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Summary: Harry does something phenomnally stupid in Potions class, and the consquences are farther-reaching than anyone suspects. A mistake in Potions leads Harry to see Draco Malfoy in an unexpected new light.

Disclaimer: All of the works contained herein are labours of love, unauthorized by those who hold the rights to such things, and no profit is made from them. No harm is meant, and hopefully no offense given.

What Separates Us

By Amy

Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.
-Iris Murdoch (1919 - 1999)

Chapter 1
In Which We Explore the Evils of Inattention, and Its Consequences

"If you would all take your seats, we could begin at something resembling the scheduled time." Snape's voice sounded bitter, tired. He'd been spreading his energies between Hogwarts and Voldemort for over three years now, and they were getting so thin even Harry could see it.

Harry Potter slid into his seat. The class held barely a dozen seventh-years, mostly in Slytherin and Ravenclaw, and each of them got their own lab station now, no partners to watch your back or help you out. He had a spot in the back, one table over from Draco Malfoy, his oldest enemy at Hogwarts, which usually kept him focused on his work. Yet with the end of the term so near, what weighed on his mind most was preventing what had happened to the Slytherins last year -- all of them vanished from the Leaving Feast, recruited to be Death Eaters. Those that had refused were found later, mad or tortured or simply dead.

Harry shook himself. Now was not the time to worry about Malfoy and his cronies. In a way, it seemed like everyone, including Voldemort, was waiting for Harry to finish school before starting the war in earnest. There had been feints, and the annual scheme to attack or kill or simply undermine Harry, yet none of it was on the kind of grand scale they all knew the Dark Lord was capable of, and now had the manpower for. In just over a month, Harry would be out of Hogwarts and in the real world, doing god knew what, but mainly trying not to die.

It had been a long week for everyone, and this was the last class before Harry could finally give in to his own morbid thoughts. He'd surprised himself by getting an O in his OWL, and continuing on with Advanced Potions even after he could have seen the last of Snape. He found he had a certain fascination with the smell of the ingredients, the methodical weight and measure of it, the way three drops of clover dew would turn a certain potion useless, but four would make it stronger. He'd even mostly solved his concentration issues now that Snape was making them test everything they made -- on themselves.

Harry carefully laid out all the ingredients for today's healing potion and tried to concentrate on what Snape was saying. "If you will notice, I have outlined here the similarities between this, a complex and all-purpose healing potion, and one of the milder love potions of old. This particular potion is said to inspire, not lust, but actual love in the drinker, opening them to care for someone they might have otherwise dismissed. I would advise you, therefore, to work carefully, lest you be ensnared."

Harry began carefully chopping and measuring the herbs involved. He kept glancing up as Snape swept by, eager to get this done and get out. His cauldron was bubbling gently, a soft green that smelled faintly of rosemary, despite having none in the mixture. He glanced over at Malfoy and saw the same gentle green roil of liquid, saw deft hands scooping up ingredients with the small knife and sifting them in. Malfoy leveled a glare in Harry's direction, and he went back to his own work, reassured.

A part of him still measured himself against Malfoy, at least in Potions class. Draco had shown an aptitude for the subject that Harry had thought was cheating in his early years, but later had realized was simply talent. Harry could still fly circles around the other Seeker, though, he thought reassuringly. He tipped in his little pile of chopped herbs and watched the green deepen, then go faintly blue. He glanced up at the chalkboard, checking ingredients, but Snape was in the way, leaning over another student's work.

He leaned to the left, barely making out the last few things on the list. He carefully got out his tiny vial of unicorn's tears and dripped in the requisite 7 tears, then added the three whole dove hearts with a slight shudder. Most potions ingredients were dried or powdered, but sometimes it was just... yuck. Snape was talking again, something about making sure to get the right amount of cypress bark or the potion would be ruined. He leaned around again, but Snape had erased much of the board to do a diagram for Blaise Zabini.

He shrugged and glanced over at Malfoy, whose potion had turned translucently lavender, and was now cooling. Harry sprinkled the ground-up bark over his pink-tinged cauldron, and was relieved when it, too, went clear and lavender. He thought his might have been a bit more iridescent than Draco's, but it could just be a trick of the light. He stirred it carefully, 13 times clockwise and 3 counter, then set it aside to cool.

He shrugged and put everything away in his ever-growing personal ingredients kit, then said the charm that would reduce the case to a manageable size and stuffed it into his bag. "All right, class," said Snape abruptly, "who can tell me why we use cypress bark in this potion?"

Hands went up. This was the part Harry usually hated, because although he knew the facts cold when Hermione quizzed him, he could never quite manage to get them right with Slytherins watching. There was something about the eager look in Malfoy's face whenever Snape called on Harry, like the greatest pleasure in Draco's life was to watch him fail. He sighed, then raised his hand anyway, fairly sure he knew the answer.

Snape's eyes glinted with anticipation, and he managed to somehow voice doubt that Harry even knew his own name as he said, "Potter?"

"The cypress binds the disparate ingredients together, allowing the potion to heal different types of physical maladies rather than just one thing, as a lesser potion might." He let his eyes flicker to Malfoy who looked... not disappointed, precisely, but sort of intrigued.

"And what might the cypress do in the other version of this potion, the love potion?" Snape sounded vaguely annoyed, which boosted Harry's confidence.

"Binding the heart of the drinker," said Harry.

Snape looked decidedly put off and said, "Malfoy. Who will the love potion bind the drinker to?"

Malfoy looked thoughtful. "Well, since there's no part of the maker in the potion, the frog's eyes direct the binding to the first person the drinker sees."

"Correct. And what do the frog's eyes do in the healing potion?" Snape sounded pleased, and Harry was grateful he'd moved on, because he hadn't known that. He'd just assumed that there was another step involved that Snape hadn't told them about since personal ingredients were usually the last step in any potion. And, of course, since love potions were rather illegal.

"They allow the potion to heal maladies of the senses, like blindness or deafness." Malfoy was looking both smug and thoughtful, and Harry was beginning to worry that Snape really had taught them how to make and use a love potion. Harry decided he'd better watch what he drank for awhile, or he might end up mooning over Millicent Bulstrode.

Snape moved on, and Harry checked his cauldron for coolness. It had stopped boiling almost as soon as he took it off the heat, but there seemed to be a pulsing light at the centre, and he gave another worried glance at Draco. He was pouring his potion into a vial, and the liquid caught the light with a magical sheen as it fell. Harry shrugged and began to decant his own potion into a reusable bottle, mouth just the size for easy drinking.

Like many potions, you ended up with a surprisingly small dose at the end of the process, and he figured he'd have just about three good gulps to find out if he'd done it right or not. He twirled it thoughtfully, watching the way it refracted the light in soft, slow swirls like the surface of a bubble. Such a small thing, to be able to heal almost any physical ill, but some of the ingredients were prohibitively expensive, making it a rare and precious potion indeed.

Harry spent the rest of the lecture idly wondering how many of these little doses his fortune would buy for the Aurors, and if they'd do any good when most wizarding wars were fought with spells that did much more subtle damage. He was surprised when he realized Snape himself had just made a very similar point, and seemed to be about to wrap up. Harry shuffled his things together until all that was left on his table was a small silver knife and his potion. He was ready to test and run.

"All right, class, we'll test the potions all at once. Take your knives and make a small cut to your hand or arm, just enough that I can see from here you've actually wounded yourself."

Harry met Draco's challenging gaze, and they both set their knives to their left wrists, just above where the blood flowed closest to the surface. One quick slice and blood was seeping out, dripping down his arm to hit the floor. He hadn't even felt the pain yet when Snape said, "All right, take your potions."

Harry grabbed the small bottle, eyes on Draco, and drank it. Three swift gulps, just as he'd thought, and he felt a warm tingle run through him from head to toe. Draco's wrist had closed like magic, even the blood vanishing from the pale, flawless skin. His eyes dropped to Harry's wrist and went wide, but Harry didn't tear his gaze away from Draco's face. Something flickered across it that seemed almost like concern before Draco's most sarcastic voice drawled, "Potter seems to have failed again, Professor."

Harry looked down to see blood pooling in his hand, pulsing out of the wound ever faster as his heart began to race. He set the jar down and fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief, wondering suddenly what he'd just dosed himself with. He was pressing the white square to the surprisingly large wound when Snape stalked over, brandishing a small flask of familiar lavender fluid.

"Well, Mr. Potter, it's lucky for you that I happen to have one of these already made up. Let's hope all you've done is mildly poison yourself with your latest mistake."

Harry blushed. He'd done something, but god knew what, and he wasn't about to admit it to Snape. "Thanks, Professor, I am kind of queasy." His stomach felt odd, fluttery and tight, and he kept glancing over at Malfoy. Downing the healing potion fixed his arm and gave him a very similar wash of warmth, but it didn't fix the struggling-bird sensation in his chest. He handed back the vial and removed the handkerchief to show his now-clean arm.

"Very good. Rather than take points from Gryffindor, I will require you to come in tonight and assist myself and any volunteers in making as many batches of this potion as we have the ingredients for. Donations of personal ingredients would be welcome, as this is the last legitimate use for unicorn's tears that you will have this term."

Snape swept out, dismissing the class simply by not being there. Harry carefully capped his mostly-empty bottle in case he suffered any more effects, and needed it later to be analyzed. He shuffled over to where Malfoy was packing up. "Er, what time?"

Malfoy looked up at him, eyes frosted over like grey shards of ice. "If you can drag yourself away from practice, we're starting right after dinner."

Harry nodded. He felt like apologizing, although he didn't know why. Malfoy had looked somewhat outraged when Snape had made his little announcement, and Harry wondered just what else Malfoy had had planned for their little potion-making session. Something stabbed through him, making him gasp at the absurd idea that there might be something going on between student and teacher.

Still, it wasn't like Malfoy hadn't glued himself to Snape's side during their sixth year when his parents -- and the rest of the Death Eaters -- had gone completely into the Dark Lord's service, openly defying the Ministry instead of working from within. He repressed a shudder. Death Eater parents had not, as expected, pulled their kids out of school to serve Voldemort; instead they'd literally kidnapped all the Slytherin graduates from the Leaving Feast last year. He glanced again at Malfoy, who was angrily shoving bottles into his ingredients case.

"Let me help you," Harry heard himself saying. He walked around the desk, gently rearranging the contents until everything fit. He was struck with the thought that Malfoy had to be a lot more worried than Harry about what would happen when the end of term came around. He wasn't sure where the notion sprang from, but he let Malfoy snatch the last bag of dried bats' tongues out of his lax hand, barely getting his fingers out of the way before it was snapped shut and shrunk.

"Thanks for nothing, Potter," sneered Malfoy, stalking out. Harry watched the familiar glide, blond head held arrogantly high, slim shoulders tense as if waiting for a blow. Harry shook his head again, and sat heavily on the stool. He'd been developing some sympathy for the Slytherin students lately, but this was ridiculous.

Chapter 2
In Which We See the Subtle Difference Between Doors and Windows

Draco lashed out like he was so full of pain it had to spill over on those around him, or he'd be consumed. That was Harry's very odd thought at dinner that night, watching Malfoy lording over the huddled Slytherins. Everyone looked like that now, either filled with bravado or curled up in fear, their eyes haunted. Two more of the stolen Slytherin graduates had been returned to them this week, nailed to the gates of Hogwarts like macabre scarecrows. They'd been alive -- barely -- and their bodies had held signs of torture, new and old.

Evidently, there were some that Voldemort had tried harder to break to his service than others. Harry looked over at the current members of Voldemort's old house, and thought that Draco would be one of those. If Harry wanted to break the rest of them, he'd take Draco first, and they'd crumble at the loss of their shining leader. Looking around the rest of the hall, he saw that same pattern in each of the houses, one strong leader holding the rest of them together by a thread of hope. It hadn't been this obvious last week, but last week the threat had still seemed distant, unreal.

Harry picked at his dinner, trying to calm the fluttering in his stomach. He'd already begged off Quidditch practice, leaving his fellow teammates to fend for themselves. As Seeker, he really had the least to do, anyway, just fly high and hone his speed and perception to a dangerous edge in anticipation for the final match. The Slytherins had acquired a new taint, and the rest of the school rallied under Gryffindor's banner. Even those students who had been friendly with the Slytherins last week were now acting like it might rub off.

In reality, Draco was the only other Seeker who ever gave Harry much of a challenge anymore. Draco got up and Harry's eyes followed his movements, stomach giving a sharp little twist as some part of him observed that Draco was lithe and graceful even on the ground. Harry himself generally felt awkward these days, like his body had gone and grown just to spite him. Draco had taken to his growth spurt like he did everything else, with an arrogant smugness at finally being taller than Harry. That longer reach had almost gotten Harry in trouble a time or two.

"What's the matter with you tonight, Harry?" said Ron from his left. "You aren't eating."

Harry started, tearing his eyes away from the now-empty doorway. "Sorry, I'm still a little queasy from earlier."

Ron looked concerned, then faintly angry. "Snape should never have made you take that potion, the slimy git!"

Harry snorted. "As a seventh-year Advanced Potions student, I should be able to brew things that aren't hazardous to my health." Snape had made it crystal clear at the beginning of the class that every single potion they made would be tested in such a way that mistakes would bring very personal disaster.

Ron grumbled but let it drop. They'd had this argument before, and were leaving more and more of their disagreements unresolved these days. Ron didn't see what Harry saw, didn't understand why he should care what happened to the Slytherins, and they had both grown tired of trying to explain. Harry shook his head sadly and got up, abandoning dinner as a lost cause. "I've got to get to my non-detention."

"Don't drink anything else, eh?" Ron's eyes held something he wouldn't recognize if he didn't see it in the mirror all the time, a kind of resigned, helpless concern. Harry tried not to feel the weight of it adding to the rest of his burdens, instead straightening his shoulders and heading for the dungeons.

He was surprised to find Draco loitering just outside the Great Hall, and even more surprised when he drawled, "It's about bloody time, Potter, can't you take a hint?"

"Since when have you ever been hinting at me, Malfoy?" It felt odd to call him by his last name. Somehow in the last week he'd become 'Draco' in Harry's mind, as if watching the way he handled his terrified housemates had humanized him somehow.

"I suppose you do have a point. Do you also have your ingredients?" Draco was already leading him off, down towards the dungeons. Harry hefted his book bag silently, which he'd been lugging around since Potions. He'd added the extra vial of unicorn's tears out of his personal stash of magical oddments, blushing at the thought that he could always get more. Being the Boy Who Lived didn't leave a lot of room in his life for being the Boy Who Got Laid.

Draco skipped down the steps, light of foot enough to make Harry feel positively ungainly as he stomped after him. The silence was starting to unnerve him as they traversed the dim, cool hallways, and finally he blurted, "Why are you angry that I'm helping?"

Draco stopped in his tracks, suddenly enough that Harry almost ran into him. "Why do you think I even care, Potter?" he said, his voice unusually even.

"Pull the other one, Malfoy. I saw your face. I would think you'd be happy to have the help, even if all I can do is chop herbs." He didn't say what he would have said even a few months ago, that he figured Draco would be happy that Harry was being punished.

Draco still hadn't turned around, and Harry desperately wished for a look at his face. "I had hoped to discuss a personal matter with the head of my house, which will be impossible with you there."

"Oh." He knew that Draco had grown close to Snape even as he'd grown away from his father. Everyone had watched their painful family drama unfolding like it was entertainment, Lucius and Draco screaming on platform 9 3/4 at the end of term last year. No one knew where Draco had gone that summer, but they all knew it hadn't been with Lucius.

From the quiver in Draco's shoulders, he thought perhaps the other shoe had finally dropped. He wondered if the two mutilated students, both prefects in their time much like Draco, had been a more personal message to Draco than anyone had guessed. "Er, I can sod off for a bit, if you'd like."

Draco's head whipped around, eyes wide. "Why would you do that? You know Snape will punish you."

"Some things are worth being punished over," said Harry with a painful little half-shrug. He'd always felt that way, since his first year, that some sacrifices were too important not to be made.

Something must have shown in his face, because Draco's eyes went cold. "I don't need your pity, Potter."

Harry flinched. He'd offered Draco a lot of things over the years, from the hot fire of his hatred to the end of his wand, but never pity. Even when watching Draco's life fall apart, he hadn't really cared what happened to him. It was only since he'd started seeing him as a real person that Draco's pain suddenly tugged at his heartstrings, and deep down he knew his pity was the last thing Draco needed. "Who said anything about pity, Malfoy? I just don't want to look at your face any longer than I have to."

Draco's spine stiffened even further. "Fine," he said coldly, "Half an hour should suffice." He stalked off without waiting for a reply, and Harry sagged against the stone wall.

He sometimes wished he still had someone to talk to, but nowadays no one was safe. No one understood how responsible he felt. He'd lived when others died once, and then again and again, his parents, Cedric, Sirius, and countless others since. Ron had just stopped understanding, putting a rift between them nothing could really bridge anymore. Hermione was so wrapped up in doing research for the Order that he hardly ever saw her these days, and that left him just as he was. Alone.

He shook off the self-pity and instead found a long stone bench in one of the quiet side-corridors to sit on. He got out his Advanced Potions text and flipped through it, looking for the healing potion. Although he generally relied on his memory and Snape's notes when making potions in class these days, he did crack the book to study. He skimmed the ingredients list, checking measurements, and came up short when he reached the very end.

1 tear from a unicorn
3 hearts of newt, fresh

Then the sprinkling of cypress, and stirring, cooling and bottling.

But he'd been so sure the board said dove's hearts, and seven of the precious tears, that he hadn't bothered to check. He'd almost think he'd made the love potion, but he certainly didn't feel the irresistible urge to shag Draco, their little moment just now told him that. He shook his head. He'd been too distracted, and he'd messed up. Snape would tell him just how badly, if he ever got up the nerve to ask, but as the only side effect so far was the lingering feeling of butterflies in his stomach, he would wait before that charming confrontation.

He packed his things away and stood up. He figured it had been just about long enough, and the night wasn't getting any younger. He stomped along the corridor, despairing of ever relearning the fine art of sneaking, envious of Draco's effortless grace. He took a deep breath when he reached the door to the Potions classroom, and slipped as quietly as he could inside.

"I do not want you attempting my role, Draco. You saw what happened to the last students who tried." Snape's face was strangely earnest, his cheeks flushed with enough colour to make him look less sallow, more real somehow. "This letter from your father is just one last attempt to sucker you in before the final battle."

Harry held his breath. "I know," said Draco bitterly. "I just... I can't sit by and helplessly watch while he does those things to someone else."

"No one but the three of us knows that your father is the one that... harmed those boys."

Draco's laugh was sharp, like the scatter of a broken window across his eardrums. "Raped and tortured, you mean." He went very still, and suddenly looked small. "It was a message, as sure as yesterday's note. I don't..." his voice broke, and Harry stifled a gasp. "I can't let him do that to me again, Severus."

Again? Harry felt his chest contract, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He'd heard rumours that Draco didn't screw around, that he, like Harry, didn't participate in the desperate pairing off that most of the students had done in an attempt to keep the darkness at bay. He would never have guessed that his reasons were so unlike Harry's as to be almost alien.

Snape had an arm around Draco's shoulders. "It's been years since that madness overcame him. Once he regained his senses, he swore never to touch you that way again."

Draco shrugged painfully. "That was when he was still thinking of me as his heir. That was what this was about, Severus. This was his way of telling me that what happened... That it can happen again."

Harry felt ill in a way that had nothing at all to do with his earlier mistakes. How young had Draco been? Oh god, how would Draco feel if he knew Harry was here, listening to his deepest pain? Harry closed his eyes, tried to unfreeze his limbs enough to back away, just leave. "I stand by my promise," said Snape softly. Harry was almost back to the door, and he barely heard the last. "I'll kill you before I let him touch you again."

Harry fled. He knew that a part of him had seen the wounded students and thought that he'd rather die than end up that way, but to hear that Draco had made Snape promise to kill him, to end his life rather than give it back into the hands of his own father... Harry's stomach heaved, and he headed for the closest loo. He barely made it into one of the stalls before losing what little dinner he'd managed to keep down.

He sat on the floor of the stall, leaning his head against the cool stone wall, and tried to make himself breathe. Now he knew something was wrong, really wrong, something besides Lucius Malfoy's screwed-up idea of family loyalty. He'd have to try and talk to Snape about the potion without telling him the reason he'd thrown up in the first place.

He felt a wash of shame eating away at the remaining nausea as he realized once again how private of a moment he'd intruded on. He had stayed and listened instead of leaving when he saw they weren't done, and he was paying for it. He staggered up and washed out his mouth as best he could, wishing for toothpaste. He splashed the cool water over his face and looked at himself in the cracked mirror.

Hair its usual unruly black tangle, green eyes wide and shocked, dark circles under them emphasizing the pallor that never seemed to leave him anymore. Shoulders wider now, muscles from Quidditch and good nutrition at least part of the year, robes askew and sour breath fogging up the image. He shook his head sadly. His own busy schedule was obviously not the only reason he couldn't get a date.

That wry thought carried him back to the classroom, where he contrived to burst in, looking flushed and late. Draco looked as pale as Harry had, but he'd managed to compose himself a little better. Snape was busy at the ingredients cupboard, both of them looking testy and impatient. "It's about time, Potter," drawled Draco, his arrogant stance only marred by Harry's memory.

"Yes, Potter, so kind of you to grace us with your presence. Did you bring the tears?" Snape walked over, all the other necessary ingredients balanced on a tray.

Harry nodded. "I almost forgot my extra bottle, and had to go back for it." It seemed as plausible an excuse as any.

Snape, surprisingly, didn't push the issue. "How did you come to have an extra bottle of something so rare as unicorn's tears, Mr. Potter?"

Harry blushed, but gave only the truth. Even if Draco didn't know that Harry was privy to his past, he couldn't bring himself to hide something so trivial behind lies. "I collected them myself. I, er, the unicorns were very generous to me."

Snape and Draco both looked surprised at that, but the professor had a put-down for everything. "Ah, well, I suppose your brand of purity must be very tragic to them."

"It's a shame you didn't think to get enough for the whole Order while you could, Potter," sneered Draco.

"I, er... do you really need more?" Harry's blush deepened.

"You're not implying that our resident celebrity has made it through his entire Hogwarts career with his virtue intact?" Draco looked far too interested in the state of Harry's virtue for Harry's comfort.

"Er, yes?" He looked down, unable to stand their gazes any longer. "Look, I've been busy, all right?"

"Well, be that as it may, it has no bearing on what we're doing here tonight. If you do get a chance, though, Potter, unicorn's tears are an invaluable resource that the Order could put to a myriad of uses." Snape set the tray down on the work table with a definitive thunk.

Harry rummaged through his bag, still blushing, and pulled out the full bottle of tears. It was considerably larger than the vial he kept in his class kit. "This is the full one," he said, thrusting it towards them silently. The other one was almost empty, and he honestly didn't think they had a cauldron big enough to mix that many doses anyway.

Cool fingers brushed against his as they took the bottle, and he looked up, startled to find Draco looking at him intently. "I, um, is that enough for tonight?"

Draco handed it wordlessly to Snape, who stared at it in disbelief. "This container holds more unicorn's tears than I have ever seen in one place in my entire career as a Potions Master, Potter." He set it down carefully, looking at Harry with something bordering on respect. "It will certainly be more than enough for tonight."

Harry let his breath out with a sigh, then took it back in to speak. "I, er... I think I've done something awful to myself," he said quietly, not looking at either of them.

"I would think your hairstyle alone counts as a personal tragedy," said Draco.

"Shut up, Malfoy. I meant with the potion. I, uh, I threw up just now, and I've been queasy since I took it."

Snape was suddenly alert, moving towards Harry. "Have you figured out your blunder yet?"

"I, er, I think I put in too many tears," he said, then looked down at his hands, unsure of why this was so hard. "And the wrong kind of hearts."

He looked up into eyes narrowed and glittering with curiosity. Snape rolled the words around in his mouth like he was tasting them as he repeated, "Too many tears and the wrong kind of hearts, you say? It almost sounds like you were brewing yourself a love potion."

"Are you that desperate, Potter?" said Draco, pulling some herbs out of the pile and beginning to finely chop them. Harry found himself staring at the way his hands fairly flew, gleaming white skin and the glitter of the knife.

"Yes, Draco," he said nastily, "I'm so desperate for a shag I'd try and make myself fall in love with you. If that doesn't work, it's off to Hagrid's hut to have a go at the hippogriffs next."

That actually surprised a laugh out of Draco, who went back to chopping up his herbs in silence. "Well, Mr. Potter, you certainly don't seem smitten with Mr. Malfoy, and there was no question at all that you only had eyes for him when you drank the potion. I shall have to do some research and see if I can figure out what you've done to yourself. What kind of hearts were they?"

Harry was staring at Draco, watching the way his face had grown lighter, a smile still lingering on his thin coral lips. "Er, I..." He tried to think, but all that came to mind was the way Draco had held his gaze as they both drank. "I can't remember."

Snape held out his hand imperiously, snagging another small knife off the table. "I shall have to take a sample of your blood."

Harry stood very still for a moment, then shrugged. He'd sliced himself six ways to Sunday only a few hours ago, why should this be any different? He held out his arm mutely, baring a wrist that didn't even have a scar to show where he'd been cut. Snape raised one eyebrow and took Harry's hand in surprisingly warm fingers, led him over to the table. "Malfoy, can you hold a clean flask under our hero's arm?"

Harry glowered, because it was expected of him, because he couldn't seem to think of how else to react. Draco held a wide-mouthed flask under his arm, and Snape's grip tightened. The cut was shallow but painful, and he held his lips tight as the wound dripped a thin crimson line into the flask, first a few vivid splatters, then covering the whole bottom. "Stay like that," ordered Snape, wandering off.

He returned, not with any kind of healing potion or ointment, but a simple bandage. "I don't want to add anything new to your system. I can only hope we didn't do any further damage earlier." His words were oddly sincere, and the moment was becoming more and more surreal. He looked away, unable to face Snape without his usual sneer between them, only to find Draco watching him with that same odd intensity.

"Dove hearts," said Harry suddenly. "I think they were dove hearts." He remembered how they'd felt in his hands, warm and red and slick. He swallowed, grateful there was nothing left in his stomach.

Snape's head snapped up from where he was bandaging Harry's wrist with surprising skill. "Three dove hearts?" Harry nodded. "And seven drops of unicorn's tears?" Snape and Draco shared a shuttered glance. "And you're positive your feelings for Mr. Malfoy haven't changed?"

Harry looked up at Draco and sighed. "Look, I haven't... I mean, he's good for his house, I can't deny that, and he defied his father in front of the whole school. I can't just blindly hate him like I used to, but that's been going on for ages now. And I also don't feel like shagging him senseless, so it mustn't be the love potion, right?"

Draco was putting a stopper in the flask of Harry's blood, looking carefully down. Snape glanced from one boy to the other before explaining, "If you had paid attention in class, you would know that it is not a lust potion, but instead a potion that engenders real emotion, true love if you will. It does not shove the feeling down your throat, but instead opens the door and points the way for you to see the other person as someone worthy of being loved."

Harry felt himself going softly numb, and groped for a stool. "You think I'm actually falling in love with Draco? "

"That's the first time you've called me by my first name," said Draco softly.

"You're not upset about this?" snapped Harry, helplessly lashing out.

Draco's posture stiffened, but it was Snape who answered. "The one oddity to this particular potion is that, by its very gentle nature, it cannot guarantee the kind of love it produces: eros, philia, or agape."

"You mean, I could just end up wanting to be his friend?" Harry looked at Snape desperately. Snape nodded. "Er, would that be all right with you, Draco?"

Draco turned back to them, his face so carefully composed in its usual arrogant mask that Harry could only wonder what hid behind it. "If you're going to start following me like a puppy, Potter, at least promise I won't have to clean up little messes."

Harry snorted. "Don't worry, I'm paper-trained."

Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry had a momentary thought that this might turn out all right until Draco replied, "That explains your homework."

Harry rolled his eyes, and Snape interrupted before he could think up a good retort. "Regardless, I will still test this, since the love potion, if properly prepared, still wouldn't account for the vomiting." He picked up the flask and said, "Draco, I trust you can keep Harry's mind on the task at hand long enough to mix up a ten-dose batch, as we discussed."

Snape swooped out of the room before either of them could respond. They looked at one another warily, then Harry shrugged and said, "I'm game if you are. Just tell me what to chop, because I'm even more distracted now than I was the last time I tried to make this."

Draco smiled slow and dark, and drawled, "Why, Harry, I didn't know the potion would take effect so soon. I mean, I know I'm fascinating and all that, but to drive you to distraction with my very presence?"

This time Harry gave in to his baser instincts and punched Draco in the shoulder. "With an attitude like that, Draco, it's no wonder I never see you getting snogged."

"Perhaps I'm just more discreet than you are observant," he replied testily.

Harry winked, which seemed to completely throw Draco off his game. "Let's mix healing potions now and worry about our equally desolate love lives later, huh?"

"Yes," said Draco, pulling his old arrogance around him like a blanket. "Let's."

They got down to potion-making, Harry chopping and measuring while Draco mixed, oddly content to be taking instruction from his old rival. A part of him kept wondering if this or that thought was potion-induced, and he was dismayed to find his butterflies had returned, and brought their larger, more active cousins. He barely noticed the time passing until he found himself counting thirty still-warm newt hearts out of the special container that kept them magically 'alive' right until the moment of addition.

"Where d'you think Snape's been all this time?" asked Harry, passing the slick pile to Draco in careful handfuls.

Draco shrugged eloquently and dropped them in one by one. "I think he's probably using this excuse to discuss... other matters with Dumbledore."

There was another long silence as Draco cleaned his hands before carefully dripping in precisely 10 unicorn's tears. They watched the potion go a delicate, clear periwinkle that Harry was sadly positive his own potion had never been. "Did you really collect all these yourself?"

Harry blushed and nodded, handing Draco the small measure of ground cypress, holding a stirring-stick at the ready.

"D'you even fancy guys?" Draco asked, face carefully intent on his task.

Harry started to shake his head, then stopped. He really hadn't had the time or energy to fancy anyone since Cho Chang in his fifth year, and that had worked out splendidly enough to discourage any such thoughts since. "Er, you know, I have no idea."

Draco gave him a look at odds with the withering glare Harry had expected to receive. "Well, who was the last person you thought about when you... er, y'know." He made a lewd hand gesture totally at odds with his usual aristocratic bearing, and Harry had to suppress a laugh.

"I'm not sure the potion's quite got me besotted enough yet to be confiding that sort of thing," said Harry lightly. He was struck by wave of guilt over his earlier eavesdropping, so before Draco could reply, he added, "But mostly I don't."

"Don't what?" asked Draco, wiping the stirring stick. Harry quickly moved to help him, extinguishing the small magical fire beneath the cauldron and starting to clean up.

"Don't, er, y'know," he made the hand gesture halfheartedly. "I don't get a lot of privacy, so I generally just, er," he blushed, then forced himself to finish, "wake up sticky."

Draco laughed, but it had a lot less malice in it than it would have even a year ago. "I'll just bet the house elves love that."

Harry snickered, then laughed along with him. Dobby had never mentioned anything, but he'd gotten the impression that he considered it some kind of really strange honour. "Well, I'm pretty much stuck with Dobby at this point, and he's... er..."

"A total perv," finished Draco for him. "He was weird even when he was with us," he said conspiratorially. "I think my dad used to do things with him."

"Oh, eew," said Harry, his mind suddenly assailed by images. "That's going to make me sick again!"

They both laughed this time, and he felt it. The unmistakable tug of friendship. "You know," he said softly, "I don't think this potion thing's so bad after all."

Draco looked up from where he'd been replacing bottles on the tray, startled. "You... er..."

Snape chose that exact moment to come bustling back into the room, robes billowing around him like black wings. "I've spoken with Dumbledore about a few things. He seems to think that a public bond of philia or agape between you two would help to strengthen the school and the wizarding community in general, and has encouraged me not to try and cure you."

Harry was shocked. "There's a cure?"

Snape's frown grew into a scowl. "There is no known cure, but I might have tried."

Harry looked from Draco to Snape, and back again. "And if it turns to eros?"

Draco's ears grew pink, then a light flush of rose suffused his face, and Harry couldn't help but answer with a blush of his own. Snape's scowl became positively menacing. "You will not ever lay a hand on Mr. Malfoy in that manner, Potter, or I will have that hand for potions ingredients. Am I making myself very clear?"

Draco stepped forward and laid a hand on Snape's arm. "I don't need you to protect me from Harry," he said softly. "He doesn't know the meaning of non-consensual."

Harry blanched, but managed to keep his gaze steady. "Are you implying I would try to force myself on Draco? I thought this was about love."

Both their heads turned slowly to stare at him, Snape's expression one of utter disbelief, Draco's much harder to fathom. "Love does strange things to a person," said Draco, his voice stretched thin over some unnamed emotion.

Harry flinched. Snape's gaze grew dangerous, almost angry. "Do not disappoint me in this, Potter."

Harry looked past Snape to where Draco had gone all still and small beside him. "It's Draco that we should both try not to disappoint, don't you think, Professor?"

Draco blinked, slowly, as though those were the last words he'd expected to hear tonight. Harry sympathized -- it was certainly the last thing he'd expected to be saying. Snape's face grew shuttered and cold, but Draco stepped forward and laid a cool hand on Harry's arm, just above the bandage. The gesture blocked Snape out of the conversation completely, and made his next words strangely intimate. "I don't think it's bad at all," he said softly.

It took Harry a moment to realize what he meant, but the phrase finally clicked and he laid a hand over Draco's. "Good," he replied, then grabbed his backpack and stalked out, leaving Snape's cold fury behind him.

Chapter 3
In Which We See What Happens to Contents Under Pressure

Harry sat down next to Hermione in the library, and she acknowledged him with a half-hearted wave. He'd thought about going to Ron, but he knew it would inevitably turn into another of their halfhearted fights, and he just wasn't in the mood for it. His friendship with Ron these days was something that added to that hollow place in his chest instead filling it, and made him feel helpless and alone. He sighed, and Hermione patted his shoulder absently, nose still buried in her book.

Hermione seemed to be coming to the end of something; he could practically see her mind swimming up out of the book to try and break the surface of the world again. She snapped the book shut rather authoritatively, jotted a few notes down on the parchment next to her, and then leaned back in her seat to look at Harry critically. "All right, what's happened now?"

He snorted a laugh and said, "I'd protest that I just wanted to see you, but we both know better by now." Once they'd been close friends, but these days neither of them really had time for the trappings of simple friendship. There was a war brewing, and soon there would be fighting in earnest. Hermione's formidable mind was being put to use by the Order to research anything that might help them fight Voldemort, and Harry was being groomed by pretty much everyone to be the visible leader, Dumbledore's right hand.

She shook her head sadly and said, "We don't have a lot of time for fun anymore, do we?"

He smiled wistfully, thinking back to the times when Ron and Hermione had been the first thing he thought about out of bed, and the last when he went to sleep. "No, we don't. And now I've gone and done something impressively stupid."

She raised one eyebrow at him and said, "Do I even want to know?"

He sighed. "We made healing potions in class today, the one that's a cure for any physical ailment?" She nodded, and he went on. "Well, Snape had written a few notes on the board about the potion, and a few more about how the potion was only a couple of ingredients away from being..." God, it was hard to say.

"You dosed yourself with a love potion." Her voice was flat, almost emotionless. "And who is it that's now tugging at the heartstrings of the great Harry Potter?"

Harry shot her a look, but her face was closed, eyes shuttered. "Snape and Dumbledore think that because of the nature of the potion I should be able to keep it at a friends level, but..."

She rolled her eyes. "You're falling in love with Malfoy, aren't you?"

He laughed, the sound slightly desperate. "How did you get to be so damned right all the time?"

"Let's just say I've seen you in Potions enough to know who you'd be looking at when you drank the thing." She shook her head, and some of that coldness melted when she put her hand on his arm. "Oh, Harry, I hope they're right and it's just friends. Because I've always known that when you fell, you were going to fall hard."

He saw something else in her face just then, and he laid a hand over hers. "I'm sorry it was never you."

She looked away, cheeks reddening. "I always knew it wouldn't be, but I think we all sort of hoped that Ginny would eventually get through to you."

Harry shook his head sadly. "I'm too stubborn to fall for her. Besides, even I'm not dumb enough to start dating a girl with the entire Weasley clan looking after her virtue!"

They shared one last honest laugh, and then he stood. "If you can, find out more about just what I've done to myself?"

She nodded, then picked up the next heavy tome from the pile next to her. It was dusty with neglect, but by now Harry was pretty sure that she'd been given free access to every nook and cranny of the library, and was making good use of it. She'd unearthed all kinds of odd spells that had gone out of favour before their great-grandparents were born, and her efforts were making life easier for everyone, from house elves to Aurors. She'd even been teaching a night class on simple spells that could be cast with the will alone, no wands or words.

"Thanks, Hermione." He gave her shoulder a friendly pat, then left the library, heading finally to the common room and some rest.

Draco caught his arm as he walked towards the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, pulling him into one of the many odd little nooks and crannies that littered the castle. He spoke softly, almost apologetic. "Snape wants you to get more tears tonight, if you can. He's tacking it on to your detention, 'cos you were late, and making me go along for backup."

Draco seemed mostly tired and irritable, and Harry felt bad for dragging him into this. "I can go alone, if..."

Draco shook his head. "No way, can't go letting the Boy Who Lived get eaten by a giant bat or something, can we?"

Harry snorted. "Fine. But I've got to get some things out of my room. Meet me at the front doors in ten minutes?"

Draco nodded, and Harry hurried up to the Tower. Ten minutes later, he was bundled up against the cold and carrying a lantern and two crystal vials. Draco was lounging by the door, looking very put-upon and glaring at anyone who looked like they might be considering trying to make small talk. "Took your sweet time, didn't you, Potter?"

"I'm sure you were terribly inconvenienced," said Harry snidely. He thrust the lantern at Draco. "Here, you take this, and keep your wand out." Harry drew his own wand, and they walked out into the night.

They made a beeline for the forest, and as they approached the dark shapes of the trees, Draco said nervously, "Er, how will you get the unicorns to show?"

Harry blushed. Last time, he'd ended up singing an odd little charm that called the unicorns to a clearing, which was where he was headed now. "There's, um, a spell. I have to do it, on account of... er, unless...?"

"No, Potter, I'm most definitely not a virgin. I do have a social life, unlike you." Harry blushed deeper, wondering suddenly just who Draco's social life had been with, and when. What they'd done.

He nearly tripped on a root, he was so distracted. "Watch it," sneered Draco from behind him.

"Hold the lantern higher," he snapped back, ashamed of his line of thought. He was pretty sure he knew when Draco had lost his purity, and it hadn't been at all pleasant, or even voluntary. He disguised his shiver as cold, and walked on in silence.

"Much further?" asked Draco after a few minutes of tromping, trying to disguise the fear in his voice under arrogance. "I haven't got all night."

Harry ignored him, stepping through the trees to reveal a moonlit clearing, complete with the rock in the middle that always reminded him a bit of an altar. "We're here."

"Oh," said Draco softly. "Now what?"

Harry sighed. "Now, I have to do the sodding spell. If you tell anyone, ever, that you saw me do this, I will hex you so hard they'll have to put you in St. Mungo's." Draco's eyebrows went up, and Harry trudged reluctantly over to the rock.

He got up on top of it, just like the last time, and spread his arms wide. Took a deep breath of the crisp night air and tried to put Draco out of his mind, instead to connect to the forest, to throw his sorrows out onto the night air and draw the unicorns to his pure heart. Or at least get them to show up and give him potions ingredients. He opened his mouth, and sang softly.

He didn't know what the words meant, or even what language they were in, but the song was haunting, and Firenze had made him practice it until it was like a part of him, automatic and natural. His mind wandered through all the tragedies of his life, which was the hardest part, far worse than any embarrassment at having Draco watch him singing on top of a bloody rock in the middle of the night. To have to relive all the death, to lose them all again, his parents, Cedric, Sirius. To have to acknowledge that he was still alone, might always be alone.

He was crying quietly, the song still going on even through his grief as the first white shape moved in the trees, and he barely remembered to tap the vials with his wand, activating the charm that would carefully draw their precious tears into the waiting vessels. He sat down cross-legged on the altar, cradling the vials in his lap. The unicorns crept up to him, nervous of Draco's near-forgotten presence at the edge of the clearing, but still there, and still weeping for his pathetic life. One by one, they nuzzled him, waited patiently as he stroked their silken manes, whispered his thanks.

When they'd all left, he carefully capped the vials and wiped his own tears from cold cheeks. Draco's face was unreadable as Harry walked back over, handing him the two nearly-full bottles. "I hate doing that," he said softly, trying to pull back inside himself, pack the pain away in its carefully labelled boxes and get back to getting the bloody hell on with his life.

"What's the song about?" asked Draco, carefully pocketing the vials.

"Y'know, Firenze never told me. It's really just a focus, I think." Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking towards the school, shivering with more than cold.

"Focus for what?" Draco caught up with him, making sure the lantern lit their path back.

"All my personal bloody tragedy," spat Harry bitterly. "Every single horrid moment in my life, and of course the capping horror of being a seventeen-year-old virgin."

Draco was silent for long enough that Harry was worried he'd offended him somehow, but then he said softly, "There are worse things to be than still untouched, you know."

Harry went cold with shame for his own self-pity. At least he'd had people that really loved him, once. He put a hand on Draco's arm carefully and said, "I know."

They parted with nearly friendly farewells, Draco to return to the dungeons and Snape, precious ingredients in hand. Harry made his way up to the top of one of the less-used towers, a place he often went to be alone. They'd talked more as they walked this time, about trivial things, daily life, and Harry found the slow ache of longing had pushed out the sharp bite of grief. For that, he could only be grateful. The last time he'd done the ritual, he'd cried for hours afterwards, lying awake in his lonely bed.

