked up to Blaise and Millicent by the door and talked with them quietly, ignoring Harry's stare.

"Hey, did you hear me?"

"Oh. Yeah. Er, three months. I don't know about Quidditch."

"Well, don't worry about it, mate. I can't imagine McGonagall making you miss a game. Even if you destroyed the whole bloody castle with one monstrous fart or something!"

"What? Oh, er, thanks, Ron."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Merlin, snogging Malfoy scrambled your brains. I'm glad You Know Who's already dead. There'd be no stopping him with you like this." He clapped Harry hard on the shoulder. "So, ready to head down to breakfast then? You can tell me who else you made out with inappropriately."

Draco didn't say one word to him the rest of the weekend, and Harry's attempts to get him alone to talk had gone abysmally. Harry spent most of his time hanging out with Ron in the common room, and after his friend had gotten over the shock of Harry snogging Malfoy longer than anybody else, his new hobby seemed to be ribbing Harry about it.

It seemed to be everybody else's, too.

And Harry noticed that when they'd start, Draco would find the fastest way out of the room. Harry felt at once bad for him and frustrated with his response. If he was going to be so ashamed of it, why had he let Harry come in for that second kiss at all?

If he was just going to ignore Harry the rest of the year, why had he kissed him so readily, so hungrily?

Why would he talk to anybody but Harry now? Merlin, Harry had even caught him asking Ron if he knew where his Arithmancy textbook was!

Ron.

But it seemed he'd sooner catch a Portkey to Siberia in the middle of winter than be in the same room with Harry. Especially when talk of the game came up.

When Monday morning dawned and he was met with more of the same -- Draco fleeing any room that had Harry in it -- Harry decided he'd just have to do whatever he could to get Draco alone. He wasn't about to spend the rest of the year ashamed of what they'd done and letting it ruin whatever friendship they'd begun to form. If that was what Draco wanted... Well, Harry would just have to make him see that it'd be all right. They didn't have to kiss again if it meant they could still get together and work on Draco's Patronus, if it meant Draco could relax around him again and let Harry make him laugh. If it meant they could be friends.

But maybe, just maybe, they could add the kissing in, too, and the bloody world wouldn't end.

Harry wasn't going to go into this expecting anything, but that didn't mean he could stifle the feeling of hope.

He reckoned he had this week before he left for the Burrow for the break. One way or another, he was determined to work it out with the git.

Harry ended up staring at him all through Charms. They were supposed to be working on Atmospheric spells, and Harry dully registered that it was rainy on his right and windy to his left.

"Mr Potter." Professor Flitwick tapped him on the shoulder. "Your assignment was snow, not the steams of sunshine with which you seem to be bombarding Mr Malfoy."

"What?" Harry startled.

Sure enough. Draco glowered at him from a blinding shaft of golden sunlight that struck only him.

"Sorry," Harry said to Flitwick. He shot Draco an apologetic smile.

Draco rolled his eyes, swished his wand, and encased himself in a bank of fog.

History of Magic had been just as taxing. How was Harry supposed to concentrate on the Unicorn Exodus of 1452 when Draco's hair was falling onto his cheekbone like that? When the way his quill moved over his parchment was almost... sensual?

When, fixating on Draco's lips, Harry could remember how he tasted? The little sounds he'd made when Harry pushed his tongue into his mouth?

When Harry looked down at his own notes at the end of class, there were two sentences about the state of creature rights in the mid-fifteenth century... and then a bad drawing of a unicorn.

Harry sighed.

A new bit of parchment, folded, slid over his work. On the top was written, Don't read this here, you complete tosser.

Harry looked up quickly, but though he recognised Draco's handwriting, Draco himself was nowhere to be found.

Never good at following such directives (especially when the director called him a tosser), Harry hurried to unfold the note and voraciously read it right where he sat:

The bathroom in the dormitory hallway. Half past midnight tonight. Come alone.

And I bloody TOLD YOU not to read this here, didn't I?

"What's that, Harry?" Hermione asked from over his shoulder.

He balled the parchment into his fist. "Nothing. Hey, how was Wales?"

He successfully put her onto the new topic with gusto and only suffered a small pang of guilt as he'd wanted to talk to her about her trip anyway. Still, his mind kept wandering to the parchment in his trouser pocket as they walked from the classroom to the Great Hall for lunch. He really wanted to be happy that she'd had such a wonderful time, and Ron -- excellent boyfriend that he was turning out to be -- looked so pleased for her, his arm slung around her shoulders and a proud smile permanently affixed to his lips as he listened intently.

But Harry's mind's eye kept supplying him with visions of Malfoy and him in a loo stripping off all their clothes.

He could barely eat for the fantasies.

He made it through the rest of the day, but that was primarily because Draco was in Arithmancy while Harry had taken Herbology instead.

He'd almost forgotten about his detention. He made it all the way to the common room before he realised he was meant to be in McGonagall's office in less than three minutes. Running all the way there, Harry arrived out of breath, doubled over as he knocked on her office door.

"Mr Potter," she said in surprise at finding him significantly shorter than expected.

He rose and made to enter, but she barred the way with her arm.

"There's been a change of plans regarding your detention."

"Oh?" Harry supposed it was too much to hope she was letting him off the hook. He peeked into the room to see Draco sitting in front of her desk like a chastised first year.

"You'll be sitting your detention with Professor Snape instead," she said.

"But... why?"

"It's on his request, Mr Potter; you'll have to ask him. I'll speak to his portrait and let him know you'll be in his office directly."

She began to close the door on him, and Harry's gaze once again fell on Draco looking both resigned and posh where he sat.

"It wasn't his fault," Harry blurted before the professor could completely shut him out.

"Excuse me?"

"Draco. It wasn't his fault. We coerced him into coming along."

She raised one eyebrow at him, and Draco turned his head to frown in Harry's direction.

"Is this true, Mr Malfoy?"

"No, Professor," Draco said. "I joined Potter of my own free will. I'll take whatever punishment such a stupid act merits." He then glared at Harry, and if it weren't for the fact that they hadn't quite got round to both wordless and wandless hexes, Harry would have feared for his physical safety. Draco's gaze flared dark and dangerous as it bore into him. Harry swallowed.

Perhaps his loo fantasies were completely delusional.

"Thank you for the truth, Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter, I'd suggest working on your own truth-telling skills with Professor Snape." She then closed the door in his face.

Harry made his way to Snape's office, not wanting to even begin to guess why Snape would have requested such a thing. He arrived, took a deep breath, and knocked. The door was ajar and swung inward with a prolonged creak.

"Professor?"

When he got no answer, Harry stepped into the drafty and badly-lit office. It was lined with bookshelves, all full with tomes the professor himself would no longer be able to access. Aside from hundreds of old but well-organised books, there were shelves and shelves of potions ingredients as well. It smelled exactly the same as he remembered it. Gillyweed and Asphodel. The slightest hint of something softer, like rose oil, completely incongruous.

A lump rose in Harry's throat, remembering how hard Snape had worked to teach him Occlumency and how resistant and enraged Harry had been. How utterly stupid. How ungrateful.

On the other hand, Snape had been a total dick about it, too.

Bygones.

Harry's gaze came to rest on the large empty canvas behind the unused but aptly supplied desk with its lamp, quill stand, parchments, still more potions jars... Harry started to sit in one of the severe chairs set before the desk when the voice came from his left, startling him.

"There will be no need to get comfortable, Mr Potter. We won't be staying long."

Harry turned to see Snape sitting in a smaller portrait, this one endowed with a sumptuous chair and reading lamp. He had a book open on his lap which he shut as Harry watched. He felt relieved that the professor seemed to have a way to read after all, and that contrary to appearances derived from his classes, he had at least one painted canvas in which to relax.

"May I ask where we'll be going?"

"You may ask, but I'll not yet answer." Snape stood from his armchair and walked out of the frame, coming to stand imposingly in the large portrait behind the desk instead. "First, some rules." He clasped his hands behind his back. "There will be no more drinking in the Room of Requirement or anywhere else your little group sees fit for its nocturnal outings. If any of you insists on breaking this rule, you will all be dealt with swiftly and harshly and it will not have been worth the trouble. Is this clear?"

Harry swallowed down the humiliation of, yet again, being chastised by Severus Snape. "Yes, Professor."

"Good. Headmistress McGonagall will be posting a missive to this effect tomorrow, but I'm telling you now, Mr Potter, because you will be directly responsible for everyone's obedience to this rule. Do you understand?"

"But why--?"

Snape's voice rose. "Because like it or not, your words, your actions, carry more weight, and the other professors and myself expect more from you whether you consider that fair or not."

Harry gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir."

He'd never thought of it like that. He'd assumed, hoped, that with the war over he could blend in and be a regular person for once. He felt he deserved that, and a sharp little barb of rebellion jabbed him from the inside at Snape's words.

"We can chat about the unfairness of it all if you like, but for Merlin's sake, let's do something useful while we're at it. Meet me in Gryffindor tower at the place where the stairs to the former boys' dormitories end, and be careful not to fall over the edge, Mr Potter. I'm no longer in a position to help you quite so readily. The password into the common room is 'Elder Wand'."

With that, the professor walked out of his frame, leaving Harry to make his own way to their rendezvous point.

Harry hadn't realised how much he missed his old dormitory until he stood in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. He'd managed to avoid this part of the castle since they'd returned. But seeing it now... The memories flooded through him like magic pervading his skin, seeping underneath, reawakening parts of him he'd denied.

"Elder wand," he said to the Fat Lady.

"Good to see you, lad." She smiled warmly at him as she swung inward.

Harry stepped into his old common room and looked around. Everything was so similar, though there were still scorch marks along two of the walls. Doors now led off the common room on either side, which Harry assumed would take him to newly crafted dormitories since the tower itself had been too badly damaged.

Was this his punishment? To see this? To feel it again?

"Hi, Harry," Ginny said from where she sat in front of the hearth with a book open before her and an essay parchment unrolled to the floor.

"Hi, Gin."

"Who let you in?" she asked, though it wasn't at all accusatory.

"Oh, er, Professor Snape. I'm... meeting him here."

"Oh," she said, surprised.

"I need to go." He didn't relish staying and trying to explain something he himself wasn't sure of yet.

"See you at dinner then?"

"Yeah. See you then."

She went back to her essay, and Harry avoided the wide eyes of the other younger Gryffindors lounging around the room as he made his way up the winding staircase that had been a part of his life for so long.

The further up he climbed, the more the walls seemed to be crumbling. Near the top of what remained of the stairs, a painting had been hung on one of the more sturdy blocks of stone. It consisted of another chair and a rug, sparse but comfortable. As Harry looked at it, Snape walked into the frame and sat.

"Draw your wand, Mr Potter."

Harry scrambled to do so. He'd thought Snape was going to give him some talk about the state of the tower and somehow equate it to Harry's crumbling morals. But apparently he was here to be put to work.

Snape then instructed him on spells Harry had never encountered before, advanced Mending spells in conjunction with Sealing, Dark Magic Removal, Stone Healing... things that weren't even in any of his books. Things he hadn't thought he was ready for. Yet here was Snape, barking instructions as though Harry had every capacity for this work.

Harry focused intently and tried to memorise all that Snape told him about how to hold his wand, which kind of flick to use, how to pronounce the foreign spells. He began working under Snape's supervision and was surprised at how quickly he was able to pick up the complicated magic. He dropped a couple of smaller stones at the beginning, but Snape advised a slight adjustment to his swishing, and after that the work went shockingly well.

Harry felt an enormous sense of accomplishment as he personally rebuilt the tower, one stone at a time -- as he remade the stairs and drained the area of any remaining Dark Magic.

"I told her we didn't need Galleons," Snape murmured once beneath his breath, and Harry felt great pride suffuse him.

"Is this my detention then?" Harry asked once he'd got the hang of repairing the stones.

"Were you expecting to be hung upside down by your toenails in the dungeons?"

Harry winced a bit. "No, I just--"

"Thought I'd have you doing something pointless?"

Harry shrugged.

"What in Merlin's name would be the good in that?" Snape frowned in the same stoic and intense way he always had.

Harry set a particularly large stone into the wall and began the Sealing spell.

"Mr Potter, have you thought about what you're going to do once you leave Hogwarts?"

"Er..." Harry concentrated on finishing the Seal before he tried to answer. "I, er, I don't really know, I guess."

"I had thought your ambition was to become an Auror."

"It was," Harry said. He switched to the Stone Healing magic once the Seal felt permanent, now pulling with his magic rather than ejecting it out.

"It's not any longer?"

"I'm not sure."

"That much is obvious."

Harry frowned. "With all due respect, what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Harry, that if you put too much consideration into Mr Malfoy's future and not enough into your own, he could very well become the Auror and you the person that empties out his rubbish bin."

Too struck by the use of his name to let the rest sink in, Harry asked, "Professor?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "I may be briefly consigned to this frame, but I'm not blind, Potter."

"Er, what do you mean, sir?" Harry had begun to sweat. The stone he was attempting to lift almost slipped free of his magical grasp.

"Infatuations are unavoidable. Some would say they're even one of the joys of your age group." Snape shuddered his disagreement. "Since it's mutual, though, I suppose there could be minimal harm to your psyches. To your marks, however..."

Harry felt like the top of his head might explode and fly off, taking what was left of his meagre brains with it. "You think he's... infatuated... with me?"

"Put down your wand, Mr Potter."

Harry did as he was told, his heart in his throat.

"That is precisely your problem," Snape said. "Him first, you second."

"But--"

"Your dalliance with Mr Malfoy is your business, and I do not care to be privy to the details, but know this, Harry: you cannot cease to be who you are."

Harry gnashed his teeth in response to that. "I know very well who I am, thank you, and I thought you of all people would understand how bloody sick of that I get. Sir."

Snape looked out at Harry from his frame more intensely than most breathing people could.

"Besides," Harry went on, looking away, "why can't I be myself and become an Auror or a Quidditch player or whatever else I might want to be and... and have a..." He flushed as he forced the word out. "And have a boyfriend, too?"