He leaned against the parapet, breathing in the crisp night air, and tried to organize his thoughts. As much as he'd like to think so, he knew that not everything he was feeling was about spells or potions. He'd been watching Draco for nearly seven years now, first warily, then with the fire only bitter enmity can kindle, but eventually it had all burned down so that there were only the warm coals of familiarity left.

He'd watch Draco change just as he had changed, growing into something more than Lucius Malfoy's spoiled brat. He'd become de facto leader of his year group in Slytherin back in their first year, but instead of just abusing his power for seven years, Draco took on the mantle of responsibility when the world went and got serious around him. He did it quietly, and mostly for the benefit of his own friends and house, but he took care of his own when no one else would. Harry had spent enough time on the wrong end of people's opinions to know that what people thought didn't often have anything to do with reality.

His cheeks flushed as his mind chose that precise moment to remind him of the other parts of his conversation with Draco, about fancying and, er, taking care of one's bodily needs. He felt a bit odd that he was seventeen and he couldn't think of a single person he thought of that way, now that Cho was long gone and mostly forgotten. There was no use thinking about her, either; he already knew she mostly made him feel damp, guilty and confused. Although it felt a bit like tempting fate, he decided to try and see if he could find any spark of desire he'd been hiding from himself.

First he rifled through the girls he knew, shuffling them like a deck of cards in his head. Hermione had never affected him that way, he'd gotten too close to her too young. The Patil twins, and Lavender Brown with them, were lovely in their own way, but like the moon held in a puddle, shallow and elusive. He might have had some thoughts about Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson, but even before they'd graduated, he was too intimidated by their status as Chasers. As he flipped through names and faces, they all became a blur and he realized that there was just no heat.

He switched his mental pack of cards for the boys, and began rummaging through. He got a flash of something when he thought of Dean Thomas, but it was buried beneath years of sleeping in a dorm two beds away from him. He got another flash when he thought of Remus Lupin, of all people, and a much stronger pulse of it when he let his mind wander past an image of Oliver Wood. Harry could only wonder just how he'd managed to live in denial for quite this long, but he supposed it had to do with the complete unavailability of the objects of his affections.

He finally let his mind wander over to Draco -- the tall, arrogant line of his body when he was tossing out insults, the cold grey of his eyes like silver covered in hoarfrost. The hair that was always perfectly in place but still looked touchably soft, strands so pale they almost seemed woven of colourless spider silk. He felt himself growing hot and heavy in his trousers, a flush crawling up from his chest to burn at his cheeks. Draco's lips were like a cupid's bow, perfectly curved and always carrying just that touch of pink. Harry imagined himself kissing them, and felt a jolt of desire so hot it was almost painful.

Well, that answered that. The question he couldn't answer was if these feelings had been there all along, or if the potion had pointed other parts of his body as well as his heart in Draco's direction. Snape maintained that the potion didn't automatically turn the drinker to lust, and if he was honest with himself, once he'd opened himself up to the idea, that path had seemed well-worn. His mind had supplied him with images of startling clarity, unlike the vague desire he'd felt for Lupin or Wood.

He opened that box in his head again, letting the images flow this time. The smooth column of Draco's neck, pale skin just begging to be decorated with love bites. The flash of his eyes when he was angry, and the hidden depths Harry had only glimpsed in unguarded moments. His hands, so long and dexterous, the hands of an artist or a musician, capable of such fine control, that Harry suddenly longed to have touching him.

He let his own hand wander downward, sliding a palm against himself, the touch making him gasp even through his trousers. He wondered if Draco's kisses would be tentative or passionate, and let his fingers undo button and zipper. He practically fell out of the opening, straining against the tent of his boxers, the damp head cold in the night air. He imagined what Draco might look like, inches taller than Harry, head thrown back as Harry nibbled at one sharply defined collarbone.

His hand seemed to have a will of its own, pushing his boxers down and curling around his length. He felt hot and heavy, almost unfamiliar, and he got a flash of Draco's slim fingers performing the same task. He could almost see the smooth line of Draco's body, jutting hipbones, graceful legs, tiny, pale nipples almost the colour of his lips. Those lips gone red and swollen with the force of Harry's kisses, the nipples hard in the cold night air.

Harry was panting, his breath rasping harshly through a throat closed with unacknowledged emotion. He wanted to feel the column of Draco's flesh in his hand, taste it in his mouth, slide it into his body in ways he only could vaguely imagine. He was stroking faster, faster, leaning forward to rest his head on the crenellated wall, forehead hot against the cold, rough stone. He tried to see Draco's face, those eyes gone dark and stormy with need, and his lips formed Draco's name even as the image in his mind called out his own.

When he came back to himself, he was shivering with the cold. Fluid like liquid pearls streaked the stone, glistening in the moonlight. He tucked himself away and pulled his robe closer, the sweat chilling on his body and making him ashamed. He'd violated Draco's confidence by listening in, and now he'd violated his trust by making him the object of his basest desires. He held himself tight, hoping that he could avoid ever trying to violate Draco's body, and resolved to suppress the lust, bottle it up and forget this little interlude ever happened.

Chapter 4
In Which We Learn That Pandora's Box, Once Opened, Rarely Accepts Returns

Harry trudged down to breakfast, feeling wrung out and exhausted. He'd spent the night tossing and turning, sweating and dreaming and generally being tormented by erotic visions of Draco bloody Malfoy. He'd woken up at dawn damp and chilled, belted his dressing gown tightly over the evidence and gone to the bathrooms to take care of the problem before anyone else awoke. He'd briefly considered a cold shower, but gave in to the hot shower and the temporary respite it gave him.

Hermione and Ron were in their usual places in the Great Hall, flanking his empty spot. He must have spent longer in the bathroom than he'd thought if they had woken up and come down already. A glance at the ceiling showed pale grey clouds chasing one another across a sky like blue steel, bright but somehow menacing and leeched of colour. He'd have a few bites of toast and then head out for a walk, in the vain hopes that a bit of fresh air, even as windy as it seemed to be, would clear his mind.

He plopped down between his friends and grabbed for the toast, adding a liberal glob of marmalade. "Morning!" he said, trying to keep his voice light and cheerful.

Hermione gave him a halfhearted wave from where she was buried in a truly enormous folio, apparently on the use of magical sigils. Ron grinned at him through a mouthful of porridge, yesterday's argument water under the nearly-flooded bridge of their long friendship. They ate in companionable silence, Harry once again putting his worries about Draco on the back burner in favour of his worries about the Slytherins in general, wracking his brain once again for ways to anchor them, protect them, shield them from harm.

Three untasted slices of toast and a glass of something later, he glanced up from his contemplation to see Draco arriving, flanked by the still-imposing figures of Crabbe and Goyle. Against all odds, Draco's blond head now rose an inch or two past theirs, but they each amassed as much as three of him, all of it muscle and sinew. They were always up for fighting the good fight, and Harry felt a twinge as he wondered just whose side they'd be fighting on.

Draco glanced up at him, and he felt himself flush despite the innocent nature of his current line of thought. Which of course immediately derailed the train to a different line altogether, causing his cheeks to burn brighter and his skin to tighten. His breath left him in a rush, and all sorts of things began to stand on end, starting with the hair on the back of his neck. Draco raised an eyebrow at him, and Harry grinned feebly, slouching down in his chair.

Draco smiled back, and although his lips formed the familiar sneer, there was something open and almost raw hovering behind his eyes like curtains fluttering behind a half-open window. Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, gaze never leaving Draco's, pushing the feelings out of himself. His heartbeat slowed marginally and although he didn't soften, he didn't get any harder. He could do this, he could take Draco's willingness at face value, he could be a friend.

Draco sat, leaving Harry blinking as though he'd been staring into the sun too long. He glanced left and right, and wondered blindly if he even knew how to be a real friend anymore. "I'm gonna go for a walk," he blurted, practically stumbling in his sudden haste to leave the hall.

He got bare murmurs from the distracted duo, and was obscurely grateful for their distance. Even if he didn't have them to confide in, they also gave him the time alone he'd craved so often since the deaths began. He realized he'd become more and more pensive and withdrawn, and it probably wasn't for the best, but what could he do. No one else seemed to understand how he felt, the burning need to keep one more student alive, to stop this terrible parade of death. Responsibility like an obsession more than a burden, one he bore willingly, something to fill the aching void that loomed a little larger each time someone died.

The wind hit him like a slap in the face, making his skin sting and eyes water. He pulled his robes closer and stepped out into the merciless sunlight, feet crunching on grass still frosty from the last cold snap of the season. He was surprised enough by the sound to really look around him, seeing the world covered in a silvery veil that reminded him forcefully of Draco's eyes. The frost was beautiful, but it camouflaged what lay beneath.

He stalked across the slippery grounds, heading for a path his feet knew well, a circuit that skirted the edge of danger but never quite made its way into the Forbidden Forest. He meandered past the few optimistic flowers that edged the path, their petals now rimed with sparkling white, and tried to find some metaphor in there for the war. In the end, he had to concede that the blossoms' beautiful death was its own tragedy, not symbolic of anything but the risks of optimism.

He shook his head to try and clear it; he'd found he had a poetic streak that only really came to the fore when he was thinking about the wrong things, or more accurately avoiding the things he really ought to be contemplating. It was a sign from his own mind that the war, no matter how looming, was not the real reason he'd needed a breath of fresh air. Harry stopped, spread his feet out, and stretched, arms rising from his sides to reach for the sky, back arched, eyes closed. He stayed like that for long moments, feeling things move and crack and pull, muscle and bone, tendon and sinew, grounding him in the physical world.

He spared a sad thought for Firenze, who had taught him that trick and many others before going back into exile, but let it go like all the other errant notions, a speck floating away on the diligent breeze. He took deep breaths, bringing the cold into himself and sending it back out, warm and moist from his body. Then he whirled around too fast and ended up sprawling, listening ruefully to the crunch crunch of Draco's boots as he moved through the frozen grass to offer Harry a hand up.

Harry took it wordlessly, storing away the thrill of skin-to-skin contact for a later time and instead concentrating on the bite of the air in his lungs, and the flash of sunlight off of everything silver. Even Draco's clothes were edged with it, bright metal threaded in where some students might only have a soft grey. Harry spared a moment to wonder how much of his display Draco had seen, then gave up. He'd seen what he'd seen, just as Harry had heard and couldn't forget.

"You trying to catch your death, Potter?" Draco sneered, fingers still lingering at Harry's wrist, eyes flickering over him like they were afraid to rest on any one part too long.

"Not today," he said softly. "Some days, maybe, but today I just needed..."

"A breath of fresh air?" finished Draco. "Something got you hot under the collar, Potter?" Draco's fingers stroked over the pulse point, then he dropped Harry's hand abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets with practiced nonchalance.

Harry smiled, then winked, unable to resist testing their newfound truce just a touch. "Y'know, dreams."

Draco's eyes went a bit wide at that, and pink chased across his cheeks. "Still not," he made the hand gesture again, and again it seemed more elegant than lewd.

Harry fought the urge to ask, "How do you *do* that?" and instead simply shrugged, then grinned mischievously. "You?"

That surprised a laugh out of Draco. "I am seventeen," he replied, then added thoughtfully, "And I doubt our house-elf has the same... predilections... as yours."

Harry laughed with him this time, assailed once again by images his mind didn't quite know how to process. "Thinking of girls or boys?" he asked instead, pushing the thoughts out of his head.

"Only if you tell me about your dreams," said Draco mysteriously.

Harry kicked at the grass and said, "I don't really remember, but I did do a bit of soul-searching last night." He let it hang, wanting to hear Draco ask again, to know that he wasn't just that desperate to share that he'd tell the first somewhat-friendly ear. While same-sex romance wasn't totally unheard-of at Hogwarts, it wasn't exactly the most socially acceptable preference, either.

Draco's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he took a half-step forward, arm outstretched. Then, much to Harry's surprise, he let his hand drop and cocked his head to one side. His voice sounded strained, as though it was an effort for him not to commit whatever act he'd been about to do. "So, did you find you fancy boys, or is it girls after all?"

Harry took a deep breath, then looked away, losing himself for a moment in the silver-laced black of the tree branches overhead. "A bit of both, really, but lots more, er, boys." He knew he was blushing, and didn't bother to hide it as he turned to look Draco full in the face, adding, "But I promise not to, y'know, try and take advantage or anything."

Draco's face was flushed, although it could be the cold as much as the conversation that brought the high spots of feverish colour to his cheeks. "I guess we've more in common than I'd thought," he said softly. He looked down, drawing meaningless patterns in the frost with his toe before adding, "I think Snape worries too much."

Harry's breath caught, but he forced himself to say, "I still think you and I both might need a friend more than any kind of fancying."

Draco's eyes shot up, and then he smiled crookedly. It was just about the most honest expression he'd ever seen on Draco's face, at least that wasn't rage or spite. "Perhaps you're right."

They stood in silence for a few minutes, breath streaming away in thin white clouds as the wind picked back up again. "The forest is so lovely like this," said Harry thoughtfully. "It's almost hard to remember what's inside."

Draco shuddered, either from cold or memory, and Harry offered him a hand wordlessly. He looked from the hand to Harry's face several times before shrugging eloquently and fitting his own oddly warm hand into Harry's. They stared a few minutes more, then Draco gave his hand a tug. He stumbled, shoulder hitting the taller boy in the chest with a soft oomph. Draco slung a friendly arm around Harry's shoulders, and Harry steadied himself with a hand on Draco's slender hip.

"We look like a couple," said Draco lightly. "Y'know, if anyone were to look out here."

Harry glanced up at him, then grinned. "Let 'em wonder."

There was silence again, stretching out long enough that the shadows were slowly drawn back into the forest until they huddled against the trees. "You don't mind?" Draco asked, his voice blank.

"I've learned that the opinions that count aren't the ones made on rumour and gossip," said Harry, remembering the students' reactions to him in second year, fourth, fifth. Over and over again, he'd worried about what people thought, but with Sirius' death he finally realized that it only mattered what he thought of himself, and that he had friends who cared by his side.

Draco looked over at him. "And whose opinions do you care about, Harry Potter?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the use of his full name, then tugged gently until Draco moved in closer, pressing their bodies together from knee to shoulder, or at least chest in Draco's case. Harry leaned his head against Draco's chest, smelling the faint scent of soap and skin despite the wind, which seemed now to be trying to scour them clean.

"Mine, my friends'. Yours. Snape's, oddly enough, and of course Dumbledore's." He turned them around until they could see the castle. "Even though I want to save them all, in the end it doesn't matter if they praise or hate me for it, as long as they're alive."

More silence fell, this time weighted with unspoken arguments, and past mistakes. Harry had a feeling Draco understood better than most that a person's respect was, in the end, a small price to pay for their life. "You're sure this isn't just an excuse for you to get a bit of a cuddle?" asked Harry finally, retreating to humour when the air grew too thick to breathe.

"Naah," said Draco, not missing a beat. "You think I'd snog the likes of you? You wouldn't know a comb if it bit you. I bet you kiss like a dog, all slobber and enthusiasm."

Harry grinned, giving Draco a last squeeze before pulling away and walking back towards the castle. "I wouldn't know, really. I guess you'd have to teach me," he shot back over his shoulder. His hands were trembling with something, lust or nerves or just plain cold, but he was concentrating too hard on appearing nonchalant to even think about why.

After a few seconds, he heard Draco crunching along behind him. "What, like tutoring for poofs? I think I'd start with some basic grooming before I got too frisky."

Harry laughed, shoving his freezing hands into his pockets. "I doubt even your primping skills could make my hair behave," he said, grinning like a fool. Draco caught up, and Harry's steps faltered when he realized that Draco must have been as isolated as Harry was to be willing to try this hard, this soon. A glance showed him that the arrogant mask was back in place as they rounded the corner and headed for the main entrance.

"Is that a challenge, Potter?" Draco's eyes were glinting evilly.

Harry shrugged, suddenly assailed by the butterflies that he'd thought might have finally left the building, or at least his stomach. "And if it was?"

"I'll bet you I can make even you look presentable, hair and all." Something in the way he said it made Harry suddenly wonder about trusting old enemies.

"Only if we get someone to supervise. I'm not having you shave 'Property of Draco Malfoy' into my head or anything." He stopped at the door, hand resting on the handle. "Stakes?"

Draco looked thoughtful. "I could tattoo it to your forehead, instead. It would make a nice cover-up."

Harry snorted. "You know, I think I'm going to reconsider. Love, evidently, doesn't involve blind and foolish trust."

Draco laughed, and Harry opened the door, putting them back onto familiar ground. The laughter slid away from Draco like it had never been, his old mannerisms settling around him like a second skin. "Probably wise, Potter, we wouldn't want you starting to think of yourself as even more of a catch."

Harry snorted at that, and Draco raised one aristocratic eyebrow. "Right, a catch. I'm the Boy Who Couldn't Get a Date, remember?"

Harry could see the laughter trying to crack the mask, Draco's eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth, his lips twitching. Harry looked around the hall and saw that they were the subject of several sidelong glances and a few open stares. "Besides, I wouldn't want to end up poncing around like you, worried a stray draft might muss my perfect locks." He winked, then glanced meaningfully at the crowd.

Draco seemed to get the hint, and Harry hoped he understood that whatever they had so far, he wasn't ready yet to share it with the world. "I could always just hex you a few times, Potter, it certainly couldn't make you look any worse."

There was a fierce joy in Draco's eyes now, burning behind the arrogant front, and it sent a thrill down Harry's spine and blood rushing to his groin. Harry wracked his brain for another insult, finding an odd sort of enjoyment in their sparring now that the malice had been, if not entirely removed, at least dampened in shared understanding. "Worried I'll get all the girls, and you'll be left with Goyle for the Leaving Ball?"

Someone off to their left laughed at that one, and Harry scored a mental point for himself. "You wouldn't know what to do with a date if you had one," said Draco, his voice positively icy. Either Harry had scored an unwitting hit, or he was a better actor than Harry had realized.

A glance showed Harry that there were now teachers coming to break them up, a routine tactic by the faculty since they'd managed to hex a couple of innocent bystanders last year during a fight. "We'll continue this later, Malfoy," said Harry, hoping to convey his desire to meet up in private.

"I'd wait until you were no longer unarmed to finish our battle of wits, but then we'd be delayed for eternity." Harry's eyes narrowed, a flush suffusing his face. He hoped that Draco was still kidding, but it had sounded too much like the Malfoy of old to be sure.

"Break it up, you two," said McGonagall, advancing on them with her face twisted in anger. "Five points from each of you, and shut the bloody door."

Harry winced and pulled it shut with a heavy thunk, cutting off the cold wind that had been chilling the entryway. He didn't bother to acknowledge either her punishment or Draco's last insult, instead turning on his heel and stomping off toward the Owlery. He vaguely heard Draco making a token argument against the points loss before he was out of hearing range. Once out of sight, he broke into a loping run, much to the consternation of the paintings, desperate to get somewhere quiet so he could sit and shake.

Hedwig swooped down, hooting softly when he curled himself into the corner by the door. He petted her gently, then dropped his hand and just let himself tremble, letting out the tension that had been mounting since Draco walked up. Their newfound friendship seemed so fragile, and a part of him doubted it was based on anything real, just smoke and mirrors planted in his mind by guilt and magic. Eventually his tremors ceased, and he sat, limp and exhausted, inhaling the dusty smell of owls and hay and parchment.

She hooted at him again, more impatiently this time, and he returned to scratching her feathers. He fished a scrap of parchment out of pockets full of oddments, finally giving up and transfiguring a straw into a ballpoint pen. "D-" he wrote, unwilling to make the note any more incriminating than it had to be. "Same place, 3 o'clock. Dress warm. -H"

He gave Hedwig a few owl treats, then tied the small note to her leg and whispered, "I know you're going to think this is odd, but can you give that to Draco Malfoy when no one's looking?"

She hooted again as though she found, by this point, very little odd in Harry's life anymore. He smiled softly, and gave her another thorough scratch and some more treats before sending her off. She gave his hair an affectionate tug with her beak, then launched into the air and disappeared out a window. He'd have to go down and visit Hagrid soon, to thank him again for such a lasting gift.

He sighed, checking the sun for the time, then dusted himself off and headed back down to the Great Hall for one more go at that eating thing. His stomach was still tight, and his chest felt as though a broken-winged bird was fluttering madly where his heart should be, but he felt he owed it to someone to at least attempt to keep himself healthy. He'd need his strength when the day came, and the battle began in earnest.

Chapter 5
In Which We Learn That There Are Things More Potent Than Wine

Harry was staring down at his trunk, trying to remember what friends did on an outing. He felt like his own brain was working against him, giving him images of Draco laid out against the blanket he'd managed to scrounge up, skin washed moon-pale against a woollen midnight blue sky. He shook his head, trying to push through the curtains of lust that kept falling over his vision, trying to reach for his past. He got a flicker of the three Gryffindors doing homework under a tree, of he and Ron in the common room playing wizard's chess, trading chocolate frog cards over dinner.

He dug through his things, brushing past the deck of Exploding Snap to find the tiny portable wizard's chess set that Ron had found for him last Christmas. He dusted it off, wishing for a box of chocolate frogs, and headed down to the dungeons to beg something off the house elves. Half an hour later he was headed out over the sun-thawed grounds, looking for the exact spot they'd been standing. When he figured he was there, laid out the blanket, then delved into the picnic basket the elves had pressed upon him.

He pulled out heavy pewter mugs and a spelled container of hot cocoa that would stay filled and warm as long as they wanted it. An extra-large bag of marshmallows was next; they'd been tossed in with the conspiratorial whisper that Master Draco liked them very much, followed by a box of chocolate frogs they'd managed to produce for Harry. Then the coup de grace, a small spice cake powdered with sugar and still warm from the oven, something Dobby assured him that Draco used to love as a child.

A shadow fell over the blanket, and Draco drawled, "If you're trying to convince me you don't want my body, a romantic picnic isn't the way."

Harry laughed. "I didn't really think chess and cocoa was romantic, Draco." He looked down at the cake gently steaming in the afternoon sun, then added quietly, "I guess I'm just out of practice at being friends."

Draco lounged on the blanket with the grace of a cat, distressingly close to where Harry knelt by the basket. "I'm sure we'll muddle through," he said with surprising gentleness. Harry could feel the warmth of his body even through the layers, inviting him closer, asking to be snuggled up against and basked in.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, then fished his chess set and some utensils out, and turned so he was sitting as far away from Draco as possible. "I brought chess, and chocolate frogs. You don't seem the Exploding Snap type." He shrugged.

Draco was staring, not at him, but at the food. "Where did you get that cake?" he asked, his voice sounding small and distant.

"Dobby said you liked them as a child," Harry replied softly. "I hope that's all right." He cut two generous wedges, then handed one to Draco on a small pewter plate with the Hogwarts crest. There was even a matching fork.

"I haven't had this since I was six," he said quietly, voice filled with wonder. "The elves stopped making them, because my father disliked the smell. He felt it permeated the house and made it seem common."

Harry had no idea how to soothe the bitterness from Draco's tone, so instead he poured the cocoa, dropping a handful of miniature marshmallows into his own before tossing Draco the bag. "The house elves really seem to like you."

Draco's head snapped up, and he picked up the bag awkwardly, spilling marshmallows over the blue blanket like a scattering of fluffy stars. Harry laughed, and Draco threw one at him petulantly. "I am very graceful," he said indignantly, as though it explained everything.

Harry popped the offending treat into his mouth, then scooped a few more off the blanket and chucked them in Draco's direction. Draco's mouth dropped open, and Harry grabbed one more and aimed for it. Draco seemed to realize at the last moment what Harry was doing, and he moved with a Seeker's reflexes to catch the morsel in his mouth. Harry sipped at his cocoa, thick and sweet on his tongue, and smiled. He thought that perhaps this was a Draco he could have been friends with ages ago.

He took another sip, remembering back to his first year and the start of their enmity. He'd rejected Draco's initial offer of friendship, and could only be grateful that Draco was more mature now than either of them had been back then. "What are you smiling at?" Draco asked, suspicion crowding the laughter out of his voice.

"Remembering the first time we tried this," he said, gesturing from himself to Draco and back. "I'm happy we've both grown up since then."

Draco raised an eyebrow, then grabbed his fork and dug into his cake without another word. Harry took a bite of his own, enjoying the subtle blend of spices as it melted across his tongue. "This is pretty good stuff," he commented around a second mouthful.

"I wonder who they made it for?" said Draco, polishing his off and rolling over to look at the sky. They sat like that in silence, Harry nibbling and sipping while Draco stared at the clouds chasing one another across the chill blue expanse. When he was done, Harry snagged the box and tossed Draco a chocolate frog.

"It's kind of intoxicating," said Draco, breaking the silence as he unwrapped the frog.

"What is?"

"Knowing that, no matter what I do from now on, at least one person will love me. It feels like too much wine," Draco rolled on his side, propping his head on his elbow and gazing at Harry contemplatively.

Harry laughed. "As Sirius used to say, you're not drunk if you can lie on the ground without holding on." He was mesmerized by the way Draco ate his frog. He held its wriggling body securely and nibbled on the twitching toes, getting little chocolate footprints all around his mouth before popping the remainder abruptly into his mouth.

"I don't have anything to hold onto," he said softly.

Harry almost didn't hear him, intent as he was on the pink tongue flickering out to get the last morsels of candy. There was a smear of it on his cheek from a particularly enthusiastic kick, and Harry had the sudden urge to lick it off. Instead, he grabbed one of the green Slytherin-crested napkins out of the Christmassy-looking pile, then leaned over and into Draco's space. "You've got me," he said, wiping gently until all that was left was a faint red mark from the rough linen.

He could feel the seconds stretching out as he hovered there, hand inches from those moist lips. He wanted to run his fingers over them and see if they were as soft as they looked, kiss him deeply enough to drink his breath from his mouth. He inhaled in a world smelling of spice and chocolate, wind and vanilla and what he thought might be jasmine. He felt himself starting to lean in, napkin falling as bare fingertips brushed the curve of Draco's cheek.

Draco blinked, and the moment was broken. Harry sat back heavily, letting out his breath in a long, frustrated sigh. Draco smirked and said, "I knew you'd find me irresistible, Potter."

Harry flushed and snapped, "I seem to be doing all right resisting you so far, Draco."

There was a flash of hurt behind Draco's eyes, and Harry immediately regretted his defensiveness. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just really not used to this... I mean, I haven't fancied anyone since Cho Chang, and I certainly wasn't expecting..." He broke off as he saw Draco's eyes go wide, realizing what he'd said. "Er, I mean..."

"You fancy me?" Draco interrupted.

Harry nodded helplessly, wishing he could sink through the ground.

"So, all this," his extravagant gesture took in the forest, the picnic, and himself, "was just to get into my pants?"

Harry shook his head fiercely. "No!" He pulled even further back into himself, wrapping his arms around his shins and resting his cheek on his knees. "I wouldn't... I mean... oh, hell, Draco, I don't know what you want from me, but this was all I could think of." He closed his eyes for a moment, then continued, "I would never do anything to you that you didn't want." He took a breath, then added in a rueful murmur, "And probably expressly spell out."

He opened his eyes to find that Draco had rolled back over, splaying himself out like a feast set before a starving man. Harry knew he was displaying himself on purpose, but couldn't fathom why. Draco ran a hand over his chest, a gesture that seemed sexy despite the wool coat and scarf. He twitched his hips, sliding the hand further down to his stomach. His coat was tight across the top, but flared at the waist to show his legs inside a V of black wool.

Harry looked away as the hand trailed lower, unwilling to torment either of them. "Stop it, Draco," he said, cheeks pink. He felt heavy, weighted by unwanted desire, his blood pooling like hot lava at his centre.

"Why, Potter, you said you fancied me. Or am I not good enough for the Boy Who Lived?" Harry's gaze flickered to Draco despite his best efforts, saw where Draco's hand was caressing the inside of his thigh, knee propped up to frame his black-clothed groin.

"You deserve better than me," said Harry, thinking back to the confession he'd overheard. Draco needed someone who would gently draw him out, not some hormone-ridden virgin drowning in a sea of his own misplaced guilt.

Something in his face must have seemed sincere, because Draco closed his legs, crossing them at the ankles. One white hand still rested on his thigh, as though he wasn't quite ready to call it quits. "You really just want to be my friend."

It sounded more like a statement that a question, but Harry answered it anyway, desperate to change the subject. "Of course, you daft git. Isn't that what I've been saying all along?" He grabbed a handful of marshmallows and flung them at Malfoy's face with slightly more force than was absolutely required.

Draco obliged him by laughing as he hunted them all down, popping them into that pink mouth and devouring them one by one. "All right, all right. You said you brought chess?"

Harry gave him a sidelong look. "You're not going to fight about it anymore?"

"What, and waste perfectly good marshmallows?" His face was totally deadpan for a few heartbeats, but he cracked up again when Harry did.

Once the laughter died down, Harry pulled out the miniscule wizard's chess set with a slightly embarrassed shrug. "It's the only one I've got," he said by way of explanation, as he took the two tiny kings and juggled them behind his back.

"Better than nothing. Look, put the rest of the stuff away, and we can lay down with it between us.” Draco patted the blanket right in front of him, then added, "Left."

It took Harry a second to realize what Draco meant, distracted as he was by the thought of playing chess a mere foot away from Draco's invitingly prone form. "Oh, er, right." He held out his left hand, revealing the black king.

"Typical," said Draco, shrugging.

He set up the board while Harry cleared the blanket, stowing everything but the cocoa in the basket. Harry mirrored Draco's posture, lying on his side and propping himself up on one elbow. He was grateful for the concealment offered by his thick, loose winter clothes, because it was all he could do not to climb on top of Draco and ravish him, let alone keep his body under control. He had a feeling he was about to get his ass handed to him on a green-enamelled silver platter.

After awhile, though, he managed to forget the persistent ache between his legs and just concentrate on putting up a slightly less-than-pathetic showing. He was taking longer and longer to make his moves as the game wore on, and the towers of Hogwarts grew long shadows as they played. "We're going to be here all night if you don't hurry up," said Draco at one point, and Harry blinked to find that he'd been reduced to three tiny white heroes in the midst of an army of blackness.

He reached out and tipped over the king, who did an Oscar-worthy performance as he went down, tiny voice drifting on the now-gentle breeze. "Next time, I'm getting a handicap," said Harry grumpily as he packed the set away. "It's totally unfair that you're not only quite a bit better than me at chess, but completely distracting to play with."

Draco's eyes went wide, and his fingers strayed to the exact spot that Harry imagined hid one of his nipples. Harry's breath caught, and Draco laughed. "You are well and truly smitten, Potter. I can't help but feel flattered, even if it is the potion."

Harry's cheeks pinked. "I, er... Hermione found me a book about it, and the thing is... Snape's right. If I didn't already want you, the potion would have made me feel... brotherly."

Draco's eyebrow went up. "Well, that is an interesting bit of trivia." He gave Harry a searching look. "Why all the honesty today, Potter?"

Harry dropped his eyes, and shook his head. He wasn't ready for Draco to know what he knew, but he didn't want to lie, either. Draco put a hand up in surrender and said, "All right, I'll let it rest for now." He rolled onto his back again, striking that same 'take me' pose as before. "But you're going to have to make it up to me by letting me play dress-up." He gave Harry a sidelong glance, obviously gauging the effect he was having.

Harry grinned through the red wash of lust, then took a swig of cocoa before saying, "Fine, fine. But no one sees me except the two of us." Draco looked as though he might object, but Harry said, "It's no use, I know you've got a private room so you can't even pretend that it's unavoidable." Draco, as a seventh-year prefect, got his own tiny bedroom apart from the other students. Harry sometimes thought that it was only Lucius' downfall that had kept Draco from being Head Boy instead of Ron.

"Fine, fine. Tonight after dinner?"

Harry stood up and squinted at the sky. "If we even make dinner."

Draco looked thoughtful, then cocked his head. "I don't suppose your little house-elf friends would make us up a tray?" The arrogance was back in his tone, singing through every line of his body, and Harry wondered what he'd done to put it there.

Harry glanced up at the castle. "Sure, what the fuck. Let's go add to the bloody gossip. You go get your room ready, and I'll drop off the basket and bring up the tray."

Draco stood, and Harry was forced to admire the utter effortlessness he imbued in his every move. Harry packed the last few things away in the basket, shook out the blanket and gave an awkward, ironic little bow, saying, "Shall we?"

Draco grinned evilly, then stalked over in two steps and took possession of the blanket. He curled his fingers into the crook of Harry's arm, for all the world like a girl on a date. "Let's give them something to think about besides You-Know-Who, eh?"

Harry considered objecting, then shrugged. "Sure," he said, rearranging their arms. "But I think it's more appropriate that I get to be the blushing maiden, don't you?"

Draco let out a bitter, caustic laugh that made Harry's chest ache for him. He flung the blanket over his shoulder, then laid his now-free hand awkwardly over Harry's. "Sure. We'll tell them all that I, Draco Malfoy, have finally been the one to seduce the Boy Who Lived."

Harry blanched slightly, then said, "How about we don't tell them anything?"

Draco looked at him askance. "You mean, refuse to answer questions, avoid the topic and generally act as guilty as possible while never outright admitting or denying anything?"

Harry nodded. Draco smiled. "Sounds like fun."

They set off around the castle, Harry's heart fluttering with nervousness while his body thrummed with heat from the simple contact. He had no idea how he would manage to change clothes in Draco's bedroom without exploding, but he had an idea that an emergency bit of tossing off would be involved. He laid his head on Draco's shoulder as they approached the doors, and Draco paused to run gentle fingers over his cheek, eyes unreadable.

Definitely some emergency tossing off, thought Harry as they straightened up and went inside.

Chapter 6
In Which We See That Beauty May Be Truth, But Fashion Often Lies

Harry arrived at Draco's room freshly showered and empty-handed. "Did you dump the tray on yourself or something, Potter?" Draco's irritating drawl was back in place, and Harry sighed inwardly at the lost momentum.

"Nope. Took a shower 'cos I'm going to be trying on your clothes, presumably, and I thought it'd be the polite thing to do." He pushed past Draco into the tiny room and flopped gracelessly onto the one spot free of clothing, an overstuffed chair he was pretty sure Draco had been saving for himself. "As for the food, the elves insisted on room service."

"Ah," said Draco, rummaging through the piles on the bed and pulling out some mysterious-looking bundles. "And here I was thinking my allure had gotten too great, and you'd gone and had a nice wank in the shower."

Harry's cheeks pinked, but nothing stirred down below. He had, in fact, had three nice wanks in the shower, until even thoughts of Draco naked and begging couldn't make him stir. "I think I can keep from ravishing you for a few more hours, Draco."

"You'd better start stripping, then. I'm assuming you're shy, but there's just not room for a privacy screen." He shrugged, gesturing around the room as though ashamed to have so little to offer.

The room was small, yes, but opulently furnished. A 4-poster bed about half again as wide as Harry's took up most of the space, shoved into the corner farthest from the door. The bed, like everything in the room, was a mahogany so dark the wood seemed almost black, with the bedspread done in an equally dark green velvet with silver snakes embroidered around the edges. There was a small nightstand on one side, with a goblet and a book on it, along with an elaborate silver candelabra of twined snakes. It somehow managed to be graceful rather than menacing, and Harry wondered where it came from.

Along the wall opposite the bed, a wardrobe made a tight fit in the corner with the nightstand, the open doors brushing against the bedspread. Then came a wide dresser with a mirror on top, just barely leaving enough room for the door to open. There was a scattering of arcane-looking jars and bottles and boxes, and a faint carving on the dark wood that suggested more snakes. The chair Harry occupied was wedged in between the foot of the bed and the fourth wall, with a footstool and a spindly little table holding another book and smaller candelabra.

"When you're right, you're right," he said, blushing and echoing Draco's graceful shrug. "But I think I'll wait until after the food arrives to get starkers, thanks."

Draco's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Wouldn't want Dobby to get any ideas about you, now would we."

Harry snorted in an entirely undignified way as he imagined Dobby faced with his nude form crying out, "Harry Potter has given Dobby his very best wish!"

He was saved from coming up with a reply by the appearance of Dobby and another house elf, Harry presumed the one that usually kept Draco's room clean. Harry dissolved in quiet giggles while they set up a small tray in the space normally used to open the door, then bowed and vanished, both giving Harry a very odd look.

"You," he gasped out when they'd gone, "You, Draco Malfoy, are an evil, evil boy."

Draco drew himself up to his rather impressive full height and said, "I'll have you know you are the only boy in this room, Potter."

Rather than get angry, Harry could only laugh more. He managed to get out between giggles, "You volunteering to make me a man, Malfoy?" He even wiggled his eyebrows in a mock-leer.

Draco pinked a touch at the ears, but laughed right along with him. "Right, then. Let's see what there is to eat, and then I can see what I've got to work with."

It turned out there were favourites of both of theirs, spice cake for Draco and treacle tarts for Harry, chicken and blood pudding and some weird green thing that made Draco smile with delight. Seeing Draco in these unguarded moments tugged at Harry's insides and made him wonder what he'd been missing before the potion opened him up to the view. There were potatoes and biscuits and even a little bowl of fresh berries in cream that he had a feeling he'd have to fight Draco for.

"If I'm getting naked, I get the berries," he said, piling food on the plate provided. Draco turned towards him slowly, his face amused but possessive.

"Does that mean if I get naked, I get the berries?" he asked, voice low and even. It tugged on things lying mostly dormant, causing enough of a stir to make Harry worry.

"Then we can share," said Harry, grinning wickedly and adding, "Although if you want to eat them off my naked body, you can have them all."

Oddly enough, that seemed to upset Draco again, stone sliding down to wall off his eyes. "Naah," he said somewhat stiffly, taking his plate and commandeering the chair. "It'd get my sheets messy."

They ate in silence for awhile, uncomfortable now that the mood had been broken. Harry drank a long draught of pumpkin juice, then said, "Whatcha readin'?"

Draco looked startled, as though he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. "The one by the bed is a history of the last wizarding war. This one," he tapped the heavy book beside him, "is a very old book of defensive spells, many of which have left common usage for one reason or another."

Harry took a deep breath, smelling vanilla and jasmine, dust and parchment and crisp winter skies. Draco's room seemed familiar to him, not because of the colours or the clothes piled on the bed, but because no matter the trappings, it still felt like the room of a man preparing for war. Harry finished the last bite of his tart and snagged two spoons off the tray, along with the bowl of berries. Draco was busy with the last of his beef gravy, trying to soak it up with a biscuit without getting any on his robes, so he didn't even notice what Harry was up to until he sat down on the ottoman.

"What do you think you're doing with those," said Draco, eyes still the grey of unforgiving stone.

"Sharing them, of course," he replied, proffering Draco a spoon.

Draco blinked. Then he set his plate aside, crowding the tiny table to near-overflowing, and took the spoon wordlessly. They each dug into the bowl, and Harry watched the milk swirl in pink and lavender from the berries' juices even as he lifted the spoonful to his lips. He glanced at Draco just in time to see him close his eyes in obvious relish and slide the spoon back out of his mouth in what seemed to be an unconsciously sexy gesture.

Harry wondered what Draco was tasting, his own mouth filled with two blueberries and a fat hunk of wild strawberry, flavours melded together by the sweet cream. He dug in again as he chewed, snaring two fat blackberries and a tiny, fuzzy raspberry. "Raspberries are my favourite," said Draco softly, and Harry looked up to see a strange sort of hunger in his face.

He held the spoon out to Draco, hovering it at his lips like a communion cup. They locked eyes, and Draco slid his mouth forward on the spoon, bottom lip caressing the bowl of it, teeth bared above. He closed down at the end, then slid back out with that same sensual gesture, and Harry leaned back, trying to keep his breathing even.

"Look," he said, closing his eyes to get away from the rapture on Draco's face, "Either you like the flirting or you don't, but you have to pick one." He opened his eyes to see Draco looking somewhat taken aback. "You're almost as confusing as a girl, for bloody sakes, Draco!"

Draco blinked again, which Harry was learning meant he was faced with something unexpected. The gesture was almost familiar now, and it warmed something deep inside of him that he hadn't known was cold. "I suppose you're right," he said quietly, then sat back in the chair's embrace, berries forgotten.

Harry stole another bite before scooting in, getting together one large strawberry chunk, a blueberry and another of the surprisingly scarce little red raspberries. "Open wide," he said, grinning.

Draco's eyes came back into focus much clearer than before, mirroring Harry's amusement but tinged with something like regret. He ate the berries in a much more matter-of-fact way this time, and Harry quelled a slight feeling of disappointment. He'd learned to live without Cho Chang's affections, he supposed he could resign himself to a life of mere friendship with Draco Malfoy just as well.

And that was a thought odd enough to draw him up short, spoon halfway to his own lips. Milk dripped off the end to land on his knee with a splat. Draco grinned, then leaned forward, laying cool fingers against Harry's own and guiding the hand to his mouth. Harry opened wide, unconsciously mirroring Draco's earlier gesture as the spoon slid slowly past parted lips. The spoon tipped forward, spilling milk and berries into his mouth, then retreated while he held his mouth carefully open.

He chewed, swallowed and smiled. Draco stole his spoon and ate a bite of berries, eyes twinkling, a small smile playing around the edges of his expression. "What's your favourite, Potter?" asked Draco, smile blossoming into mischief.

"Er..." said Harry intelligently, eyes fixed on the drop of milk resting on Draco's lower lip. Draco's tongue, now deep red from the fruit, flicked out to catch the drop. "Oh! Blueberries."

Draco dipped the spoon into the nearly-empty bowl and came up with three round, plump blueberries. "Your turn again, Potter," he said.

Harry opened wide, this time consciously trying to act as a child rather than a lover. He leaned in, eyes mostly closed, and stuck his tongue out just a touch. He heard a stifled giggle from Draco and opened his eyes just in time to have the spoon zoomed like a broomstick coming in for a landing. He grabbed at the spoon, pulling it out on his own, glaring even as he chewed his treat.