Merlin's tits, he'd said it.

He'd said it to Snape.

He'd come out. To Severus Snape.

Bloody buggering hell.

When Snape said nothing and Harry got brave enough to peek at his reaction, he saw that Snape now wore a wry smirk. It was almost... affectionate. Or maybe that was merely the light striking his canvas in just the right way.

"Professor," Harry said, suddenly struck through with fear. "Please don't tell him I said that. We haven't even-- That is to say--"

"Mr Potter, my resume positively abounds with more situations than I'd ever care to count or even remember in which I kept my silence on matters more important than your love life."

Harry swallowed. He looked at the stone steps before him. "I'm aware of that, sir. Thank you." It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. Not when he'd been trying to think of a way to thank this man for months.

"Harry," Snape said softly.

Harry lifted his stunned gaze to see a look of sad compassion on Snape's face the likes of which he'd never thought to hope for.

Harry felt tears threaten behind his eyes. "I just want things to be normal." And he hadn't even known how true and difficult and real those words were until he'd said them.

Snape sighed. Harry got the feeling that if he could he would have reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I know, Potter."

Harry understood the sadness, the regret and the pride, that he saw in Snape's eyes. He understood all too well. He nodded.

"Now," Snape said. "Pull your wand. Half an hour more, and you'll have repaired a quarter of this tower, Potter, and you'll have more than earned your dinner, I should say."

Harry felt the compliment burn inside him pleasantly and got back to work. Snape didn't mention his future or Draco or "infatuation" again, letting Harry rebuild the castle stone by stone, absorbed in his work even more than his own thoughts for once. He'd repaired so much of the staircase that he'd had to move Snape's portrait -- twice! -- to keep up.

"That will be all," Snape finally said, though it felt like five minutes, not half an hour. "We shall meet back here the Tuesday after the break and continue." He'd dismissed Harry for dinner, and Harry was halfway down the stairs when Snape called out.

"Mr Potter!"

Harry turned back quickly. "Yes?"

Snape stood in front of his chair, frowning. "Forget everything I said." Something burned in his eyes that Harry had never seen there before. "Make your mother proud and be, before anything else, happy." Then, in a swirl of robes, he was gone.

You have your mother's eyes...

Harry swallowed against the emotions unfurling inside him. He walked out of the Gryffindor common room in a daze. He sat down to dinner with no appetite.

"How was detention?" Ron asked.

"Fine."

"Fine? Seriously?"

"Yeah. I mended walls."

Ron raised his eyebrows but then went back to eating his roll. Hermione was chatting with Parvati, so it gave Harry some time to think about what had just gone on while he ate food he hardly tasted.

Professor Snape knew he was gay. He knew Harry wanted Draco and seemed to believe Draco wanted him back. He'd advised Harry to think of himself and his future in the wizarding community and not expect a normal life only to rescind everything and tell him to be happy.

More confused than ever, Harry glanced down the table to see Draco talking with, of all people, Luna Lovegood, who had once again strayed from her house table. Something Luna said made Draco laugh. His face transformed from it, his eyes dancing. He said something in return, still chuckling, and Luna's face lit up. Draco smiled at her and then turned his head to find Harry watching him. Slowly, his smile diminished, though not enough to become an actual frown. He looked away, though, and went back to eating.

Well. At least McGonagall hadn't outright killed him.

He was still here.

He looked unharmed.

He was still bloody beautiful.

Half-past midnight. Five more hours. Harry didn't know if he'd survive it.

He thought of what Snape had said first and reckoned he'd better spend those hours studying. He really couldn't just sit there and moon over Draco Malfoy twenty-four seven anyway. That bespoke his former obsession, not happiness.

"Hey, Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Would you want to go to the library with me after dinner?"

Her gaze flitted to Ron. "I, er, can't tonight. I'm sorry, Harry. Ron and I... We're..."

"Oh, no problem." Harry thought it might be better if he was alone after all since he'd likely be fighting Draco-fantasies and Hermione tended to catch him at it and ask questions.

Maybe, if things went well in the bathroom meeting, he could start honestly answering them soon.

Harry spent a couple of hours in the library studying. He spent a couple more in the common room playing Exploding Snap with Dean and then composing an owl to Teddy.

He went to bed at the same time as the others. He never saw Draco once the entire evening, and he felt like maybe he'd dreamed getting that note from him, and all he'd find in the men's bathroom was a shiny row of house-elf-cleaned urinals.

Harry waited until the others were as asleep as they were going to get. It wasn't like he'd never gotten out of bed to go to the bathroom before, though, so he didn't expect an interrogation. He just didn't fancy rousing anyone enough to make them consider joining him.

Unless Malfoy intended to hex Harry's balls off. And then he might regret not bringing along some back-up.

He entered the bathroom five minutes early, and since Malfoy wasn't there yet, he decided taking a piss wasn't a bad idea. He finished, tucked himself away, washed his hands... And then he waited.

He felt stupid for just standing there in the middle of the bathroom. He checked his watch to find that it was only twelve thirty-two. He took a breath and was considering pacing when he heard a door down the hall slowly open and then close.

Harry's heart jumped into his throat. Reflexively, he felt for his wand but encountered no relief at it being tucked into the waistband of his pyjamas. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs and for the first time considered what he was wearing. He supposed it could have been worse. A pair of dark blue pyjama bottoms and a Weird Sisters t-shirt weren't haute couture, but at least it wasn't a flashing neon Weasley jumper complete with singing socks. And yeah, he had those.

Harry schooled his breath as he listened to the footsteps in the hall coming closer. Every emotion in his body had time to course through his blood from head to feet and back again with how long it took Draco -- or whoever the fuck it was -- to make it down the hall to the bathroom.

He took three steps toward the door, ready to charge out into the hall, shouting, "Take your bloody time, Malfoy!" when the door swung in, and Draco stepped inside.

"Hey," Harry breathed out, but Draco said nothing. He closed the door, drew his wand, and locked it. Then he shoved his wand away again and advanced on Harry, his face a potent display of both fury and...

Oh Merlin, and want.

Despite his own wanting, Harry backed away.

"I can't bloody believe I got detention for snogging you, you bastard." Draco stalked toward him, chin down, eyes hard. "And here I am." Harry's back hit the wall. "Back for fucking more."

At that, Draco took Harry's face in his hands, brought their lips together, and then pressed hard into Harry's mouth with his tongue.

"Mmm!" Harry groaned, yet it wasn't a complaint. "Mmm..." He grabbed Draco's narrow hips, pulling him closer. Draco tasted cool like apples, but his mouth was hot, his tongue forceful. It took Harry a few seconds to catch up to him. His mind was spinning, his body shocked by the suddenness of having exactly what it wanted.

When Draco's mouth lifted off his for a moment, Harry said, "Technically, it wasn't for snogging me. It was for--"

"Merlin's bollocks, Potter, shut up!"

Draco pulled him into another rough kiss, and this time Harry joined him. Their tongues met, and Draco moaned. He grabbed Harry by the t-shirt and dragged him toward the nearest shower stall.