He looked down into the bowl. Three blackberries, a wedge of strawberry and one lone raspberry were left sitting in a puddle of milk gone decidedly pink. He scooped up two of the blackberries and fed them to Draco, then snagged the strawberry and remaining blackberry for himself. Draco raised one cultured eyebrow at him as he plucked the final berry out with his fingers and held it, only trembling slightly, to Draco's lips.

"So, the flirting's back on, then?" said Draco, lips bruising the fruit ever so slightly.

"That's up to you, Draco," said Harry.

Draco lipped at the berry, breath grazing over Harry's hand. The trembling got slightly more noticeable and heat started trickling downwards. "If I just eat it, no antics, then that's it?"

Harry nodded. "I'll behave myself forevermore."

"Boring," Draco whispered, sliding lips and tongue and teeth over the berry, taking Harry's fingers into his mouth up to the second knuckle. He did something amazing with tongue and suction, and Harry had to force himself to pull his hand back by millimetres.

Harry closed his eyes. He was breathing heavily. "Where do you want this to go, Draco?"

Draco sat back, holding his hand up as his jaw worked. Long seconds later he swallowed and opened his eyes, saying, "Never interrupt a man and his raspberry."

Harry giggled. Draco giggled. They broke out in helpless laughter, leaning on one another for support, milk sloshing dangerously in the bowl. Draco swiped the bowl and drank the liquid off in one loud slurp, holding Harry back with the other hand. "I would like for you to get naked, so I can use you as my personal dressing dummy."

Harry swiped the bowl back, licking the last drops of cream out of the bottom before depositing it on the cart. If Draco wasn't ready to deal with it, that was fine, he could handle the flirting as long as he could tell himself it wasn't going anywhere. He was pretty sure, anyway. He slid off his outer robe, then held it in his hands and looked around the room. "Er..."

"Give it here," he said, standing up and scooting around the foot stool. This brought him within easy touching distance of Harry, who began to wonder once again if this was such a good idea.

"A-aren't you going to, y'know, sit there?" he asked as Draco tossed the robe onto the chair.

"No, no, I can't trust you to pick things out for yourself. I mean, for god's sake, just look at that bloody awful jumper you're wearing."

Harry blushed. He'd thrown on one of Dudley's old sweaters, knowing he'd be taking it off very soon anyway. "It was only temporary," he said lamely.

"Right, and Cruciatus is only a curse," said Draco. He gestured impatiently. "Get it all off, even the knickers. I'm sure whatever you're wearing is sodding terrible and will ruin the line of the pants."

Harry flushed even redder, wondering if his skin would begin to glow with the heat before they were done. He quickly set to shucking out of his clothing as fast as humanly possible, figuring that if he got it over with quickly enough, maybe he wouldn't have time to get more embarrassed with each item of clothing he removed. Unfortunately, this meant that it hit him all at once as he handed Draco his faded blue boxers, pins still at the waist to keep them from sliding off his narrow hips.

He became acutely aware that Draco was still completely and impeccably dressed, while he was left huddling rather ineffectually behind the dinner tray. Draco, however, seemed oblivious to that fact, as he brushed past Harry, robes billowing out to tickle at Harry's bare skin. He rummaged through the dresser, then passed Harry a rather odd-looking bundle of cloth. "There, try those. I may have to shrink them to get a proper fit, but at least you'll stop cringing."

Evidently Draco hadn't been as blind as he'd seemed, and Harry turned ever pinker. He turned the wad of linen around in his hands until something gave and the whole thing sort of unfolded into a pair of short, tight cream-coloured pants, tangled lacings dangling from the crotch. He scurried into them, then stared down in dismay at the huge gap in the cloth that made up the front. He shrugged and laced them up as best he could, now baffled by Draco's comment -- there just was not enough fabric to close over the front.

He looked over to where Draco was picking through the clothes on the bed, then down at his still-bared crotch, then back to Draco helplessly. "How do you..."

Draco looked up and saw the source of Harry's difficulty. He snorted. "Oh for... come here."

Harry scuttled out from the corner, holding a hand loosely over his gradually increasing assets. He was glad for the warmth in the room but equally aware that he had no real excuse for the way his nipples tightened when Draco tugged at his hands. "Hands off, or I can't help you," he said sternly.

Harry forced his grip to loosen, then spent a few seconds awkwardly figuring out what to do with his hands. Draco examined the lacings with the impersonal face of a tailor, pointed at the weird lump in the front of the pants. Harry squeaked and tried to move away before he realized that Draco didn't mean his anatomy. Harry reached in and pulled out the wide flap meant to cover that empty front panel, which had instead ended up down one of his legs.

"Right. I think I've got it from here," he said, and Draco let his fingertips drag ever so slightly across Harry's hip, smoothing the fabric and causing another marked shift in the size of Harry's problem. The little flap of linen barely covered him now, as the pants were evidently supposed to ride low on the wearer's hips.

"Er, sorry about... um." He looked down meaningfully, then forced himself to meet Draco's eyes.

He thought it might be lust he was seeing, but it could be anything, really, that darkened those eyes from silver to gunmetal grey. "Don't be," said Draco softly, running his thumbs over Harry's hipbones and making him whimper. He was completely hard now, no denying the cause or fighting its effects. "It's intoxicating."

For one frozen moment he thought Draco was going to do something more. Instead, he closed his eyes and let out one long, warm breath as his fingers dropped away. Draco took another breath in and swallowed, and Harry found himself copying the motion. "I don't know that it's a good idea for you to show me how it feels to have this kind of power, Harry," he said softly.

Harry's mouth went dry, remembering suddenly why love potions were considered Dark Arts. "Do you want me to go?" he asked breathlessly.

Draco shook his head, eyes still closed. He shook himself, then opened his eyes and grinned at Harry. "They're not a bad fit, anyway. A touch long, but that'll be all right. You've got nice strong thighs to fill them out."

Harry had no idea how to respond to that, so he followed Draco's lead and changed the subject again. "So, I get to keep these on until we're done?" he asked, hopeful.

"Might as well. There's a few outfits they won't go with, but I don't really fancy trying to resize them anyway, so we'll stick with things that cover at least that much of you." He was rummaging through the pile on the bed again, and Harry laced himself up dutifully, trying not to imagine Draco in anything that covered less than the underwear. "Ah-ha!" he said, pulling out a pair of white trousers and tossing them to Harry. "Give those a try."

Harry slithered into them, the fabric tight but smooth, with just enough give that he could get them on. They were tight across his thighs, and calves, but too long in the ankles, and they did things to the line of his front that were more than vaguely obscene. "They don't fit," he said sullenly.

"Aptare Juste!" said Draco, flicking his wand at Harry with a practiced wrist. The pants slithered around him in a way that made him profoundly glad the underthings had fit, and when they were done, they were like a second skin. "Perfect."

"They're obscene, Draco," he said petulantly.

"If you weren't so excitable, they'd be fine," Draco replied, in an echo of his usual scathing tones.

He gave Harry an appraising look. "No undershirt, I think," he murmured to himself, grabbing a long coat off the bed and passing it to Harry. It had no sleeves and a high, stiff collar, but the lining was soft as -- and now that he thought about it, probably actually made of -- silk. He was still fumbling with the row of tiny buttons when Draco turned back, holding more mysterious bits of the dark velvety cloth. The buttons started at his waist and went up, closing the fabric tightly around his broad chest. The rest of the coat flared wide around him, flowing gracefully down to his still-bare feet.

"Aptare Juste!" cried Draco again, and suddenly he was no longer straining to get the thing closed. "You're bigger in the chest and shoulders than I am."

Harry shrugged, then finished buttoning it. It fit like the pants, leaving nothing to the imagination, his crotch framed by the wide skirt of it. "It's still obscene," he said, but even to himself the protest sounded token. Something about the outfit seemed to lengthen the lines of him, making him look tall and lithe. He blinked when he realized that what he liked most about it was that it made him look like Draco.

Draco just snorted and said, "Give me one hand." Potter held his arm out obediently, and something like a handless glove was slid up his arm. It fit around his upper bicep on a little strap that Draco spelled tight, then there were small strips of the fabric connecting the strap to the rest of the sleeve, leaving little rectangles of his upper arm showing, as well as the entire shoulder. The rest of the sleeve fit so tightly that there were more buttons inside the wrist, and a point of fabric spilled down over the top of his hand.

The other sleeve went on like the first. Draco took his glasses away to keep him from staring in the mirror while he was supposed to be putting on the supple knee-high black boots, and they seemed different when he gave them back. The frames were lighter thinner, slender black wires around the rounded lenses. Draco moved to the dresser now and began rummaging through jars.

"That's got the outfit, now I just have to see about the hair," he said absently, talking once again like Harry wasn't really there. Harry felt a bit girlish, but he gave in to the urge to rock his hips from side to side, twirling the supple fabric around his legs.

"Glasses," said Draco, and Harry obediently handed them over. "Accio ottoman!" said Draco, and the foot stool slid over to thump gently into Harry's legs. Draco watched him for a moment before saying impatiently, "Well? Sit!"

Harry sat. In for a penny and all that. He heard the snip snip of scissors, the almost-inaudible brush of falling hair, and the muttering as Draco either cast a host of unfamiliar spells on him, or was just swearing under his breath in a language Harry didn't know. He let himself be soothed by the touches, calling up a host of old memories of similar moments at the barber's to stave off his arousal. A cleaning spell swept away the stray cut hairs, and long fingers mussed the rest, tugging this way and that until his glasses were handed back to him with a flourish.

"Voila!" said Draco, stepping back so Harry could use the mirror.

The boy in the mirror seemed totally unfamiliar. His hair had been practically shorn in back, but left long in front so it still covered his scar. Instead of the disorderly crow's-nest it usually reverted to immediately after combing, it held together in soft, artfully mussed clumps. His glasses were smaller, more subtle, and they complimented the planes of his face and the height of his cheekbones, rather than hiding them. His shoulders looked strong, and his hips undeniably male in the midst of the almost-feminine folds of the coat.

Even his hands looked more graceful, the velvet points drawing the eye down like an arrow to his long Seeker fingers. He realized he was holding his breath, and let it out. "Damn, Draco. What do I have to do to get you to do this every morning?"

Draco snorted. "Put out, probably. I am not a morning person."

Harry laughed. "I do look rather like trade in this, don't I?"

Draco gave him a once-over and said, "Right. Where I look elegant and unavailable in that outfit, you look like you take appointments." He went over to the dresser and rummaged. "Wait, I've got it, take your glasses off and close your eyes."

Harry did as he was told, confident by now that whatever Draco did, it couldn't embarrass him any worse than he already had done to himself. He felt a gentle prodding at his left eye, however, and felt compelled to point out, "Blinding me will get you nowhere, Draco."

"Don't worry, Po- er, Harry, I know what I'm doing. Stop smiling." The poking continued, but he'd stopped caring. Draco had called him 'Harry'. "Look up." More prodding, this time underneath his eyes, making them water. He felt something soft blot the tears away, and then Draco handed his glasses back. "There."

He slipped them on, then did a double take. Draco had put kohl around his eyes, making them look somehow larger, bringing out the green until they almost seemed like cats' eyes. "I look like Slytherin trade, now," said Harry, unable to believe the vision in the mirror was his. Even the hair had stayed in place through Draco's ministrations.

"I'd certainly have you for a kept boy," said Draco teasingly, putting the hair things away.

Harry grinned. "Even you couldn't afford me, Draco."

Draco snorted. "You get all tarted up and start thinking above yourself. You'd better watch it, Harry, or you might think you're some kind of legendary boy hero- oh, right."

"Yep, already got that delusion," said Harry, unable to keep all the bitterness from leaking out into his tone.

Draco gave him a curious glance but wisely kept silent on the issue, instead saying, "Well you might as well keep the clothes, now that they're your size." He grinned suddenly, evilly. "Plus, this way I can say I've been in your knickers."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So we're done? All this," he gestured towards the bed, "for one outfit?"

"I couldn't decide," he pouted. "Plus, I didn't know until you stripped if you'd be secretly pudgy or anything. I mean, who knew you were hot under those horrible clothes?"

"Y-you think I'm hot?" Harry's entire train of thought derailed again, tugged downward with his blood supply. There was just enough left to make his cheeks a bright pink as he realized Draco would be able to see his reaction through the thin pants.

Draco politely ignored it, instead grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him back to the mirror. He laced his arms loosely around Harry's waist and leaned in. "You think you're hot, too, now."

Harry couldn't deny the appeal of the boy in the mirror, blushing shyly on top while advertising down below, eyes wide with kohl. Draco's blond head next to his added to the appeal, and he realized, "We look like a couple."

Draco rubbed his cheek against Harry's like a cat, then pulled away. "Let's see if we can't stop being enemies first."

Harry laughed, then laughed more when he realized he'd smiled more in the last day and half with Draco than he had all year. Even with his weird off-again, on-again thing with the flirting, even with the occasional relapses into arrogance, he was already more fond of him than he had any right to be. "You never made me smile like this when we were enemies," said Harry.

"Not even when I was a bouncing ferret?" asked Draco.

Harry's eyebrows shot up, but this time he knew just what to say. "Not even then."

Chapter 7
In Which We Study the Peculiar Physics of Rumours

Harry had left Draco's with kohl still smeared around his eyes, and his old robes thrown over the new ones to hide them. He and Draco had both agreed on the necessity of burning Dudley's old jumper, and had conjured up a small fireplace in which to do it. Then Harry had felt honour-bound to help Draco put the clothes away, and when they'd finally realized how late it was getting, there was no time for Harry to change into something less showy. He might be able to plead ignorance of the hour if he left now, but not if he stayed long enough to undo all those damned buttons.

He arrived in the Gryffindor common room with his other clothes bundled underneath one arm, insisting that he keep the remainder despite Draco's rather poetic protests. Even with his old robes buttoned up, it was obvious he was wearing something odd under them, and he had hoped to sneak up to his room without being seen. That went out the window as soon as the portrait swung open to reveal a crowd of insomniac Gryffindors swigging contraband butterbeer and chattering with manic cheer.

Despite the fact that he spent many an evening himself staying downstairs with his increasingly sleepless housemates, he'd managed to fool himself into believing that they'd all be in bed by now. He tried to sneak around the large group and escape upstairs, but Ginny chose that exact moment to look up from where she was reading by the fire. "Harry?"

Every eye in the room turned to him, and he found himself blushing for the millionth time that day. He froze in place and tried for one of Draco's eloquent shrugs, hampered slightly by the fact that he was holding a bundle of clothing with just enough sticking out to prove he'd gotten completely naked, wherever he'd been. Ginny stood up and stalked over to him, while one of the fifth-year girls grabbed the bundle of clothes away.

"What on earth are you wearing?" she exclaimed , getting closer. "And what did you do to your hair?" She peered up at him, her voice getting louder and higher-pitched with each question. "Is that eyeliner?"

"Er, yes?" he said, batting her hands away when she tried to undo his robe. "Ginny!"

"What? I want to see the whole thing." She sounded like she thought it was a perfectly reasonable demand, and he sighed. He knew that tone, and whether from her or Mrs. Weasley, it meant that Harry was in for a certain amount of fussing over.

He gave in and undid the fastenings on his robes, barely letting it fall before someone whisked it away. The crowd that had formed around him all backed up a step, and someone even whistled. He could only thank providence that he'd finally gotten his anatomy under control, at least the lower portions. He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment and wondered if the blush reached his bared shoulders.

"Give us a twirl, Harry!" called out a voice, and he realized the game had been abandoned in favour of himself as the new entertainment. He considered refusing, but deep down he knew they needed the distraction, so he did a spin on one heel worthy of Draco, then strutted towards the stairs before whirling back. The full coat swirled around his ankles like a hug before settling back down to frame the white cloth over his thighs and groin.

There was more whistling and catcalls, and the sound of someone clomping down the boys' stairs behind him to see what all the commotion was. He turned to let them pass and found himself staring into Ron's stunned face. "Jesus, Harry, did you lose a bet?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the look on Ron's face. "Something like that," he said mysteriously. He couldn't resist giving a little swing of his hips to set the coat swaying, adding, "Like it?" with a wink.

"I always knew you were hiding something under those clothes, Potter, but damn!" That last came from Lavender Brown, who was coming down the girls' stairs with Parvati Patil, both in their dressing gowns.

Harry blushed again, then tried to shove his hands into his pockets only to find he didn't have any, just the little loop on the pants where he'd put his wand. How on earth did Draco function in these clothes? He shivered a bit as a cold draft found his bare shoulders, and not at all at the image of Draco in this very same outfit. "I'm just impressed that someone finally taught him what styling products are for," said Parvati, leaning in distressingly close to examine his new haircut.

"Perhaps he's had other things to worry about," said Ginny crossly, pulling Harry over to sit by the fire. The rest of the Gryffindors ranged themselves around him.

"Now, explain this to me again," said Ron, crowding onto the couch next to Harry. "Who did this to you, and why did you let them?"

Harry blushed again. Harry didn't really want to lie to Ron, but he also wasn't sure he was ready for all of Gryffindor to know he'd let Draco get him naked, even for the purposes of immediately re-clothing him. "Er, well... it was pointed out to me that my look could use a bit of updating."

"Like that's news," said one of the fourth years snidely, but Harry ignored it. The fact that his clothing was a disgrace to Gryffindors everywhere had been a bone of contention between him and some of the more publicity-minded girls for years now.

"And well, I was being an insensitive git, and they made me do this," he said, sweeping a hand from head to toe, "as an apology."

"You let them tart you up because you were an ass? If that's all it takes, I should've demanded it years ago!" declared Parvati, and Harry blushed. She'd never really forgiven him and Ron for their behavior at the Yule Ball in their fourth year.

"Well, you never thought of it, did you?" Harry tossed back over his shoulder.

"Eyeliner's a bit much, though," said Ron, giving him another critical once-over. "Still, it is an improvement."

"Yeah, and we're going to make you wear it next time we go to Hogsmeade!" declared Parvati. The last time they'd gone, he'd been wearing one of Dudley's awful sweaters, one of the huge orange ones with bobbles on, and he'd been photographed for Witch Weekly's Worst Dressed Wizards issue. He'd been chosen number one for the second year in a row. The first time he'd been wearing one of Mrs. Weasley's Christmas jumpers, much to her chagrin.

"No eyeliner," said Harry, suddenly fearing what else they might do, given the opportunity to make him sit still with his eyes shut.

"That's fine, the eyeliner kind of makes you look cheap, anyway," said Lavender, cocking her head to one side. "Well, not cheap, precisely. Expensively for sale, though."

Ron's eyes about popped out of his head, and he might have defended Harry's honour if he hadn't been choking on butterbeer. Harry patted his back and said ruefully, "I'd argue, but I know you're right." He gave a huge, overly-dramatic sigh, and everyone laughed.

They all began questioning him then, mostly about the hair and the coat and how the sleeves stayed up, then moving on to Quidditch and the end of the year, and wondering if they'd get a Leaving Ball or not. Harry gradually relaxed, although the pink never quite left his cheeks, and eventually everyone else did, too. Pretty soon people were wandering upstairs in ones and twos, until it was safe for Harry to escape.

"I learned a really useful charm for the rest of Dudley's clothes, though," he told Ron when they'd finally escaped up to their room. Harry had changed back into his old clothes for the demonstration. "Aptare Juste!" he said, flicking his wand.

The clothes writhed and wriggled, and he resisted the urge to twitch as the boxers and jeans moulded themselves to his body. The t-shirt had been one of his own, and still hung loosely over the now-tight jeans. "Wow, that's awesome, Harry. D'you think it'd work on my stuff?" Ron, as much as Harry, suffered from hand-me-downs.

"Sure, but I think you've gotta be wearing 'em. Let's do it tomorrow." He yawned hugely, and Ron echoed it. It was well past midnight and all but the most determined were already asleep.

"Yeah, all right." They changed into their pyjamas in silence. As they tucked themselves in, Ron said softly, "I noticed you never did say who dressed you up, you know."

Harry smiled into the darkness. "Let's just say I think I've made a new friend, but I didn't feel like trying to explain that to the entire house."

There was silence from the other side of Ron's bed for long enough that Harry thought he'd fallen asleep until his voice drifted over. "It was Malfoy, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "But I was being a git, just for the record."

"Why?" asked Ron, and Harry could hear the other questions crowded into that one word. What happened to us, and why would you go to him. What's going on with you lately, where were you all day, and most importantly, what was going on with him and Draco.

"I just... had a shift in perspective, I guess," said Harry tiredly. "I finally realized that Draco's grown up, just like we have, and he's turned into someone not totally devoid of value."

Ron snorted, but all he said was, "Just be careful, Harry."

"I will, Ron."

They both fell silent, and Harry let sleep pull him down into the darkness. He didn't fear his dreams anymore, not since he'd finally learned Occlumency properly and no longer dreamed at the Dark Lord's whim. The last thing he heard before he drifted off was Ron's soft snoring.

The eyeliner came off in the shower after a bit of scrubbing, but his hair dried in the same soft chunks. The outfit was stowed carefully in the back of Harry's wardrobe, although he'd already developed a special sort of dread for their final Hogsmeade trip, only a week away at this point. He had little hope that Parvati would forget his promise, and he had a sneaking suspicion that someone would alert the press that he'd finally stopped letting fashion victimize him.

He spelled himself and Ron a single outfit each, and went to breakfast in clothes that, while still worn and ugly, at least fit. He got catcalls from the few Gryffindors lounging in the common room, and Dean threatened to hide all his jumpers until he bought some that weren't obviously designed by the colour-blind. They crawled out the portrait hole to find a small knot of giggling second-year girls, their eyes wide and cheeks pink in a way that suggested that Harry was the topic of their interrupted conversation.

They walked through the Great Hall with eyes following them like beacons, amidst whispers of "shoulders," "eyeliner," and "haircut." Harry studiously ignored them, sitting down and grabbing toast. "How do they do that, anyway?" he asked Ron, through a mouthful of marmalade.

"Do what?" Ron was, as usual, fairly oblivious.

"Less than half of Gryffindor saw me last night, and most of them aren't even awake yet, but every single person here knows about my new look." He didn't bother to whisper, since the cat was well and truly out of the bag.

The whispers were growing louder, bolder, and he could hear one girl saying, "I heard he lost a bet," while a boy at Ravenclaw almost shouted, "A *dare*, not a date!"

"Huh," said Ron, spooning sugar into a cup of tea distractedly, "Dunno. But you'd better hope they don't connect it with..."

Draco walked in at that exact moment. Harry's heart skipped a beat, and a hush fell over the room much as it had when Harry and Ron had walked in. "Bugger," said Ron, and Harry could only agree.

Students were glancing from Harry to Draco and back again as Draco stalked over to the Slytherin table, ignoring them completely. His arrogant mask was firmly in place, and he didn't look over at Harry once. Harry realized that he was staring right along with everyone else, and went back to committing marmalade-related sins on his poor, inadequate toast. He glanced up to find Draco sitting between Crabbe and Goyle, talking animatedly and waving his hands around. That entire end of the Slytherin table laughed.

Harry wondered bleakly if it was ego or paranoia that made him sure that Draco was telling them about their little dress-up session. His cheeks flamed when he pictured how absurd he must have looked with the underwear lacings holding him pinned flat in a nest of black curls. He reached up and fingered his new hair, wondering how long it would last before it reverted to its familiar crow's nest. He'd meant to ask last night, but Draco was very distracting even when there wasn't any nudity involved.

He shook his head, laughing silently at himself. Two days, and already he was thinking of Draco like... well, like he had a crush on him, Harry supposed. He shoved the last sticky bits of toast in his mouth, downed his tea and pushed back from the table. "I'm going back to the tower, I can't take this."

Ron nodded absently, busily working his way through a mountain of bacon and eggs. Harry grinned affectionately and walked out, trying to tune out the gossip.

"...was just suppressed passion, can you believe it?"

"I heard they..."

"...seen his hair?"

"...just like a Malfoy to try and change a person..."

"Hope you're not going on another little picnic, Potter," called out someone behind him, just as he was about to make it out the door. "Malfoy might get jealous."

He didn't even bother to try and pinpoint the source, just got himself out of sight as fast as possible. He took a few blind turns and ended up in a seldom-used hallway, breathing heavily and leaning against the stone wall. Someone, evidently, had seen the two of them yesterday. He could cope with that, had known it would happen. People would put two and two together and get five, though, and he wasn't sure he wanted to think about what else they were saying where he couldn't hear.

He sank to the floor, hands buried in his surprisingly soft hair. Draco had done something that completely changed the texture, and kept it from tangling up. He remembered the feel of Draco behind him, the way he'd cradled Harry's body gently as they gazed in the mirror, and felt a pang that had very little to do with lust. He'd felt surprisingly comfortable in Draco's embrace, even that first time standing in the frosty grass.

Spending time with Draco was familiar somehow, and every time Harry learned something new about him, it felt more and more like finding his way home. He knew a part of it was the love potion, an artificial arrow pointing his heart towards Draco, but even knowing what it was didn't help. The fact that Draco had accepted him so quickly, that he'd kept himself from taking advantage of Harry despite the situation, only bound Harry's feelings tighter.

He sighed, hoping he was wrong about before, that Draco wasn't using him to entertain the Slytherins. A sharp pecking at his arm drew him out of his moping, and he looked up from the floor to see a large eagle owl regarding him impatiently. He dug in his pockets for a few owl treats to placate it while he took the small roll of parchment off its leg, and it flapped off as soon as it was free.

He looked at the small scroll pensively. It was tied with a green silk ribbon, and he loosened the bow, heart hammering in anticipation of what might be inside.

H-

We said we'd give them something to wonder about, and we've succeeded. Everyone's been hinting around about you, but no one's quite brave enough to ask outright.

Same time, same place? Wouldn't want to disappoint them, after all. I'll bring the basket this time.

Yours,
-D

Harry was grinning. Like an idiot, probably, and he pushed himself up off the floor with a strange exuberance. It was just two friends meeting, it didn't mean anything, but for some reason Harry felt like dancing down the hallway, and even allowed himself to skip until he'd made it into more well-travelled corridors. He practically crowed the password at the Fat Lady's painting, and then zoomed up the stairs to see if he had anything in his wardrobe that could be made presentable before three.

Eventually he found homework to do, and at some point Ron came in and demanded the promised help in refitting his entire wardrobe, but by two o'clock, Harry was about ready to scream with impatience. After the seventh time he asked Ron about his clothes, Ron kicked him out of the room. He led Harry to the door and shoved him out, saying, "I don't even want to know why you care what he thinks of your clothes all of a sudden, Harry, but I am bloody tired of reassuring you. Go. Away!"

Harry left, taking his Potions text with him in a feeble attempt to get some extra studying done. NEWTs were only a few weeks away, and his most recent mishap showed him in dire need of it. Maybe Draco would agree to tutor him or something. At least then they could meet in the Potions classroom instead of out on the lawn with everyone watching.

Chapter 8
In Which We Learn the Means By Which Friendship Can Blossom
From the Ashes of Enmity

Harry had ducked back into the room to grab the blanket from yesterday and his invisibility cloak, stuffing them and his textbook in his bag on the off chance he'd need them. Yesterday's frost seemed to have been the last of the season; when Harry stepped outside, the sun was warm and welcoming, and the breeze was playful rather than freezing. He began the trek around the castle towards what he rather pathetically thought of as "their spot," trying not to squirm at being quite so early.

He rounded the corner and saw a figure standing just inside the edge of the forest, grey and black clothing blending with the trees. Only the shock of blond hair gave away that there was even anyone there, and a glint of silver off the hand he could see wrapped around the handle of a familiar picnic basket. Harry felt that idiot grin returning as he picked up the pace, striding towards Draco with something akin to confidence.

Draco didn't turn as he approached, so Harry dropped his bag on the ground and came up behind him, wrapping one arm around his slender waist. Draco stiffened, and Harry held his breath as the seconds ticked by. He relaxed slowly, muscle by muscle, eyes forward.

"You're early," said Draco finally, turning a smile on him when he dropped his head to Draco's shoulder.

"You're earlier," said Harry, and Draco slid his arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him into a comfortable embrace.

Draco turned to look back at the forest, and Harry looked with him. "It's so beautiful, but so dangerous," said Draco tentatively, hand straying to toy with the short-cropped hair at the back of Harry's head.

Harry resisted the urge to purr, revelling in the near caress, letting a contented silence fall around them. He slid his hand lower, stretching until his fingers found the sharp edge of Draco's hip beneath the edge of his sweater. He rubbed it lightly, teasing at the inner edge and contemplating the complex weave of branch and leaf, brush and blossom. Draco's fingers curled into the longer hair, running through it in a manner that was part soothing, part arousing. They stayed that way for long minutes until Harry finally said, "Sounds like you."

Draco laughed, pulling away, fingers trailing across the back of Harry's neck as though reluctant to leave. "Flattery will get you only so far, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "I'll take what I can get."

Draco laughed again, then set down the basket and pulled out a picnic blanket in a deep forest green. It had a fringe of green and silver at two ends, and was thick enough to almost be a carpet. He shook it out and put it down in almost the precise spot of yesterday's picnic, and Harry retrieved his bag and joined Draco on the blanket. "Hot or cold?" he asked, rummaging through the basket.

"Er..." said Harry brightly. "Cold?"

Draco nodded and produced a flask of pumpkin juice, charmed to stay full and chilled much as the cocoa had been yesterday. Two goblets with the Hogwarts crest followed it, and then a lidded silver tray. He also drew out a small book, obviously worn with age and much reading. Figures gambolled across the faded cover, looking for all the world like a couple of pudgy little dragons. When he looked back up at Harry, his eyes were open and vulnerable, and his cheeks were slightly pink.

"I, er..." Draco said, uncharacteristically awkward. "The spice cake made me think... Everyone I know read this when they were little, but you didn't live in a wizarding family. And, er, anyway, I brought fairy cakes!" He lifted the lid with a flourish, revealing half a dozen of the small cakes fairly bulging with cream, the little cake wings practically hovering on top of the white mounds.

Harry grinned, delighted. "I rarely got fairy cakes as a kid, Dudley always got my share."

Draco grinned back, then whispered, "Ala," and the wings began to flap gently, sending up little clouds of white sugar. Harry restrained himself from clapping, although the fluttering seemed to extend to his chest.

"Draco, I-" he began, but Draco held up a hand to stop him.

"If you say something sappy and Gryffindorish, I shall take it very amiss. I would prefer this bout of misplaced nostalgia go as unremarked-upon as possible." His cheeks were a delicate rose, the flush creeping up his ears and down into the high neck of his robes.

"I was just going to say that I'd prefer tea to juice, if you have it," said Harry, reaching for a cake. If Draco wanted to pretend this was just two friends on an ordinary outing, then Harry would oblige him as best he could. He tried not to be amused that Draco had obviously begun mimicking Snape when unsure, instead of his father.

Draco snorted doubtfully and pulled an entire tea service out of the basket, which Harry didn't quite think was physically possible. This being the wizarding world and all, however, he was willing to let it go. "Sugar and cream?" Draco asked, pouring two cups.

"Lots," said Harry. He'd somehow managed to inherit a sweet tooth, probably from being denied any as a child. He accepted the brimming cup and saucer, then sipped carefully. It was sweet and creamy, but the tea still came through strongly. It tasted of flowers and vanilla and a little bit like bergamot, and he made a happy little mmm noise that brought the flush back to Draco's cheeks.

Draco set the basket aside and stretched out on his stomach, raising up on his elbows to snag a fairy cake. Harry admired the way his legs looked in the soft black pants a bit like the ones he'd given Harry, tucked into low boots of supple black leather. A loose-knit sweater fell down to his thighs, touchable cotton in a grey several shades darker than his eyes. He had a black high-collared shirt on underneath in what looked like silk, three winking ebony buttons holding it closed at the throat.

Harry had also left robes behind, in favour of old, faded blue jeans spelled skintight. He had on his usual ratty sneakers, but he'd unearthed a white dress shirt to wear under the emerald-green sweater he'd found in the bottom of his trunk. It had been big enough for a blanket when he'd gotten it, so he'd never worn it despite the fact that he'd long suspected it would look good on him. He'd shoved up the sleeves and then rolled up the shirtsleeves to hold everything in place, leaving the top button of the collar undone.

"What'd you bring, anyway, Harry?" asked Draco, indicating Harry's school bag with a toss of his head.

"Well, I was early, so I brought the blanket and my Potions book." Harry decided not to mention the invisibility cloak just yet. "I'd like to be able to pass my NEWT in it, but I seem to be deluding myself," he added ruefully.

Harry took a bite of his cake, getting icing sugar on his nose from the wings. The flavor seemed familiar, like a distant childhood memory of happiness he'd never really had. Draco made a noise that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter. Harry ignored him in favour of devouring the sweet bite by delicious bite, pleasantly surprised to find a small dollop of blueberry preserves hiding under the cream.

Draco was already on his third cake, somehow managing to stay impeccable despite the gentle motion. "Are yours raspberry?" asked Harry, curious.

"Yep," said Draco, closing his eyes and biting in with that same expression of rapture from last night. Harry was touched that he'd remembered, and cut off that line of thought before it went any further. He did not need to be remembering the rest of that evening, Draco's mouth on his fingers, his face rubbing against Harry's in the mirror.

Harry concentrated on the different scents and flavours, trying to memorize it for future reference. He had one cake left, still flapping somewhat forlornly on the tray, when the cup was empty. He crawled over to the tea service rather than disturb Draco, who seemed to have been sent into a transcendental state by the raspberry filling. He refilled his cup and liberally doctored it, only to find Draco's empty cup magically appearing at his side.

"Two sugars, lots of cream," said Draco, eyes still closed. Harry snickered and complied, setting the full cup within easy reach.

He sat back, admiring the curve of Draco's calves, the sway of his back, working his way up to the cap of hair that seemed pale gold in this light and nearly silver at other times. He was mentally tracing the high cheek bones and pondering his last fairy cake when Draco's eyes opened lazily. "Book?"

Harry smiled. "Sure." He drained his tea and tried to remember the spell to still the cake, unwilling to try and concentrate with little puffs of sugar floating on the breeze. "Ala," he whispered, and the flutter stilled. He covered it up with the lid and set it next to the tea service with his cup. "For later," he explained.

Draco grinned. "I never was very good at hoarding, myself. I could always get more if I threw an impressive enough tantrum."

Harry snickered, and Draco gave him a dangerous look, which just made him snicker again. He raised one eyebrow, and Harry burst out laughing. Draco crossed his arms over his chest and did his best to look affronted, a difficult task with his eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth. Harry calmed himself down enough to say, "Not you, Draco," before dissolving into giggles again.

Draco held the haughty pose for about four heartbeats before dissolving into quiet sniggering. They both laughed themselves breathless, and Harry briefly considered telling Draco how much more he'd laughed in the last few days before deciding that if he didn't know by now, he probably didn't want to. He ended up flat on his back on the blanket, feet by the tea set and head pillowed on his bag as he stared breathlessly into the cerulean sky.

Draco snagged the book, then laid down with his head on Harry's stomach. Harry just tucked his hands behind his head and made sure he could see the illustrations. There were definitely two chubby little dragons frolicking on the cover, underneath the title, Playtime for Draco.

He let himself drift a bit as Draco opened it and began reading in soft, youthful tones. The dragons in the pictures acted out each scene right along with his voice, and Harry had a vision of a much younger Draco reading this book out loud to himself. He seemed to savour the words, and he even did voices for the dialog, as though he'd done it a thousand times. When he was done, he closed the book and laid it on his stomach, folding his hands over it and closing his eyes.

Harry realized that at some point his hand had gone from behind his head to tangle in Draco's hair, but he wasn't about to stop until Draco objected. The hair was as soft as it looked, heavy and sun-warmed. Harry was surprised to find that for once, he was touching Draco and not thinking of anything but how good it felt to be close to someone like this. His very lack of a reaction gave him hope that maybe he'd be able to just be Draco's friend, to transmute his desire into moments like these.

He and Draco walked into dinner together, having dropped the basket off with the frantic house-elves and put Harry's bag in Draco's room. As they'd approached the door, still blanketed in their friendly silence, Draco had suddenly said, "I can help you, you know."

"Er, what?" had been Harry's confused reply.

"With Potions. Tonight. I can help."

"Oh, that. Thanks," said Harry, and that had been that.

Now they were faced with an entire hall full of curious faces, even the teachers looking on in wonder as Draco gave Harry's arm a friendly pat before they separated to sit at their respective house tables. Harry wolfed his food, barely noticing when Ron and Hermione sat flanking him, eager to get away from all the prying eyes and whispering gossip.

"Are you sure this is wise?" hissed Hermione, following his rapt gaze to where Draco was eating slightly faster than his usual languorous pace.

Harry looked over at her and then nodded once, authoritatively. Her brow creased even further.

"It seems like tempting fate, to me," she whispered, obviously disgruntled.

"Did you find anything else out?" Harry asked, suddenly worried that there might be something really wrong, something new.

"Not really," she replied. "Just that this particular potion was considered to be almost neutral magic, but got outlawed with the rest, just to be safe. It's why Snape was allowed to mention it in class at all, because it's not a compulsion, it just... shifts your perception."

"Well, then I'm safe, right?" He glanced over at Draco, who seemed to be getting irritated with a small, ratlike girl on his left. "I mean, really, we need all the interhouse loyalty we can get, and he and I mending our ways can only foster that."

Hermione wrinkled her nose, and then said exasperatedly, "Ron, you explain it to him!"

"I dunno, Hermione, I think he's right. The war is coming, and we all know it, and the Slytherins are the front line right now. You saw those two we pulled off the gates."

She stopped him, holding up a hand and shuddering. "Fine, fine. But I mean it about being careful. Subtle magics are often the most dangerous."

Her very significant look reminded him of the many things Voldemort had tried over the years to get to him, and he nodded once, slowly. "You're right, of course, I'm being a git. But at the same time, I think he deserves a real chance."

They all three let their eyes drift over to the Slytherin table, where Draco had his head bent over a scribbled roll of parchment in the hands of a third-year housemate. Harry's heart did a little hop when he ruffled the boy's hair before sending him back to his seat. It was obvious even from here that the boy was thanking Draco profusely for something, and once again Harry wondered just how wrong they'd all been when it came to Draco Malfoy. The real question was, was this kinder, gentler Draco the real person, or just a new, disarming mask?

Standing in the Potions classroom, alone with Draco Malfoy, Harry was reminded of a thousand different moments. The room was dark and empty, just a few candles lighting the station they'd commandeered for their work. "All right," said Draco, Harry's text in his lap, "What next?"

They were making one of the potions that was almost guaranteed to go on the NEWTs, Draco patiently explaining to Harry the things he didn't understand. Occasionally he'd even begin to wax passionate about the reasons why the arrowroot had to go in before the chopped bloodworms, or why it had to be dug up only during the New Moon. Harry was not only beginning to remember once again why he'd signed up for yet another year of Snape, but starting to see the real reason Snape and Draco got along so well.

"Er," said Harry, looking at the ingredients before him. He'd added this, and that... that was last, and that wasn't even in the potion, Draco had just wanted to make sure he could tell it from... "Tadpole tails?"

"Good, now do you know why?" asked Draco as Harry plopped them all into the thick, bubbling goo.

"Nope," said Harry cheerfully. He smiled to himself, carefully chopping the next few ingredients up and weighing them out as Draco launched into another tirade about associative magic.

They stayed up until after midnight, lying on their stomachs in Draco's bed, poring over one of Draco's old herbals. When Draco had made a comment concerning Harry's imminent detention for violating curfew yet again, Harry had just winked and said, "Naah, I've got a secret."

At one point, Harry noticed they'd scooted close enough that their entire bodies were touching, from shoulder to knee. Draco had his feet crossed at the ankle, almost hanging over the edge of the bed, but Harry's were up behind him, swinging gently back and forth. He'd looked over at some random comment and had the sharp urge to kiss the sharp curve of Draco's jaw, to see if his lips still tasted of that last blueberry fairy cake they'd shared only an hour ago.

He turned back to the herbal, abruptly aware of the line of heat along his side where they touched. His breathing had quickened, and things were starting to stir down below. "So," said Draco, noticing that he'd stopped reading to stare off into space. "What's this secret?"

Draco had asked at random intervals since Harry had brought it up, and this time was no different as Harry smiled and said, "You'll see."

Except this time, Draco rolled over onto his side, taking away his heat and making Harry shiver ever so slightly. "Last chance to tell," he said warningly, but Harry was too distracted to heed it, trying instead to quell the rush of feeling making his blood sing.

He almost fell out of bed when Draco pounced, agile hands finding his ribs and tickling him mercilessly. He laughed and wriggled and squirmed and tickled right back, all to no avail. In the end, he curled into a ball and begged for Draco to stop. "Tell me, or I'll break out the big guns," said Draco, towering on his knees where he was straddling Harry's legs to hold them still.

"Fine, fine," said Harry, still breathless. "Let me up and I'll show you."

Draco had glared, but moved, making it obvious with his every motion that he was doing so reluctantly. Harry snagged his book bag off the floor and dug under the blanket until he encountered the familiar cool fabric of his invisibility cloak. He stood up, then drew it out of the bag and threw it around his shoulders with a flourish worthy of, well, a Malfoy.

Draco let out a long, low whistle. "Where did a boy like you get a thing like that?" he asked, his tone almost flirtatious.

Harry pulled the cloak off again, smoothing the fabric through his hands absently. "It was my dad's," he said quietly.

"Ace," said Draco, leaning back on the bed and looking disturbingly sexy, his normally immaculate clothing and hair dishevelled from their tussle. Harry bit his lip, looking down at the cloth in his hands, trying not to let his thoughts show on his flushed face. Draco straightened his clothes and then rolled back into position on the bed, patting the space next to him. "Come on, we're almost done with this chapter. Then you can sneak back to your beloved Gryffindors."

Harry climbed back in, scooting close and wondering why he was suddenly curious what life might have been like if he'd been in Slytherin all these years.

They'd closed the book an hour ago, and were now lying on their sides, facing one another with barely a foot of space between them. Harry had repeatedly squashed the urge to play footsie, to lean in for a kiss, to roll over and pin Draco down and just grind until they both were breathless, and, hopefully, rather damp about the crotch. Instead, he concentrated very, er, well, very hard on not giving any of his bad thoughts away.

Eventually, silence fell, and they just lay there while the candles burned down, both staring into things the other couldn't see. "So, Harry, you say you're still pure as the driven snow," asked Draco, voice low and full of something Harry couldn't, or wouldn't, identify. "What exactly does that mean?"

"I'm almost positive you're familiar with the standards for virginity, Draco," said Harry crossly. He'd been entertaining a lovely fantasy of Draco shattering all those standards with him, and felt a bit like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"Well, yes, I'm pretty sure it means you've not fucked or been fucked, but I want to know... just how pure are you?" He leaned in, closing the gap between them ever so slightly, then reached over and laid a hand on Harry's hip.

Harry bit his lip and pretended to be considering the question while he worked to keep his breathing under control. Fortunately the red in his cheeks could easily be explained by the subject matter. "I've kissed a couple of girls. Um, no boys, though."

"Kissed, or snogged?" asked Draco, scooting closer. Harry swallowed.

"Er, what's the difference?" he asked, nervous. His sweater wasn't long or thick enough that Draco wouldn't immediately find out that Harry's thoughts had been less than pure, were he to get much closer.

"Kissing is just, y'know, a quick peck. Snogging is long, drawn out, with tongues and possibly marks left in interesting places." Draco's breath was hot and slightly sour, and Harry wanted to find what kinds of places he'd leave marks.

"Oh, just kissing, then," said Harry. "What about you?"

Draco flushed, but he seemed to realize that turnabout was, in fact, fair play. "I've done a bit of snogging, both boys and girls, in my time. I've, er, shagged a boy or two. Even made the mistake of shagging Pansy once," he gave an expressive shudder. "I am definitely not straight."

Harry tried not to, but he couldn't help it. He laughed. Draco's echoing laugh was edged with hysteria, as though he'd expected a different reaction, or a different question. Harry ended up with a hand on Draco's shoulder to steady himself, leaning in, head down, feeling Draco's breath on his ear. They were leaning drunkenly together, one hip and thigh touching, but the others still far apart enough to keep Harry's dirty little secret.

"So, no unicorn's tears for you, then," said Harry softly, and that set them off again. This time, Harry rolled onto his back, having been hit with a very strong urge to press his body into Draco's like they'd been glued. Draco curled up next to him, head on Harry's arm, hand on his stomach, one foot tangled with Harry's leg.

"How did you decide you weren't straight, Harry?" he asked softly, fingers plucking at Harry's sweater.

Harry blushed, and his pants gave a bit of an obvious twitch. "Er, well, I... I took your suggestion and, er, tested people out." He gave a flick of his wrist that got a snicker out of Draco.

"No longer relying on dreams?" Draco asked, his voice sounding far too innocent.

"I'm sure Dobby will be disappointed," said Harry, which broke them both. Harry's stomach hurt by the time they were done laughing, and he found himself cradling a gently panting Draco.

His body was far too interested in the situation, and he was starting to quietly panic. He was seventeen, and there was only so sodding much self-control that could be expected of him, and Draco's fingers straying up under the edge of his sweater was just about the last straw. "Draco?" he squeaked, then cleared his throat. "I should, er... It's late."

Draco looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, blinking slowly. "Yes, I suppose it is."

Harry braved a quick hug, which Draco responded to by burying his face in Harry's chest and gripping his hip rather alarmingly. When they parted, Harry was at least gratified to see that they were both looking a bit glazed. All this talk of snogging, and he wasn't the only one getting a bit distracted. "You know, Harry, I don't think we're enemies anymore," said Draco softly as Harry scooted off the bed.

Harry smiled gently. "That's what I've been saying all along."

Chapter 9
In Which We See the Dangers Inherent in Even the Most Blissful Ignorance

Ron was not, as Harry had half expected, waiting up when he finally made it back to Gryffindor Tower. Instead, he was waiting when Harry awoke, sitting patiently on his bed watching Harry sleep in a rather disconcerting way. "You're going to miss breakfast if you don't hurry," he said, an odd sort of smile on his face.

Harry got up, limbs heavy with exhaustion. He wasn't quite sure how late he'd got in, but he was definitely the last one to bed. He pulled on his clothes wearily, then got his books together and was vaguely ready to face the world. He was just about out the door when a thought occurred to him. "Ron," he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer, "Why are you being so sodding reasonable about all of this?"

Ron laughed. "I dunno, Harry. I guess... I realized that about all I've done is argue with you about every single choice you've made in the last two years." He shrugged. "Malfoy makes you smile."

Harry felt his cheeks pink, and his mouth turn up despite himself. "Yeah, he really does."

"I can't do that anymore," said Ron, turning to go down the stairs. Harry took this as a sign the conversation was over. Perhaps he'd see what Hermione thought.

He caught up with Ron at the bottom of the stairs, touched his shoulder so he turned. "Ron, I-" he started, but that seemed all wrong. Instead he just grinned like he'd been given his best friend back, and said, "Thanks."

Ron smiled back, then went on to breakfast without another word.

Harry and Ron barely got to breakfast in time to grab toast and leave for class, and something in him felt bereft that he'd missed Draco completely. They didn't have class together until the very end of the day, and Harry trudged to History of Magic with even less enthusiasm than usual. The day seemed to drag, worsened by the wind outside, which spent the morning gathering all of yesterday's fluffy clouds into one big iron-grey sky.

Lunch time found him standing in front of one of the tall windows in the foyer, watching his breath fog up the rain-streaked glass. The storm had broken just as Charms was letting out, lightning strobing the upper corridors, thunder rattling the paintings on the walls. Harry had spent most of both classes trying to find a way out of the corner he was slowly painting himself into.

Ron's easy acceptance of this new development wasn't helping, really, because the one question he'd been too scared to even think was just what, exactly, Ron thought was going on between him and Draco. Whatever Ron thought, Harry couldn't have honestly denied or confirmed it, because he had no real idea, either. Everything seemed like it was on fast forward, like he had to cram all the living he had left to him into the next four weeks, because then it would be too late.

He knew he was avoiding going into the Great Hall, seeing if Draco was there or not, feeling disappointed that they hadn't arranged another meeting. Not that he'd had the time to arrange one, mind you, or really been alone at all that Draco's owl could have slipped him a note, but logic was really not figuring largely in his current mood. No, unrequited lust didn't follow logic, especially when a part of him was beginning to hope that it might, some day, be requited.

Which, of course, begged the real question: Did he even want to become even further hopelessly, helplessly entangled with Draco sodding Malfoy? Even without considering the war and the fact that Draco might be ripped from his side and given to his father to be... Harry shuddered to think what he would be, if that were to happen. Even so, he wasn't sure that seven years of passionate hatred were really the best foundation for, well, passion.

Of course, looking at it that way, maybe there had been something there for a lot longer than either of them would admit. In his more optimistic moments, Harry saw the casual touches and indecipherable looks as a sign that Draco harbored a secret lust for Harry. Of course, then the pessimist in him would point out that Draco himself had said he enjoyed the feeling of power, of knowing that Harry wanted him and all the balls were in Draco's court.

He was just starting to get properly pink, thinking about balls and Draco in the same breath, when a voice behind him made him stiffen in much less pleasant ways. "Pining for me, Potter?"

Harry didn't even turn around, just brought his attention back enough that he could see Draco dimly reflected in the dark glass. "Just missing yesterday's sky," said Harry softly, unable to quell this painful honesty that rose in him whenever Draco was around.

Draco leaned into the window, putting himself as much into Harry's line of sight as possible without actually touching him. "I like the rain. I love the music of it."

Harry blinked. At moments like this, Draco seemed almost like two different people. "It's soothing when you're happy, but just makes sadness worse, like the sky is crying with you," said Harry, turning so his eyes met Draco's challenging gaze.

Draco snorted. "I can guess which you are now, Potter. Hasn't anyone ever told you that moping around like this is painfully self-indulgent?"

Harry flushed angrily for a moment, then something in Draco's eyes drained the anger away and left a smile behind. "That's much better. Now, are you coming in to lunch, or does your poetic tragedy require you to fast?"

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "You're insufferable, Draco." He paused for a moment, remembering what he'd just been moping about. "Er, I... after class..."

"My room?" said Draco lightly, and Harry was too relieved to wonder that Draco had agreed so easily.

"Meet you there," said Harry, turning to go into the common room. The foyer, when he looked, was full of people pointedly not looking at them. He and Draco shared an amused look, then Draco slung an arm around his shoulder and propelled him forcefully into the Great Hall.

"Remember, if they're talking about us, they're not panicking about You-Know-Who," he whispered as Harry started to pull away. He settled back into the crook of Draco's arm, feeling slightly guilty at just how glad he was for the excuse.

They had every eye in the place on them when they went in, and Harry whispered, "Should we sit together?"

Draco looked surprised, then said, "Naah, gotta save something for tomorrow."

They pulled apart almost reluctantly and went their separate ways. Harry didn't even need to hear the whispers to know that he, at least, was grinning more than a little evilly as he stalked over to where Ron and Hermione were consulting some ancient tome, and sending him odd little guilty glances. "Hey," said Harry casually, plopping down next to Ron. "You tell him about the potion?"

Their guilt deepened, and Harry's grin widened. "It's ok, Hermione. He needed to know, I guess." He filled his plate while they went back to the book, getting a few bites of food down before asking, "Did you find anything new?"

Hermione launched into some long-winded explanation about the properties of the ingredients and the nature of the spell. He wasn't really paying attention until she got to the part about the life of the dove hearts and how they'd keep the potion in his blood for three full days. "Wait, three days?"

Hermione nodded. "The potion works on you for 72 hours, and then it runs out, leaving your perception of the person in question forever changed."

Harry sat back in his chair, stunned. "So, if I'm still hot for him after class today, that's it, it's real?"

Ron's eyes grew wide. "You're hot for him?" he whispered loudly. Heads turned.

"Gee, Ron, I don't think the Hufflepuff table quite heard you," said Harry. "Yes, and I'm not so sure that it had anything to do with the potion. Apparently, I'm hot for Oliver Wood, too."

Ron looked like he might have apoplexy. "I thought it was a brotherly thing!" he said, hissing through his teeth to keep from shouting. "You never said you were a poof!"

Harry turned a bit pink. He hadn't really thought about it in those terms yet, having been rather distracted by the whole falling-in-love-with-Draco-Malfoy thing. "Er, I guess that would be one way of putting it," he said, blushing.

"Shirt lifter. Pillow biter. Bleeding ponce." His eyes grew a bit wilder with each epithet, and Harry started to get angry.

"Look, I didn't just up and decide one day, all right! I just... I realized that I haven't really fancied any girls since Cho, and when I let myself think about it, there were an awful lot of blokes I did fancy." Harry was whispering, too, and it seemed like everyone around them was straining to overhear them.

"But what about me?" said Ron suddenly, eyes narrowing.

"What about you? You've got the hots for Parvati, last I knew," said Harry, confused by the sudden change of subject.

Ron shook his head, still whispering. "No, no. I mean, d'you, y'know, fancy me at all?"

Harry blinked, suddenly feeling a bit more sympathy for Draco's reaction when stunned by such odd news. "Er..." He thought about it for a minute. Ron naked in the showers. Ron lying on his bed. Ron... "Er, no. No, I really think it'd be like you trying to fancy Ginny," he murmured finally, unable to suppress a deep shudder.

Ron looked for a moment like he might take offence, but then he laughed. "So I get the philia, then, and Malfoy gets the eros, eh?"

Harry blushed, glancing around at the students no longer even trying to pretend to eat. "Er, looks like it, yeah." He squirmed in his seat a bit, then gave in to his urge to be totally up front with this new, more understanding Ron. "Although, to be honest, he might prefer to switch with you. We, er, haven't quite worked that bit out yet."

"Well, you'll know tonight if it's lasting, whatever it is," said Hermione crossly, glaring indiscriminately at the people leaning in to catch their words. She raised her voice a bit and added, "Don't you people have lives?"

Harry and Ron sniggered with glee, watching everyone within earshot jump and begin their own, guilty conversations. "Hermione, you are just too cruel," scolded Ron, shaking a finger at her. Harry just tried to get his lunch down between bouts of laughter.

Harry still had Transfigurations with the Slytherins, so although Draco had already left by the time he, Ron and Hermione finally finished eating, Harry wasn't particularly worried. After all, they'd sat two desks away from one another for seven years. When they rounded the corner, though, Harry stopped, stunned, as Ron and Hermione continued into class, chattering obliviously.

Draco was leaning against the wall, smiling disarmingly down at a fifth-year Ravenclaw girl, who was blushing and clutching her notebook. He touched her gently on the shoulder and murmured something, and she nodded shyly. They stood there like that for a few long moments, talking too quietly for Harry to hear before she nodded again, this time more enthusiastically, and took off down the hall, presumably for her next class.

Draco turned to Harry and said, "You'll catch flies like that but not much else, Harry."

Harry closed his mouth with a snap, then advanced on Draco angrily. "What are you up to, Malfoy? I thought you didn't go for her sort."

Surprise washed over Draco's features, leaving behind an odd little smile. "Well, evidently orientation isn't the only reason you've stayed pure, Potter, as you obviously know nothing at all about women."

"What are you on about? You're either a liar, or you're just leading her on." He was confused, jealous, angry and ever so slightly aroused by how close they were standing, and it wasn't improving his mood at all.

"Sometimes, Harry, they aren't interested in actually getting the prize so much as in feeling like they're worthy of the prize." More students filed past them into the classroom, and Draco's smile faltered a little, as though unused to being let out in such public circumstances.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he retorted grumpily.

Draco sighed, then leaned against the wall, head back, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. "It's just... she doesn't really want to date me or marry me or even snog me. She just wanted to feel like she was attractive, so I obliged her."

"Oh," said Harry. "I s'pose you do that a lot, then."

"Only with girls," said Draco, little smile firmly in place once again as he shoved off the wall and took a few steps towards the Transfiguration classroom. "Coming?"

Harry followed, still bewildered but oddly reassured. Just the fact that Draco had taken the time to try and sort things out was worth a lot more than a casual touch and a smile, really, even if the girl had designs on Draco's body. Which, Harry was coming to realize, he now thought of as his exclusive territory. He shook his head, laughing at himself as he sat next to Ron. He was being awfully presumptuous, really, all things considered.

An accident in Herbology left Harry covered in dirt and fine, sticky pollen. He trudged through the rain back towards the castle, dismayed to find that the addition of water was turning the whole mess into a film of something horrid all over his skin and clothes. He'd have to scrub for an hour to get it off, and he just knew he'd end up with some stuck to that patch between his shoulder blades that he never could seem to reach.

He was so intent on his own misery that it took a moment to register that there was someone speaking to him. "Having a bit of difficulty, are we, Harry?" drawled a familiar voice, and Harry turned to see Draco lounging against the same window as earlier.

He remembered their meeting, and trailed over gloomily, careful not to get any of the sticky mess on Draco's immaculate clothing. He grunted in reply, unwilling to explain the series of inattention-related events that had resulted in his current state.

Draco grinned at him, then said, "Well, come on, then. The prefect's bathroom is much better equipped to de-sliming you. I'll even bring you a change of clothing while you bathe."

Harry eyed Draco with something like suspicion. "Er, thanks. But... why?"

Draco's eyes twinkled with mirth as he explained, "Well, I can't have you in my room looking like that, now can I?"

He'd said it just loudly enough that heads all around them turned, and a forest of whispers sprang up around them. "I wouldn't want to mess up your perfect bed, now would I?" Harry replied, feeling slightly vindictive.

Draco lowered his voice to a purr and said, "I'm sure you would."

Harry blushed.

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the bathroom. Draco whispered, "Mandrake," and the painting swung open, revealing the familiar tiled room with its deep, many-fauceted tub.

Rather than leaving right away as Harry had expected, Draco stalked into the room after him, turning on half a dozen taps, bringing over towels and washcloths, and generally fussing about while Harry stood in the middle of the floor, dripping rather impatiently. "Aren't you going?" said Harry a bit crossly, as he was starting to suspect he'd have to peel the clothing off his skin if it was allowed to dry on.

"Shy, Harry? I've seen it all before remember," said Draco teasingly, and Harry blushed, remembering as well.

He finally just shrugged and began trying to unstick the individual clothing items from one another, at least enough to get them off his body. Draco looked amused for a moment, then stalked over and began to cast small cleaning charms on him. Between Harry's struggling and Draco's magic, they managed to get Harry naked before he'd even really had time to get embarrassed.

Of course, as soon as he was naked, his body reminded him with a jolt that he was, once again, naked in a room with a completely clothed Draco Malfoy. "You know," said Harry, sliding into the tub so at least his more obvious reactions were hidden under the foam, "I'm starting to think you enjoy having me prance around naked while you've still got clothes on."

Draco just smiled and shrugged enigmatically. "Well, now that you're settled, I'll go get the clothes." His eyes were twinkling enough that Harry was beginning to worry.

"Nothing too... y'know, trade," said Harry warningly. "We've still got to go down to dinner, after all."

"Would I do that to you?" said Draco innocently, slipping out of the portrait before Harry could reply.

Harry sighed deeply, then grabbed some soap and a wash rag and began scrubbing vigorously. Whatever Draco had put in the water seemed to be helping a great deal, and the stuff flaked off in big chunks to swirl away into the water. Harry managed to get pretty much everywhere except the one spot on his back, and the one bit he'd been somewhat afraid of touching with the way nudity and Draco combined had made him feel.

He glanced towards the door, then shrugged and wrapped a hand around himself. Very little of the goo had made it this far, but the slick soap felt so good against his sensitive skin. He leaned his head back against the rim of the tub and let his body sort of float, legs spread, hips raised and toes just touching the bottom. The water felt almost slippery around him, as though whatever made up the mounds of thick white, blue and green foam was dissolving into it.

He thought about how Draco had looked at him that first night, about how Draco might look in nothing but the shoulderless robes he'd put on Harry, rising hard and ready out of a nest of pale curls, framed by black velvet. Harry's hands moved of their own accord, stroking, cupping, touching. Exploring further back than he had before, visions of Draco's anatomy and just what he might want to do with it guiding Harry's fingers to his own entrance.

A part of his mind was telling him that now was not the time, that Draco might walk in any moment and see him moving under the bubbles, might hear him moaning Draco's name like a prayer. That part was not what guided his middle finger to slide inside, surprising himself with a new pleasure. He arched his back, raising up out of the water, trying to get more of his finger inside. He added another, then a third, moving them in time to the now-frantic stroking of his other hand.

A change in the air made him open his eyes, and he cried out the name that went with silvery grey eyes wide with surprise, dark with lust. "Draco!"

He fell back into the water with a splash, limbs twitching, helpless in the grip of release. When he turned back, Draco was gone, a small pile of clothing on one of the benches the only sign that he'd really been there at all. Harry had no idea how much Draco had really seen through the thick foam, but he was pretty sure that it was obvious just what Harry had been up to. He put his head in his hands and tried to think of a way out of this mess.

His head snapped back up immediately when he realized one very important fact. If Hermione was right, the potion had run out sometime during Herbology. What he'd just done was embarrassing, mortifying, yes, but it wasn't because of magic. It had been simple teenage lust, and nothing more. He leapt out of the water, dried off hastily and slid into the clothes Draco had brought, barely paying them any attention, other than to mutter the fitting charm.

Draco didn't know the potion was going to wear off tonight, Harry had never gotten a chance to tell him. He left his old clothes on the floor, only stopping to grab his wand from the pile and give it a quick wash. He hurried determinedly down to Draco's room, vowing that he'd wait outside all night if he had to, just so long as he'd be allowed to explain.

Chapter 10
In Which We Learn That While Honesty Is the Best Policy,
a Little Pretense Never Hurts

Draco's door was slightly ajar when Harry reached it, much to his surprise. He heard voices drifting out, low and high, and had a sudden, painful flash of Draco, alone in his room, with that fifth-year Ravenclaw bint. He suppressed the sudden urge to curse her into next week, and instead knocked loudly on the door, saying, "Draco? Are you in here?"

"Come in, Pot - er, Harry," he called out, and Harry opened the door on the last scene he ever thought he'd see. Draco was perched on the bed, with Hermione leaning near him, holding a book, and Ron sitting in the single chair looking as out of place as possible. "Sorry I didn't stick around earlier, but as you can see, I've got guests."

Something in his voice told Harry that there was more going on than meets the eye. "I can see that. Er, why?" he asked, looking from Ron to Hermione, avoiding Draco's eyes in a vain attempt to keep from blushing.

Ron snorted derisively, playing with the edge of his robes. "Don't ask me, Hermione's the one insisted we talk to Draco." He looked up, and his eyes went wide as saucers. "Harry, what the bloody hell are you wearing?"

Harry looked down at himself, and the outfit finally registered. There had been no underwear, which he thought was an oversight until he'd put on the black leather pants and found they laced down both sides, leaving several inches of flesh visible from low-slung waistband to where they disappeared into the calf-high boots. He'd been so distracted he hadn't even cared, just used the fitting spell to tighten the laces and moved on.

The top was one of those fluffy renaissance things, with sleeves gathered at his upper arm, just below the elbow, and wrist. It was made of green silk, edged with silver, and hung down low enough to cover the green lacings over the crotch of the pants, which was about all he'd cared about at the time. It left a swath of his chest bare, and kept falling off of one shoulder when he moved around too much.

Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Ask Draco," he said finally, waving his arm in the general direction of the bed.

"You look like a rock star," said Hermione wonderingly, and Harry's cheeks pinked further.

"Yes, Harry, the colours quite suit you," drawled Draco, and Harry turned to see him smirking, his face fallen into the old familiar mask.

"Well, I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time I'm trying to dress up like a rent boy," he said, snarling slightly. He had a sudden vision of startled faces as he'd hurried through the halls, and a vague memory of someone whistling.

Hermione tore her eyes away and brandished the book instead. "Look, Harry, I found out a bit more about the potion. The hearts keep it in your blood for three days, like I said, but the unicorn's tears," she stammered slightly, blushing, "um, they've got an extra sort of, er, potency if the drinker is, er, pure."

Harry blinked, confused. "What?"

"She means, we're not out of the woods yet, because you won't go and just bloody get shagged," said Draco loftily.

Harry glared. "Well, not much chance of that, is there?"

"All right," said Ron, levering himself up out of the chair. "Harry, I'll bring you some real clothes while you three talk this out." He glanced over at Draco and gave a slight shudder. "There's only so much talk of shagging and Malfoy I can take."

Harry thought he might hug Ron. Instead he just grinned and said, "Yeah, thanks, please."

Ron left quickly, shutting the door behind him. Harry turned to Hermione and Draco. "Just how long does this other effect last?"

"I haven't quite figured that part out yet, which is why I came by to warn you. I figured you were planning on telling Draco that the compulsion from the potion was gone, and I just... wanted to warn you. Because I think there's something in here about losing one's purity to the object of the spell, but I can't quite figure it out. I'm going to have to ask Snape."

Harry choked slightly, eyes bugging out. "Please don't tell Snape you're worried I'll shag Draco!" He didn't quite yell, but it was a close thing.

"Well, how was I to know that, the way you two have been carrying on? Honestly, Harry, reading out on the lawn with his head in your lap?" She gathered her things up and brushed past him, reaching for the door. "I'll leave you two to do whatever non-shagging activity you had planned, alone in Draco's private bedroom dressed like that, and let you know when I find anything else."

She stalked out, taking exaggerated care not to slam the door behind her. Harry turned back around to find Draco lounging on the bed, expression unreadable. He was wearing a pair of white pants remarkably similar to Harry's, except the sides were held together with straps and silver buckles. He was wearing a white shirt, again much like Harry's, only edged with gold. Harry had the sudden urge to lick his chest, and he shivered. "I... I'm sorry about..."

Draco waved his hand negligently. "Apology accepted," he said with a snicker. "Speaking of which, I thought you said you didn't..." Draco made the gesture with which Harry was now becoming intimately familiar, and he had to close his eyes against the image of Draco doing that particular activity with Harry's name on his lips.

Harry blushed deeply, and then said, "Well, I've been, er, recently inspired."

"Oh, really." Draco was grinning at him, eyes twinkling. "That was some pretty serious inspiration you had going, from what little I could see through the bubbles."

Harry blushed deeper. "Look, could we never, ever talk about this again? If you're not angry with me, I'd prefer to let it vanish into the list of horribly embarrassing things I've done in my youth as quickly as possible."

Draco laughed. "How about I only tease you where no one else can hear?"

Harry sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Ron had returned with some of Harry's newly-resized clothing just in time for the three of them to go down to dinner. He'd blushed bright red when Harry had casually stripped off the shirt and tossed it on Draco's bed, revealing the green-laced codpiece and extremely low cut of the pants. Draco, of course, had whistled from his vantage point, and offered to put a Galleon in Harry's shorts. Harry had glared and finished changing as quickly as possible.

He would never, ever admit to anyone, especially not Draco, that he'd kind of enjoyed the feeling of the leather hugging his legs and other body parts, that he'd felt sexy and desirable with the peek-a-boo lacing down the sides. Back in his own grey sweatshirt and worn jeans, he felt more like an awkward little boy than a rock star. "Why do you even own these clothes?" Ron had asked Draco, back to where Harry was working the front laces free.

"Just because you Gryffindors have no social life doesn't mean I don't," said Draco haughtily, snatching up the clothes and putting them away. "I'll have to resize them now, Harry, why'd you have to be so short?"

Harry had grinned at him, sliding the sweatshirt on and slipping into his worn shoes. "Better than being a beanpole like you."

"Hey, I resemble that remark!" said Ron, who was an inch taller than Draco.

Harry snickered, then left. "I'll have to see if the house elves can clean my other stuff," he said despondently. The shoes were last year's, and falling apart.

"Harry, why don't we go shopping on Saturday?" said Draco suddenly. "I mean, it's the last Hogsmeade weekend, and the ancients know you need new clothes. Your parents left you a pile, let's spend some of it!"

"Er, sure." He blushed, remembering. "But, er... the other Gryffindors, they made me promise..."

Draco looked confused. "What?"

Ron snickered. "He's got to wear that getup you put him in, with the white pants."

Draco and Ron both erupted into gales of laughter at Harry's glower. Harry glared further, which served only to spur them to greater hysteria. They were practically leaning on one another when they entered the Great Hall, and once again became the centre of attention. Harry split off from them, still grouching, and Ron followed quickly, although not after delivering a hearty slap to Draco's back.

Ron and Draco together seemed to confuse everyone even more than Harry and Draco had. Harry smiled grimly as he thought of the rumours that would go around now. "They're all going to think you stole my boyfriend," Harry whispered to Ron, waiting until he had a mouthful of pumpkin juice.

He smiled in grim revenge as he handed his choking friend a napkin.

The rest of the week went by quickly, and much the same. He, Ron, Hermione and Draco even did some studying together, and he caught Ron and Draco acting like they were actually friends more than once. Hermione made little progress on the potion, having been asked to research something much more pressing for Dumbledore. Quidditch practice was both a pleasure and a torment, as he worried about next week's match. He wasn't looking forward to playing against Slytherin anymore.

He wasn't getting a lot of sleep, but he felt it was worth it to spend the long evenings side by side on the bed, with Draco tutoring Harry in Potions, or Harry helping Draco out with Herbology. His invisibility cloak was now constantly stored in the bottom of his school bag. They spent their afternoons outside in their spot, or in the library when it was raining on Tuesday, joined by Harry's friends twice, and even Crabbe and Goyle once.

The house elves had managed to get the pollen gunk out of everything, even the shoes, and Harry had thanked them profusely when he found the neat bundle at the foot of his bed. Even his Herbology notes had survived. When Draco and Harry showed up together for Double Potions on Friday, Snape had glowered warningly and taken points from Gryffindor when Harry sneezed. Twice.

Snape had been even more annoyed when Harry not only got the potion right this time, but answered every single question put to him correctly. "Finally learning to pay attention after all these years, Potter," had been his only remark.

When they left potions that day, Harry was been in an unconscionably good mood. Snape had only taken ten points total from him, and had been thoroughly disgruntled at not being able to find any reason to take more. "What should we do now?" he asked Draco, grinning happily.

"I don't have practice and neither do you," said Draco, pondering. "I don't think I could bear another round of studying."

"Tonight's when we decided the three of us are going to sit with you at dinner," added Harry thoughtfully. "So we can't skip that." They'd all agreed that the Slytherins needed the ego boost of Harry coming to them much more than the Gryffindors did. Even Harry was starting to see that, of all the houses, Slytherin was suffering the most from the war.

"I can't take you to the Slytherin common room," said Draco, and Harry nodded his agreement. There had been some rather murderous talk about the Gryffindors trying to steal their leader away from them.

"We could visit Hagrid?" said Harry doubtfully. He'd seen the way Draco reacted to the half-giant, and hadn't been at all sure that that was a fence he could mend.

"Visit Hagrid?" said Draco, a bit panicky sounding. "Why on earth would you do that?"

"He's my friend?" said Harry, starting to grin. "Come on," he said, grabbing Draco's elbow and dragging him towards the doors. "You'll love him once you get to know him."

Or at least, thought Harry privately, it'd be great fun to watch.

He'd somehow ended up with his fingers laced through Draco's as he dragged the reluctant Slytherin towards Hagrid's hut. Smoke was rising gently from the chimney, so Harry figured he was probably in, and he held Draco's hand tightly as he knocked on the door. Hagrid raised one bushy eyebrow at their clasped hands, then said, "Harry! Good ter see yeh. Come in, come in."

Harry dragged Draco over the threshold and into the warm, dim interior. "Jus' doin' a bit o' whittlin', don' mind the mess," said Hagrid, motioning them to take seats at the table, which was covered in wood shavings and odd little objects. "Tea?"

"Sure," said Harry.

"Eh, sure," said Draco, after Harry nudged him gently.

"So, er, yer two bin getting' along, then?" asked Hagrid, eyes flickering down to where Harry's hand still held Draco's in a death grip. He turned, suddenly uncomfortable, and busied himself making the tea.

"We finally realized we had more in common than we thought," Harry replied, sitting. He loosened his grip but was reluctant to let go entirely, and he smiled when Draco seemed content to just hold hands under the table.

"Don' git a lot o' yer, eh, special friends at Hogwarts," said Hagrid, prodding the fire impatiently.

This time it was Draco who answered, "Well, not to deny that I'm a ponce or anything, but we're not quite there yet. He's just holding onto me so I don't bolt."

Harry snickered, and squeezed Draco's hand. "We're just friends, Hagrid. Draco was a little worried about coming to see you. Seeing as he's been a right bastard to you and all."

Hagrid snorted, then turned back, kettle in hand. "Water under th'bridge, I s'pose, Malfoy. Can't go holdin' grudges with a war on."

A look of shock fluttered over Draco's features, followed by a number of other things and ending on a very surprised smile. "I'm not sure I deserve it, but thank you."

"Bah," said Hagrid, pouring water into the teapot. "I've seen th'way ye are wit' yer classmates, Malfoy. I t'ought you were a bad'un once, but I've seen yer bein' good when yer thought none of us was lookin'."

Draco didn't seem to know what to say to that, instead turning a delicate shade of pink. "Exactly," said Harry for him, watching amusedly as the pink climbed all the way to the tips of his ears.

Everything went smoothly after that, discussion ranging through the little wooden totems he was making for the garden gnomes, Harry's grades and the upcoming Quidditch match. They spent a congenial hour talking about nothing important at all, carefully avoiding any talk of Voldemort or the war. Draco even shook Hagrid's hand as they left for their momentous dinner, after warning Hagrid of their plan for Gryffindors to eat dinner with Slytherins. In public!

As usual, all eyes were on them when they entered the Great Hall, Harry and Draco in front, and Ron and Hermione trailing behind, looking a bit apprehensive. A quick glance showed that Crabbe and Goyle had done their part, and there were four empty chairs between them at the Slytherin table instead of the usual one. They didn't even pause, just turning as a group and heading together to the waiting seats. The roar of whispers was practically deafening as they sat, Ron next to Goyle, then Harry, Draco, Hermione and Crabbe on the other end.

Across from them were the rather startled faces of Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and all the rest of the Slytherin seventh years. Draco ignored it all, his arrogant mask firmly in place as he began filling his plate with food from the table. Harry, Ron and Hermione took their cues from him, acting as though every single person in the Hall was not, in fact, staring at them in some combination of shock, disbelief and horror. "The chicken is quite good tonight, don't you think, Potter?"

"Yes, and I think the potatoes really complement it, Malfoy," said Harry. They'd planned this somewhat, agreeing to keep their conversation to safe topics like food, weather and homework.

"Did you finish that essay for Transfigurations?" asked Hermione, nibbling nervously on a roll.

"I've got about two inches to go," said Harry, which seemed to make both Draco and, oddly enough, Blaise, briefly choke on their food.

"I've barely started it," said Ron gloomily. "Harry, you'll help me out, right?"

"I-I could help you, Ron," said one of the Slytherin girls shyly. It was Eloise Midgen, whose acne seemed to be finally clearing up, and Harry was amused to see Ron go rather pink around the edges.

"Er, sure. I mean, er... yeah. Tonight after dinner?" Ron stuttered.

Eloise smiled. "All right. Meet me in the library?"

"Er, yeah." Ron immediately went back to his food, trying very unsuccessfully to hide his blushes behind his potatoes.

"Way to go," whispered Harry, and Ron's ears went a shade darker.

"How about that Potions project?" asked Blaise, eyeing not Hermione, but Harry. "I'm almost done with mine, how are you doing, Harry?"

Harry flicked his eyes from Draco to Blaise, confused by the sudden hardness in Draco's features. "Er, I... Draco's been helping me, we're supposed to finish up tonight, I think."

Blaise raised one sculpted eyebrow and said, "Oh, really?"

"We couldn't have the boy hero of the wizarding world go and poison himself again by accident, now could we," said Draco dismissively. There was something tight in the line of his shoulders, a tension that made Harry ache for the simplicity of just the two of them. But this wasn't just about them.

"Yeah, everyone knows I'm crap at Potions, 'cos I don't pay attention," said Harry, and the Slytherins around him now ranged from shocked to intrigued. "Draco's been helping me study for my NEWTs."

"How... magnanimous of you, Draco," said Blaise. There was an odd edge to his voice that was making Harry's hackles rise. "So those were study picnics on the lawn, then?"

Draco kicked him in the ankle before he could reply, so he kept his mouth shut as Draco drawled, "You didn't expect me to bring him to the Slytherin common room, did you?"

"You seemed awfully cosy for studying, if you ask me," mumbled Blaise, somewhat bitterly.

"I wasn't aware my studying habits were under your supervision," said Draco, as coldly as he'd ever spoken, even to Harry.

"Just give it up, Blaise. We all know he's only had eyes for the Boy Who Lived ever since first year," said Pansy, equally bitter and cold.

Harry blinked, then continued eating, unwilling to risk even considering a comeback to that. Evidently Draco also felt it best not to dignify it with a response, instead taking a swig of juice and turning to Hermione to discuss alternatives to expensive or rare ingredients in potions that would be useful for the war. Which turned talk all around them to the war, and oddly enough no one at all seemed to think that they'd be happy about the outcome.

"Er, none of you are, y'know, itching to join with the dark forces and all that?" said Ron finally, after Goyle and Blaise had brought up their plans for not being kidnapped.

Everyone turned to Ron like he'd just grown a second head. Finally it was Eloise who spoke. "Why would we want to serve someone who'll nail you to a gate if you don't toe the line?"

"Not to mention the rest," added Blaise with an oddly delicate shudder. "We heard what was done to those boys."

A much less delicate shudder ran through Draco, and Harry spared a quick glance to see his eyes had an unpleasantly glassy look. Harry slid his foot over until it contacted Draco's, then scooted until as much of their legs were touching as possible. "That's not exactly good dinner conversation," said Harry. "You're making Ron lose his appetite."

Everyone laughed when Ron looked up at his name from where he'd been shovelling food into his mouth, oblivious. The conversation moved on to safer topics, mostly NEWTs this time, and everyone's worries about them. "I don't even know why we're taking them, if we're just going to be fodder for You-Know-Who," said Pansy under her breath, but thankfully no one paid her any mind.

Harry finished up as quickly as possible after that, intent on getting Draco somewhere private. He might not be ready to admit he knew Draco's big secret, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from acting like a real friend when that was so obviously what Draco really needed. "Let's get out of here," he murmured, giving Draco's sleeve a tug.

Draco blinked once, twice, then looked down at his cooling food with distaste. "Yes, let's," he whispered, then raised his voice. "I think it's time to go finish up with Transfigurations, don't you Potter?"

Harry couldn't resist getting in a little jab at Blaise, so as he rose he said blandly, "I'm all yours, Malfoy."

Ron and Hermione joined them out in the foyer a minute later. Hermione was shaking her head, grinning. "Oh, Harry, you're mean! Poor Blaise just about had a fit when you said that."

"You've just got all the boys after you, don't you, Malfoy," said Ron, sniggering.

"You two can just stop," said Draco mildly. Just getting him out of everyone's scrutiny seemed to have been enough to revive him.

"So, what now?" Harry asked the group in general, before they could start up teasing Draco in earnest.

"Well, obviously, I will actually be doing my Transfigurations homework," said Ron, with a strange mix of ruefulness and enthusiasm.

"I've got to finish researching those ingredients for Dumbledore, and I'd like to look into that potion you made as well, finally," put in Hermione briskly. She snagged Ron and the two of them went off towards Gryffindor Tower, presumably to get their books.

"Well, then, Draco, I guess I am all yours," said Harry, grinning. "Unless, of course, you'd like some alone time with Blaise."

Draco gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. "Let's go snag some dessert from the house elves. I need chocolate to fortify me!"

"You always need chocolate, Draco," said Harry grinning. "Let me go grab some things from the Tower and I'll meet you in your room, all right?"

"Sure," said Draco. He paused, looking like he might say something else, and Harry was struck with a strong urge to run soft fingers down his cheek. He'd even raised his hand partway before he realized it, so instead he took a quick glance around, then gave Draco's fingers a quick squeeze. "Don't worry," he said quietly, "It's me that Dobby's got a crush on, remember?"

Draco's laughter followed him out of the room.

Chapter 11
In Which We See the Aforementioned Principals of Fashion Applied to Life

Harry woke up slowly, confused. His feet were freezing, but the rest of him felt sweaty, overheated, and his blanket seemed heavy and awkward. He realized first that he was still wearing his clothes, and his lack of socks or shoes was what was making his feet so cold. Then he realized that he was on top of the comforter, and that it was not, in fact, his comforter. He blinked a few times, then looked down to confirm his next suspicion.

He was not, as he had supposed, underneath any blankets at all. Instead, a head of blond hair was pressed into the curve of his shoulder, with a silk-clad arm draped across his waist, and long legs tangled with his own. His arms were wrapped around Draco in a disturbingly natural-seeming way, one hand on his shoulder, the other tracing unconscious patterns on Draco's flank. He blushed as he realized just what, exactly, was digging into his hip.

He vaguely remembered drifting off, with Draco poking him and sleepily teasing that their reputations would never survive if Harry spent the night. Evidently Draco had fallen asleep soon after, and Harry could only wonder if the cuddling had commenced before or after Draco had lost consciousness. He shifted slightly, his anatomy rather uncomfortably positioned for waking up first thing in the morning to an armful of lovely boy, and wondered if he could get out of it without disturbing Draco.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up," said a soft, sleepy voice.

"Oh! I... you're awake," Harry replied, figuring his lack of anything resembling an intelligent response could be explained away by having just woken up.

Draco shifted, moving not away but closer. "You know," said Draco quietly, "That's the first time I've slept through the night since we found them."

Harry's arms tightened. "I'd stay every night if I could keep you from bad dreams," he whispered, giving in to the urge to rub his cheek against Draco's soft hair.

"I think eventually one of the Professors would figure us out," he said with a snort. "And I don't even want to imagine being told off by Snape and McGonagall for this." Draco was pulling away now, and Harry forced himself to let go.

"Next time, can we at least use the covers? My feet are freezing," complained Harry good-naturedly. He lay still as Draco crawled off the bed and padded over to the wardrobe. He hardly dared to breathe when Draco began peeling out of yesterday's clothing, revealing pale white skin crisscrossed with even whiter scars.

"You're allowed to ask," said Draco evenly as he dropped his pants, bending over to scoop everything up and tossing it into the small hamper wedged in the corner between night table and wardrobe, and giving Harry a view that would fuel his private moments for quite awhile. Right now, it just made him ache to see more white scars running over such tender flesh.

"They match the kids we found," said Harry, heart pounding in his chest for a hundred reasons.

"My father's handiwork," said Draco softly, bitterly. He stood, naked, vulnerable, with his back to Harry, tension holding his frame taut as a wire. "I was eleven. He caught me kissing another boy, at my birthday party. It..." he stopped, took a deep breath. "It was the last time he ever touched me, for any reason."

Harry slid off the bed quietly, laid a hand on Draco's shoulder, offering, asking. Draco turned, crumpled into Harry's embrace and sobbed quietly. "They were a message to me, Harry. He remembered every single thing he'd done to me, and did it to them just before they were sent back."

"I will protect you from him, Draco," said Harry softly. It was a vow, a promise. No matter what happened, he would not allow Lucius to have his son back for such a purpose. "I'll keep you safe."

Draco stayed in his arms for a long time, and Harry wondered if Draco ever had someone to hold him like this while he cried. "I'm sorry I wasn't your friend, before," said Harry softly, when Draco had quieted down to intermittent sniffles.

"It's all right," said Draco, smiling through a tear-streaked face as he pulled away just enough to look Harry in the eye. "I was such a prat back then, I can't really blame you."

They both laughed, and the moment slid away like the sun going under a cloud, leaving them quiet and a bit unsure. "You know," said Harry with an exaggerated leer, "This wasn't how I pictured it going the first time I got you naked."

Draco laughed and pulled away, giving Harry a shove on the shoulder. "Get dressed, you perv, we've got shopping to do!"