Draco's hands slipped under his shirt, and the feeling of those hands on Harry's skin... Harry bit Draco's bottom lip and rejoiced at the gasp that elicited. He pulled out of the kiss and ripped his glasses off, lifting his arms at Draco's urging and letting him tug the shirt off altogether. Both glasses and shirt fell to the floor, and Harry didn't care. He lifted Draco's shirt, too, and stripped it off in a hurry, their mouths parting only so long as it took to do so.

Harry stumbled into the shower after Draco, trying to yank the curtain closed without breaking the kiss. Draco's back hit the wall this time, and Harry let his hands roam up Draco's sides, over his chest, into his hair where he couldn't help but tug. Draco pulled him closer until their bodies pressed tight together, skin to skin.

So much naked skin. And Draco was letting Harry touch it!

Harry licked between Draco's lips and ran his hands up and down his back. Draco's nails raked down Harry's sides. Harry gasped.

"Sorry," Draco whispered but didn't sound like he meant it.

"The fuck you are, Malfoy. Do it again."

Draco did, and Harry bit his own lip this time to keep from... He didn't know what: growling? coming? smiling? All he knew was how those nails felt leaving shallow welts along the surface of his skin. They felt perfect.

Draco's eyes lit up at Harry's reaction and he flipped them again so that Harry's back collided with the wall, hard. He dipped his head to the crook of Harry's neck and bit and sucked and made little sounds like maybe he loved it. Their cocks pressed together through their pyjamas, and Harry felt pre-come spread a nice warm stain on the front of his pants.

He didn't yet care. He couldn't care. He felt too brilliant.

One of Draco's hands went into his hair, and he leaned back just enough to reach between their bodies. Harry held his breath, believing him to be going for his cock, but Draco's long fingers brushed over Harry's stomach instead, moving through the line of hair that led down into his trousers.

"I like this," Draco said in a disarmingly honest way that made Harry shiver in response.

The backs of Draco's fingers moved up and down that line of hair. Up and down, slow and decisive. Fuck, it was amazing -- just Draco's hand touching his stomach like that.

Draco's eyes darkened with desire.

"Bloody hell," Harry said. He pulled Draco to him once more, and then they were kissing like they wanted to make each other bleed, their hands everywhere.

After several of the best minutes of Harry's life, he pulled back just enough to let his eyes feast on the skin he was getting to touch. Draco's body was pale and thin, of course, but there were muscles underneath. His nipples were small and dark. He was breathing hard, looking at Harry with a question in his eyes.

"Like what you see, Potter?" It was half arrogance, half bated breath.

Harry took it all in -- the hair flopping into his pointy face; his sleek, nearly hairless chest; the faded Dark Mark; the impressive tent to his trousers. "Fuck yes."

Draco's lips crook'd up in a smile that bespoke both relief and arousal. He pressed his face back into the side of Harry's neck. He seemed to really like doing that, and it felt amazing, his hot breath on these tender places Harry had not even known were there until Draco breathed on them, bit down on them, whispered dirty things against them.

His hands held Harry's waist and gripped harder when he asked, "Why'd you have to be so bloody fit?" His fingers dipped into Harry's pyjama bottoms then, not quite skimming his arse. Harry thunked his head back into the cold, hard wall and groaned. His cock twitched against Draco's body through their thin trousers.

Bloody hell, Draco's hands moved again, and he was messing about under the waistband of Harry's pants, deft and curious fingers dancing over the swells of Harry's arse. Harry's wand, no longer securely held, fell into one leg of his trousers, and he so didn't care. Fuck, was Draco going to take his trousers down? Were they going to do... that?

Harry's cock jumped at the thought, even though his mind ran rampant with both an insane level of desire and an equal measure of fear.

What would Draco think that he'd never done anything with another boy? He'd hardly done anything with Ginny, even. A hand in her bra and her riding his completely clothed leg. And it had felt nothing like this.

Draco's mouth on his neck steadily stole the fear and replaced it with how-fast-can-I-get-these-trousers-off frustration that was nearly painful.

"Potter," Draco whispered, his damnable fingers running this way and that, finally dipping low enough to skate over the crease between the globes of his arse. Harry bit his lip to keep a desperate moan inside.

Harry let his hand move back up into Draco's hair. It was softer than he'd dared imagine. The back of Draco's neck was hot to the touch.

"Mmm, want to see your cock," Draco said just beneath Harry's ear.

"Fuck... Okay." Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to strip completely, though -- Draco hadn't expressed any desire to see his legs after all -- so he just pushed his trousers and pants down to the tops of his thighs, letting his hard cock spring free.

He briefly wondered if he should be embarrassed by it for any reason. He'd seen the other boys' dicks, of course, but not hard. Certainly not so hard they were dribbling a stream of pre-come down the bobbing shaft. Harry swallowed as Draco edged back and looked down... and then just blinked.

"Well, what?" Harry asked when the impatience and burgeoning humiliation threatened.

Draco's hands lit shyly on Harry's hips. They shook. Harry watched his face, the way his pupils dilated suddenly, the black edging out the grey. How his Adam's apple moved in his throat. Having those beautiful hands touching him and so close to his waiting and ready cock... The stupid, needy thing throbbed, jerking up under Draco's rapacious gaze. Draco licked his lips. "Potter." It came out a near-whisper.

Before Harry could ask for some reciprocity, because he was frankly dying to see Draco's cock, the bathroom doorknob jiggled.

"Shit," Harry said. He wanted to shout every obscenity he knew and some he didn't. He had his cock out for Draco Malfoy, for fuck's sake! This person could go pee somewhere else, couldn't they? Bloody hell, they could pee anywhere else for all Harry cared!

But Draco raised his gaze to Harry's and smirked. He put his finger to his own lips and drew his wand. He summoned their shirts then reached past Harry and turned the shower on. Harry gasped, though the water wasn't too cold nor too hot; it never was. It was just shocking to suddenly be wet. To be wet with his trousers still on but pulled down.

To be wet and hard and very much not alone and about to get less so apparently, because then Draco flicked his wand and unlocked the door.

"Stupid bloody door," Seamus muttered as he entered.

Draco put his finger over his lips again and shook his head. Harry let his gaze drop to Draco's soaked body, the water making his trousers cling to his hips, dragging them down, outlining his erection. And if that outline was anything to go by, Draco Malfoy was bloody hung.

Harry raised his gaze again. They looked at each other as Seamus shuffled around out there, murmuring to himself.

"Who's in there?" he suddenly called.

Draco pointed at Harry.

"Erm, it's Harry."

Draco smiled at him. He looked down at Harry's cock again. He licked his lips.

"Little late for a shower, innit?"

Draco sank onto his knees in the spray. Oh fucking God...

"I was, uh, itchy," Harry said. That earned him an amused shake of Draco's head like Harry was unbelievably daft. He pulled Harry's trousers down a bit more so that his pants no longer cradled his balls and they swung free. "Oh my God," Harry breathed.

"What?" Seamus asked.

"Nothing." Harry's voice came out shrill and choked.

Draco wrapped his hand around Harry's cock, and Harry wanted to die from it. He squeezed his eyes closed only to open them back up again when Draco leaned in and rubbed the head of Harry's cock over his parted lips. "Oh fuck." Harry banged his head back against the tile.

"You all right?"

"Yeah. I, er, I dropped my shampoo." Harry stared down at Draco on his knees -- at Draco stroking his hand up and down Harry's cock -- at Draco smiling at him and then opening his mouth and...

"Well, goodnight, Harry!"

"Goodnight!" Harry shouted, gritting his teeth.

He heard Seamus' footsteps, the door opening and closing. Draco licked the pre-come from his slit.

"Bloody fuck," Harry panted. "I haven't... Malfoy, I've never..." Harry's cheeks flamed hot even as Draco rubbed his cock over his lips again, apparently enjoying doing so almost as much as Harry enjoyed having it done. God, his lips were brilliant! If just his lips were that brilliant...

Harry felt almost afraid of getting a blow job from him.

Dear Merlin.

A blow job.

Harry had so rarely connected that word with something that could and might very well be done to him. He'd feared that perhaps he'd end up this unlucky sod who died never having had the pleasure of a mouth on his cock. And frankly, he had died without it. He just happened to be back. And he happened to have a wet, hungry-looking Draco Malfoy on his knees and getting ready to blow him, it appeared.

Harry swallowed hard.

Draco's hand moved almost lazily along his shaft. "You're not going to chicken out on me, are you, Potter?"

Bloody hell, of course he'd turn into a bastard about it. Harry's jaw went tight. Draco leaned in, closed his eyes, and rubbed Harry's cock over his cheeks. "Well? Are you?"

"Sod off, Malfoy, or put it in your mouth and-- Oh fuck!"

The whole head of his cock was in Draco's mouth, and his tongue lapped round and round it, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked on it and oh holy hell!

Harry made fists at his sides until Draco took Harry's hands in his own and gently placed them on his head. Draco's mouth made the most beautiful bowed shape around Harry's prick. Harry ran his fingers into his hair. Draco blinked up at him, something angelic and obscene about him all at once. Harry shivered, he held Draco's head, and he thrust minutely forward, pushing another inch into Draco's mouth.

Draco gagged, and Harry pulled out quickly. "Merlin, I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

Draco nodded. "Yeah. I just-- Never mind. Do it again, would you?"

"What, choke you?"

Draco smiled at him shyly now. "No. But do that thrusting thing. I... I liked it. I just wasn't ready."

"You're sure?" Be sure, be sure, be sure, be sure!

Draco's answer was to fit Harry's cock back into his mouth, swirling that hot tongue around the crown again.

"Shit." Harry leaned his head against the wall for a moment, his mouth dropping open as he felt what Draco's mouth was doing to him all the way down to his toes. Draco was watching him, sucking gently. Harry threaded his fingers into that silky hair. "Yeah?"

As much as he could, Draco nodded.

Harry thrust -- just a little bit. His cock eased past Draco's stretched lips. This time there was no gagging, only a soft moan around his cock that sent electric shocks through Harry's thighs. He pulled back again. "All right?" he asked. Draco ran his hands up the backs of Harry's legs, cupped his bare arse, and squeezed.

Harry tightened the muscles under Draco's hands and thrust again. He wasn't going very far in, but he hardly cared. Just watching it happen and feeling that sly tongue pressed to the underside of his shaft had Harry ready to come right then and there.

Someone was sucking his cock.

Draco Malfoy was sucking his cock.

Harry found himself smiling -- smiling down at Draco on the floor of the shower, soaked to his skin, his blond hair dripping all over Harry's tightening hands. Harry began thrusting in rhythm, half his cock now moving in and out of Draco's mouth.

Draco moved his hands, feeling Harry's arse until finally his fingers slipped into the crease itself. Harry could feel it building, his bollocks drawing close. Draco's tongue was so hot, the suction so perfect as Harry strove forward, and then his finger... Draco's finger found the tight pucker of Harry's anus and drew a graceful circle around it, exerting just the slightest pressure.

"Oh my God." Harry didn't have time to warn him as he started coming. His cock spurted semen into Draco's mouth and all Harry could say was, "Malfoy, Malfoy, fuck fuck fuck Malfoy..." as he emptied and Draco swallowed some and let the rest run out past his lips and down Harry's shaft, dripping onto the floor and washing away. His hand worked on Harry's cock quickly, bringing Harry off even as his pretty mouth gasped away and the rest splattered his lips and chin.

"Merlin, sorry. Sorry," Harry panted.

But Draco smiled up at him, that deviant finger still circling his anus patiently while he licked Harry's come from his lips. Harry whined as Draco rubbed the last of it out of him, his cock against the sweet softness of Draco's cheek.

He'd always thought of him as a pointy git. Yet his cheek... Merlin, it was so bloody soft.

Harry loosened his hands in Draco's hair, and Draco left off his arsehole, rising off his knees.

"That was... Fuck..." Harry stammered.

Without a word, Draco took Harry's hand and moved it between his legs. Looking into Harry's eyes, he pulled his own trousers and pants down just enough, and he wrapped Harry's hand around his cock. Harry looked down at it. It was as wide as his own and even longer. Harry knew from peeking at his roommates that he was pretty big. But bloody hell, Draco's dick was huge! And it felt fucking exquisite in his hand.

Harry tried an experimental pull on it. Draco's breath shuddered out of him, and he closed his eyes.

"Good?"

Draco nodded vigorously.

Harry did it again, adding a twist at the end like he enjoyed doing to himself. Draco made a quiet, high sound at the back of his throat.

So Harry did it again and again and again and again.

He alternately watched his hand working Draco's cock and then blinked up to observe his reactions. Which were bloody beautiful. Harry had never thought he'd see Draco Malfoy's composed chill melt for him like this, his brows creasing, those little sounds coming out of him, his breath hitching.

"Potter, I'm close," he said, and they were the loveliest words ever.

Harry thought about dropping to his own knees and getting a taste of it when he came. But then Draco wrapped his hand around the back of Harry's head and, in the middle of the deluge, they kissed again. And as they kissed, Draco's cock pulsed in Harry's hand as he came, whimpering against Harry's wet mouth.

When it was over, Draco leaned back, and they searched one another's eyes. Harry couldn't help smiling. Draco held his hand under the water and then splashed it on Harry. Harry laughed and splashed him back.

"You tosser, I'm an utter wreck," Draco said. "These trousers are silk, you know."

"I'm not the one who dragged us in here, Malfoy. I'm not the one who turned on the water." Harry was still smiling. He felt like he might never be able to stop.

Draco stripped off his trousers and held them up with a look of prattish disgust. Him standing there like that without a stitch of clothing and with that look on his face was very possibly the sexiest thing Harry had ever seen. He could hardly look away as he followed suit and stripped off his own clinging pyjamas.

"Why'd you even lock the bloody door in the first place if you were just going to let any ol' person in, you wanker?" he asked.

Suddenly there was a hand on his chest, pushing him hard back into the wall. Draco's gaze bore into his own. "It wasn't to keep them out, Potter. It was to keep you in." He shoved away and picked up his soaked shirt. "At least until I'd snogged the shit out of you."