Harry went and dug through his bag. He'd brought "the outfit" on the off chance they stayed up all night. He waited until Draco had at least some underpants on before shedding his own clothing, figuring that the two of them simultaneously naked in the same room might cause something to short out in his brain. The underpants were no easier to lace over an erection this time than last time, and Draco was tossing impatient comments at him by the time he'd managed to get the bottom half of the outfit on.

"Christ, Harry, am I going to have to dress you myself next, er, time?" Draco had been grumping when Harry turned, wearing boots and white pants with his chest completely bare. He was having trouble keeping himself tucked below the waistband of the pants, and Draco's eyes grew wide and his cheeks pink as he spied the reason for Harry's delay.

"Unless you've got a suggestion for how to deal with this difficulty, I'm going to need a few moments alone to take care of it," snapped Harry grouchily, throwing on the robe and starting to work on the buttons.

"I, er..." said Draco, and Harry smiled inwardly that he'd finally managed to disconcert him. "I'll just go down to breakfast and wait, then, shall I?"

Harry laughed as Draco's face reddened charmingly. "I promise not to make a mess on your lovely comforter," said Harry teasingly, and Draco went even pinker.

"You're going to..." he made the gesture, much dirtier-looking than elegant this time. "In here?"

"Where else am I going to have a moment to myself?" said Harry, grinning evilly this time. "Unless you've got another suggestion..."

"I'll... er..." Draco scooted out the door in record time. "See you at breakfast!" he called as he disappeared.

Harry chuckled. He figured his plan would backfire once Draco had recovered his poise and realized he could now tease Harry about the whole affair, but it was worth it to watch Draco's panicked reaction. He finished the buttons on the coat, but elected to leave the sleeves off until after he'd taken care of his rather pressing issue. He grabbed his discarded t-shirt, and slid the pants down to his thighs, wiping away the slick puddle on his belly.

He unlaced enough to get a good grip, and summoned up the image of Draco bent over, imagined the things Harry could do with him in that position. After that, it didn't take long. In fact, it took longer to get his sleeves on properly than it had to relieve his morning, er, tension, which made him worry for the future of a day wearing these pants in public, with Draco at his side.

He shrugged and headed down to breakfast, figuring it'd work itself out, or a detailed description of his assets would end up, complete with photo, in next week's Witch Weekly. Either way, he was doomed to endless teasing.

Draco was lounging in the dungeon corridor just off the Great Hall. "Finished tossing off?" he asked, smirking. "I wasn't sure if we were still planning on shocking the Gryffindors with a snake in their midst," he added, to explain why he'd waited.

"I think we'd better, if only to keep them off my clothing for a bit," said Harry moodily, suddenly aware that he'd have to wear the outfit into the Great Hall in about two seconds. Draco was wearing the white leather pants and boots from last night, topped this time with a huge, fluffy white cashmere sweater with silvery grey snakes twining around the base. "Er, aren't you going to be cold?" he asked, giving Draco a poke in the hip.

"The sacrifices we make for fashion," he said lightly. "That, and a warming spell on the pants. There's a matching top, but I figured you might have a stroke," he added, snickering.

Draco linked his arm into Harry's and dragged him into the Great Hall, not even bothering to pause at the collective gasp their appearance caused before dragging them over to the Gryffindor table, to sit between Ron and Hermione. "I thought you two would never show up!" said Hermione, winking at Harry.

"We fell asleep," said Harry, glaring, and Ron snorted his juice. "We did!"

"I'll believe it when Draco confirms it," said Hermione. "I'd hoped you'd manage to at least wait until I finished my research, you know."

"As much as I'd like to lay claim to Potter's virtue," said Draco softly, "I'm afraid it's still intact. We really did just fall asleep."

"Not even snogging?" said Ron, rather too loudly.

"Tragically, no," said Harry, glaring at everyone around him equally. Parvati and Lavender were making their way over towards him, grinning fit to burst.

"You got him to wear it!" said Parvati, giving Draco a nervous little hug that left Draco rather speechless.

"You're the ones that made me promise," said Harry, pouting. "At least his has buckles," he added, pointing to Draco's pants below the table line.

"Ooh, let us see!" said Lavender, tugging on Draco's chair. Everyone was staring already, so Harry stood up and held out his hand. "We might as well, everyone's dying for another look."

Draco glared, but complied. They stood and both did a slow twirl, Harry turning a bright pink when he caught the eyes of his teachers on him. Snape looked sour as usual, but McGonagall looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh, and Dumbledore was grinning and saying rather loudly, "Perhaps I shall have to get Malfoy to pick out my next set of robes, eh, Minerva?"

"I'll get you for this, Harry," hissed Draco as they sat down again.

"I certainly hope so," said Harry mildly, nibbling on his toast. Evidently, he mused, once you got to a certain point of utter public humiliation, you just got over yourself. He winked at Draco, who spluttered a bit before turning back to his porridge.

The rest of breakfast went relatively uneventfully, and they all left for Hogsmeade in good cheer, Draco with Crabbe and Goyle in tow, Harry with Ron, Hermione and, of all people, Eloise Midgen. Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom attached themselves to the group as they were leaving, and off they went.

Their first stop was at Honeydukes, where Harry put in a clandestine order for a rather large number of chocolate frogs to be delivered to Hogwarts. If he was going to keep hanging around with Draco, he'd need a special stash. In the meantime, he got an assortment of other chocolates for them to try later tonight, including one box that he was sure would make Draco blush -- little chocolate fairies with cinnamon spice filling, and a dusting of sugar crystals that glittered when their wings flapped.

When they finally left, Draco also had a small bag of candy, which he refused to share or even divulge the contents of. Most of the group drifted off in twos and threes, Ron and Eloise going off for an ice cream, Hermione with Luna and Neville muttering something about Dervish and Banges. Crabbe and Goyle headed straight for Zonko's, much to everyone's amusement, and Draco practically dragged Harry into the clothier's. They all agreed to meet back at the Three Broomsticks in a few hours.

Harry had only actually been inside Gladrags once before, and he was intimidated by the whole affair. Understated cubbies full of elegant robes lined the pale cream-coloured room, while a completely eccentric assortment of hats adorned the hat-tree rotating slowly in the centre. A witch in a set of simple mauve robes was gliding towards them with a look of professional welcome on her face. "Why, Master Malfoy, so good to see you again!"

She did a rather unprofessional double take when she saw who it was standing shyly behind Draco. "And Harry Potter," she said, amazed. "My, my, someone's been teaching you how to dress!"

"Yes, yes," said Harry rather grumpily. "Worst dressed two years in a row and all that."

"Well, obviously not anymore!" she said cheerily. "Why, Draco, you don't have on the matching top! And we tailored it just for you."

Draco's cheeks had gone a bit pink, which cheered Harry up immensely. "The top was a little too attention-getting for a day out at Hogsmeade, I thought."

"Quite right, quite right," she said, bustling them over to a small cluster of padded stools and angled mirrors. "There, now. Anything specific in mind?"

"Harry needs a whole new wardrobe," said Draco, grinning. "I think this is about as much skin as he's willing to show, though, so anything too flash you can just save for me," he added with a wink.

The witch bustled off, muttering about silk and buckles, and Harry whispered, "There's things that show more skin than yours?"

"You haven't seen the real top half of the outfit," Draco leaned in to whisper back, smirking. "If you're very good I'll put it on for you when we get back."

"Tease," said Harry, shivering as Draco's breath tickled his cheek.

"Flirt," replied Draco.

Harry thought he might've done or said something more, but the witch came bustling back, arms laden with clothing. "Well, aren't you two just the most adorable couple!" Before Harry could protest, she shoved more than half the pile of clothes into Harry's arms. "Here's for you to try on, dear, and Draco, you take these. Off you go!"

"Why didn't you tell her we aren't a couple?" hissed Harry, as he followed Draco, presumably to the changing rooms.

"Because then she'd make us get dressed in separate cubicles, and I think you're going to need a hand," Draco replied serenely, opening the door to reveal a rather large mirrored room, complete with a couple of padded chairs with matching footstools, as well as several free-floating shelves. "Besides, you should've seen the look on your face, it was priceless!"

Draco deposited his pile on the nearest floating shelf and slipped the sweater off. Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Draco's entire naked upper body, the trousers low enough that the fine line of blond curls down Draco's stomach didn't so much disappear as meld with the ones trying to peek out the top. Harry's mouth was suddenly very dry, and he covered up as best he could by messing about with the clothing he'd been given.

It seemed to run high to silk, leather and velvet, and odd constructions involving straps and buckles. "Er, Draco, are you sure about this?" Harry turned, holding onto a garment that appeared to be made entirely of spider webs. He caught his breath and bit his lip to stifle the involuntary moan at the sight before him. Draco was completely nude, stretching in front of the mirrors like a cat, reflected a thousand times over.

His toned muscles were crisscrossed with old scars, some of them eerily familiar, others simple souvenirs of perfectly ordinary childhood mishaps. His curls were a darker blond than his hair, and he lay nestled in them, soft and pink and tempting. Harry took a step backward, as if he could flee from the urges running through his veins, to kneel and nuzzle and suck, to see if he could make Draco scream his name, or moan and beg to be allowed to finish. Harry forced himself to look down, away, blushing.

"You look so charming when you blush, Harry," said Draco teasingly. There was a rustle of cloth, then he added, "It's all right, you can look now."

Harry opened his eyes to find that Draco was now swathed head to toe in a robe of deep green velvet. A series of circles were cut out of it and edged with silver embroidery, ranging from one the size of a quarter over the hollow of his throat down to one the size of a saucer over one hipbone, then disappearing behind him. Harry glanced up at the mirror and saw one that just flashed the very top edge of Draco's thigh where it met his body, then the backs of his legs, then his calves and ankles.

"Oh," sighed Harry, enchanted. He shook himself, then grinned and winked. "You couldn't wear that to Potions class!"

"That's not really a big concern for me, Harry." He swirled around in it, looking in the mirror. "Does it show too much of my ass when I move?"

Harry choked slightly, then rallied a mischievous grin. "Depends on the result you're going for, I'd say."

Draco gave him a glare. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

Harry's grin widened. "Well, if you want to say 'come and get it,' then you're doing great, but if you're going for the same kind of tease as the pants, then it's a bit much."

Draco gave another twirl, gracing Harry with a very nice view of the spot where his legs and ass met, hiding so many secrets. "I do see what you mean," said Draco. "Too bad, I rather like the effect otherwise."

"Er, maybe if you wore some pants under them?"

Draco grinned evilly, then glanced down at Harry's rather obvious appreciation. "That would ruin the effect."

Harry blushed. "If you're quite done, could you show me how the bloody hell I'm supposed to put this on?"

Draco grabbed the offending garment and shook it out. It still seemed like tatters, but he could almost see that it might have once been supposed to be robes of some kind. "Oh, dear, she really does fancy you, Harry. I don't know if you'll want to be seen in this, but I'd love to get you in it for a few minutes. Strip, and I'll find the other bits."

Harry turned pinker, but complied. He'd found the trick to getting the buttons undone quickly, at least, and was down to the complicated underwear when Draco turned back, arms full of wispy cloth.

A voice called through the door, "Getting along all right in there, dears?" Somehow, just the thought of her seeing him like this was enough to quell his... enthusiasm.

Harry's eyes grew wide as the doorknob rattled. Draco saved him by leaping over to guard the door, calling out, "Just fine, Mathilda, but we need a few more minutes. Harry's not used to the complexities of high fashion, after all."

"All right, then, but you'll let me see how they look?" she sounded very disappointed that she wasn't being asked to help with the fitting.

"Of course," Draco replied smoothly. Her footsteps moved away, and he walked over, handing Harry the oddest-looking pair of trousers he'd ever seen.

"I am not wearing those in front of her," said Harry, glaring. The cobweb-looking stuff turned out to be translucent layers of artfully torn white silk, which fluttered and gaped in ways that Harry was sure would be obscene.

"They're charmed to stay put, don't be a git. But, you're right, if she's going to expect to see you modelling things, I think we'll have to pass on these."

Harry handed them back, relieved. "Did she bring anything I might actually wear in public?"

Harry followed Draco's ass... er, Draco, over to the laden shelf. Draco summoned over an empty one, then began tossing items onto it that he deemed unacceptable. Harry was very glad they were under a time constraint, as he had a feeling that despite verdicts like, "Too low cut," and "Practically obscene," Draco would have made him try them all on. Eventually he settled on a set of deep red robes in velvet, with gold velvet breeches and a gold silk shirt.

"Guess you get to keep your knickers on," he said, unsuccessfully attempting to keep a straight face.

"Watch it, or I'll make you wear that robe out in public," said Harry, sliding into the gold velvet pants. Draco glared, then slipped out of the robe with enough suggestiveness to make Harry happy he'd properly covered his lower half.

Draco pawed through his own pile, swearing lightly. "That woman is determined to see some part of me that was never meant to be public!"

"Having a bit of trouble?" Harry padded over, feet bare, dressed all in gold. He tried not to react to Draco's nakedness, with limited success.

"Every single thing here is either cut so low that I'll practically leap out the top if I even think improper thoughts, or flashes my ass in some way."

"Well, you did tell her to give you the more risque items," said Harry smugly.

"Yes, but she seems to have taken that to heart. Evidently, my recent birthday has given her ideas."

"When was your birthday?" exclaimed Harry, surprised.

Draco turned pink. "Er, two weeks ago Thursday. Day before you, y'know." He mimed drinking a potion, although for a moment Harry had thought that he was going to do the other, more familiar hand motion.

"Why didn't you tell me?" said Harry, eyes glinting. "I'll buy you the green robe if you promise to wear it only for me."

Draco laughed. "I don't think I'm quite ready for you to be that familiar with my ass, Harry."

Harry laughed, and resisted the urge to point out that Draco was currently flashing Harry with quite a bit more of the ass in question. "Well, look, what about the robe, with these black velvet breeches?" He pulled out a set of low-cut breeches with silver-edged cutouts running up the fronts of the thighs. They were, of course, in the shape of sinuous serpents. "The robes will cover what the breeches don't, and vice versa."

They heard footsteps coming their way, and Draco wordlessly began scrambling into them. He managed to get himself tucked away and was struggling back into the robe when Mathilda knocked again. "About ready, dears?"

"Just getting my robe settled," said Harry, grabbing the deep red velvet and draping it around himself. Draco, back in the tantalizing green, helped him adjust the shoulders so it framed all the gold silk and velvet dramatically. They were just stepping apart when she opened the door and walked in.

"Oh, now don't you two look lovely. I have just the boots for that, Harry, if you'll come with me," Harry and Draco exchanged glances, then followed her dubiously out into the main room. Their suspicions were confirmed when they spotted one of Witch Weekly's photographers chatting up one of the other sales girls. "Here you are, put these on," she said, handing Harry a pair of gold socks with red griffons on them, and a pair of boots the same garnet as the robes.

He slipped into them while she fussed over Draco, wary of the reporter that was sure to be lurking somewhere near as well. "Well, don't you look more like a proper hero," said a squeaky voice at his elbow, and he looked down to find Professor Flitwick gazing up at him, eyes sparkling with good humour.

"Thank you, professor. Draco's been trying to force a sense of style on me," said Harry, glancing over at where Mathilda seemed to be fussing at Draco over the breeches.

"You'd better rescue your young friend, then, if you want to get out of here in one piece. She's had her eye on him for years, the old bat," said Flitwick with a wink. He raised his voice and called out, "Mathilda, dear, can you help an old man find some socks?"

Harry grabbed Draco and disappeared into the dressing room while she was distracted, shucking out of the outfit quickly. "Look, can you spell the lock or something?"

Draco grinned, but complied. "Obfirimus," he murmured, and Harry felt something click into place. "It won't keep her out if she's really determined, though, so we'd better choose and go."

Things went faster then, as anything too odd-looking was discarded without even a try-on, teasing kept to a minimum in favour of speed. In the end, Harry found half a dozen sets of robes, breeches and shirts that could be interchanged, and he slipped the green robe for Draco into his pile surreptitiously. Most of what he ended up with was black, gold or red, but there was one pair of green pants that he just liked for no real reason, and would probably have to raid Draco's wardrobe for a shirt before he could actually wear them out.

Draco decided to give in to temptation and buy the snake breeches, with a matching high-necked top made of the same close-fitting velvet. It cut off just below his ribs and had long, flowing sleeves. There was even a little matching snake cutout right below the collar, exposing the lickable line of his sternum. The loose, open robe that went over it was a deep, heavy green velvet with subtle black snakes charmed to slither in bewildering patterns around the hemline. Everything else was left strewn about the changing room.

They dressed back in the clothing they'd arrived in, grabbed their chosen items, and their previous Honeydukes purchases, and made their way back out to the main shop. "I think we've got everything picked out," said Draco, smiling, and Mathilda had the grace not to look too disappointed that she hadn't gotten a further fashion show.

"Let me just add you up, dears," she said, waving her wand over Harry's pile first. "That'll be 237 galleons, 11 sickles and 3 knuts, please." She waved her wand again, and the things began folding themselves into elegant grey boxes with "Gladrags, London, Paris, Hogsmeade" embossed on them in gold. At Harry's stunned expression, she asked, "Charge it to your Gringotts vault, dear?"

"Er, yeah, please," said Harry, who doubted he had anywhere near that much gold in cash, even if he summoned his emergency stash from school.

"Mine, too," said Draco as she boxed it up, smiling.

"I knew you'd like this one, dear, although it's a shame about that other robe. It really showed off your assets quite well." She produced two bits of parchment, one for each, and a pair of silvery grey quills already loaded with ink. "I'll just have these delivered to Hogwarts for you, shall I?"

Harry choked a bit when he saw the amount again, then signed the promissory note anyway. "Er, Draco, do you always spend this much on clothes?" he asked as they were leaving, feeling odd about having spent so much without even a single sock in hand to show for it.

"Of course, only the best for a Malfoy. I'm just lucky they didn't freeze my trust fund when dear old Dad defected to the Dark Lord's side for good," said Draco, shuddering expressively. "I might've had to learn to budget."

Harry laughed, and held the door of the Three Broomsticks open for Draco. It was funny, but after all the absurd clothing he'd seen in Gladrags, Harry didn't feel the least bit self-conscious in his current outfit anymore. At least it was only his shoulders that were showing, he thought, admiring again the line of bared skin running down Draco's leg under the buckles.

Ron and Eloise were nowhere to be found, but Ginny had joined Luna, Hermione and Neville at a large table in the corner. Crabbe and Goyle were lurking near it, as if unsure of their welcome without Draco to intervene. "Sit down, you two, you're looming!" said Hermione crossly as they approached.

"Yes, do join us," said Draco, taking the seat next to Ginny and lounging in altogether too sensual a manner for a pub. They sat, glaring, on the other side of Harry, who had taken the seat on Draco's left.

"Are you sure about all this hanging about with Gryffindors stuff?" asked Crabbe, glowering about the table. Goyle just looked faintly confused at not being allowed to sit in his usual station at Draco's side.

"You might even enjoy it if you give us half a chance," said Ginny brightly, sipping her butterbeer.

"Oh, like you'd ever want to hang out with the likes of us without your golden boy around," sneered Goyle.

"Well, you'll never know until you try, will you?" said Luna dreamily. She had one of those cherry fizzes that came with an umbrella in it, and was twirling the paper decoration in her fingers in a rather mesmerizing manner.

Madame Rosmerta came over then, and asked, "Butterbeers all around, dears?"

A chorus of agreement met her question, and she hurried off to get the bottles. Ron and Eloise came in and caught her on her way over to the bar, adding their orders to the group. "How'd shopping go?" asked Eloise cheerfully as they sat down. Ron just looked flushed and vaguely defensive, which made Harry wonder if they'd been up to something more interesting than ice cream.

The rest of the afternoon flew by in talk of the kind all friends at Hogwarts seemed to have. They had an amazingly good-natured argument about next Saturday's Quidditch match, the last of the year, with Draco and Harry watching on with bemusement as both of their track records were called into question. They talked about homework and NEWTs and the unfairness of testing and teachers. They even gossiped a bit, although no one was foolish enough to question the nature of Draco and Harry's new friendship.

All in all, it was a lovely afternoon, and by the time they all wandered into dinner, chattering happily, they'd actually forgotten they'd be expected to sit at different tables. When they stopped in the doorway, Luna simply moved to end of the Ravenclaw table, saying, "Hurry up or there won't be any left."

They all shrugged, and joined her.

Harry and Draco escaped from dinner to find all of the packages from Gladrags piled on Draco's bed, with an unfamiliar house elf trying desperately to keep them from toppling. "Oh thank goodness, sirs are here!" said the elf, eyes wider than normal.

"Um, why did my clothes come to your room?" said Harry, bewildered.

"They came as one delivery, and we did not know whose was whose, so since Master Potter has been spending so much time with Master Malfoy, we put them here for sorting. Do we need punishing?" His eyes grew wider, and Harry took a moment to wonder if he was referring to all the house elves, or just himself.

"No, that's fine, but can the rest of the clothes be put away in my room, once they're sorted?" asked Harry gently.

"Puddy and Winky will take good care of Master Potter's clothing," said the elf, evidently named Puddy. Once they got some of the boxes down off the pile, they saw Winky was curled up in the corner behind the pile, her dress in utter disarray.

They made fairly short work of the pile, Harry breathing a sigh of relief when he was the one to find Draco's present. He set it carefully aside, and continued piling boxes near the door for Puddy and Winky to take away. He also set aside the red and gold outfit, including a set of the appropriate underclothing that had somehow made it into his purchase, and of course the boots.

They managed to account for everything, Draco explaining that they considered it part of their service to provide the appropriate accessories for any outfit. Puddy put Draco's purchases away and then vanished with Winky and all the rest of the boxes in tow. Draco spied the small remaining pile behind Harry. "Awfully presumptuous of you, Harry, keeping behind a change of clothes."

He was smiling as he spoke, so Harry just shrugged and grinned. "Better safe than naked."

Draco laughed, and Harry rummaged carefully through his parcels. He turned back around with the box held out in front of him, two of the chocolate fairies floating above it, raining sugar crystals down onto the lid with each flap of their chocolate wings. Draco looked vaguely stunned and said, "Er, what's this?"

"Happy belated birthday, Draco," said Harry with an impish grin.

"You..." Draco looked far more surprised than one birthday present really warranted. He swallowed, then held a hand out. One of the fairies flew obediently to his hand, while the other floated up to plant a little chocolate-smear kiss on his cheek. "What..."

"They're the cinnamon spice ones, which I figured you'd like, but you'll have to open your present in order to properly thank me for it."

Draco opened his mouth wide, and the fairy on his hand flew inside, landing on his tongue and waving to Harry as it began to melt. The other one hovered by his cheek, looking on expectantly. He chewed and swallowed, then took the box from Harry with trembling hands. He opened it, dropping the lid to the ground and brushing aside the soft tissue paper to reveal the soft green velvet of the robe, folded to show the first few silver-edged cutouts.

Draco smiled. "You actually bought it." He opened his mouth wide, and the other fairy flew to its fate.

"How could I not? It showed off your... assets... perfectly." Harry was grinning widely now, but he couldn't help it. Draco shook the robe out, letting it fall to the ground. "Besides, with the pants on, it actually looks quite good and is socially acceptable."

"I just can't believe you bought me something in Slytherin colours," he said, smirking. He hung the robe up in his wardrobe with a care that belied his casual words. He stayed like that for a moment, back to Harry, then said softly, "You know, I think this is the only birthday present I got this year."

"What about Crabbe and Pansy and the other Slytherins?" asked Harry, stepping close and putting a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"I... well, in previous years I've either demanded presents, or waved them away because my father provided me with all I could possibly want," he said softly, leaning into Harry's touch. Harry obliged him by wrapping his arms around Draco and holding him from behind, supporting him. "This year, I just... I didn't have the heart to demand, and so they assumed..."

"It's all right, Draco," said Harry. "I know you love your father in your own way." Draco turned in Harry's embrace and stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "No use pretending," said Harry, rubbing his cheek against Draco's suspiciously damp one. "I saw the way you looked at him those few times you were together."

Draco laughed bitterly, closing his eyes against the pain. "I suppose I do in my own way, despite everything."

"There's no shame in that." Harry pulled Draco close, cradling the taller boy as best he could. Draco let himself be held, the tension slowly easing from his frame.

"Well, we might as well get dressed for bed," he said, pulling away after long minutes of silence. "It's no use pretending you're not going to stay, after all."

Harry smiled and released him. "Right. Er, I don't suppose..."

"Yes, you can borrow pyjamas. Sheesh." Draco closed the wardrobe with one last caress to the velvet sleeve of his new robe, then dug through the dresser until he produced two sets of pyjamas, one in silvery grey silk and one in green. He tossed Harry the green pair. "Matches your eyes."

"Er, thanks," said Harry. At least they didn't have snakes. Harry had turned around politely while he changed, unwilling to break their fragile closeness with a crass display of lust. When he turned back, Draco was dressed and snuggled under the covers, eyes still suspiciously bright.

"Well, come on, get in," said Draco, holding the covers up. "And bring more chocolate. It's not a proper stay-over without chocolate."

Harry laughed and got in, bringing his entire Honeydukes stash. They spent hours talking, snacking and just getting to know one another on a level that Harry hadn't known he craved. He, Ron and Hermione knew each other like this, but through mutual experience, not this casual sharing. They talked about a hundred trivial things, and when they got sleepy, Draco actually snuggled into his arms on purpose.

"Might as well," he said, twining silk-clad legs with Harry's, "if we're going to end up this way anyway."

Harry rested his cheek on top of Draco's head and drifted off to the soft sounds of his breathing.

Chapter 12
In Which We Learn That While All Actions Have Consequences,
Not All Consequences Are Negative

Morning began much less awkwardly this time, as he wasn't at all surprised to be waking up with Draco spooned behind him. He felt a thrill of arousal when a twitch of Draco's hips slid Draco's anatomy firmly against Harry's opening, silk slipping against silk, transmitting the heat of him straight to Harry's core. He awoke ready, and with Draco's breath against his neck, Draco's hand rubbing circles against his hip, drifting towards his stomach, well... It certainly wasn't helping any.

"Draco?" murmured Harry softly.

"Mmf," came the muffled reply, as Draco buried his face, as well as the rest of his anatomy, further into Harry's back.

"Draco!" said Harry sharply. If he was going to lose his virginity, then he damn well wanted it to be with someone who was awake. He tried to slide forward, but Draco's arms held him close, one hand splayed out over his stomach, the other one snaking beneath his body to wrap around his chest. "Draco, you're shagging me in your sleep."

"Not asleep," said Draco firmly, with a much more suggestive movement of his hips. Harry's heart soared. If Draco was really awake, then that might mean... "Five more minutes," he murmured. Well, bugger.

Another firm poke from behind caught Harry's breath in his throat, and his pyjamas in a much less comfortable place. "Draco!" he yelped.

"Wha?" said Draco, voice bleary. "Give m'arm back," he added after a moment of weak struggling to get himself free.

"Let go of me, and you can have them both back," said Harry testily.

"Hn?" said Draco, moving his hands experimentally, one going up to scratch his own nose over Harry's shoulder, the other slipping down until, "Oh!"

"Yes, oh." Harry pulled away from Draco's now-slack grip, wriggling his hips a bit to pull the silk out from where Draco's anatomy had lodged it. He grabbed his glasses and rolled over, glare fading to nothing as he took in Draco's sleep-ruffled form.

"M'sorry," murmured Draco. His face was an overall embarrassed pink, redder where it had been pressed into Harry's shoulder. His normally impeccable hair was mussed and falling into his eyes, which were opening and closing in long, slow blinks. A quick glance showed a large damp spot on the front of his pyjamas right at the point where they were tented out, which turned Harry's cheeks pink when he realized he had, not one, but two matching ones -- one in the front, and one in the back.

"S'alright, I guess," said Harry, giving him a friendly poke in the shoulder instead of the gentle caress he was craving. "Must've been a nice dream." He reached out and swiped the hair out of Draco's eyes, then drew his hand back slowly, running it through his own hair as if to banish the feel of the heavy, tangled strands.

"Dream?" said Draco, rubbing his eyes and still trying to wake up properly. "Wasn' dreamin'."

Harry turned a bit pinker. "Then you were just trying to shag me in your sleep on what, reflex?"

Draco's eyes went wide, then he looked up at Harry, cheeks flaming. "I was what?"

"Let's just say that if there hadn't been pyjamas in the way, then there would be no more unicorns for me," said Harry, looking away, feeling his own blush deepen as he remembered how good it had felt. He mumbled softly, "I wouldn't've minded so much if you'd done it on purpose."

Draco was still blinking, as if he couldn't quite process the conversation properly. "You mean I was... what exactly DO you mean?"

"When I woke up, you were all snuggled behind me, with your, er..." he gestured towards the offending portion of Draco's anatomy, "trying to climb into my, er, y'know! Bottom!"

There was more blinking, this time rapid. "You're telling me I tried to bugger you in my sleep?"

"Yep."

"Oh. Oh, bloody hell." Draco suddenly didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. "I'm sorry, I mean, I never would've..."

Harry sighed. He had been hoping that Draco's actions reflected the same kind of subconscious desire as Harry's reaction, but never was pretty clear. "I know, I know. You were asleep, now let's just forget about it. Because if we look all guilty and whatnot when we go to breakfast, I can guarantee Hermione will give us the third degree on just how close you came to sullying my purity."

Draco's eyes went really wide then, and he said hastily, "Consider it forgotten. Although I am sorry, I mean, I never would've forced..."

Harry held up his hand, glad that he was already about as red as he'd go. "Forgotten, remember? Besides, it's not like I had to fight you off kicking and screaming. You stopped as soon as you woke up."

"Er, yeah. Okay." They both sat there uncomfortably for a minute, until Draco perked up a bit and said, "Any chocolate left?"

Harry laughed. Trust Draco to think of chocolate as the answer to all life's ills. He retrieved the Honeydukes bag from where it had fallen to the floor. They dug in and consumed the last of the chocolates, one last cinnamon fairy each, plus little hazelnut clams that tried to snap at your nose, chocolate hearts with filling that changed flavours depending on your mood, and some perfectly nonmagical raspberry truffles that sent Draco into an entirely different sort of ecstasies.

Chocolate eaten and the delicate balance of their friendship restored, they both got dressed, Harry in his new finery, Draco in a set of typically Malfoy black velvet robes edged with embroidery of green and silver snakes. "You look like the poster child for Slytherin," said Harry, giving Draco's now-neat hair a friendly tug.

"Someone's got to balance you out. You look like you're trying to be Godric Gryffindor in the school play," said Draco, laughing. He pulled open the door and stepped out into the hall, then froze so suddenly that Harry ran into him. "Good morning, Professor Snape."

"Er, yeah. Good morning," said Harry, stepping out of the doorway and straightening his glasses, which had been slightly smashed against Malfoy's back.

"And just what are you doing down in the dungeons this morning, Potter?" said Snape disagreeably.

"Just getting Draco for breakfast, sir," said Harry, glancing over at his companion worriedly. He didn't think there were any specific rules against Draco having another boy in his room overnight, but he certainly didn't want to push it.

"Really. And why was it you felt the need to enter his private room to retrieve him?" Snape's voice was low, dangerous, and it reminded Harry of his earlier threat in regards to any designs Harry might have on Draco's virtue. Harry did his best not to flush.

"He wanted me to try some chocolate he picked up in Honeydukes yesterday," said Harry evenly, heart beginning to race. If Snape had come in and found them curled up in bed together... Harry shuddered to think what he might have done.

Snape hmphed. "I would strongly suggest you two keep your activities both public and diurnal, or else I will have to have further words with you, Potter."

"Er, yes, professor," said Harry.

Draco just looked rather annoyed. "I'm not going to study in the library when I have a perfectly quiet room."

"It's not your studies I'm concerned about," said Snape darkly.

"Are you honestly suggesting that Harry is going to, what, ravish me when I'm not looking?" said Draco, icily arrogant now. "I like to think I can defend what little virtue I have remaining without your assistance."

Snape's eyes went wide at that, and he looked over at Harry. Harry just tried to look innocent and not in the least bit like he had any designs whatsoever on Draco's, er, virtue. "Are you sure you want to have this conversation in front of Potter?"

Draco sniffed, and Harry was vaguely impressed at just how good he was at the whole haughty disdain thing. "What makes you think he doesn't already know?"

Snape glowered. Then he straightened up, familiar sneer in place. "I see. You feel my concern for you is misplaced, but mark my words, when the potion's effects have faded completely, you will find yourself back out in the cold. The Boy Who Lived cares for no one but himself." Snape swooped off in a swirl of black robes and anger.

When Harry turned back to Draco, he was surprised to see him leaning against the wall, eyes to the ceiling. "Er, look... I never meant... I mean, I know that you and he..." Harry stammered.

Draco just waved him silent. "Snape's been like a substitute father to me, ever since I got here. He was the one I came to when I couldn't sleep first year, after... after what my father did. But he's never trusted the power that lives in you, and he hates the way you seem to walk in glory while he, who gave up just as much, is always in shadow."

Harry blinked, another little piece of his world rearranging itself. "I just don't want to be the thing that comes between you," he said softly, laying a hand on Draco's arm.

Draco turned, then grabbed Harry in a quick, fierce hug that was over before he could react. "He'll get over it. And besides, I think you're worth it, and we all know I have impeccable taste."

They ascended to breakfast laughing, leaving their worries behind in the darkness of the dungeons.

Despite the looming threat of NEWTs, neither Harry nor Draco had any urge to spend the bright Sunday afternoon studying. They bandied about ideas ranging from more chess to tormenting the third year Hufflepuffs in the library, and finally Harry was struck with a thought. "Let's go flying!"

"But if we enchanted all their quills... what?"

"You've got a great broom, and I've never seen you on it when we weren't playing Quidditch. Let's go flying!" Harry was fairly bouncing on Draco's bed with his enthusiasm.

"Er, all right. Just let me get my broom." He rummaged about in his wardrobe, which Harry was just beginning to realize wasn't nearly big enough on the outside to hold everything that he'd seen Draco pull out of it.

"We'll have to run up to Gryffindor Tower to get mine, but that's fine, I'll want to change into something more suitable anyway." He began shoving his things into his bag rather haphazardly, trusting the clothing to keep anything else from breaking.

"I could wait here," said Draco, pulling his broom out of the mysterious depths triumphantly. "And what's wrong with your clothes?"

Harry looked down at the rich silk and velvet. "Er, nothing I guess... I just like to be more comfortable when I fly."

Draco shrugged. "Then hold on, let me switch, too." He rummaged about more while Harry fidgeted impatiently. Harry barely even took the time to stare as Draco quick-changed into a pair of black leather pants and a close-fitting green sweater. With the low-heeled boots, the outfit was practically conservative, for Draco. There weren't even any cutout bits, which Harry was both relieved and mildly disappointed by.

Harry had a small heart attack when he murmured the password to the Fat Lady and her reply was, "I haven't seen you in awhile, Harry, I was worried you'd left us!"

"I've been studying. Er, for NEWTs. With Malfoy," he'd stuttered out, afraid suddenly that they'd changed the password on him for a joke.

He was relieved when she swung open with a wink, and he only winced at little as she called after them, "So that's what they're calling it nowadays. Studying!"

"Our prodigal returns!" said Seamus sarcastically. "And he's brought a Slytherin?"

Harry waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, you're just jealous."

"Oh, right, Harry, our love is so pure, how could you deny me." His voice was flat, but his eyes were sparkling. A glance at Draco's pink face showed why -- evidently he wasn't quite as immune to the gossip as he maintained.

"You just look too cute with Dean," Harry replied, heading for the stairs. Draco trailed along silently.

When they reached Harry's room, Draco flopped on his bed with a sigh. "I thought it would go much worse. Why aren't they upset?"

"About what? I mean, even if I was shagging you, you haven't done anything truly nasty to any of us since that old bat Umbridge left the school." Harry felt around until he found his oldest pair of jeans, worn so soft they felt almost like a different fabric altogether. He'd bespelled them so that they were no longer too small, and instead fit him like a glove.

Draco was staring at his bedcurtains, seemingly oblivious to Harry's nudity as he stripped and slid into fresh boxers and the jeans. He got his pants half-buttoned before Draco managed to surprise him yet again by saying, "Well, obviously being nasty didn't work on getting your attention. By then you'd learned to mostly ignore me. I had to think of something else, didn't I?"

Harry went and sat beside Draco for a minute, dressing forgotten. "I'm sorry I was so dense," he said softly. Draco gave him a tug, and they ended up side by side on their backs, heads sharing Harry's lone pillow. "Are the Slytherins mad?"

"Well, a few of them, yeah. But Crabbe and Goyle're all right with it, so they'll stand up for us." They lay there quietly for a few moments, Harry oddly aware of the soft caress of Draco's cashmere sweater against his bare skin, of the chill draft in the room that made his nipples peak and beg to be covered by nimble fingers or a hot mouth.

Harry sat up abruptly, before his brain managed to make it difficult to get his trousers buttoned. "Er, us?" said Harry, moving off the bed to hunt around for something to wear. He didn't have the wardrobe choices Draco had, and in the end he settled on an old grey sweatshirt. He was surprised to find Draco standing again, long hands reaching up to take Harry's glasses while he pulled the shirt over his head.

"Us," he said softly, unreadable expression swimming into focus as he replaced them with equal care.

Harry blushed unaccountably and straightened up his shirt, then grabbed his Firebolt from the corner. "Ready?"

Draco glanced uneasily at the doorway. "You're sure we can't just fly out the window, avoid the lions' den?"

Harry laughed and tugged him along, twining his fingers with Draco's. Draco stared down at their hands as they descended the staircase, and even tried to pull his away before they entered the room, but Harry wasn't having it. "Make them wonder, remember?" he whispered in Draco's ear as they reached the common room, lips brushing his cheek as he pulled back.

Draco went pink and silent, as the room erupted in catcalls and whistles. Harry grinned, then burst out laughing when Dean yelled, "Awfully quick on the draw, Malfoy!"

"Harry's just that hot!" retorted Neville of all people.

"Not in that sweatshirt. Honestly, Draco, you're supposed to be a good influence!" was Parvati's rather exasperated comment.

"But those jeans," added Lavender as Harry and Draco were almost to the door. Harry blushed, since it wasn't until he had his back to the room that she'd thought to speak up.

They crawled out of the portrait hole, Harry letting Draco go first, and not only for the view of his leather-clad lower body. The Gryffindors were willing to take Harry's odd choice friends at face value, this time, but obviously not without getting their own back, at least a little. "Sorry," he said rather insincerely as they got out of sight of the portrait hole.

"You are not, but you can make it up to me with some of those chocolate frogs I saw stashed in your trunk," said Draco, an answering grin finally washing the stunned look off his face. Harry produced one from his pocket with a magician's flourish, and Draco laughed. "Know thine enemy, is it?"

"You're not my enemy, Draco," said Harry softly, grabbing his hand again and trekking off towards the door.

"I suppose not," Draco ate the frog in one smooth bite and tossing the wrapper negligently to the floor. At Harry's reproachful look, he shrugged and said, "House elf job security."

Harry rolled his eyes, but let it slide. You could take the boy out of the Manor, but sometimes a Malfoy was still a Malfoy. "Prat," he said good-naturedly as they exited the building.

"Peasant." Draco barely managed a ghost of his old sneer, the laughter in his voice getting in the way.

"And you love me for it," said Harry snidely, marching off towards the Quidditch pitch. Since there was only one match left and neither team was practicing, it was deserted. A soft breeze blew the grass in waves like a green ocean before them.

"Let's fly," he murmured, words drifting away on the wind. He wasn't even sure if Draco heard him, so intent was he on the call of the air. He got his broom ready, straddled it, and glanced over his shoulder to see Draco doing the same. They kicked off as one, no words needed, and began climbing the sky.

For once, it wasn't a battle so much as a ballet, cooperation instead of competition. The air was sweet on his face, the exhilaration making him drunk like strong wine. They flew circles and loops, spirals and long sweeping laps, they flew through the towers of Hogwarts and out over the Forbidden Forest, skimmed the surface of the lake and chased the clouds. They didn't try to talk or do tricks or show off. They just flew.

Harry wasn't sure how long they stayed up there, time seemed to flow differently when you weren't bound by mere gravity. The shadows were longer when they landed, striping the pitch with little previews of night. They rejoined with the earth reluctantly, like children being called home from a great adventure. Harry lit down beside Draco, feet touching seconds and inches apart, nearly colliding on the ground, clumsy as they hadn't been in the air.

Draco turned to him, face full of the same wonder that was thrumming through Harry's blood, eyes wide and sparkling with barely-contained pleasure. They let their brooms fall to the ground unnoticed and stepped, not further away, but closer, until they were breathing the same panting breaths. Draco leaned back and laughed, broken and joyous, and wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders. Harry held his waist, let him press their bodies together, feeling the excitement thrum through them both like electricity through a live wire.

Still, he was completely shocked when Draco leaned back in and kissed him. Their lips were both chapped from the wind, rough against each other, and tongues flicked out, careless of whose flesh they wet. The kiss deepened of its own accord, Draco's hands tangling in Harry's shorn hair while Harry clutched at his downy-soft sweater. Draco tasted like the wind, like chocolate and skin, and smelled like vanilla and jasmine and spice.

He felt like home in Harry's arms, and something filled him with warmth, overflowing his mouth to spill into Draco with an intoxicating sweetness like honeyed mead. Draco gasped, growing hard and ready against him, along with him, and they pressed closer, as though they could merge through sheer willpower. Something fluttered in Harry's chest, familiar and sharp, like a broken-winged bird whose bones had just snapped back into place, whole and healed.

He slid his hands under Draco's sweater, desperate for more contact, fingers finding hidden mystery in the pattern of soft skin and smooth scars. Draco moaned in his mouth, one hand fisting as much of his hair as it could hold, pulling his head back as the other drifted down to his waist. Draco's mouth travelled a wet line down to where the sweater skimmed his collarbones, and he bit down with a frustrated noise.