Harry's heart pounded as hard as it had while he'd been inside Draco's mouth.

God, that mouth. It could hurl the snidest of insults, cast the perfect charms, whisper filthy things in his ear, and whimper and whine so sweetly while he came.

Bloody fucking hell, that mouth.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knew he was in terrible trouble.

"I'm just glad the plonker wasn't here to take a shit," Draco added, turning off the water.

The laugh erupted out of Harry before he was ready for it, and Draco shot him a wicked smile as he stepped out of the shower.

"So," Harry said, picking up his own shirt and glasses and following him. "How many times have you done that then?"

Draco fetched them each a towel. "Do you mean counting this time?"

"Yeah, counting this time." All humour was gone now as Harry's gut twisted up, waiting for some horrid number. Waiting to be one in a very long line of cocks. Not that it would be in any way wrong for Draco to have more experience than Harry. But, well... He just didn't really like the mental images parading through his brain at the idea.

But Draco dried his hair with his towel and didn't meet Harry's gaze as he said, "That would be one, Potter."

"What? Are you kidding?"

"No, I'm not bloody kidding. Sod off."

His first.

Harry had been Draco's first.

His heart swelled, and it became difficult to breathe deeply.

"Malfoy, look," Harry said gently, cleaning and then donning his glasses, understanding now something he had not before. "I didn't mean it like that. I--"

Draco whirled on him, but it didn't feel quite so threatening without his posh clothes in place. In fact, it was rather lovely to be whirled on by a naked Draco. "I don't care how much you want to snog me or how much I might want to do it back or..." He waved his hand at the room in general. "Or any of it. I can't get any more blasted detentions, Potter! Not until-- I just can't, all right?"

"Yeah," Harry said, still dripping everywhere. "Sure. I understand, Draco, I--"

"And this can't get around to the whole school. Do you understand that?" He scowled then, looking around himself. "Where the fuck is my wand?"

"You could Summon it." Harry bent and picked up his own from the puddle he'd made on the floor. He shook the water from it, and it threw off a few orange sparks.

"I bloody know I can Summon it, arsehole." He stomped over to the shower, found it, and snatched it up.

Harry wasn't sure why he was still smiling with Draco yelling at him, but he was. He began to spell-dry his clothes, and Draco did the same, still making his demands, still starkers. "I can't afford a drop in my marks. And don't expect some simpering ponce of a boyfriend sniffing after your hot arse and holding your hand in the Quidditch stands, do you hear me, Potter?"

Harry's smile grew. Draco'd just said he had a hot arse whether he realised it or not. And not only that. He'd said the word. He'd actually said "boyfriend". Harry now knew what this was. As he watched Draco frowning and running his wand over his clothes in an almost frantic fashion, Harry knew: they were going to do this again.

They were going to do this a lot.

And Draco, for all his posturing now, knew it, too. That was the whole daft reason for the posturing. He wanted to keep doing it as badly as Harry. But whereas that idea thrilled Harry to no end, it obviously scared Draco nearly senseless.

"Yeah." Harry set his shirt aside to don his pants and trousers. "All right, Malfoy."

"Good." Draco yanked his shirt down over his head, sending his hair this way and that. Harry had never seen Draco dishevelled before.

It was bloody gorgeous.

He sucked my cock!

For the first time since they'd exited the shower, Draco looked at Harry. "I suppose you want another snog, then." He lifted his pointy chin, snobbish gaze full of challenge.

Harry walked up to him, into his personal space, pressing Draco to the wall without yet touching him. "And what if I do?"

Draco's darkening gaze dropped to Harry's lips. He got a new, wicked glint in his eye. "I always knew you wanted to snog me, Potter."

Harry fought a smile. "Is that so, Malfoy?" He braced his hands on the wall on either side of Draco's head. He leaned in. Draco's warm, fast breaths bathed his lips.

The doorknob rattled again, giving them only a moment to step away from one another before Blaise walked in, scrubbing at his face tiredly.

"Oh," he said when he saw Draco and Harry standing in the middle of the bathroom.

Harry quickly grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. "I'll just take my piss then."

He glanced at Draco only long enough to see him roll his eyes. "Bloody good for you, Potter. Blaise," he added. He took long, arrogant strides until he was through the door and gone.

Harry sidled up next to Blaise at the urinals and pulled out his freshly blown cock, still sensitive from Draco's mouth. Heat rose into his cheeks.

Again, he thought, as he stood there not pissing.

He'd bloody well just had sex.

And they were going to do it again.

They did it again the next day between Potions and Charms, in fact. Draco pulled him into an empty, dark classroom, kissed him hard, and before Harry knew it, they had their cocks out and were slap-fighting over whose hand would go where.

Harry came in Draco's fist in approximately ninety seconds; Draco, over Harry's knuckles, just after.

They cleaned up and straightened their clothes, still panting. Draco left the room first, checking both ways down the hall furtively (and giving Harry a really nice view of his arse), and Harry followed a minute later, face still hot.

"Today, we'll be working on strengthening your privacy charms," Flitwick announced.

Harry fought down an absurd laugh. Draco and he had used about three each just moments before, and they'd been quite strong. Really, 'O'-on-their-N.E.W.T.s strong. Harry raised his gaze to find Draco's across the aisle. They shared subversive smiles, and when Flitwick walked by, Draco ducked his head and cleared his throat, and it was just this beautifully sublime moment that Harry wanted to phial away to view for years to come.

He really needed to buy himself a Pensieve, he decided.

You, Harry, are in terrible, terrible trouble. He was pretty sure that voice in his head belonged to Hermione. He was just as sure that it was right.

But the next night found him meeting Draco in the clearing to practice his Patronus like always. Harry had thought they might begin a little differently this time and moved in to kiss him once Draco jumped the fence.

"I really think I ought to use what energy I have at my disposal for the spell, Potter," Draco said, pulling back.

"Oh. Right. Yes. Absolutely."

Draco grabbed his wrist. "But after..." His thumb brushed lightly over Harry's pulse point, and the sensation went straight to his cock.

Draco's shield form was particularly vibrant during their practice, and apparently the appropriate way to celebrate that, or at least Draco's preferred way, was to push Harry against the fence, drop to his knees, and suck him off.

Harry held the back of his head with one hand. "Oh, fuck. Malfoy..." Draco bobbed his head, hummed, moved his hands up under Harry's shirt, warm and sweet. Harry grasped onto the fence post for support as he came.

Draco whined around his prick, his brows knit, and wanked himself until he came on the ground at Harry's feet.

"I sort of... thought I'd do that..." Harry said.

Draco pulled off and smirked up at him, his colour high and eyes sparkling. "You think you can just touch my cock whenever you'd like, Potter?"

"Well, I hadn't planned on doing it during Defence or anything, but..."

Harry tucked himself away, and Draco rose from the ground. When Harry finished with his trousers, he realised Draco had left his unfastened. Draco looked into his eyes and took Harry's hands, wrapping Harry's arms around himself and settling his hands right where his trousers hung low on his hips. Harry studied Draco's face for permission. He slipped his hands into the back of his pants and grasped his arse. Draco's breath hitched. His pale lashes fluttered.