Harry gasped, then cried, "Draco!" as he sucked a love bite at the place where neck met shoulder, hands scrabbling for purchase against the taut flesh. One meandered around, found a nipple, took hold, and Draco released him in a rush of exhaled breath.

"Harry," he whimpered, falling to his knees, face buried in Harry's stomach, nuzzling even as he spoke. "Harry, what are we doing?"

Harry tangled his hands through Draco's hair, the texture now nearly as familiar as his own. "Whatever you want, Draco," he said softly, gently. "I would never ask anything more than what you freely offered."

"What do I have to offer you?" he asked, voice tight.

Harry closed his eyes, holding Draco close. "Everything."

Draco made a strangled noise in his throat, then pulled away and ran, stumbling. Harry wanted to call his name, chase him, get him back, but his body wouldn't follow, feet bound to the desolate earth. He fell to his knees, put his face in his hands. He'd had everything in his arms, all he'd ever needed, and he'd let it walk away.

Chapter 13
In Which We See That Patience Is, Indeed, a Virtue,
and Can Be Used to Dispense With Others of Its Kind

Eventually, after what seemed like hours but was really more like ten minutes, Harry managed to gather together his wits, their brooms, and his shattered pride. Intellectually, he knew that Draco had obviously enjoyed their kiss as much as he had, but emotionally he felt like a wreck. First his kisses had made Cho cry, and now just one snog and Draco had run off like he'd been slapped instead. Harry sighed, wallowing in self-loathing just as far as it took to get to the door.

Once he reached the castle, he forced that little voice back into its box. Something important had happened between them, and it scared him almost as much as it had scared Draco. Draco had initiated the kiss, but something truly magical had happened after that, something Harry was willing to bet that Snape had been expecting. Despite his irrational fear of becoming potions ingredients, he squared his shoulders, opened the door, and headed down into the dungeons.

Snape was in the Potions classroom, tutoring a pair of nervous fifth years for their upcoming OWLs. Harry briefly considered forgoing this part of his hastily-concocted plan, but he dismissed it out of hand. Instead, he waited patiently just inside the door, not missing the irony that it was in this very spot he'd first learned of what he suspected was the real motivation behind Draco's flight. He was nearly certain that Snape had spotted him, but of course made no effort to hurry his lesson.

It was nearly dinnertime when the students ran out of eager questions, and Snape dismissed them to their own study time. "And what can I do for you, Mr. Potter?" he spat venomously after they had fled.

Harry took a deep breath and spit it all out as fast as he could. "He's run off, and he started it so don't go looking at me like that. We were flying, and he kissed me, and there was magic, and he ran. Tell me what we've done so I can make him understand."

Snape glared, then rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine. If you did, in fact, activate the secondary properties of the potion with a mere kiss, you would have felt a warmth that rose in you and spilled into him." Harry nodded, and Snape continued, disgruntled. "That is the first part of it. If you were to be so foolish as to consummate your relationship within seven days of that first kiss, then you would be bound, both of you, eternally and unbreakably."

Harry's eyes went wide. "You mean, if we, er... then..."

"You will always know where he is and how he is feeling, and vice versa. You will be married in the eyes of the magical community, your destinies forever intertwined. There is no divorce, no second thoughts. You and Draco have been enemies for seven years, and friends for nine days. Think about that, Potter. Think long and hard. If you let him go now, he has a chance at a normal life when this is all over."

"And if not, then we'll be together forever." It sounded romantic, and heartbreaking. He thought of Vernon and Petunia, unhappily ever after, bitter and worn in their ways. A house with no children, just the two of them growing old, puttering around with potions and transfiguring the furniture into small furry animals as pranks.

"Quite literally. Your hearts will beat as one, you will breathe as one being, and if one of you dies, the other will follow." Snape's tone was cold, like a death bell tolling.

Harry's fantasies were stopped short. His eyes flicked to Snape's arm, where he knew the Dark Mark lay in wait. "It works both ways? But he didn't take anything."

Snape snorted. "Your purity," he spoke the word like it was a particularly foul disease, "has lent its power to that of the unicorn tears, so that when you kissed, a part of their magic was planted in him. If you consummate your relationship, that seed will blossom into bonds even Dumbledore cannot undo."

"So if Voldemort..." Snape flinched from the name, glaring. "were to kill me, or I have to sacrifice myself to destroy him..."

"Then you will sacrifice Draco as well."

Harry stood silent for long moments, thinking on it. He turned to go when he kept returning to one thought -- it was not a decision he could make alone. He knew he loved Draco, but he also knew, had known for years really, that more than anyone else it was kill or be killed for him, and be killed had always seemed the most likely, Boy Who Lived or no. "Thanks," he called over his shoulder as he left, intent on finding those who knew him best.

Hermione was in the library, poring over books. She looked up when he came in, and waved him over. "Harry, I think I've figured it out..."

"It's a bonding spell, Snape told me. We have to find Ron, and Draco, and I think I have to talk to Dumbledore." Hermione gathered her things as he spoke, sensing the urgency in his tone. "Meet me by Draco's room as soon as you find Ron. And bring Crabbe and Goyle and Pansy, too."

"What, why?" asked Hermione, confused.

"Because I think Draco and I both need our friends for this. I love him, Hermione, whether it's the sodding potion or a real feeling I've had hidden away, I love him and I want to be his forever. But my love might kill him, and I, oh bloody hell, I dunno. Just find them, all right?" Harry was babbling as they left the library, practically shoving Hermione down the hallway.

"All right, all right, hold your knickers. I'll find them, but how do you know where Draco will be?" she said crossly.

Harry felt inside himself, felt that warm fluttering, felt it pulling him towards the dungeons, towards the quiet echoes of Draco's indecision and pain. "I just know, all right?"

Harry split off from her and headed for Dumbledore's office. "I've got to talk to him, please, can you just tell him?" he asked the gargoyle, frustratedly unable to come up with the password.

"Why don't you tell me yourself, dear boy," said a familiar voice behind him, and Harry had to restrain himself from jumping in fright, or running into those welcoming arms.

"I suppose you know what's happened with me and Draco," said Harry, eager to get to the real issue at hand.

Dumbledore nodded, saying, "Mint humbugs." The gargoyle stepped aside, giving Harry a smirk.

"Well, he kissed me, and we've got a week to decide if we want to be mystically married or whatever, at least according to Snape..." Harry trailed off, trying to gauge Dumbledore's reaction.

"That is also my understanding of the potion's function," said Dumbledore encouragingly.

"Well, I know you've got some idea of what's got to happen with me and Voldemort," Harry thought Dumbledore might object, but he simply held his peace. "You've studied that sodding prophecy, and you know more about Voldemort than just about anyone, and I need to know what my chances are." Harry finished in a rush.

"Ah. If you are finally asking the question, you are ready to hear the answer," said Dumbledore, taking a seat behind his desk. "Tea?"

Harry nodded, realizing his throat was parched from the wind and worry. He sat when motioned, grinning as the tea cart trundled over to them, first offering itself to the Headmaster, then to Harry. Harry fixed his tea sweet and creamy, blinking a bit when he remembered his picnic with Draco last Sunday. So much had happened in the last week he hardly believed that he'd felt so tentative with him once, so afraid of his own hands in Draco's heavy, soft hair.

"Your blood gave him life," said Dumbledore suddenly, and Harry sloshed his tea. "It is a very odd sort of bond, since the protection in your blood was his undoing when he marked you, and now it flows through his veins, binding you tighter."

Harry nodded, unwilling to interrupt. "Your blood is both strength and weakness for him. You needn't fear, Harry, that your death will be the answer you are looking for -- the prophecy is very clear that 'one must die for the other to survive,' and I fully intend for that survivor to be you. I believe a bond like the one that you are proposing would give you a strength which he does not and cannot have, but also a weakness he can only exploit."

He took a long sip of tea, peering at Harry over his glasses. "Draco is far more of a danger to you than vice versa. If you lose to Voldemort, in that final duel, he will undoubtedly be killed regardless. He, on the other hand, will probably be kidnapped in less than a month, tortured and killed for his loyalties to his house and his friends."

Harry blanched, but nodded. "We have done what we can to prevent this occurrence, but as we do not truly understand how it happened last year, what we can is not nearly enough. Draco would be a strength at your side, quite possibly the difference between success and failure. Certainly he would give you something you are sorely lacking, someone to live for after the war is over. But taken from you, he would most definitely be your downfall."

"So, you're saying that I'm not so much a risk to him, as the other way 'round?" asked Harry, wanting to be very sure.

Dumbledore nodded, motioning for the cart, which toddled over so he could grab a biscuit. "These are excellent biscuits, Harry, you should try one."

The cart moved back to him, and he took one mechanically, dunking it in his tea before letting the sweetness dissolve on his tongue. The subtle spice reminded him of the cake he'd gotten for Draco, and the fairies that had scattered sugar all over the bed, and left chocolate kisses in their wake. He thought back further, to the way Draco had knit the Slytherins into a group even before he stopped being nasty to the Gryffindors, using their common enemy to make allies of them all. He'd retained their respect even after his father had gone to jail, keeping them together when his own life fell apart.

"Draco's strong," said Harry quietly, taking another bite. He thought of Draco's hands moving like a dance over his Potions ingredients, a glittering knife adding danger to their motions, precise and deadly. Of those hands threaded through his hair, pulling his head back to give the love bite that was surely livid on his throat. Draco's endless plans to undermine him, the Potter Stinks badges and the Weasley Is Our King song.

"Draco's smart," he said. He dunked his biscuit, took a sip of tea, let the flavours meld in his mouth. He thought of Draco, young and arrogant and trying so hard, offering Harry his hand in friendship. He thought of Draco, head on his stomach, holding out a piece of his childhood like an olive branch. He thought of Draco's mouth, the taste of chocolate and wind, of his joy at their flight and his utter frustration whenever he lost at Quidditch.

"Draco's brave." He ate the last bit of cookie, finished his tea, and stood up. "He's more than he seems, and I love him."

"Well, there you are. But remember, Draco is also fragile, and he is a person with his own mind and his own decisions to make." Dumbledore lifted the lid of the jar on his desk. "Lemon drop?"

"No thank you," said Harry, turning to go. "The sourness? It's only an illusion."

The tiny hallway outside Draco's room was teeming with people. Crabbe and Goyle alone were enough to make the space seem cramped, and when you added in everyone else who had come along, it was positively claustrophobic. There was Hermione next to Ron and Eloise. Pansy was leaning against the wall, glaring at the three of them. Neville and Luna had somehow gotten invited along, and were talking animatedly with Blaise Zabini, who kept shooting glances at Draco's firmly closed door.

"Hermione, did you explain...?" Harry glanced around, suddenly nervous. It was one thing to have his two best friends knowing about his dilemma, but this was a rather large crowd for such an intimate decision.

"No, because honestly, you didn't either. Look, I know this is more people than you said, but I couldn't shake the extras." She looked totally frazzled, and Harry forgave her instantly.

"Let me see if we can't get Draco out here and then find someplace larger to meet," said Harry, suddenly having an idea. "I think the Room of Requirement."

"Brilliant," said Ron, smiling up at Harry encouragingly. Harry smiled back, then went to knock on the door.

"Fine, I'm coming," said Draco petulantly, his voice muffled by the door. When he opened it, he was wearing a suspiciously familiar green sweater over jeans Harry was absolutely positive were his. He was holding a chocolate frog and looking flushed and irritable, and Harry wanted to kiss him so badly it was like needing food, or air.

"I... I want to talk to you, and I want us to have our friends around for this decision. I can tell you first, and then them, or do it all at once." Harry started off stuttering and ended in a big rush, hoping to get the words out before the doubt on Draco's face became outright refusal.

Draco glanced at the crowd in the hallway, then back to Harry. "I suppose you've got someplace in mind?"

"Yeah. I'll even summon some more chocolate," said Harry with a soft, sad smile. He held out his hand to Draco, and his heart soared when cool fingers closed around his own. He leaned in close, whispering so no one else can hear, "I love you, you prat."

Draco's eyes went wide, and he started to pull away. "Peasant. And you do not."

"Do so!" said Harry, unable to hide the grin building inside him. "I can prove it."

Draco's eyes got wider, and flickered to their now-rapt audience. "Can you?"

Harry leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Draco's cheek. "You'll see." He turned away from the charming confusion on Draco's face, and tugged him towards the stairs. Draco followed behind, surprisingly compliant, and the rest of the mob trooped after them. No one, wisely, said a word about the kiss, or that they walked hand in hand.

"Snape told me about the potion," whispered Draco when they were almost there. "He told me all of it, that first night. I... I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Harry squeezed his hand tighter. "I got there early, Friday night," said Harry softly, throat closed. "I heard. I knew."

Draco stopped for a moment, staring. Then he brushed a soft kiss on Harry's cheek, and they walked on. Behind them, a voice said, "Bloody hell."

Draco chuckled. "Blaise, you never had a chance," he called behind him, and Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy all snickered.

"Yeah, I know," said Blaise flippantly. "Had to try, though, didn't I?"

"No more trying," said Harry, surprising everyone including himself with the ferocity in his voice.

"Right, right, best man won and all that." Blaise seemed to be taking this awfully well, and for that matter so was everyone else.

"They're kind of cute together, really," said Luna in her dreamy voice, and Pansy shocked them both by agreeing.

"It's kind of right in a really really wrong way," added Ron, with a grunt as Hermione smacked him. "What? Malfoy's been trying to get Potter's undivided attention since day one."

"Well, he's certainly got it now," said Pansy.

Harry was starting to turn a bit pink. "We're right here, you know."

That statement was true in more than one way, as they'd come upon the location of the Room of Requirement. Harry thought really hard about what they were there to do, paced, and opened the door that appeared. Inside, there was a long fireplace burning cheerily, surrounded by couches, chairs and ottomans like fat animals clustering for warmth. A full tea was laid out on a sideboard, complete with everything from gently fluttering fairy cakes to a little basket of tiny marshmallows next to a pot of hot chocolate.

Crabbe and Goyle headed straight for the food, beating out everyone, but deferring to Draco in the matter of choice. Harry and Draco each took a fairy cake, a slice of warm spice cake, and an assortment of chocolates. Harry took a treacle tart as well, and a cup of strong tea, while Draco ended up with hot cocoa and a small mountain of marshmallows. Everyone else fell to ravenously; they were missing dinner for this, after all.

Once everyone had settled in, with Draco and Harry squashed together on the perfectly tiny loveseat in the centre of their little semicircle, Harry cleared his throat gently and began to explain. Everyone listened raptly as he told them about his worries for Slytherin, and the botched potion, his own growing feelings for Draco and eventually a very edited version of their kiss and its potential consequences. When he was done, everyone looked vaguely stunned, except for Hermione, who just looked irritated.

"Well, so what are you going to do about it?" she said. "I mean, it's obvious you two are totally gone for one another."

Draco laughed, and Harry glared. "That's what we're here to decide. I thought... well, as much as I think this is between the two of us, it affects everyone in our lives, especially with the added dangers."

"I thought you two were already shagging?" said Goyle, confused.

Crabbe punched his arm and said, "Nah, you know how it is with virgins, everything takes an age." Eloise practically snorted her tea.

"Which one of 'em's a virgin?" said Blaise, looking confused.

"It's Potter, weren't you paying attention? It's his sodding purity that's got them into this mess." That was Pansy, who seemed to have an intense dislike for Blaise.

"Well, I haven't seen Draco shagging any of you," Blaise said rather bitterly, sinking down into his seat. Harry was starting to share her dislike.

"Shagging aside," Harry interrupted, before any more speculation could be voiced, "the question here is really how you would feel about us being, er..."

"Lovers," said Ron, not in the least bit helpfully.

"Bonded," said Harry, glaring some more.

"You seem awfully cranky about it, Potter," said Blaise, and Harry suppressed the urge to throw something at him.

"It's purely sexual frustration," said Draco smoothly, making Blaise sulk further and everyone else blush. "Now, seriously, what do you think?"

"I think it's romantic," said Luna.

"I kind of agree," said Neville, speaking up for the first time. "I mean, you were childhood enemies, and now you're going to fight You-Know-Who together?"

"If he doesn't kidnap us all," said Goyle darkly.

"If he does, I may be able to follow the bond to find Draco," said Harry softly. He felt like he was intruding on their very private fear here, treading on ground that he, as a Gryffindor, wasn't native to.

"Or he might just kill Draco, and therefore you, and we'll lose all hope," said Neville.

Harry scooted around so he was looking into Draco's grey eyes. He'd once thought them cold, but now he saw past the surface into the depth of feeling beyond. "It's a risk I'm willing to take," said Harry softly. "I've already decided what I want."

Draco's eyes widened slightly, then crinkled as he smiled. "Figures. So I've just got to take the fate of the wizarding world on my shoulders now, too, eh?"

"You're gonna do it, then?" said Crabbe. "Er, not here, though, right?"

Draco and Harry both laughed while several of the others looked rather distressed. "No, not here," said Draco. "But yeah, I think we are."

"Cool," said Luna, and oddly enough, they all seemed to agree.

Chapter 14
In Which We See a Number of Things Inappropriate for Young Children

Things proceeded rather quickly after that, the other students bustling them out the door with some very disturbing bits of advice. They walked hand in hand down the corridor, and Harry suddenly felt very nervous in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the Dark Lord, and everything to do with, as Hermione put it, losing his purity. "I honestly thought you'd fight it more," said Harry with a little half-smile.

"Sorry I freaked in the field," said Draco, by way of explanation. "Did Snape tell you why the kiss worked?"

Harry blinked. "Er, no?"

Draco sighed. "Snape's just being a git. The secondary thing, with the tears, it only worked because you actually love me, and there was an answering love in our kiss."

Harry blinked, then stopped. "Are you telling me you love me?"

Draco grinned, then kissed him gently. Harry's lips were tingling when he pulled away, and his body was suddenly much less nervous and more enthused. "I should think that would be bloody obvious by now."

"Well, yeah," said Harry, kissing him back for the sheer joy of being allowed to do it. "But it's nice to hear."

Draco smiled, tugging him along. "Idiot. I love you. Are you happy now?"

Harry grinned, feeling like his chest might burst and spill happiness all over the corridor. "Yes. Very."

Draco snorted. They came to his door, and the nervousness returned. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" said Draco, opening it. "I mean, we can just sleep for a few more nights, if..."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Seventeen, remember? Just hurry up and shag me, already."

They tumbled inside in a rush of laughter and nervous energy. "Er, how should we..." asked Harry, once the door was closed and things grew awkward again.

"How about we get back to where we left off?" said Draco, pulling Harry into his arms.

Harry allowed himself to be pulled, threading his hands through Draco's hair and letting himself go, letting himself feel. Their lips met, and this time the warmth didn't wait, it spilled out of both of them like it knew their intent. They were wrapped in a cocoon of power, and it brought them both to readiness between heartbeats. Their tongues entwined and the magic was like honey, adding an earthy, sticky sweetness to the half-remembered flavours of Draco's mouth.

They kissed like feeding, nipping at lips already swollen with desire, licking and biting until Harry's body thrummed with pent-up need. His hands slid down Draco's back and he was rewarded with a low moan. He pulled away long enough to whisper, "You're wearing my clothes," before diving back in to suck love bites onto the graceful column of Draco's neck.

"It's only - ah! - fair," Draco gasped out, hands pulling at Harry's sweatshirt as though to rip it off his body. Harry cooperated by sliding his hands under Draco's sweater, pulling upwards and away so they were left with their hands tangled in a ball of green and grey cloth. They laughed, and tugged, and were back chest-to-chest, bare skin touching in a long, hot line. All the breath went out of him, and the kiss this time was tender, and full of promise.

Harry's hands couldn't seem to get enough of Draco's skin, exploring the smooth scars, scraping nails across them just to feel him shudder, pressing into muscle and tracing the delicate bones of his spine. Draco was drawing patterns on Harry, distracting designs that burned into his skin and left him panting. This time it was Draco who broke the kiss to trail a wet stripe down Harry's chest with his tongue, ending on his knees with his face pressed to Harry's denim-clad hip.

"Draco," said Harry reverently, fingers running tender of Draco's cheekbone, gaze drowning in liquid, quicksilver eyes. Draco turned his cheek, captured two of Harry's fingers between lips gone red and soft, and Harry moaned again as they slid into that welcoming wetness. He twitched as Draco's tongue flicked out, teasing along the line between them, and wondered how long he'd last, and how many chances they'd have before time caught up with them.

Draco released his fingers with a knowing smile, and Harry repeated his earlier caress, this time leaving a wet tracery in his wake. Draco reached up and popped the first button, and Harry gasped. Draco pressed his hand against Harry's length, sliding his palm down as he popped three more buttons, nimble fingers there to catch him as he fell out, still trapped in the soft cotton of his boxers. He bit his lip to keep from finishing right there, from the look on Draco's face and the feel of his touch where it was most wanted, most needed.

"I want to eat you alive," said Draco softly, nuzzling against Harry's flesh. His eyes were wide, uncertain, as if somehow he thought he still had to ask permission. Harry nodded wordlessly, hands tangling in Draco's hair. Draco smiled a promise and slid his pants down, slipped off his socks and shoes deftly, leaving him standing by the door, naked and ready. Draco devoured him with eyes alone at first, hands fallen to his sides as he knelt on the cold stone of the floor.

Harry opened his mouth to suggest they move to the bed, and Draco pounced on him, catlike, shoving him up against the rough wood of the door. He licked a long, hot streak of pleasure up Harry's entire length, and Harry's knees were suddenly glad of the extra support. Draco slid his hands up Harry's thighs, thumbs teasing along the insides of them, and he found himself spreading wider as they brushed against his balls. His eyes kept wanting to fall shut, his head to tumble back against the door, but he forced himself to watch as Draco's mouth and hands began his undoing.

Draco's mouth opened wide while his fingers slid between Harry's legs, the other hand braced against his hip, thumb caressing distracting circles in the hollow. He lifted Harry's sac to his mouth, sucking his balls one at a time into bliss. His tongue traced patterns only he understood, finding every spot that made Harry cry out, and his hand worked slowly back, pressing and caressing, until his opening was begging for Draco to stop teasing and finally touch, take, invade.

A finger pressed against him, working tiny circles to ease him open, just as Draco's mouth finally travelled back up to where it was most needed. His lips closed around the head, lapping at the fluid there, and Harry moaned as though he might die. When Draco moved his mouth further down, taking Harry in, his own body welcomed Draco's as well, flaring open so the finger could ease its way inside. Harry finally let his head fall back, hands clawing at the wood behind him in an effort not to finish too quickly.

Draco wrapped his other hand around the base of Harry's cock and began to move, sucking, caressing with his tongue, tugging with his fist until Harry's head spun. His finger had worked slowly, easing inside of Harry's body until it felt like it belonged. Harry could hear whimpers and moans, cries and gasps, and he knew somehow they were Draco's doing, these unfamiliar sounds escaping his lips. Then Draco moved his finger, scraped his teeth ever so lightly, and Harry was lost.

Something sparked inside him, tension reaching flashpoint, release rushing over him like the roar of flame, hot and bright and undeniable. He might have screamed, knew when his hips snapped forward of their own accord, forcing himself as deep as he could go. Draco's throat moved around him, against him, taking his offering and drinking it down. His hands had found their way back to Draco's hair, and they were holding on like a lifeline when the fire burned out and left him nothing but spent ashes.

Draco's hands freed him, slid up to hold him even as Draco was sliding up Harry's body, pressing himself against him, demanding a kiss. He tasted like the ocean, salty and bitter and alive, and Harry whimpered at the knowledge that it was himself he tasted. He scrabbled at Draco's pants, still clumsy from orgasm. Draco made an impatient noise in his throat and shoved his hands away, ripping the fly open and sliding his remaining clothing off in one swift move.

Harry gasped when he came back up, kisses feral, body hot and hard against Harry's limp form. "You're mine, Potter," he growled, biting at Harry's shoulder, teeth a deep, satisfying ache above his collarbone. He was already beginning to return to life, and he knew now what he wanted.

"Not all yours yet," he said, shoving Draco away from the wall and following him so closely their bodies never lost contact. "Finish it," he challenged, pressing his lover against the bed.

"Pushy," said Draco, eyes dark and sparkling with mischief and desire. "So eager to be deflowered?"

Harry grinned back, leaning so his eyes could travel over Draco's naked form. "Wouldn't you be?"

Draco laughed, then flipped them around, surprising Harry by pinning him to the bed. His cock was wet with precome, sliding against Harry's hip like hot steel, but the fire in his gaze burned hotter, like the centre of a forge. "Get in bed," Draco ordered, and Harry was too overwhelmed by what he'd seen in Draco's eyes not to comply.

Draco rummaged through the nightstand, making little noises of frustration while he searched. Harry shoved the blankets off and lay back against the pillows, hands stroking his chest idly while he watched. Draco was like a caged animal, raw and rampant, waiting for the right moment to strike. He finally found what he was looking for, holding a small vial up to the light, and Harry tensed, waiting for him to pounce.

Instead he slunk like a great cat, all grace and coiled tension, bottle cradled in one hand. "Spread," he growled, kneeling in the space between when Harry hastily complied. This was the Draco that he played Quidditch against, that he'd felt pressed against him last time they'd had a fistfight. Dark. Fierce. Passionate.

"What..." Harry started to ask, gaze flickering from intense eyes, to vial, to the shaft ready and waiting to pierce his tender flesh. Draco shook his head, something in his face pleading with Harry to keep silent, follow orders, be what Draco needed. Harry complied, leaning back against the pillows, canting his hips upward in invitation. He was hard again already, the joy of being seventeen, of being in love.

Draco opened the vial, traced the stopper along Harry's skin, then poured some of the contents into his hand. He slicked himself first until he shone in the candlelight, like some kind of pagan god. Then his fingers drifted up Harry's thigh, trailing coolness in their wake, and Harry's legs fell open even wider, inviting, asking, begging with the tilt of his hips and the hunger in his eyes. Draco smiled, dark and wild, and for that moment he looked like a creature of myth, an incubus or some other fey being of lust and moonlight.

Harry's hands were drifting, tugging at a nipple, tracing the muscles in his stomach. Draco knelt forward, slick hand cupping, exploring that hidden space behind Harry's balls, sliding over his hole in a tantalizing tease. He leaned up for a kiss, his other hand capturing Harry's wrists one at a time, pressing them above his head. When he'd stolen Harry's breath, left him dazed and panting with the press of mouths and fingers, he pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, "Stay."

Harry complied, keeping his hands above his head and instead arching his back until their bodies touched, green eyes locked with Draco's dark gaze. Lust had tarnished the bright silver colour, turning them into the dangerous sheen of gunmetal, and he moaned when Draco's fingers, two this time, breached him with a strange tenderness. Draco pushed in almost roughly, sliding his hips against Harry's so their lengths collided, spreading slickness over his stomach in a mix of oil and precome.

"Mine," whispered Draco, breath like feathers against Harry's cheek. He followed it with teeth, closing ever so gently below his eye, scraping lightly down to bite almost savagely at the pulse in his neck.

"Yours," moaned Harry, as the fingers slid in and out, spreading him apart. A third joined them with a twist just this side of vicious, and Harry let his eyes close, giving up sight for sensation.

Draco's mouth moved down and over, and Harry whimpered at the loss of his warmth, then cried out when teeth closed over a nipple. The pain was sharp, immediate, and brought an echoing pulse of warmth from his cock, answering questions about himself he'd never thought to ask. He flicked his tongue out, licking over lips gone suddenly dry, and was rewarded with the scrape of Draco's tongue against his abused nipple. He jerked, and nails scratched down his side in thin lines of fire that a part of him hoped would leave marks.

He whimpered again when Draco's fingers pulled away, this time in anticipation. His legs were spread wider than he'd thought they could go, and Draco pushed them up and out even further, exposing him. Long fingers teased at the backs of his knees, and he twitched again when hot breath blew over his hole. He opened his eyes long enough to see Draco staring intently at his face, to watch the pink tongue flick out and circle his opening. Harry gasped, then cried out, "Draco!" when that agile tongue slipped inside.

He lost it, then, eyes wild, struggling against bonds that didn't exist, pushing against the press of Draco's hands only enough to feel restrained by them. Draco slid his tongue in and out of Harry's body, a thing Harry hadn't known was possible until he'd felt the raw pleasure of it washing his brain free of anything but this desperate need. "Please," he begged, the word falling from his lips of its own accord. Harry wouldn't even have known what to beg for at this point, let alone how to ask.

Draco answered by licking upwards, over his balls, up his cock, a special flick of tongue on the head making him gasp. Then up over his stomach, dipping into his navel, following the line of his sternum to his throat, finding his lips just as his cock found Harry's slick hole. He slid into Harry with a single smooth thrust of hips and tongue, taking his mouth and his body in one demanding motion. Harry might have moaned, but his cries were swallowed in the passion of their kiss, the oil slick and almost spicy on his lips.

Harry had never been filled before, had nothing to compare to the heat and weight and rightness of it. He simply accepted Draco into his body, wrapping his legs around Draco's back when the hands left them to tangle instead in Harry's hair. He shifted his hips and rubbed against that sparking place, making Harry arch and gasp beneath him. He growled and did it again, and again, thrusting into the depths of him like he wanted to bury himself in Harry and never come out.

Harry wanted nothing, driven beyond need and desire and drowning in the sticky heat of love and magic and Draco. His entire body tingled like electricity ran along his skin, and he thought he might be content to stay like this forever. Draco took him, claimed him, so much more than he'd thought it would be even in his newest fantasies. Draco's hand was back on his wrists, pressing him into the pillows, the other holding his chin so Draco could ravage his mouth as he pounded into his body.

Harry was helpless, boneless, pleasure pouring through him and over him like an ocean. He rode the waves of it, never quite reaching a peak but climbing higher and higher each time, until he was dizzy with ecstasy. His nerves were pulled taut as a wire, energy running along them, waiting for that final strike of lightning that would make him snap. The punishing rhythm drove his heartbeat, each stroke making his blood rush faster through his veins.

The rhythm grew ragged and Harry felt his heart faltering, fluttering in the cage of his chest like it was trying to break free. Draco was panting now, little tiny groans at the peak of each thrust, and Harry could feel that shining precipice grow closer and closer until Draco's head snapped back, eyes wide and sightless. Three things happened, then, that Harry would never forget.

His heartbeat seemed to pull loose from his chest and bury itself in Draco's in a rush of power like sticking his fingers in a light socket. Heat pulsed into his ass, striking that spark inside as Draco poured his pleasure into Harry's body. Fire poured out of his cock, long streams that felt like molten metal where they struck his stomach. They both screamed wordlessly as the magic brought them together, welding them into a new thing never to be broken apart.

Harry was never quite sure if they blacked out or just felt like they'd spent an eternity suspended in that moment of perfection. When he came back to himself, Draco was still inside him, pulsing gently in time to their shared heartbeat. He had released Harry's hands, falling limply against him, face buried in his throat. Harry could feel the joy, the fear, the love and the tiny splash of guilt that coloured everything in Draco's mind. "Thank you," said Harry softly, wonderingly.

The guilt flared, then died, leaving behind the warmth of shared love, the ever-present worry for the future, and the soft pulse of pleasure not yet faded. "I should be thanking you," whispered Draco, the words a shiver against his sweat-sheened flesh.

"Naah," said Harry, wrapping his arms around Draco, shifting himself just enough to keep them together, comfortably joined, but take the strain off hips that ached from the unaccustomed position. "I'd've never have had that oil stuff lying around, let alone had any idea what to do with it."

Draco laughed softly, curling himself deeper into Harry's embrace. "You know I only keep it around for..." he made the absurdly familiar gesture, and a wealth of images exploded into Harry's brain, of Draco laid out on this very bed, touching himself.

"Oh."

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" said Draco moving his hips just enough that Harry could feel he was still hard, still ready, like Harry himself. "Thinking about me tossing off."

Harry pinked ever so slightly, but said, "It's only fair, you got to watch me."

"You were lovely," he whispered, licking the sweat from Harry's neck like a cat. "I couldn't believe the great Harry Potter came calling my name with three fingers in his ass."

Harry turned quite a bit pinker, and his body tightened at the memory, making Draco gasp. "I thought you couldn't see that much."

"I lied," Draco murmured, nibbling at Harry's ear. "I came straight here and had one off the wrist, wondering if you'd show up and catch me at it."

"Quick," said Harry teasingly. "Good thing you got that out of your system."

Draco gave another thrust, sparking pleasure and just a touch of soreness in Harry's body, making him moan. "I'll never get you out of my system."

"Mmm, good," said Harry, turning for a long, deep kiss. "This mean you'll shag me again?"

Draco laughed, then murmured against his lips. "Already am."

It was no surprise to anyone when they were both late to class the next morning.

Chapter 15
In Which We Revisit the Physics of Rumours,
Specifically in Relation to Dungeon Acoustics

Professor Binns barely noticed when Harry slid into his seat, dishevelled, breathless and wearing Draco's clothing. He'd completely forgotten to retrieve any of his own school clothes, and had not only slept completely through breakfast, but ended up twenty minutes late for History of Magic. He did not miss, however, the stares and whispers that his appearance garnered, but he supposed it wasn't every day that a Gryffindor showed up to class wearing Slytherin colours.

He sprinted to the Tower between classes to change, feeling oddly bereft as he left Draco's things out for the house elves to clean and return to him. He was quite well aware, however, that not all the professors were as dim as Binns, and he'd get more than he was ready for if he paraded about in Draco's clothes all day. This, of course, made him late to Charms, but the minor lecture from Flitwick was nothing compared to what he'd say if he'd seen Harry show up in someone else's uniform.

Harry tried to concentrate on the complicated animating charms they were learning, but he kept being reminded of chocolate fairies and spiced kisses, and drifting off into his own rather embarrassing little world. At the end of class, he was even held back for an extra bit of lecturing. "I realize, Mr. Potter, that there is a lot going on, but just think what you could do with this spell on the battlefield! Animate someone's robes to hold them in place, or..."

Harry's mind had immediately snapped onto an image of himself, trapped by his own robes, struggling under Draco as he was ravished, and evidently Flitwick wasn't fooled the least bit by his rapt expression. "If you're not even going to pay attention for a whole lecture, you might as well go. But mark my words, you need to know your charms if you're going to be the hero we need!"

That got Harry's attention, but not in anything like a good way. "Yes, Professor," he said glumly, realizing that he had only four weeks left of school, 27 days total in which to spend as much time with Draco as possible while still finding a way to keep him safe. The weight of his briefly forgotten responsibilities crashed heavily onto his shoulders, bowing them as he trudged off to lunch.

Something was trying to get his attention, a feeling at the edge of his awareness. Something like shock and anger, only vague and fuzzy, and he began to run towards the pull of it as he realized what it was. Draco was upset somehow, and getting more and more agitated even as Harry ran to his hopeful rescue. He pelted down the stairs, flinging apologies back to those students who'd had to leap out of his way, heading down, ever down, towards the dungeons.

"I don't know what your bloody problem is! You're not my father and I don't need your approval! He loves me, even you can't deny that now." Draco's voice carried through the damp hallways as Harry careened around corners, heading for the sound. It seemed impossibly loud by the time he got to the source of the feelings, and something cracked open inside him just as he opened the door to Draco's bedroom.

"If you need magic to prove to yourself that he loves you, then what good is he to you?" were the words that slithered along his skin as he stepped into the room.

"I'm here for him when he bloody well needs me," said Harry vehemently, and Snape whirled.

"Potter. I should have known you'd hear his histrionics and come running." Snape's face was twisted in a mask of pain and hatred.

"I didn't hear him. I felt you breaking his heart." Harry pushed past him to get to Draco, whose eyes were wide and startled, cheeks blotchy and red with anger and pain. "He cares about your opinion of him, for some idiot reason, and he wants your blessing. How dare you make him choose!"

Two things happened then -- the tight feeling in his chest eased as Draco's arm snaked around his waist, and Snape's face crumbled as he doubled over in pain. "Snape!" Harry was shocked to find they'd both cried out, and were now both kneeling beside their fallen professor.

"He's calling..." said Snape, gasping. He seemed to realize that one of the arms around his alarmingly thin shoulders was Harry's. He straightened up, shrugging off their assistance and standing with some effort. "Never fear, it shall pass."

"Do you have to go to him?" said Draco quietly, and Harry could feel the pain tugging at his chest. He was surprised to find its faint echo already there, the quiet sympathy that had grown for the bitter, angry man that Snape had been turned into, all in the service of the light.

"No. He knows I am unable to Apparate from Hogwarts whenever he calls his minions, and thus I am exempt. But he likes to make sure I feel the call, just the same." Snape's back was straight, spine so tense Harry thought it might snap under the strain.

"Well then, let's get you to your office and get some tea into you. I'm sure Draco's got some chocolate stashed around here that we haven't eaten yet." Harry began rummaging through the nightstand, steadfastly ignoring the small blue bottle on top. It was half empty and had one very incriminating white fingerprint on the side from when they'd changed positions after the second time, Harry's hands on the headboard as Draco knelt behind him. Draco's fingers had been slick with Harry's seed, and they'd laughed at the smear he'd left on the bottle.

He found a couple of rather battered chocolate frog packages, and turned back around to find them both staring at him. Draco's face was soft, wondering, and the warmth of his affection slid through Harry's chest like he'd just taken a gulp of hot, sweet tea. Snape looked pensive, still angry but almost reasonable now. Almost human again. "I found a few chocolate frogs. Here," said Harry, thrusting the packages towards Snape.

He took them, hands mechanically unwrapping one and thrusting the squirming bit of candy between thin, dry lips. They were all silent, glancing uncomfortably at one another as Snape slowly consumed both frogs. "Tea. Office. Now," said Harry abruptly. "Unless you'd prefer to go to lunch in the Great Hall?"

"I believe I shall retire to my rooms for now, thank you for the chocolate. I suggest you two hurry up to lunch, as I am sure your fellow students are speculating as to the reason for your tardiness." Snape's sneer was back, but it seemed thin, worn. Like the real person behind it didn't want to stay hidden anymore. He spun on his heel and left without another word, stalking away in a swirl of black robes and disgust.

Harry turned slowly back to Draco as the door to his room swung shut. Draco's heart still felt broken, shards of glass prodding at Harry's chest, begging him to fix it. "I can't make him understand, but I can be here for you until he does," said Harry, stepping into Draco, encircling him with arms and love. Draco curled into and over him, buried his face in Harry's hair and inhaled deeply while those sharp little points receded just enough that they could both breathe.

"Let's eat. I'm sure everyone's been saving up their jokes," said Draco, smiling down. His face seemed odd, and Harry blinked as he finally understood why. It was soft, relaxed, no masks or sneering, just gentle affection and the sparkle of good humour, with a dark core of pain lurking in his eyes where before there had only been icy disdain.

"I love you, you know," said Harry, turning to open the door.

"Yeah, I do," said Draco, and somehow, that was exactly what he'd needed to hear.

They sat at the Hufflepuff table today, just the two of them off to one side, taking up space at no one's invitation. Instead of the catcalls they'd expected, the entire Great Hall had quieted down when they walked in, followed by a lone, slow clapping. It spread, as these things are wont to do, until students were standing, cheering, whistling, and even Dumbledore had joined in with twinkling eyes and a surprisingly sincere-seeming golf clap.

"Nutters," said Draco, for the third time. "Barking mad."

"Yes, Draco, it's awful for them to see someone who's led the most put-upon house in the school from being a bunch of petty schemers to a real cohesive group, just terrible for that boy to be hooking up with their very own Boy Who Nearly Got Killed an Awful Lot." Harry's voice was low, and would have seemed irritated to anyone who didn't have the feeling of rightness burning the embarrassment away in their chest.

"Git," said Draco irritably. Harry could only be amused at the repeated waves of irritation that battered at his own unshakeable happiness, as they all seemed to centre on Draco not being allowed to actually be annoyed about the whole thing.

"You love me anyway, what does that say about you?" said Harry, grinning. "Now stop being such a prat and eat your lunch, or I'll only let you shag me twice tonight."

Draco smiled despite himself. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Yep."

Harry had Quidditch practice that day after classes, and Draco declined to come and watch. "They'll still think I'm spying. I think I'll just sit in bed and touch myself, see if I can't disrupt your flying when I come."

"Save some of that for me," said Harry, giving Draco a quick surreptitious nuzzle. They were in the corridor just off the foyer, leading down towards Draco's room, and temptation. "I'll have to sneak back out tonight, I think, or else eventually someone's going to notice."

"As long as I get my three shags, minimum." Draco stole a kiss, fingers finding Harry's hip beneath his Quidditch robes.

"Perv."

"Tart."

"Only for you." Another quick kiss, and he was on his way to the pitch, heart already soaring to the skies. They'd tried to make him Captain last year, but he'd shucked it off to Ron, stating that he was far too distracted, and anyway, Ron knew the sport back to front. This way, he still got to spend most of practice high in the air, doing what he did best. Flying.

Ron gave them a rousing speech, during which the growing threads of Draco's fulfilled threat had him fidgeting in his seat, eager to at least get somewhere where the bulge in his robes wouldn't be noticeable. Nothing like a long, hard, well-polished broomstick between your legs to draw the eye away from any other phallic objects nearby. It was a relief when Ron released the snitch, and he could launch himself after the fluttering gold and just float on the air and feel.

He let his attention slide, opening himself up to the sky the way he usually only managed when the game was on and adrenaline was running high. He was aware of the world, of the grass below him and the sun above, the solidity of the broomstick pressing against his own echo of Draco's hardness, the flutter of robes and the faint glimmer of the snitch off to his right. Lust washed over him as he leaned into the broom, grinding himself into it while he dove for that glittering prize.

It was almost more intense this way, out in the open full of wind and light and hunger, not closed up with Draco in a dark room full of nothing but the two of them and their desire like a third person in the room, growing with every look and touch. This way, he had the hot core of it inside of him, but around the edges, eating at his control in a way no one else could see, there was Draco's heat, too, calling to him, drawing his blood to the surface and making it boil.