"Bloody hell," Harry said before he kissed him. He massaged Draco's arse and marvelled at his soft skin, his tense muscles, the way he started to make those little sounds again, grinding gently against Harry's body.

They kissed through the deep cold that came on, the snow flurries that lit in their hair. Harry's hands squeezed and caressed, his fingers dipping into the crease. Draco moved quicker, then, his cock hard once more. Harry found and then circled Draco's anus with his middle finger, and Draco moaned into his mouth.

Unreal. That this was Draco Malfoy. That Harry was still himself. That, after everything, they'd ended up here in the silent snow together, Draco shivering and coming and clinging to Harry's neck while Harry stroked over this amazing little unknown part of him, this secret warm place.

They walked back to school slowly even though it was freezing. Nothing so fantastical happened as holding hands. There was the ubiquitous bickering, of course, and Harry tried not to trip over any pebbles in the road from staring at the way the tiny snowflakes got stuck in Draco's eyelashes and how beautiful he was even as he proceeded to insult every player on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.

"By the way, nobody I've spoken with wants to play pretend Quidditch," he said then. "They're all acting like they're too posh for that, but they're really just afraid they'll make fantastic fools of themselves."

Harry shrugged. "To be honest, I haven't got around to asking anyone. Hermione's always studying. Ron's too busy pretend coaching. Luna'd probably end up playing for the wrong side." He slanted a glance at Draco, now grinning at his Luna remark. "We could just... do stuff on our own."

"We're already 'doing stuff' on our own." A mischievous smile twitched at one corner of Draco's lips.

"You know what I mean, Malfoy."

"You, me, and the Snitch?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"First one to it wins bragging rights the rest of the year?"

"Well, I guess there is that. But I just thought it'd be fun to have a reason to fly again."

"Yeah. Sounds all right."

They'd reached the castle. The entrance hall was toasty warm, and Harry hadn't realised how cold he'd been -- how his face ached with it. They made their way up the stairs talking of this and that. Sometimes their arms touched. Whenever they did, a frisson of heat would race up Harry's spine, but he never let on. Draco didn't either. But they continued to walk close, letting it happen.

There were no kisses goodnight. There was only "Potter," and "Malfoy," and Draco joining Blaise for wizard's chess in the common room while Harry sat with Ron and Hermione and talked in front of the hearth.

Thursday morning, Professor Binns announced a surprise essay test to be taken the next day, and Professor Flitwick told them they'd be charming regular Muggle toy tops into magical devices meant to warn of danger. They'd been charming nonmagical objects into magical ones for years, but this one would take work more intricate than they'd been challenged with thus far. To be tested on such a thing with nearly no notice...

Well, neither Harry nor Draco had the time to duck into any abandoned classrooms or empty loos, much less take a couple of free hours to go Snitch hunting.

"Hermione," Ron pleaded at dinner. "Just one hint. Please? I'd do it for you."

"You'd also eat twelve Canary Creams if it would get you an Acceptable on that essay." She eyed him over her pumpkin juice.

"Do you... have twelve Canary Creams?"

Hermione's straight face dissolved into affectionate laughter then, and she reached across the table to give Ron's shoulder a shove.

Harry couldn't help but smile as well. Truthfully, he'd probably spend the rest of the year as a canary if it meant he'd pass what was sure to be a gruelling test. A sharp kick to his chair interrupted his musings.

"Potter." Draco stood frowning down at him.

Harry, on the other hand, smiled openly at him. He could smile at the shit; it was pretty well-documented that they'd become friends, after all, which was thrilling all on its own. Minus the shared orgasms. "Hey."

One of Draco's eyebrows went up. "When you're quite through stuffing your face with that treacle tart, would you want to--?" He cast a wary look at Harry's friends.

"Would I want to what, Malfoy?"

Draco sighed. "You've been nodding off in Binns' lectures lately. I thought you might benefit from my expertise."

"Oh, did you?" Harry rested his chin on his hand and watched Draco get pointier by the moment.

"Quite. If you want decent marks tomorrow, you'd do well to study with me tonight." He lifted his chin and looked down his aristocratic nose. "The common room sofa. Twenty minutes." He didn't wait for an answer and strode away.

"What a git," Ron said, choking back a laugh. "You going to do it?"

Harry grinned at him and shrugged.

In fifteen minutes he was in the common room sharing the sofa with Draco. They were studying for the most boring test ever given, and it was bloody brilliant. They argued about facts and dates and interpretations. Harry had never cared more about the actual history of magic -- but now that Draco Malfoy was telling him he was wrong... Well, he suddenly found himself raising his voice over whether tickling hexes were invented in 1577 or 1582.

They talked Goblins and Unicorns and Giants, Werewolf rights, the Great Cauldron Strike of 1710, the opening of Saint Mungo's. They poured over their books, compared notes (Harry carefully hid his bad unicorn drawing)... At some point Millicent showed up with a huge tray of hot chocolates. They each took one and sipped while they studied. Or fought. Or, even, from time to time, agreed.

They were in the middle of memorising dates when a high-pitched chirrup came from the vicinity of Draco's left ankle. He gave Gordon a withering look. "Potter, why do you have a ferret?"

Harry patted his lap, and Gordon scaled the sofa arm, but instead of curling up on Harry's legs, he scampered onto his shoulders and draped himself there like an old witch's shawl. It was a posture of which he was fond and he often rode around warming the back of Harry's neck when they were home. He probably missed it, Harry reckoned.

"He was sort of an accident. I was looking for a Kneazle."

"Not an owl?"

Harry's throat tightened, and he shook his head.

From his expression, Draco seemed to understand. "You didn't find a good Kneazle, then?"

"I guess my heart just wasn't in it. But this one," he nudged Gordon with his cheek, "stowed away in my car and rode all the way home with me."

"You have a... car?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah. Bought it for myself for my birthday."

"A Muggle car?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Harry laughed. "They're fun, Draco." The name was out of his mouth before he could take it back. It wasn't like he hadn't said Draco's name before. He just hadn't... like this. He hadn't since they'd started having frenzied sex in dark rooms and clearings.

Draco registered it, frowning slightly.

"I'll take you for a ride sometime," Harry said.

"You will?"

"Yeah. Unless you're scared." Harry smirked at him.

"I'm bloody not." Draco scowled deeply.

Gordon chirruped and walked along Harry's shoulders to lean out and sniff at Draco.

"What's he doing?"

"Bothering you. What's it look like?" Harry opened his book again.

"Potter. Get him off me!"

Sure enough, Gordon had made a brave leap and now sat upright on Draco's lap, looking at him like he was wonderfully daft. His little hands curled in on themselves as he tilted his ferret head.

"He's not going to hurt you. He appears to like you, actually."

Draco made a face.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come here, Gordon." He patted his leg. But the stubborn weasel only moved off Draco's lap, sitting on the sofa between them and continuing to stare at Draco as if his thinly-veiled horror was fascinating and vaguely endearing. Harry supposed it was. "You can study like that, can't you?"

"If I must," Draco spat.