He couldn't feel exactly what Draco was doing, or thinking, just the pulse of his lust running through Harry's veins. Instead, his brain provided him with dozens of possible images: Draco up against the door, licking his palm and shoving it down pants he barely had time to unfasten. Draco lying, completely nude in the centre of his unmade bed, staring up at the ceiling as though he could see through solid rock to watch Harry soar. Draco's hand, slick with last night's oil, working himself as he knelt on the cold stone floor.

Harry was almost shocked when his fingers closed around the snitch, despite the fact that he'd been actively diving for it. He heard his teammates cheer, and almost lost his grip on his broom when Jack Sloper flew over and slapped him on the back. "Ought to've let that Malfoy git bugger you years ago, if this is the result!" he said cheerily, flying off before Harry could even think of a reply.

Ron flew over after him and gave him a wry grin. "You know," he said, in a disturbingly conversational tone, "Those dungeons have really odd acoustics."

"Er, what?" Harry was having a bit of trouble concentrating at the moment; he was pretty sure Draco was getting very close to finishing.

"So pretty much all of Slytherin heard you last night. 'Oh, Draco, yes, like that, you're so hard, never thought it would be this good, oh god, oh Draco, oh yes, right there, deeper, yes.'" Ron's voice stayed flat even through the recitation of things Harry barely remembered saying.

"Oh," said Harry, the mortification of being heard not quite enough to overcome the sneaky little exhibitionistic pleasure in knowing they'd also heard him make Draco beg at least once. Harry's mouth, though unpracticed, was evidently quite effective for certain activities, and Draco had been lovely, stretched taut and pleading to be finished off. "Er, so... you've been hearing about this all day, I expect?"

"Nothing like having their champion buggering yours to give them a bit of an ego boost, eh?" Ron's cheeks had gone a bit pink, but otherwise he was still friendly, still there.

Harry grinned at him, a wash of affection cleansing some of the misplaced passion out of his system. "You're just disappointed it wasn't the other way 'round."

Ron blushed a bit deeper, then punched him in the arm, grinning. "Naah. Whatever frosts your cookies, mate."

Ron flew off, then circled back 'round, still grinning. "You caught the snitch, now get out of here! You've got a Malfoy to bugger!"

The rest of the team cheered as he hastily landed, running full out, hoping to get to Draco before Draco got himself off. After all, he did have at least three good shags to get in around their homework.

Chapter 16
In Which We Learn How Privacy, Teenage Hormones and Magic
Can be a Volatile Combination

Harry slammed the door behind him, breathless and panting from more than just the run. Draco was keeping himself on the edge, and Harry was just about there with him. He was greeted by the sight of Draco lying backwards on the bed, head hanging down over the edge, wearing nothing but the very outermost robe of a school uniform. Harry's school uniform -- the red and gold of the embroidery was unmistakable against the black robe, green comforter and pale flesh.

Draco's knees were planted firmly, legs splayed, hand wrapped around his length. His eyes were open, challenging, mouth pink and wet and welcoming above them in his upside-down face. "Caught the snitch?" he asked, voice full of lust and sarcasm in equal measure.

"Had good motivation," said Harry, already stripping out of his Quidditch robes. "Need a hand?"

"How about your ass?" said Draco, one hand fishing the little blue vial of oil out of the folds of the robe while the other continued to stroke. His cock shone in the candlelight, already slick and ready.

Harry moaned and snatched the bottle, hastily opening himself with two slippery fingers. It hurt a little, but he just couldn't wait through all the careful preparations Draco had so kindly performed last night. When he was as ready as he had patience for, he climbed up Draco's body, deliberately sliding his cock over cheek and collarbone, down chest and stomach and through the puddle of oil and precome until he was straddling Draco, facing the headboard.

"Take it if you want it," he growled, bending and spreading enough to expose himself to whatever Draco had to offer. Draco's thighs tensed, and Harry could feel his gaze like a weight on his skin. Long fingers slipped into him, two of them stretching and testing, then pulling out quickly only to be replaced by the blunt head of Draco's cock teasing his ass.

"Mine," said Draco, gripping Harry's hips and arching his own, pulling down and thrusting up to meet in the middle with a jolt. Harry's breath caught somewhere between a scream and a moan, and his hands grasped his own shaft, spreading the oil thinly over his length. Sometime in the night he'd metamorphosed from the nervous virgin into this wanton creature, and he rode Draco's thrusts with passionate intent.

"Yours," said Harry, and Draco thrust up harder, hitting that place inside him and making him cry out again, this time louder, wordless. He was so close, they both were, pulled apart by this shining thing they shared. Everything was so new, felt so right, and then Harry's thumb slid over the head of his cock, nail catching at the slit and sending a bright flash of pain that set them both off.

Draco's nails dug into his hips as they came, filling Harry with heat in more than one way. He didn't know if this side effect would last, if they'd overflow with warmth and power every time they made love for the rest of their lives, but it made his vision sparkle and nerves tingle. He felt Draco moving beneath him, sitting up and curling around him, and Harry relaxed back into those familiar, loving arms.

When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his own seed soaking into the cloth of his last clean school robe. "Draco?"

"Mmm?" came the muffled reply; Draco's face was buried in Harry's back.

"How'd you get my robe?" he asked, letting his weight pull him further into Draco's embrace. They were both still hard, another side effect of the magic, and he felt oddly complete like this, with Draco buried in his flesh. He could feel the gentle pulse, his heartbeat and Draco's forever in synch. A strange comfort to know that there was one person that couldn't just up and die on him.

"Look around," said Draco, voice full of humour.

Harry looked. There was a second wardrobe set beside the first. The dresser was wider, too, which seemed impossible until he realized the entire room was a little bigger. Draco carefully manoeuvred them around so he was propped against the pillows, chin on Harry's shoulder as Harry took it all in. There was a second chair beside the spindly table, and actual walking space between the chairs and the bed. A small door led off to the left where no door had been before, and the entire room had small touches of red and gold throughout the previously monochrome decor.

"Evidently," said Draco softly, deliberately ghosting his lips over Harry's ear as he spoke, "There's some old rule from back when wizarding families used to have arranged marriages at the earliest possible age."

"But we're not..." Harry began, and Draco nipped his ear sharply to quiet him.

"Dumbledore has decided that our bonding counts as marriage, and converted my room into our private suite. There's even a bathroom now." Harry squirmed around, amidst much gasping and giggling, until he could meet Draco's eyes. "You don't have to sneak out tonight," said Draco roughly, and then he kissed away any further questions Harry might have had.

Harry found himself flat on his back in a strange echo of Draco's earlier position, head lolling over the foot of the bed, legs wrapped firmly around Draco's hips. "Plenty of time for homework later, then," said Harry, eyes wide, and Draco grinned ferally.

"Plenty," he growled, falling upon Harry like some ravening beast, hips and hands and mouth all moving in a strange rhythm of renewed desire. Harry went limp and submissive beneath the onslaught and let thinking melt to feeling as Draco had his way.

The rest of the week went by in a blur of sex, homework, Quidditch practice, and more sex. The students took the change in Harry and Draco's relationship in stride, and their odd habit of eating at whichever House table struck their fancy started an interesting trend of other students doing the same -- Hufflepuffs at the Gryffindor table, Ravenclaws with the Hufflepuffs, and even Gryffindors eating with the Slytherins. It was as though their bonding had broken down some kind of invisible barrier, and suddenly the Slytherins were a part of the school, just another House instead of the future victims they'd been in the eyes of so many students.

Friday night at dinner, after a gruelling Potions lesson in which Snape did everything he could to get Harry in trouble (with no success at all, much to everyone's surprise), they sat at the Ravenclaw table with Hermione, Ginny and two of the other Advanced Potions students, Michael Corner and Lisa Turpin. Whispered comments were still floating about, but much less maliciously than before. The topic of choice for today seemed to be tomorrow's Quidditch match, pitting Draco and Harry against one another for one last time.

"D'you think you'll be able to?" asked Ginny, curious. "I mean, with the bonding and all, won't it be hard to really compete?"

Draco and Harry exchanged glances, then shrugged. It was Draco, surprisingly, who answered her. "We're not really sure, but we think that, if anything, it'll make the match more exciting."

"The bond seems to have improved both our skills pretty much equally," added Harry. Even without the extra motivation that Draco had provided on Monday, both Seekers had caught the snitch quickly and repeatedly during every practice since.

"It's like it makes me more aware of my surroundings," said Draco softly. "And I seem to have gotten quite a bit of Harry's love of flying."

Harry turned a bit pink at that, which got confused glances from the Ravenclaws, and an amused snort from Hermione. "You love it, too," said Harry, giving him a playful shove with his shoulder. They were sitting close, barely an inch of air between their bodies, chairs shoved right up next to one another. "You always did, I could see it when you flew, even that first time."

"Speaking of first times," said Hermione, her voice tinged with amusement, "I found out a bit more about that potion of yours, Harry."

"Really?" said Harry and Draco in chorus, which provoked amused sniggering from everyone in earshot.

"It seems it was actually invented to ease the pain of arranged marriages. The bride and groom were both given the potion three days before the wedding. If love bloomed, then they'd feel it when they kissed at the wedding, and be bound during the, er, wedding night." She smirked and added, "Though you two seem to have skipped straight to that last bit."

"Hermione!" Harry was only feigning shock, but it got another round of snickering from Michael and Lisa.

"You're the one who keeps the Slytherins awake at night, not me," she teased. "Never would've taken you for a bottom, Harry. You were always more of a doer."

Harry blushed very pink, and Draco contrived to look smug. Michael's eyes had gone rather wide, and Lisa looked a little too interested in this new detail. "How d'you know Harry's the bottom?" she asked curiously.

One of the Slytherins leaned back from his table and moaned, "Oh, Draco, deeper, harder, oh god." Lisa had the grace to blush, while Harry resisted the urge to bang his head on the table.

"Speaking of which," he said crossly, "I thought you were going to find me a privacy spell."

"I've got rather more important things than that, and besides, there's rather a large betting pool going as to when Draco will finally give it up. I'd hate to disappoint," said Hermione, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You're a cruel, cruel woman," said Draco, smirking. "But as it allows the entire student population to properly appreciate my sexual prowess, I'll forgive you."

"Bite me," said Harry.

"Later," Draco replied with a leer.

That night, they lay in bed, curled together in a loose tangle of sweat-drenched limbs. "Draco?" Harry asked, nuzzling at Draco's chest.

"Yeah?" Draco's fingers were dancing idle steps across Harry's flank, leaving a shiver of desire in their wake. They'd made love twice already, but tonight it seemed like more than just the newfound love of two hormonal teenagers.

"We'll be all right, no matter who wins tomorrow, right?" He nipped at Draco's collarbone, tasting salt and familiarity.

Draco pulled him even closer, wrapping him up in arms and the warm pulse of affection. "Of course we will. Especially when I win." He kissed away any objections Harry might make, long and sweet and slow, as though nothing mattered but the moment.

"Mmm." Hands began to move, hips rocking together in a strange, leisurely rhythm. He slid along Draco's damp skin, cock fitting into the curve of Draco's hip like it belonged, Draco's beside it like an echo of his own desire. He thought about making love again, but he didn't want to move, just stay there on his side and let things build at their own unhurried pace, slickness accumulating with heat until he felt the warning shiver low on his spine.

"M'gonna," he mumbled between kisses, feeling the tingling spread slowly out.

"Good," whispered Draco, fingers burying themselves in his hair, tongue tracing along his wide-open lips like he was seeking some secret. Their legs were locked together now, holding them close, and Harry's hands curled into bruises on Draco's hips. The explosion this time was in slow motion, white-gold sparks from his centre outward that cascaded back in as they hit the edge, ripples of pleasure that didn't want to end.

A part of him felt Draco's breath catch, his own release half a heartbeat after Harry's, flooding the space between their bodies with warm, wet heat. They lay there, spent and drifting, for long, measured minutes, breathing one another's breath until they were lightheaded and sleepy. Harry licked at Draco's lips, then, down his jaw to lap at the slowing pulse in Draco's neck. He left a perfect ring of teeth around it, not so much a claim as a marker, a statement. This is life, this is me. This is ours.

He travelled down further, slipping in their come as he mouthed his way to Draco's nipples, giving each one its due before moving on to his true goal. Draco's stomach was covered in their mixed seed, and Harry cleaned it all with small, delicate cat-licks, delving in his navel and making him giggle and squirm. He sucked it out of the short, wiry hairs, cleaned the softening shaft until it was hard and shiny and wet with his spit, then took it all in and started again.

The magic was energizing, giving them an endurance even teenage hormones couldn't match, and the candles in their snake holders had burned down low when they were finally blown out. And even then, it was a while before they slept, low voices whispering words of love, promises they might not live long enough to keep floating desperately in the darkness.

Chapter 17
In Which We See How Love Interacts With the Spirit of Competitiveness

They woke tangled, sticky, and strangely well-rested, for all that they'd only had a bare few hours' sleep. They stumbled, giggling, into their new bathroom and spent a long, leisurely time snogging in the shower before going outside to get dressed and make sure their Quidditch gear was all ready. By mutual consent, neither of them mentioned the upcoming match, anticipation and worry fluttering through their stomachs like a swarm of moths unable to decide between two enthralling candle flames.

They arrived in the Great Hall amidst cheers and catcalls, both teams assembled and calling for the Seekers to join them. They turned and kissed rather chastely, much to the delight and occasional disgust of their audience, and then each went their own separate ways. Harry sat with the Gryffindor team, laughing and smiling through the tug in his chest that told him that Draco was right over there, nervous and excited and happy.

"I can't believe you kissed him in front of the whole school!" Ron grinned and slung an arm around Harry's shoulders as he loaded his porridge with sugar and cream. "That'll give those tossers something to think about."

"Er, which tossers?" asked Harry absently, nibbling at the concoction. He still didn't actually like porridge, but today he'd wanted something bland, heavy and grounding. His mind was already half in the skies, and his heart was beating in time to his rival's, so he thought maybe the lump in his stomach would keep some part of him focused on the earth below.

"Nevermind them, Harry, we've got yer back!" said Andrew Kirke, ruffling his hair. The Beaters had both taken Harry's relationship in stride once they'd seen how much his Quidditch had improved -- as far as they were concerned, he could be buggering a chicken, and they'd be happy if it made him a better Seeker. He knew this for a fact, because they'd said so in just those words after practice on Wednesday, much to Harry's chagrin.

"What're you talking about?" said Harry again, this time a bit more vehemently. "Why do I need you at my back?"

"There's just been some talk, is all," said Ginny rather disgustedly. "There's still a lot of prejudice about you two, despite all the good it's done for everyone. I mean, it's not exactly common even in the Wizarding world for two boys to suddenly up and start shagging, is it?"

Harry flushed, and tried to quell the slow rise of anger in his chest. "What've they been saying?" he said evenly, trying to keep calm, to keep Draco from coming over and hearing it.

"Oh, you know, the usual name-calling," said Ron dismissively. "Not very original, are they? Not big on thinking for themselves."

"Just parroting their parents, really," said Euan Abercrombie, one of the new Chasers.

Harry felt worry gnaw through him like a worm hollowing out an apple. "How do their parents know?" he said, dreading the answer. Something was nagging at his attention, and he had a feeling Draco was getting the same news where he sat.

They all looked vaguely guilty, then Ginny wordlessly slid a copy of Witch Weekly out from under her plate and over to Harry. The headline read, "The Boy Who Loved Boys?" The article was, if anything, less flattering than the headline, and the first picture was an old one of Harry hanging out with the Weasley twins, laughing good-naturedly and looking askance at the subtitle, which read, "Fred and George Weasley -- Friends or More?"

"Oh bugger," said Harry. "Their mum'll have seen this! I mean... Bloody hell."

He read through the article slowly, blood draining from his face. No one had been spared, any male Harry had ever had contact with, including the professors, was conjectured to have had some sort of inappropriate relationship with him. The crowning touch was a photo down past the fold, of Draco and Harry from their day in Hogsmeade. They looked so happy together, leaning briefly against the wall when they'd stepped aside to let a group of students past, looking for all the world like young lovers on an outing. Looking happy.

That caption read, "Draco Malfoy -- Potter's Latest Conquest?"

"So, they have no idea what's actually going on, then," said Harry firmly, setting the paper down. "I mean, obviously if they're accusing me of having shagged Snape, they're totally off their rocker. I'd've got better marks, for one thing."

"Harry, it's..." Ron glanced around nervously. "Look, no one really knows about the whole purity thing, I mean, I told the Gryffindors as soon as I saw the article, figuring you'd rather be outed as a virgin than some poncing slag." Harry blushed and nodded, and Ron plowed on, "But the thing is, no one's ever understood why you didn't drop Potions after Fifth Year, and most of us are totally in the dark about the whole Malfoy thing."

"So, you're saying that they think... they think I..." Harry tried to be offended or mortified, but he just couldn't keep from giggling at the images in his head. "With Snape? And, oh god, Flitwick?" He collapsed with laughter, which got him a lovely tickling of puzzlement from Draco that only made him laugh harder.

At the mention of Flitwick's name, eyes went wide. Ginny grabbed the paper away and began scanning the article again, and Ron looked for a moment like someone had goosed him before joining Harry in hysteria. That seemed to set the rest of them off, and soon the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was collapsed against one another in helpless laughter, much to the bemusement of their fellow students.

Harry felt centred, excited, ready, and he knew that Draco felt the same. The sky was calling him, that little patch of blue that he could see at the end of the tunnel as they stood, waiting with bated breath for Madame Hooch to call them out. He launched himself in a soaring rush, circling around with the rest of the team, impatient for things to begin so he could go higher, faster, higher.

Draco was right there with him, in green and black and silver gilt, impatience beating at his chest like a trapped bird waiting to get out, get done, just fly. They barely heard the opening words spoken as they circled above their teams like a strange compass, Harry always directly opposite Draco, climbing slowly upwards until it barely registered that people were cheering, and the balls had been released.

Harry found that place inside him already waiting and went there, pulled Draco with him, and they both opened their attention out and out and out, to the sky and the wind and the kids in the stands, the bludgers and quaffle and always, always looking for the telltale sparkling of the golden snitch. He vaguely registered that some Slytherins were holding a rude banner up for his inspection, barely noticed as someone scored, and scored again. These things weren't important, weren't him, or Draco, or the snitch.

They did a dance of feints and rushes, loops and laps and odd little dips. They didn't so much mirror one another as complement, taking the spill of adrenaline and feeding it back and forth like heady wine passed between open mouths. It was a little like being drunk, and he was almost painfully aware each time his heart contracted, pushing more of the excitement into his blood. The game flowed on and on below them, but all he cared about was the sky, his love, and that telltale glitter of gold.

He dove straight up just for the sheer joy of it, felt Draco's chest surge and saw him diving down, down, spiralling towards the other players just for the rush of the acceleration. He saw a play happen, but was too far up to hear what it was, just something with green-clad players and Ron. He saw Ron get hit by a bludger and spiral out of control, dove down to find him, help him somehow, but a wild surge of excitement in his chest pulled him away.

He changed his dive until his broom was pointing in the same direction as that pulsing arrow in his chest, picked up speed until the world was a blur around him. His eyes had caught the snitch as soon as he'd turned, his dive more clean and straight than Draco's climb, no players in the way at all just him and empty air. They were headed straight for one another, angling to crash quite spectacularly unless one of them pulled back.

He dove into a wall of sound, the cheering around him constant, the air filling up with taunts and encouragements, wordless cries of excitement and even someone singing under their breath. The snitch was hovering right near the stands, waiting patiently under the banner declaiming, "Potter is a Pillow-Biting Ponce!" He stretched his hand out, already beginning to correct so that he'd only bump rather hard into the green-and-silver canvas instead of slamming into it at breakneck speed. Draco's arm was there, too, hand in his field of vision and they ended up tangled together in a breath-stealing rush of limbs and brooms.

When he opened his eyes, he saw their hands curled tight together, Draco's over his, the snitch firmly snuggled in Harry's palm. They were hovering a few feet above the ground, and Madam Hooch was already on her way over, whistle blowing. "Now," she said sternly as they began disentangling themselves, "Who got it?"

They held up still-entwined hands, then Draco unfolded his to show Harry's clenched fist. Harry opened his hand to show the snitch, fluttering nervously against his palm. "Gryffindor, then," she said, flying off.

Much to Harry's shock, he heard Seamus' familiar voice saying bemusedly, "Gryffindor has come away with the snitch, but that only puts them at 160! In a stunning upset, Slytherin, with 180 points, is the winner!"

He looked down at the snitch in his palm, and Draco's shining grin, and couldn't even feel bad. He hadn't been paying attention to the game, not really, but he'd definitely have to give Ron a great deal of crap for letting 18 bloody goals through while he wasn't looking. Still, the students were cheering, as it seemed a double victory -- the snitch for Gryffindor, but the game and Cup to Slytherin. Their teammates finally pulled them apart, snitch still clutched loosely in his fingers as they carried him to the locker room.

"I can't believe you caught it when we were so far down!" complained Ron good-naturedly. "Of course, I still can't believe I took two bludgers and only have a sprained shoulder to show for it."

"'Two?" said Harry, stunned. The game had felt so short to him, but then, his head hadn't really been down with the team this time. "Ouch."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, Ron," said Jack, giving him a slap on his good shoulder. "Bit of rotten luck, that."

"We were bloody awful!" wailed Natalie MacDonald, one of the two younger Chasers. "I can't believe we only got in one goal! Their new Keeper's sodding brilliant." Her voice held a combination of admiration and disgust, "And Crabbe and Goyle are vicious Beaters, no offence, guys."

The Gryffindor Beaters waved her off. "At least you got the snitch, Harry, so no one can say that you weren't doing your best. Those last two goals happened while you were diving for it, after Ron took his second hit, so it really was a close game."

"Still, I'm sorry we lost," said Ron sadly. "I mean, what a bloody awesome finish that would have been, eh? Getting the cup by the space of a heartbeat. I was shocked when Madam Hooch had to go check and see which of you'd actually caught it!"

They all nodded, grinning, and Harry let their enthusiasm warm him. Draco had a similar sort of mixed excitement and chagrin, for the opposite reasons, and Harry felt that now-familiar tugging telling him that what they both really wanted was just to be together. Which wouldn't actually get to happen for hours, because the one thing Harry wasn't about to do with his, er, whatever Draco was, was go to the Slytherin victory party.

Harry could feel Draco's mood changing throughout the night, a steady downward tug from elation to annoyance that he was pretty sure he could explain. Between the rude banner and Draco's failure to catch the snitch, the party was probably not the friendliest place for him to be. Harry tried to send a wave of comfort, having left the Gryffindor common room as quickly as possible himself for rather similar reasons. He was now curled up in their bed wearing a set of Draco's silk pyjamas, drinking tea and studying for next week's ordeal: NEWTs.

He wasn't taking as many as some, but they weren't called Nastily Exhausting for nothing. At least it got him out of exams in the related classes. Snape was making all his Advanced Potions students take the NEWT in lieu of an exam, but the rest of the teachers, realizing that not every student was actually taking NEWTs, made it optional. Harry was taking four out of some misplaced Hermione-instilled masochism: Potions, of course, and DADA, plus Charms and Transfigurations.

Draco was taking Potions, Ancient Runes and Charms, so Harry was rather unsuccessfully trying to study his Transfigurations while he waited. The downward spiral of Draco's emotions was distracting, like having a damp towel sitting on his chest that went from pleasantly warm to lukewarm to distractingly chilly and finally just uncomfortably heavy and cold. He was relieved when he could finally set the book aside as the feelings -- and Draco with them -- drew closer, begging for a reprieve.

Harry tidied the room with a wave of his wand, lit the candles with a muttered charm and pulled out one of his hidden boxes of chocolates, raspberry truffles he'd ordered from Honeydukes just yesterday. The owl had delivered them this morning during the last odd bits of breakfast, and he'd cajoled a house elf into stashing them in his wardrobe for him on his way to the pitch. He figured either way he'd want them, as consolation or congratulation, never expecting they'd serve as both at once.

He also took a moment to prepare himself, amused at the curiosity he sparked in Draco as he did so, making his own mood go furtive and decidedly sexual. He elected to leave the pyjamas off, instead sitting on the very middle of the bed, with the bow-bedecked chocolates over his other welcoming gift to Draco. Draco burst in a few seconds later, face dark with irritation, and broke into a slow grin like dawn.

"Much better than a party," he said softly, crawling over the bed to kiss Harry like he was the chocolate and the filling had to be licked out of every crevice of his mouth. Harry didn't mind in the least, leaning back and letting himself be ravished.

"Silencio," said Draco softly with a flick of his wand, and the room grew quiet, muffled. Harry grinned his understanding, then let his grin go wicked as he set the box aside and flipped them over.

Draco didn't struggle, in fact he helped undress himself, but he seemed almost confused and afraid when Harry wouldn't let him do anything afterwards, pushing his hands away and trying to get him to lie down. Instead, Harry shook his head and mouthed, "Let me." After a long, tense moment, Draco nodded, and went limp and passive, almost as though he was going to sleep on top of the covers.

Harry took note of the anxiety lurking in his eyes, and spent a long time just kissing Draco, trying to put his mind at ease. Draco's mouth was stiff at first, almost as bad as their first kiss, but Harry knew how to make it warm and pliant again. He grabbed the box and tore off the ribbons, tying them around his own erection with a grin that made Draco giggle, then pulled a single truffle out of the gold packaging. Draco's eyes went wide and hungry, and Harry grinned.

He bit off the truffle, smearing the chocolate liberally over his mouth. This time, when he leaned in for a kiss, Draco's lips met his eagerly, tongue flicking out to lick at the tangy sweetness. The silence was eerie, not even their breathing audible, and yet he could still hear the beat of their hearts in his mind, could feel the magic begin to seep out of its hiding place and spill into his veins. Draco grew hard and began to thrust his hips upwards, crumpling the bow soundlessly between their bodies.

Harry pulled back and bit into the truffle again, letting the chocolate dissolve into a sweet syrup on his tongue before returning for another deep kiss. Draco repeated his earlier performance, which made something warm and happy rise up in Harry's chest at the thought that he was equally delicious to Draco with or without chocolate. When he pulled back this time, Draco looked glazed and sated, no trace of the earlier nervousness remaining.

Instead of eating the last of the truffle, Harry traced it over one of the scars on Draco's chest, roughly smudging the silvery line with brown. Draco's eyes went wide, but he stayed limp and obedient as Harry traced over his chest and stomach, arms and hips, going through two more truffles before he finished with Draco's legs. He fed the last bite directly to his lover, letting him lick the melted sweetness off his fingers before bending to his new task.

Draco arched, mouth opening in what might have been a gasp as Harry's tongue traced over one of the lines. The scar was smooth under his tongue as it had been many times before, this morning, last night. It was different now, though, following the line instead of steadfastly ignoring it, forcing them both to acknowledge that Draco's past was a part of who he was now. The lack of sound sharpened this new sense he had of Draco's emotions, and he felt the cold echoes of pain, eased them with a balm of love and understanding.

Harry knew about loss, about living as a child in a world where the adults who held your life in their hands didn't love you enough, or at all. He'd never been violated the way Draco had, but he had the scar on his hand that attested to his endurance of deliberate cruelty, less obvious than the one on his forehead but no less real. He put that empathy into his mouth and let it spill out, not in words, but feelings, tracing lines of kindness and desire and affection over skin that once knew only pain and disappointment.

There was some other, subtler magic going on that Harry couldn't place, but he didn't worry too much as he licked every scar he could find, even pausing to delve deeply into Draco's belly button, making his stomach flutter as he giggled soundlessly. Some of the scars wrapped around towards Draco's back, and Harry followed those as far as he could reach, promising silently to finish when he got to the other side.

He traced down, finding the scars from Quidditch and other childhood mishaps mixed in with Lucius' strange symbols, crossing over them and interfering with whatever magic Harry could feel tingling between them. He was beginning to worry about just what was going on here, that he should have left this for another night, but he felt a strong pull to finish anyway. He traced down Draco's legs, sucking at his ankles, licking along the bottom of one foot where the long tail of a rune curled around, trying not to think about how much that must have hurt.

He tried to replace the old pain with fresh pleasure, to built a new memory for the marks in Draco's mind. He knew he couldn't ever erase the past, but he could try to transmute the consequences in the present as best he could. He slid his hands up and gently rolled Draco over, then began licking up his calves, tracing this time without the aid of candy. His tongue slid around Draco's hip to complete the unfinished rune there, went up along his ribs and down his spine.

Draco was breathing fast, spikes of panic and desire keeping Harry centred and careful. Harry stroked his free hand over Draco's flank soothingly, tracing the back of his neck and over his shoulders, down his arms and sucking on the spidery tracing between two fingers that was obviously some innocuous childhood injury. The magic now crawled over them in electric tingles, and didn't seem to like that Harry paid equal attention to other, older and newer scars.

Harry had saved the best and worst for last, going down over Draco's side to join up with the scars on his ass, finally taking that spiderwebbed path down into his cleft. He'd been longing to do this since Draco had done it to him that first night, exploring Draco's secret places and seeing just how far in the trailing scars went. The first one he chose went straight to the centre of him, and Harry licked fearlessly in and over the oddly rough pucker, savouring the dark flavor.

Draco's panic had all but gone, replaced by a wash of desire as Harry circled around the inviting opening. He dipped his tongue inside and got a wash of lust, both Draco's and his own, driving him to thrust deeper. The magic was eager now, trying to draw him out to finish the last few lines, but something in Harry knew that he didn't want to activate whatever sleeping magic he'd awakened. Instead, he pulled away entirely, grabbing blindly for a truffle and biting down. The familiar flavor grounded him, and he crawled up Draco's body for a deep, slow kiss.

He rolled Draco over again and straddled him, his own body still slick and ready from his hasty preparations. Draco's eyes were dark and wild as Harry sank down on his cock, taking him in despite the almost hypnotic call of those last few secret scars. It was a strange pull, trying to get them to stop the act that was now so natural, but Harry had experience with this sort of thing, and it was far gentler than Moody's Imperius. He sunk himself in the pleasure of Draco's cock, Draco's hands and lips and the beat of their hearts, and ignored the compulsion.

Other things built instead, the hot wash of the potion's magic disrupting the ant-crawl of the compulsion, the sparkle of impending release making them both pale. He could feel Draco, already on the knife's edge of desire and pulling Harry along with him, and Harry canted his hips and tightened his body just so. Draco's hand wrapped around Harry's length and gave a single long stroke made rough by the ribbons still looped around it, and they both went over the edge. Light exploded golden behind Harry's eyelids, and he felt his breath torn away.

When he came to seconds later, Draco's eyes were riveted on something over Harry's shoulder, and wide with fear.

Chapter 18
In Which We See How Old Sins Do, In Fact, Come Back to Haunt the Sinner

Harry twisted around, trying to find the source of the terror that spiked through both their veins and rolled off Draco like cold fog. Harry's eyes widened, and he thought for one wild moment he was hallucinating. Lucius Malfoy could not possibly be suddenly in their room, because a Death Eater could not possibly have Apparated into Hogwarts. And yet, there he was, shadowy and oddly transparent, his usually composed face contorted in madness and rage. He seemed like he was trying to push a stream of vitriol through the silencing spell with sheer willpower, and a tingling over Harry's skin told him that it might actually work.

Harry dove for their wands, left carelessly on the nightstand. He barely registered it when their physical connection was broken, so intent was he on every emotional nuance, every clue that might tell him if he was about to be attacked. He tossed Draco's wand blindly towards the feeling of him, and waited for the moment that Draco released his silencing spell. The room filled with Lucius' voice, near-incoherent swearing like a wall of sound battering at their defences.

"Petrificus Totalus!" cried Harry, powering it with the built-up glow of magic and love and even the tingling press of what he now realized was Lucius' incomplete spell. Lucius didn't stand a chance, snapping into focus as his body went rigid.

"Silencio!" cast Draco again, this time on Lucius alone. His cursing went blissfully silent as he toppled slowly over.

Snape burst through the door, robes askew over dark green flannel pyjamas, wand at the ready. Harry suddenly became acutely aware that he was wearing nothing but the rather crumpled gold bow, and Draco was covered in a Rorschach blot of Harry's seed. "Accio pyjamas!" cried Harry rather desperately as he felt a trickle of Draco's come sliding down his thigh.

Every set of pyjamas they both owned came flying at them, out of drawer and hamper and even one pair of dusty trousers that had evidently gotten lost under the bed. "What on Earth...?" Snape's face was a mask of anger, lust and confusion, and he didn't even appear to have noticed Lucius yet.

Harry pointed mutely to the prone figure in the shadows at the foot of the bed, and turned around abruptly. He rid himself of the bow and slid into the first pair of pyjama bottoms he could grab while Draco did the same, mopping up the mess on his chest and abdomen with an extra shirt. Once they were both at least half-clothed, Harry turned back around to find Snape looking positively aghast. "I don't know how he got here, I think there's some kind of spell on Draco..."

Harry let the explanation die on his lips, unwilling or unable to explain to Snape just what, precisely, had led to the activation of that particular spell. "Well," said Draco peevishly, "Shouldn't you take him up to Dumbledore?"

Snape shook himself, expression sinking back into his usual angry sneer, and muttered, "Mobilicorpus."

Lucius floated upwards and righted himself, then proceeded to bob along as Snape backed out the door. "I suggest," he said with a twitch, "That the two of you dress a bit more respectably before you join me in Dumbledore's office. The password is 'mint humbugs'."

Harry blinked, then looked down at himself. Sweaty, streaked with chocolate and his own come and wearing silk pyjamas that were obviously Draco's, and just as obviously already stained with the efforts of a previous evening. He turned to Draco, eyes traveling up a body in a very similar state to meet familiar grey eyes. As soon as their gazes met, they both burst into a fit of hysterical laughter, and Harry crawled back up Draco's body to pepper his face with kisses in between bouts of giggling.

"I thought for sure Snape was gonna bump him into the doorframe," said Draco once they'd caught their breath.

"We sorted him out," said Harry. "He was completely gobsmacked!"

That set Draco off again, but Harry swallowed his laughter in a deep, hot kiss. "You don't have to be afraid of him anymore, Draco."

"Too right, did you see his face when you hit him with that curse?" Draco was grinning triumphantly now, and Harry traced gentle fingers through a stray bit of chocolate and over one of the scars. The magic prickled along both their skins, and he looked up into Draco's wide eyes.

"Wonder what the spell was supposed to do?" said Harry. "I mean, you'd have to be pretty intimate with someone to ever activate it, and I could feel its frustration when I didn't finish up."

"You... wait, you didn't finish?" Draco looked puzzled now. "Then why..."

Harry shrugged, sliding off the bed in a hail of pyjama parts. "Come on, let's have a quick shower and go find out."

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the gargoyle flushed and slightly damp, but dressed respectably enough in jeans and jumpers, Harry in one of his red Weasley-knit woollens, Draco in green Slytherin-crested cashmere. They'd managed to have a fairly efficient shower, the adrenaline of the moment transmuted into a quick bout of frottage, then a hasty soap and rinse. "Mint humbugs," said Harry to the glaring statue, which stepped aside with a grumble about the odd hour.

They rode the spiralling steps upwards, their mutual tension notching up with each turn. When they stepped into Dumbledore's office, only the headmaster himself was in evidence, which tugged oddly at both of them. "Lucius has been taken somewhere very secure, never fear," said Dumbledore with his usual perceptiveness. "Have a seat, boys, would you like a spot of tea?"

They both shook their heads, but sat nonetheless, Harry scooting his chair over close enough to hold his lover's hand. "No? All right, then. I will not ask you to reveal any more to me than is absolutely necessary, but I am afraid this will be rather embarrassing for you."

"It's all right, Professor," said Draco softly, surprising Harry. "I'm sure Snape has told you how we... what we were..."

"Yes, well, he did say that Lucius appeared to have interrupted rather an intimate moment. What I do not understand is how he managed to appear inside of Hogwarts at all. None of the alarms that would detect someone attempting to Apparate through the wards have been activated, and only Professor Snape sensed the magic occurring within your rooms."

Harry blushed, and squeezed Draco's hand. "I... do you know what happened to Draco, before he came here?" asked Harry, feeling a slight tremor run through Draco's arm.

Dumbledore nodded once, curtly. "Well, the scars... I think they're some kind of spell, that if you trace over them all... But I didn't finish before we, er, finished..." Harry's bravery ran out, his cheeks as red and hot as he could ever remember them being.

"He didn't look properly solid before Harry petrified him, either," said Draco softly. His hands were shaking noticeably now, and Harry was glad they didn't have tea to spill. "We couldn't hear him because we'd put a silencing charm on the room."

Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, lips pursed. "And those scars, are they precisely the same as the ones on the students that were sent back to us?"

Draco shook his head mutely. Harry forced himself to remember, saying, "No, his are more like runes. Theirs were like... caricatures of his, almost."

Dumbledore nodded, and looked troubled. "I will have to examine you, Draco, for which I deeply apologize. Could you please remove your outer clothing?"

Harry squeezed his hand, and sent over a bit of his own Gryffindor bravery to bolster Draco's rapidly declining mental state. "I... could you make it a bit, er, warmer?"

Dumbledore nodded, and went over to fiddle with the fireplace, kindly giving them his back. Harry stood with Draco, pulling him into a hug and adding a chaste kiss to the silent encouragement. He then helped Draco out of his sweater, bending down to untie the shoes and set them aside, taking the pants and folding them, leaving Draco in nothing but socks and a loose, faded blue pair of Harry's old boxers. One last kiss, and Harry sat, holding the folded clothing in his lap.

When Dumbledore turned back, his face had lost its gentle jollity and gone carefully blank, almost clinical. He walked over to Draco, then pulled out his wand and muttered, "Lumos," touching the glowing wand tip to one of the scars on Draco's shoulder. Blue fire flared outwards from that point, a fine tracery over all the marks that shone through the thin cotton of his boxers and even dimly through the thick woollen socks.

"You may keep your underthings," said Dumbledore with evident relief, "but the socks will have to go."

Draco smiled wanly and bent to remove them, handing them off to Harry without another word. He stepped forward so that Dumbledore could pace around him completely, lifting his foot and sliding the elastic lower on his hips when asked. "You may get dressed now," said the headmaster, pacing over to stare into the fire. The blue glow faded gently as Draco quickly replaced his pants and shirt, going out completely as he was tied his shoelaces.

"It appears," said Dumbledore thoughtfully, "That your father was attempting to turn you into an arcane and highly illegal Portkey, containing a variation on the Imperius curse and keyed to himself rather than any specific location. Between the rather fortunate placement of a few of your more recently acquired injuries, and Harry's ability to resist the spell, it appears to have pulled him towards you, rather than the other way around."

"Lucky for us," said Harry, talking around a lump of cold dread from Draco. "Not a good idea to arrive in the Dark Lord's presence naked, wandless and, er, vulnerable."

Draco coughed gently, shooting Harry a dirty look. Harry winked, and squeezed his hand again. "Quite," said Dumbledore.

"Er," said Harry, when it looked like they were about to be dismissed, "How can we deactivate the spell?"

"I shall have to think on it. For now, I suggest you refrain from the specific activity which precipitated this incident." Harry blushed, and a sidelong glance told him that Draco's cheeks were still a bright, feverish red. "Now, I think it's time the two of you got some sleep. Harry, I expect I will be calling upon you both very soon. Remember, you are stronger together than either of you apart."

Chapter 19
In Which We Learn About the Appropriate Ports for Every Storm

Harry was woken up the next morning in a manner which brought to mind the second time he'd awakened in Draco's arms, their pyjama-clad bodies trying sleepily to consummate their union without bothering to consult either of them. Now, too, he felt the silken nudge of Draco's erection at his sensitive opening. The difference this time was that they were both nude, and the body parts in question had retained enough of last night's oil that the head was already sliding its way into Harry's body when he roused enough to realize what was going on.

He moaned softly and pushed back against his lover, eager to begin the day as they'd ended it, feeling the shaft inch deeper into him. His eyes flew open very wide when a sardonic voice at the foot of the bed said, "I should prefer if you would refrain from having sex until after I've left the room, Mr. Potter."

"Wha... ohgod... Snape?" He fumbled at the nightstand for his glasses, dimly aware that they'd be no help at all in the dark room. Draco's hand on his hip tightened, keeping their lower bodies joined even though their shoulders were now separated by several inches of cold air.

"The headmaster would like to see you as soon as possible, and sent me to wake you," said Snape's familiar acid tones. "He felt I would be the least shocked by what I might see."

"I... oh." Harry slumped back, giving up the futile search. He didn't know where Dumbledore would had gotten that idea, after the way Snape had reacted to them last night. "Well, I'm awake. Do we have time to shower and eat, or is this an emergency?"

"You may perform your morning... ablutions, but Professor Dumbledore will be providing breakfast in his office in forty minutes. It took rather longer than I expected to, er, rouse you."

"Harry, why'd you stop?" said Draco softly at his shoulder, giving a rather startling thrust that got him most of the rest of the way in.

Harry bit back a moan and said, "We've got company!"

Draco shifted closer to him, as if to somehow disguise what his sleeping body had been up to with a belated cuddle. "Oh. Tell'm t' go'way. Wanna shag."

Harry blushed, mortified, and Snape snorted. "I can see my fears about the consensual nature of this relationship are unfounded. I shall leave you to your... Well, yes."

With that, Snape left abruptly, the light from the hallway silhouetting him briefly before he closed the door with rather more force than is strictly necessary. "Right," said Harry, dumbfounded.

"Good," said Draco, and began thrusting forward in earnest, hand on Harry's hip holding him steady. Harry's own erection hadn't even had the decency to wilt in the slightest, despite Snape's presence, a fact he simply did not want to contemplate. Instead he entangled his fingers in Draco's and wrapped their entwined hands around the rigid shaft.