They went back to it, and after a few minutes of being petted only by Harry, Gordon decided it wasn't worth his time and took himself back to the dormitory.

They studied late. Ron and Hermione came and went, the former giving Harry a look like he might be someone else with Harry's face Polyjuiced onto himself, while Hermione gave him a warm smile. She even said goodnight to both of them, and Harry's heart did a bit of a flip that she'd included Draco. Ron, with that expression stuck on his face, backed out of the room.

By midnight, Harry was yawning too much, his book beginning to blur. "I need to pack it in."

"Yeah. Me, too." Draco closed his books and gathered his notes while Harry stretched, sinking down the couch until he'd nearly slid to the floor. He caught Draco side-eying him while he ostensibly ordered his things. Harry's shirt had ridden up, and Draco's gaze went right to his stomach.

To the line of dark hair he'd stroked.

Harry could perfectly recall his voice, deep and unguarded: "I like this."

Harry swallowed and looked around. As late as it was, they still weren't alone. Bulstrode and the Patil twins were talking quietly in the corner, and Goldstein was still trying to Transfigure a table into... Well, Harry couldn't quite tell what it was supposed to be. It looked like a cross between a golf club and a manky old boot. All that mattered was that they could hardly do anything.

They stood.

"Well," Harry said.

"Well." Draco was back to frowning. "Goodnight, Potter."

"Goodnight. Draco." Harry gulped, his pulse speeding.

Draco hesitated but then turned and left the room.

Harry followed but more slowly. His body felt like it weighed a few tonnes. He was so tired, he knew once his head hit the pillow he'd be asleep within minutes. Gordon's food dish sat nearly empty, so he refilled it and gave him some fresh water before changing into his pyjamas and crawling under the covers. His roommates, except for Dean drawing in the bed farthest away, all slept.

Harry pulled his bed curtains and put up some privacy spells, deciding he'd have a fortifying wank. He stroked his cock on the outside of his trousers at first, closing his eyes and picturing Draco on his knees in the clearing. That turned into Draco on his knees in the shower that first time, because honestly, a wet Draco was a better Draco, Harry reasoned.

But then all reason bled away when he heard it -- muffled, faint, but also unmistakeable:

"Potter..."

Harry held his breath in order not to gasp aloud, in order to strain to listen, to hear anything else that might float to his ears through the hole in the wall. Harry squeezed his cock and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. Those sweet back-of-the-throat sounds started coming to him -- rhythmic, resonate -- and then again, on a hitched breath, "Potter..."

Harry closed his eyes and moved his hand. Suddenly, the fantasy became exactly what was happening: Draco on the other side of that wall, wanking and saying Harry's name. Harry rolled onto his side and opened his eyes again, as if staring at the hole in the stone might help him hear better, might connect him to the experience more fully.

On Draco's next moan, almost plaintive in nature, Harry shoved his trousers and pants down and conjured some lube. He started thrusting into his fist.

"Potter... Potter..." Harry could almost convince himself he heard Draco's panting breaths from the other room, even though they were his own.

Harry braced a hand against the stone and fucked the circle he made of his fingers.

"Nnnnggh!" Draco whined.

Harry couldn't help it; the vision in his mind morphed without his express permission. He dissolved the wall. He joined Draco in his bed. He rolled Draco over, face down against the mattress, and he--

"Potter... Fuck me. Fuck me, Potter."

Oh God, yes!

Harry fucked his slippery fist fast, his body jerking obscenely, imagining being inside Draco. Imagining pushing his own cock into that tight whorl Draco had let him touch and stroke. That soft, warm place...

In his mind, Draco bore back into him, wanting him to do it.

"P-potter..."

Harry could tell that Draco was coming. He was having an orgasm from the thought of Harry inside him. It was too much. It was more than he'd hoped for. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as the sensation rocketed down his thighs. He shot over his hand, onto the sheets, the wall, slowing his strokes and groaning out his own release.

It was easily the best wank he'd ever had.

Harry turned his face into the pillow to muffle his panting breaths. His whole body went limp. One last whine issued through the wall.

Harry's hand slid down the rough stone.

He smiled.

Harry was going over his notes from their study session one last time as he ate his eggs, so when the owl dropped Hermione's Daily Prophet in front of her, he startled.

Still, he wasn't much interested in its contents. He went back to going over dates and shovelling toast into his mouth.

Until...

"Harry, your interview published," Hermione said.

His stomach immediately knotted up, and he rudely snatched the paper right out of her hands.

The title of the article wasn't too terrible: Cheering from the Stands: Harry Potter's Post-War Life. Though it wasn't entirely flattering, at least it was true.

Harry went through the rest, devouring Creevey's words as quickly as possible to determine if he'd been at all misrepresented. When he got to the part about Draco, he breathed a sigh of relief.

When asked how he felt about attending school with a former Death Eater, one Draco Malfoy, son of notorious Voldemort supporter, Lucius Malfoy and his wife, Narcissa, Mr Potter's answer was hesitant but ultimately unswerving:

"Draco Malfoy is an outstanding student. He's working very hard to abide by the rules of his probation, and he should be commended for that. He has the potential to be not just a good wizard but a great one. And he deserves that chance."

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"It's fine. Sorry," Harry said to Hermione, handing her paper back. "It's--"

"What the fuck is this?" Suddenly, a new paper, opened to the interview, landed in his food, and Draco towered next to him, seething.

"What do you mean? It's an interview I had to do." Harry draped his arm over the back of his chair and looked up at him.

"So, you just had to say all that about me?" Draco stood with his arms uncrossed, looking ready to draw his wand.

"Draco, what are you on about? I didn't say one bad word about you. Did you even read it all the way--?"

"I read every bloody word, Potter, and I don't need you coming to my rescue! I sure as hell don't need you bringing any more attention to me or my family than there already is on us. My father's in fucking Azkaban! You don't think I live with that every bloody day? You don't think--"

Harry had had enough, and he stood abruptly, making Draco take a step back, yet still they ended up chest to chest. "He asked me. He fucking asked me about you, Malfoy. What was I supposed to do?"

"Ever heard of 'no comment'?" Draco huffed a mirthless laugh, his face twisted into a cruel mask that Harry hadn't seen in many months. "Oh, that's right. I forgot. You love your bloody spotlight."

"You know that's not true." Harry fought to control his temper, which rose steadily with every breath he took, every word from Draco's mouth. "He asked me, and I told the truth. What would you have done?"

"I'd have told him to go fuck himself! I'd have hexed his shrivelled little bollocks off! I'd have--"

"Got sent to Azkaban yourself? Fantastic idea, Malfoy!"

Harry had said it sarcastically, of course, but Draco flinched as though he truly meant it. For the first time, Draco's anger faltered, flickering in his eyes.

"Draco, just listen for a moment." Harry reached for his elbow, but Draco jerked back.

He went hard and cold. "I'm going to be late for Arithmancy. Just go have your fun at the Burrow with your red-headed freak family and leave me the fuck alone, Potter."

With that, he turned and strode out of the Hall even as Ron called after him, "Hey, you arsehole!" and Harry just stood there, thunderstruck to his bones.