The magic seemed, if anything, stronger today, surrounding them in its comforting heat and pulling him relentlessly towards completion. Or perhaps that was their hands on his cock, or Draco's length buried deeply in his body, or the open-mouthed kisses being pressed to the back of his neck. All of it, really, the combined sensations enough to lose him in a golden whirl of pleasure as he climbed higher and higher, only to dive off the peak in a crashing release.

He must have brought Draco right along with him, judging by the sleepy mumbling from behind him and the softening of the cock in his ass. "S'good. M'gonna nap now."

Harry grinned. "You can't nap, Draco. Remember Snape?"

Harry could just see the face in his mind's eye as Draco's forehead scrunched up against his shoulder. "Don't mention Snape when I'm inside you ever again, please."

Harry snickered. "Only if you promise to never, ever try and fuck me when he's in the room. Er, again."

That got Draco's full attention. "You mean that wasn't a dream? I was really shagging... oh god."

"Yep. Now come on, we've got to shower or we'll be late for Dumbledore's meeting. I do not want to see who he'll send down the second time to wake us, if Snape was his first choice!" Already regretting the necessity, Harry gently disentangled himself from the embrace, sighing as Draco slid out of his body with a soft pop. "I hate it when we have to part," he said softly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and eyeing the cold stone floor with distaste.

"You know, I think Dumbledore has a secret cruel streak," said Draco as his feet hit the cold floor. Harry shrugged and followed suit, running quickly into the bathroom to stand on the tiny scrap of rug while the shower warmed up. Draco followed more slowly, adding, "I mean, honestly. He must have known we'd be doing something, and the poor man's already had to see us both naked."

"Don't forget the bow," said Harry glumly. They both shuddered and stepped into the shower.

"...Have no idea why you feel the need to make me into some kind of paedophilic voyeur..." Harry heard a sickeningly familiar voice drifting down the stairs.

"I assure you, both of them are of age, Severus. We shall continue this discussion later, as I believe they have arrived, and just in time for breakfast." Harry and Draco emerged from the stairwell just as Dumbledore finished his sentence, just in time to see Snape flush a disturbing shade of scarlet. "Please, have a seat. The others should be along shortly."

There were rather more chairs there than usual, almost a dozen of them in a round circle, each with a spindly table at the left hand containing something that looked suspiciously like breakfast. Steaming little pots of tea, scones and toast and, horrifyingly, kippers on little plates, all of which seemed destined for a short and spectacular drop to the floor, given the size of the tables and the amount of china shoved onto each. Harry and Draco each gingerly took a seat, careful not to so much as nudge their respective disasters-in-waiting.

"Thanks, Professor," said Harry softly, echoed by Draco a moment later. He gingerly lifted a slice of toast from the table in front of him, eyes flicking from Snape to Dumbledore as he nibbled on a corner. "Er, who else is coming?"

"Harry, I think I've found it!" said a familiar voice from behind him. Hermione sounded tired, but happy, and Ron's usual morning grumbling followed her into the room. Professors McGonagall, Lupin and Flitwick arrived moments later in a chattering knot, and they all settled into their respective seats. For a miracle, not one plate or cup went crashing to the floor in all the hubbub.

There were two conspicuously empty chairs when everyone settled in, but Harry didn't even have time to ask just what Hermione had found before the familiar stomp-clump of Moody's steps could be heard on the stairs. He winked his magical eye at Harry before taking a seat, and Tonks slid out from behind him to wave and take the final empty chair. Her waving arm knocked squarely into the rather fragile-looking table to her right, and much to everyone's surprise, resulted in only a resounding *thunk* and a sore elbow.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "So glad you could join us, Nymphadora. You'll find that the tables and dishware have been charmed into place, although a slight tug will allow certain items to be lifted as necessary." Harry stifled a giggle, and Hermione elbowed Ron just in time to keep him from laughing aloud. Even McGonagall seemed to come over coughing awfully suddenly. Dumbledore continued serenely, "If you'll all tuck in, I shall begin the briefing."

Harry fiddled with his bit of toast, adding butter and marmalade and generally getting himself sticky. Draco elegantly poured himself a cup of tea and, when it appeared Harry might try and drink from his jam jar, one for Harry as well, adding cream and sugar to both according to their individual tastes. Harry smiled gratefully, and he could swear he heard Tonks say, "Aren't they just adorable?" to Flitwick, who was smiling indulgently in their direction.

Even Dumbledore seemed supremely pleased with the small display, and he was beaming broadly as he sat at his desk and added sugar and cream to his own cup. "Now," he began after a few sips of tea, "As many of you are aware, Lucius Malfoy has been captured. We have managed to get a great deal of useful information from him, and are now much more hopeful that we can prevent a full-scale war if we act quickly."

Everyone straightened up a bit at this news, and the sun streaming in through the windows suddenly seemed quite a bit brighter and more welcoming. He felt a surge of hope coming from Draco as well, buoying him upwards. Harry nibbled on his overly sweet toast with much more enthusiasm, and was surprised to find himself left with nothing but sticky fingers very quickly. He buttered himself another slice as Dumbledore continued.

"We now have a very clear idea of where Voldemort is currently hiding, and when he is most likely to be alone and vulnerable. I propose that a group of you Apparate in from a location just outside the school, take care of things as quickly and quietly as possible, and Apparate back to Hogsmeade." Harry began to be very glad he'd bothered to get his Apparition license last summer, as experience had shown him that a Portkey from Hogwarts to the Dark Lord's lair was a very dangerous object indeed.

"I believe Miss Granger has found two solutions which may tip the balance in Harry's favour, as we are all aware that, in the end, Voldemort's fate rests in his hands alone." Dumbledore looked sad and tired and old as he said the last, but he covered it up by sipping his tea. A burst of confusion from Draco made Harry turn.

Draco's hand came to rest on Harry's knee, and he whispered, "What does he mean, Harry?"

All eyes in the room turned sharply to Harry. "You haven't told him?" said Ron, his voice rising with disbelief.

"I, er..." said Harry usefully. Annoyance was starting to poke through Draco's confusion, and Harry was carrying a fairly heavy load of guilt all on his own.

"We haven't done quite as much talking in the past week as one might think," said Draco, with a flash of near-anger and a ghost of his former sneer. The look in his eyes told Harry that, despite this defence, this was not the last Harry would hear of his omission. "Now, just what is it that you haven't told me?"

Harry took a deep breath, and then began explaining the prophecy. Draco was wide-eyed and slightly pale by the end of it, spikes of fear and worry driving Harry's own apprehension. "So that whole 'fate of the wizarding world' thing, that wasn't just talk? It's really just down to him or you... Er, us, I suppose."

Everyone in the room looked a bit stunned by Draco's amendment. "Right," said Harry softly, feeling that responsibility weighing heavier than the minor guilt over his lapse. "It's us or him."

"Which," said Dumbledore in the ensuing uncomfortable silence, "brings us to Miss Granger's discovery."

Hermione cleared her throat as all eyes swivelled to her. "Well, after the, um, bonding and all, Professor Dumbledore and I felt that the bond might be the key to V-Voldemort's defeat." Ron flinched, and Hermione kicked him absently in the shin. "Madame Pince found a volume of Charms that can only be worked by bonded couples. I've been working with Professor Flitwick to restore the book, which was rather badly nibbled upon by mice at some point in its past."

"I guess it doesn't come up all that often anymore, this bonding thing," said Draco dryly, hiding his fear beneath a layer of acid cynicism. "After all, didn't they stop doing this sort of thing regularly back in the Renaissance?"

Hermione glared, and Harry followed her example and gave Draco an ungentle tap on the shin with his foot. "Outdated or not, the book provided two very interesting Charms. The first one is called a Sanctuary Charm. Basically, one half of the bonded pair is kept in Sanctuary, and as long as he comes to no harm, the other half can't be harmed either. However, any hurt done to the secluded partner will instantly be transferred to the other."

Draco and Harry exchanged glances, and hope rekindled in both of them. "So, you're saying if we cast this, and then lock Draco up in a cupboard or something, no one can hurt me? But if he skins his knee, then I'll have a skinned knee, too?"

Hermione nodded. "How long would I have to be mewed up, anyway?" asked Draco. "I mean, it's not permanent or anything, is it?"

"No, no, nothing like that, my dear boy," said Professor Flitwick amiably. "The Charm will hold until a single command word, spoken in unison, dispels the Sanctuary and allows you to go back to your normal lives."

"That's all right, then," said Draco, sitting back and sipping his tea. The fear was receding, replaced by more hope, determination and a certain strange pride. There were dubious glances being exchanged by several people, and Harry was rather proud when Draco added, "There's no need to look all dodgy at me. I mean, I love him, don't I?"

Ron sprayed a fine mist of tea over the carpet and had to be patted for several minutes before he recovered. Flitwick, Lupin and Tonks all looked very satisfied, and McGonagall and Lupin just looked mystified at the change in Draco's demeanour. Harry grinned like a fool and downed the last of his tea, sending a wave of love and pride right back to Draco, who preened under the attention. "Right. So we cast this charm, and then what? I mean, he was awfully hard to kill the first time, how do we make sure it sticks this time?"

"Well," said Dumbledore, eyes once again twinkling merrily as Draco quietly poured Harry a second cup, "I believe we've got a threefold solution to that. Miss Granger, why don't you begin?"

Hermione nodded. "We've also found a spell that will allow a bonded pair to combine their personal magics. Basically, Draco would be loaning his power to Harry as well as his physical safety, which would allow Harry to borrow Draco's wand and use magic against Volde... Oh, do stop it, Ron."

Ron had choked on his tea again, although quite a bit less dramatically than last time. "Sorry," he muttered, once he'd gotten himself under control. "Go on."

"All right, but what spell?" said Harry, not at all sure how this was an improvement, trying unsuccessfully to keep his doubts from transmitting to Draco overmuch. "I mean, we've already proven I'm not much for the Unforgivables, and the Killing Curse didn't even work properly the first time anyway."

"That's the second portion of the plan," said Dumbledore, voice hardening. "We want you to subdue him with magic, and then behead him with Godric's sword. The body will then be collected and burned, and the smoke and ashes gathered up and tossed through the veil. No trace of Voldemort will remain on this earth."

"Er, wow. That's... Wait, I have lop his head off?" Harry was aghast. He'd known for two years that murder was his eventual destiny, but he wasn't quite prepared for the goriness of beheading. "Can't he become a ghost or something, if we just kill him?"

"There are spells on the sword to prevent that," said Moody darkly. "You subdue and kill him, and we'll take care of the rest. Snape, Tonks and Lupin will stay behind with Draco. McGonagall, Dumbledore and I will accompany you." Flitwick cleared his throat. "Oh, and Flitwick as well. He's volunteered to come along and guarantee our retreat; he can create a Portkey if anyone's too injured to Apparate."

Harry nodded. "We should think about bringing along brooms, too. Just in case."

"Very wise, boy!" said Moody, nodding approvingly. "Always have several retreats in mind, just in case."

Dumbledore's smile was more brittle now. "I believe that the time just before the dinner hour is the quietest for Voldemort. Spend your Sunday wisely, and we will meet back here at three o'clock for last-minute preparations and spellcasting. Hopefully by then we will have a clearer picture of the dangers we are walking into." Harry looked into Dumbledore's face, expecting to see his usual twinkle. Instead, he found the deep pain of one who has given his heart away piece by piece to those in his care, only to send them off to die.

"Er, Professor?" Harry was hesitant to bring any other students along, but knowing that there was more than just him at stake. "Did you want to ask along some of the DA members? I mean, Neville's getting really good now, and..." Harry trailed off.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Perhaps we should, instead, ask them to stay here, in case my absence is noted and taken advantage of?"

Harry nodded, and pulled the worn fake galleon out of his pocket. He changed it to read 2:30 -- even though they no longer needed to meet in secret, the difficulty of scheduling made it simpler to stick to the Hermione's original method for announcing their sessions. "I'll have them meet up in the usual place, and then we'll pick a few leaders?"

"Perhaps Professor Lupin or I should join you at this little meeting," said Snape unexpectedly. "After all, we will be the only members of the Order staying behind."

Harry and Dumbledore both nodded, and Harry felt an odd sense of dislocation. He suddenly realized that the final battle wasn't going to be in a few days or weeks or months. It was in a few hours. This was it for him, kill or be killed. Murder in cold blood, or drag Draco and the rest of his friends and loved ones into the grave after him. Suddenly, his toast seemed very dry indeed, and his last gulp of tea was cold and far too sweet.

He was overwhelmed by a strange vertigo, the world receding until there was nothing but himself, the worried bite of Draco's emotions in his side, and Dumbledore's sad, old eyes. He only vaguely heard as Draco asked after his father, as Moody gave a few last-minute suggestions and Lupin and Snape discussed where best to hide Draco away during the fight. The sun seemed too bright all of a sudden, like it should be pouring dramatic rain, thunder and lightning instead of white fluffy clouds racing across the blue sky.

A shadow fell over him and he blinked, then blinked again when he realized nearly everyone had left. It was Snape who was towering over him, blocking his view of the sunlight. Draco's cold hands on his helped ground him, and his ears cleared with a soft pop as the world flooded back in. "...time you are planning on starting the meeting. Are you listening to me, Mr. Potter?"

"Er, no, actually," said Harry. "I... what?"

Snape sighed. "Really, Mr. Potter. If it weren't for... well, never mind. I asked what time you were planning on starting the DA meeting?"

"Oh. 2:30. Do you know where the Room of Requirement is?" Harry had shown Dumbledore, who had been delighted, and given full approval of its continued use as a classroom for Harry's DA lessons.

Snape nodded tersely, and turned to leave. He took two steps, and then froze, shoulders stiff. "I must... apologize. I will endeavour not to intrude upon your... relationship. Despite my own knowledge of the potion's effects, I did not truly believe you cared for him, until I saw you two..."

"Thank you, Professor," said Draco softly, and Harry echoed it wonderingly. The warm light of Draco's affections for the taciturn professor was helping to steady Harry's opinions. "Your approval means a lot to us," Draco added, giving Harry's hand a squeeze.

Harry blushed, but said, "I'm sorry about, y'know..."

Snape nodded. "Indeed." He left in a slightly less sweeping manner than usual, shoulders still uncomfortably stiff.

Professor Dumbledore had already gone, but Lupin was lurking over in one corner, evidently waiting for Snape to leave. "I don't suppose you're going to explain that conversation," he asked, sounding amused and exasperated.

Harry coughed, blushing deeper. Draco's embarrassment flared in his chest, and he wondered if the two of them had ever spoken outside of class. Harry put his left hand over Draco's and said, "Let's just say he's had the misfortune to walk in on a few moments he'd rather not have seen."

"Oh dear," said Lupin, trying very hard not to smile. "That must have been..."

Draco snorted and said, "Bloody mortifying."

They all laughed, and then laughed harder when Lupin added, "I always said he needed to get laid more."

"Who's he going to shag, McGonagall?" said Harry, eyes boggling at the image. "It's not like there's a lot of prospects around here, are there?"

Lupin snickered. "Especially since he'd be more likely to go for Flitwick. Or did Sirius never tell you?"

Harry and Draco both became very attentive. "Tell us what?"

"Severus was caught snogging another boy during his sixth year. Got both of them a weeks' detention. That sort of thing wasn't even as accepted then as it is today, and you've seen how it is now."

"Wait," said Draco, shocked, "you're telling me Snape fancies men?"

"You mean he might've been excited by... Oh, eew," said Harry with a heartfelt shudder.

Lupin raised his eyebrow, grinning mischievously. "He is only human, and you two have grown up quite a bit recently."

"Right, now you're going to tell me you'd like to watch us have a shag, as well?" snapped Draco. Harry could feel his confusion and irritation, and understand it. It was like suddenly finding out that Hagrid had been eying your ass during Care of Magical Creatures or something.

Lupin's grin grew positively wicked. "Now, that wouldn't be an appropriate thing for a teacher to tell his students, would it? But feel free to offer again once you've graduated."

On that rather astonishing note, he sauntered out, leaving the two of them sitting, stunned and open-mouthed, in Dumbledore's sunny office.

"Right," said Harry, trying to wrap his mind around the idea that not one but two of his teachers were, not only gay, but possibly attracted to him and his... "Er, what are we, anyway?"

"Huh?" said Draco, confused and distracted himself.

"Boyfriends, lovers, husbands, partners? What do I introduce you as at parties? Hi, this is Draco, the boy who shags me into the mattress every night?" This question had the desired effect of distracting them both from their current line of thought.

"I like partners," said Draco shyly, leaning in for a chaste little kiss. "But if you want to use the other thing, feel free. In fact, why don't we go get in a little pre-battle shagging?"

Harry grinned and stood, pulling Draco up and returning the kiss, with interest. "You have the best ideas."

Chapter 20
In Which We See the Preparations Involved in Marching to War, Both for Those Marching and Those Left Behind

Snape was standing in the corridor when Harry and Draco arrived outside the Room of Requirement at quarter past two, glaring ineffectually at the empty wall where the door would appear. "Potter," he said shortly as Harry approached.

"Professor," said Harry with equal enthusiasm.

Despite having spent the last several hours having a luncheon of small, sticky foods eaten off his body or fed to him from fingers and other such body parts, he wasn't quite able to drown out the memory of this morning's encounter. The warm afterglow hadn't faded yet, and he kept feeling sparks of magic dance through his libido. He shuddered slightly, remembering how it had felt to have Draco's cock filling his sleep-slackened body as the sound of Snape's voice filled his ears. From the mixture of magic, lust and horror rising off Draco like a heat haze, Harry gathered that he was suffering from the same problem.

Harry ruthlessly banished all sex-related images from his mind and began the ritual pacing, concentrating on the DA, and the battle ahead. The door appeared on cue, and he opened it, expecting to find the usual assortment of cushions and Dark Detectors. Instead, at the far end of the room there was a raised dais, with a small table and three chairs. Arrayed in front of it were enough chairs for the entire DA, and then some. The shelves behind it held veritable armory of magical oddments, devices, and, of course, weapons.

Harry strode purposefully up to the wall, and asked, "So, do either of you know what any of this stuff does?" He recognized some of the things, of course, sneakoscopes and Moody's old Foe-Glass amongst other Dark Detectors that had shown up in his DA classroom.

"A few of these things appear to be lost legendary magic weapons similar to Godric Gryffindor's sword. I find it very telling that the castle would feel the need to bring these to light at this time," said Snape grimly. "I believe I will stay behind and organize the students when you two go up to cast the spell."

"Won't you be needed to guard Draco?" asked Harry rather sharply. He could still feel Draco's curiosity more than his own irritation, and it tugged him towards the shelf of many-coloured vials where Draco was crouched.

"I'm fairly sure I can make it into hiding without skinning my knee, Harry," said Draco with a smirk. "I'm sure we can spare the good Professor long enough to arm the students. After all, they are my first line of defence against whatever He Who Must Not Be Named sends along."

Harry felt a stab of fear through his chest at the thought of Draco in such danger. Unlike Harry, he would be doubly vulnerable, with nothing but other people in between him and death. Even his magic would be in Harry's hands. "Is there anything here for Draco to use?"

Snape turned, a strange object held in his hands. "I believe this will be perfect for him."

It looked like a twining nest of silver snakes, enamelled in green with winking ruby eyes. Set in emeralds down the back of the largest snake was the inscription, "Salazar Slytherin." The whole thing held an air of menace that made Harry's skin crawl. "What is it?"

"It was Slytherin's favoured weapon, much as the sword was Godric's. It will only work for one of pure blood from his own house, but it is said that the serpents, once set upon a foe, are quite relentless. Fortunately for Mr. Malfoy, Parseltongue, though helpful, is most likely not required." Snape's voice held some unnamable emotion as he handed the heavy weapon to Draco.

As if to show its acceptance of Draco as an appropriate wielder, the snakes began to move as soon as it was in his hands. Harry could hear them whispering amongst themselves, words like "Pure," and "Bite," and "Kill." Draco looked down at them with an odd expression on his face, half wonder and half terror filling Harry as the snakes slid up around Draco's wrists to form a pair of gauntlets before falling still and silent once again.

"What if it decides it likes one of the Death Eaters better?" asked Harry. "I mean, it was Voldemort who opened the Chamber of Secrets both times. He's supposedly doing Slytherin's work, purifying the wizarding world and all that."

The largest snake lifted its head from where it rested on the back of Draco's right hand. "Foolish Gryffindor, all bravery and no brains. Once we have chosen, nothing can sway usssss."

The speech dissolved into an irritated hiss, and then it quieted once more. "What did it say?" asked Draco quietly. Evidently, it took more than a marriage bond to pass along Parseltongue.

"Er, it said that they've chosen you, and they'll stick by you now." Harry turned around and sat abruptly. "I suppose the rest of the House weapons are on the shelf somewhere?"

Snape stepped back and looked carefully. "No, it appears not. I am very surprised that even one of them was. I would have expected to have to use the Sorting Hat to retrieve even this one."

Harry shrugged. The Room had provided once again, and it hurt Harry's heart to think that Draco would, in the end, require such a weapon to protect him. He sat there for a few long moments, drowning in his own worries, head in hands. Footsteps in the hall caused him to look up and find Dean and Seamus frozen in the doorway. "Er, is this for the DA?"

Harry nodded, suddenly weary of all of it. "Today we become Dumbledore's Army."

Seamus and Dean both started at that, but filed on in and took seats near the front. Snape and Draco sat to either side of Harry, taking up the rest of the small table, and Draco poured Harry a glass of pumpkin juice from the convenient pitcher. The rest of the students arrived soon after in chattering clumps, some of them griping amiably about a meeting being called on a Sunday, at least up until they saw the new Room, and the three grim faces at the back of it.

Soon all the chairs were filled, familiar faces and less familiar. Harry felt old, scanning the crowd of students as young as Third Year, and his heart contracted as he thought of all the childhoods that Voldemort had stolen right along with the lives he'd taken. Harry's included. He sighed, and stood. "I'm sure you've all noticed by now that this is not a normal DA meeting. Today, you will be armed and given orders to protect Hogwarts, and your fellow students, from an assault by Voldemort's forces."

A collective gasp went around the room, and Harry paused until silence reigned again. "We don't know for sure that there will be an attack, but we have intelligence that it may be as soon as tonight. Professor Snape will assign you weapons and explain their workings, and be in charge of working out a strategy for defending the castle. Today we will become Dumbledore's Army, and we must not let him down!"

They cheered raggedly, looking scared and excited and unsure. Harry sat heavily, and was shocked when Draco stood up. He looked every inch the Slytherin, wearing the snake-cutout robes he'd bought for himself on their shopping trip, the serpent gauntlets shining against the black and green velvet. Harry had smiled when Draco had chosen clothing for them both, saying, "If we're going to die, it might as well be in style."

Harry was wearing the red-and-gold velvet outfit, Gryffindor to the hilt. One of the house elves had even put a Gryffindor patch on the front of the robes, just as Draco had a Slytherin one on the green outer robe of his new outfit. He looked up at his partner and smiled, feeling a surge of that golden magic pulse through him on a wave of pride and love and only a little lust. The magic seemed stronger today, Draco's presence like the light of the sun on his face.

Draco cleared his throat, loud in the shocked silence of the room. "I want you all to look around at yourselves. You are all here voluntarily, the first line of defence against the forces of the Dark Lord. He Who Must Not Be Named will try and get into Hogwarts, to kill those he finds unworthy, to destroy everything we've spent our short lives becoming. We cannot let that happen! Even now, there are things for us to protect, and our futures and the futures of our housemates, brothers, sisters and parents to fight for. Will you fight?"

The cheer was much louder now, shaking the rafters, and Harry joined him, chest swelling with that golden pride. Even Snape looked surprised, and pleased with his wayward student. He and Harry exchanged secret little smiles as Draco sat, muttering, "You're shite at speeches, Potter."

"Never said I wasn't, love," said Harry, and shocked everyone again by pulling Draco to his feet and into a kiss. A flash told him that Colin Creevey was there, making sure posterity remembered him. He made a mental note to ask for a copy, aware of the picture they made together, green and black and silver wrapping itself around Harry's red and gold, Draco's head bent down to capture Harry's lips, both of them with hidden scars. Harry was even more surprised when the flash was followed by another hearty cheer.

Snape stood as they parted and said, "All right. Let's do this in an orderly fashion. Please organize yourselves by year and house, and I will distribute the weapons accordingly. Mr. Potter, did you have any suggestions for lieutenants?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Ron, if he's staying. Dean and Seamus. Blaise, I think, he's really shaped up this year." Harry remembered his shock the day Blaise, along with half a dozen other Slytherins, had shown up to a DA meeting. "Lavender, Susan Bones, and Hannah Abbot for the girls." Neville had actually turned out to be a really strong fighter, but he was still crap at leading anything.

"That should be sufficient. Do you accept?" Ron wasn't there, and Harry wondered where he and Hermione had got off to. The six other named students nodded, coming up front at a gesture from Snape. "All right, line up by year and house."

Harry and Draco snuck away while Snape was organizing them, slipping out of the door and down the hall, with no one the wiser. As soon as he could find a convenient niche, Harry shoved Draco back against the wall and kissed him breathless. "God, I love you," whispered Harry, burying his face in Draco's neck and inhaling the scent of him.

"Love you, too," said Draco, his voice holding a hundred things that burned through Harry's chest, emotions too confusing to sort. Overlaying it all was the rise of that warm, honeyed magic, making them both hard and wanting. "But we don't have time for even a quick shag, if we're going to be on time."

Harry breathed him in again, moulding his body to Draco's in an attempt to memorize the way he felt in his arms. The magic rose within them, standing his hair on end; when he pulled away, it was like sticky taffy stringing out between them. They held hands loosely, unwilling to give up the contact as they strode towards Dumbledore's office to prepare for their own part in the war.

All things considered, the ceremony had been simple enough. Draco and Harry held hands, standing in a shaft of waning afternoon sunlight, and spoken the spell in unison. "Sanctum Amo," they'd whispered, their golden magic shining all around them like an almost-visible halo. Harry had felt something happen to it, pulling it out of Draco and around himself, making a barrier of light and energy and palpable love.

"All right, someone try and hurt me," said Harry, turning to the room, vision limned with amber light.

Draco turned him back and slapped him, hard. Harry was shocked to find that, while his face didn't hurt in the least, his hand stung quite a bit. They both looked at each other, grinning. "Did you feel that?" asked Draco, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Only in my hand," said Harry, holding up his faintly red palm. The sting was already fading. He gave in to his impulse and pulled Draco in for a soft kiss, and got another shock. He could feel Draco against him like a distant memory, but sharper than his own sensations was the feeling of himself pressed against Draco, glasses cold where they bumped Draco's nose, lips slightly rough and messy hair tickling Draco's forehead.

"Oh. Wow," said Harry softly when he pulled back. Draco's eyes were slightly glazed over, and Harry asked, "Could you feel it, too?"

Draco nodded, and reached out to pull Harry back into another intoxicating kiss. Harry had a vague notion someone was clearing their throat, but it obviously wasn't Draco, as Harry's mouth was sealed to his in a way that entirely prevented speech. It took someone actually tapping him on the shoulder, another sensation only vaguely felt, to pull him away from Draco. The amber glow was brighter now, and some of it had stayed with Draco this time. He glanced sheepishly around a room full of haloed people and reluctantly let his hands fall from Draco's robes.

"What's going on with you two?" said Hermione impatiently. "Honestly."

Harry blushed. "There seems to be a transfer of sensation other than pain," said Professor Flitwick, sounding intrigued. "This is very interesting magic! It's just too bad there's no time to explore the effects..." He trailed off, realizing what he'd just said and looking rather abashed. "Er, not... oh dear."

Harry and Draco both laughed, good humour bubbling up through the thick magic like carbonated honey. "They kind of glow, don't they?" said Tonks in a wondering voice.

"Right. Let's get the second spell done, then." Hermione was brisk and oddly stiff as she came forward. "This is the motion," she said, doing a complicated little swish of her wand, "and you say, 'Valeofero Amo.'"

Draco practiced the motion under Hermione's watchful eye until she pronounced him fit with it, and then cast the spell. "Valeofero Amo!"

Harry felt a rush of shivery silver threading through the gold, like veins in fine marble. "G-give me your wand," he said softly, wonderingly. Draco held it out, wordlessly, looking uncomfortable and a bit bereft. Harry tried the first spell that came to mind. "Expecto Patronum!"

A huge silvery stag came out of the end of his wand and stood proudly and quite solidly in the centre of the room, many-pointed antlers brushing the ceiling. Harry put out a wondering hand and found its coat was rougher than he'd expected, but completely real. He dismissed it with a thought, and it dissolved slowly into a wisp of shimmering mist before dissipating altogether. "That's... a lot of power," said Ron admiringly.

"Let's hope it's enough," said Harry. "After all, Voldemort's got blood magic on his side." They all shuddered, and the afternoon light seemed thin and insubstantial for a moment. Harry's eyes had cleared somewhat when Draco gave him his magic, the bright halos now somewhat muted. He looked at the grim faces around him, squared his shoulders and asked, "Right. What else do we need to do?"

As a precaution, no one in Harry's party knew where Draco was hidden. In fact, no one who wasn't physically going to be with him knew where it was at all. Dumbledore had allowed Snape to choose the hiding place, and they'd gotten Kingsley Shacklebolt to Floo in and lead the students. Draco had kissed Harry goodbye very tenderly on the steps of Hogwarts Castle, then been led back inside to be squirreled away, safe, or so they hoped.

Harry had Gryffindor's sword strapped to his side, in a sheath that matched his outfit disturbingly well. He wished he'd had more time to practice with it, now that the time had come, and felt far more confident in the broomstick strapped to his back in a makeshift sling that left his hands free for wand and sword. He had both wands, his and Draco's, just in case he found some way he could lock Voldemort up like he had in his fourth year, and still use Draco's shivery, unfamiliar magic to subdue him.

The afternoon sun was bright and cheerful, a light breeze teasing at their clothes as the grim-faced bunch trudged down the path to Hogsmeade. He could feel his connection to Draco in the back of his mind, a comforting series of emotions and sensations, going downstairs, rough stone against his palm as he touched a wall for support, trepidation and love and pride and fear. Thankfully, when they weren't touching each other, Harry's body got the foreground, the feel of Draco's wand in the palm of his own hand far stronger than the feel of soft velvet under Draco's fidgeting fingers.

He was amused to realize he'd been hard since they'd kissed in the DA meeting, thankful that no one had commented on the length of him pressing against the gold velvet of his breeches. The familiar magic of the bond pulsed through him, bringing Draco's heartbeat and an answering pulse of utterly misplaced lust that somehow made him feel stronger, more vital. Alive.

They reached the grounds in front of the Shrieking Shack, and formed a tight circle. Earlier, Dumbledore had brought in a Pensieve filled with dark, swirling thought, and shown each of them in turn Lucius' vivid memories of Voldemort's Lair. They all exchanged glances, fixing that image in their minds, and in unison, Apparated away with a sharp crack of misplaced air.

Chapter 21
In Which We Explore the Practical Applications of the Art of War

The first impression Harry got was of cold, grey stone, and a vague sense of familiarity. He'd visited this hall in his dreams a number of times before mastering Occlumency, and Lucius' borrowed memories only increased the sense of deja vu. The room was big, a real throne room, and Voldemort was already rising up from the stone chair at the far end, wand in hand and preparing to strike. Harry raised Draco's wand, gathered up all those threads of shining magic, and shoved them into the first curse that came to mind, "Immobilus!"

He was completely shocked when it worked.

Voldemort froze, ghastly face a mask of contempt and rage, wand half-raised. Harry found himself running towards the throne, completely convinced it wouldn't last, sword already in his hand and Draco's wand shoved down the front of his trousers to rest next to his completely inappropriate erection. The different love magics roiled over his skin like warm silk, keeping a part of his mind ever on his absent lover, and his body in a strange state of excitement, adrenaline and other natural drugs pumping through his system.

Voldemort was like a dark blot in the centre of his amber-limned vision, no halo for him, and Harry realized with a start he'd been seeing, not magic or power or even light, but the love inside each person. He raised the sword high, saw the evil red eyes go infinitesimally wider, and brought it down against his neck with a sickening thud. The sword was blessedly sharp and, of course, enchanted as well. Blood splattered from the gaping wound, and Voldemort began to struggle and scream as Harry aimed again.

This time his hand was in the way, wand and all, and Harry's shoulders jarred as the sword sliced through those two brittle forearm bones to lodge in Voldemort's collarbone. The screaming took on a new tone, and Harry hacked again and again, trying to stop the horribly high-pitched wail. He was brought back to himself a few seconds later by a thread of worry from Draco running through his chest, and he looked down to find he'd removed Voldemort's head, hand, most of one arm and done quite a bit of damage to his shoulders and chest as well.

Harry stabbed the sword through his black heart, then tugged it free and turned to face the room. Everyone else was stunned, and Professor Flitwick looked positively green. A few seconds of silence were punctuated by the steady dripping of blood from Harry's soaked hands, and then the room exploded into chaos. Death Eaters came through every door, and the fight was well and truly engaged.

Flitwick and McGonagall came up to stand with Harry, protecting the body. "I shall have to cast a charm to collect all the... parts," said Professor Flitwick wanly. "Then we may leave."

"Right," said Harry, stepping down to help out Dumbledore, Ron and Moody with the fight. He had a distinct advantage, after all -- nothing touched him, curses were absorbed into the amber-and-silver armour of Draco's love and power, blows landed with no pain at all, and little force. His own curses sometimes went wide, but more and more of the black-clad bodies around him were falling, and not getting back up.

A tingle of something flitted across his brain, a spike of fear so sharp he almost thought it had come from himself before he realized that something back at Hogwarts had just scared Draco shitless. "We've got to get back!" Harry yelled, cursing faster and faster, backing towards the throne with Ron and Moody close behind. Ron was sweating, blood trickling from a cut on the back of his head and matting up the bright orange of his hair.

Moody's limp was more pronounced than ever, and Harry felt a stab of guilt that he was the only one with this protection, despite the fact that he loved them all in his own way. A tingle of strange magic flowed over his skin just as his heel hit the back of the dais, and he stumbled a bit, making someone behind him gasp. He caught himself on a strangely clean hand, and realized that it must have been the spell from Flitwick to gather every last molecule of Voldemort and whisk it away with them.

Another tingle of magic made him think something was happening to Draco, a coldness that crept into his chest and made his heart want to slow, to stop. Everything seemed dim and colourless despite the bright halo surrounding Dumbledore in his vision, and he turned his head left to see a column of Dementors gliding towards them in sudden, eerie silence. The remaining Death Eaters had fled when he wasn't looking, but he barely had the energy to wonder where they'd gone.

Fear spiked through him again, this time from Draco, and that thought brought another hot pulse from the magic still riding his body. "Expecto Patronum!" he shouted, vaguely aware of Dumbledore doing the same, of Flitwick behind him saying something entirely different in his high-pitched voice. His ears were rushing with the sudden pounding of his heart, and he could feel spidery hands crawling their way across skin that wasn't quite his.

"Draco!" he yelled again, as the huge white stag charged into the waiting Dementors, as the feelings of love and worry rushed back in to replace the dark despair. "We've got to get out of here!"

"Put a hand on this, then!" said Moody, grabbing the hand that still held the shiny sword of Godric Gryffindor and pulling him towards the throne. In it sat the grisly remains of Voldemort, surrounded by a strange bubble of startling crimson mist that Harry realized must be the spilled blood. He'd always expected Voldemort to bleed black, he thought dazedly as the familiar tug of a Portkey took them all away.

The horrible touch was gone from his skin when he reappeared inside the Shack, replaced by a terror so acute he thought both their hearts might just stop right there. Harry didn't even bother to see what everyone else was doing, just set off at a dead run down the passageway towards the castle and his lover. He didn't even bother to try and stop the willow from whomping him, just ran through the raining blows and straining all his nerves for the first sign of pain.

Draco's body-sense got stronger as Harry drew closer, and he could see black-clad bodies littering the lawn. He hoped without much real conviction that none of them were students, and suddenly remembered the broomstick strapped to his back. He hopped on it, and then flew in through doors that hung drunkenly loose on their hinges. He raced, not downwards as he might have expected from Snape, but up and up, over towards the North Tower and the feelings pulling him onwards with an urgency stronger than anything he'd felt.

As he flew through corridors that seemed awfully narrow, he wracked his brains for the spell that would give Draco's magic back, and sent him a wave of love and encouragement. Draco would know he was coming, would know as he drew closer and their bond tightened, just as he could feel Draco's panic recede slightly. The hallways were uncannily silent as he plummeted through them, drawing closer and closer to his lover and whatever danger awaited them.

There were three Death Eaters guarding the silvery ladder, but Harry's wand was fast and their feeble curses proved no match for his newfound invulnerability. He dropped his broom and climbed the ladder as fast as he could, wondering if he'd been let through as a trap after all. With Voldemort undeniably dead, Harry held little fear for his own safety; it was Draco who drew him onwards, with a rush of new confidence followed by a sharp pain in his right shoulder.

Harry vaguely felt blood seeping through his nice new clothes as he leaped over pouffes and chintz chairs towards the back of the room and Trelawney's previously inviolate personal domain. Again he was struck by the lack of guards, the heavy silence blanketing the room much like the incense smoke still lingering sweetly in the air. Then he noticed the forms lying still in the shadows amongst the furniture, flickers of silver and green movement over their black robes drawing his eye.

"Why aren't you helping him?" said Harry, wondering if he spoke Parseltongue or just yelled out his rage in English. "You promised!"

"We are helping," said one of them from his left. Voices from all around the room joined it. "We've left him alone with the last one, just like he asked. Madnesssss, we think, but we are bound to follow orderssss."

Harry had a rush of sick dread, understanding at once who was behind that door with Draco. It was ironic, really, that they'd brought him into the school with their love and thought themselves triumphant, and now here he was, quite possibly their downfall. Harry pushed past beads and heavy, musty curtains into another dim, scarf-draped room. He saw Draco on the floor, hair mussed and tatty, a dagger thrust through his right shoulder and another poised over his left.

It was Lucius, of course, his mad face twisted in pleasure as he whispered sick words to his son, words of possession and pain. Draco's eyes were defiant, and even his fear was melting away as Harry strode into the room. "Immobilus!" cried Harry, just as he felt the point beginning to pierce both their skins.

"Revaleo!" shouted Draco, and Harry shivered as Draco's cool magic slithered away and back to its rightful owner.

He tossed Draco's wand towards him, and pulled out his own. They'd have to touch Lucius to get the knife out, and moving him would break the spell, so Harry kept his guard up. He felt slightly off-balance now, all warm and shining gold, Draco lit up like a beacon, shining around Lucius' darkness. Lucius had a faint a halo of his own, but it was a deeper colour, a red and sickly light that warped the space around it.

Draco gave Lucius a huge shove, and scrambled backwards out of the way, ending up crouching on Trelawney's gaudily-draped bed. "Petrificus Totalus!" they shouted in unison, and Lucius' body snapped rigid, his eyes glaring as he began shouting something that sounded like a spell. "Silencio!" Draco added, and Harry watched in wonder as Lucius' mouth still moved, eyes defiant.

"Your Lord can't help you anymore," said Harry, catching the familiar syllables on Lucius' lips. "He's dead."

Lucius just rolled his eyes and finished his chant, obviously expecting some big flash of rescue or assistance. When nothing happened, he lay still for long, painful moments, blinking in confusion. Then he seemed to fall in on himself, the light of madness leaving his eyes in a rush, the red rage in his aura replacing itself with a feeble grey despair. Rays of it still reached for Draco, some strange form of fatherly love still left to him, and Harry ached to see and feel something in Draco answering that imploring gaze.

"You can't save him, Draco," said Harry softly, kneeling next to his lover. He put a shaking hand on the dagger still imbedded Draco's shoulder and gave a quick tug, wincing as his own shoulder began to hurt sharply and bleed more freely. "He's too far gone."

Draco sat back heavily on his heels, a quiet grief blossoming in amongst the triumph. "So, you really did it?"

"I really did it. They should be disposing of the body any minute now, although I expect there's a bunch of Death Eaters still lurking in the castle." Harry looked down at Lucius' still form, then towards the door, where a mass of green and silver was slithering towards them from under the curtains. "What happened to your honour guard, anyway?"

Draco looked down, eyes sad. "Someone betrayed us at the end. I don't quite know what happened, but they all went rushing out into the other room and seconds later, Lucius stepped in, grinning and saying something about loyalty and trust."

"Well, we'd sodding well better find them alive," said Harry, feeling a familiar weight of grief and guilt in his own chest. If they'd all died, Tonks and Snape, Lupin that was all he had left of his parents, Hermione who'd stayed behind to help them... "Come on, and stay behind me, for fuck's sake."

"Snakes, will you protect me?" asked Draco rather formally. "If I go with him, will you keep us both from harm?"

"We will do our besssst," hissed the writhing mass, a sound formed from many serpent's voices that made Draco's eyes go wide.

"I... was that in English?" asked Draco, fearfully.

Harry shrugged -- it all sounded the same to him, and said, "Come on, we'll ask someone else if we get a chance." Draco bent down and put his hands to the floor, and the snakes writhed up and over until he was once again wearing them as gauntlets. "We'll get someone to fix your shoulder, too. I always was pants at healing spells."

Draco snorted, and followed Harry out into the gloomy Divination classroom. "Er, snakes?" asked Harry, earning a glare from Draco.

"Yesss?" they hissed at him.

"Ok, well, I can't understand you now, so it must've been English before," said Draco grumpily.

"The ones you bit, are they dead?" Harry couldn't hardly tell pouffe from person in this dim light, let alone who was still breathing.

"Ssssssleeping."

The snakes settled back to quiet, and Harry raised his wand and cast, "Lumos!"

Bright white light flooded the room, and Harry looked around again. The air was still a bit thick with stale smoke, and the harsh light revealed the furnishings to be far shabbier than he'd previously thought. The shapes resolved themselves into the forms of nearly a dozen people scattered amongst the chairs, and Harry cried out in wordless alarm as he spotted Hermione's familiar frizz atop one alarmingly motionless figure.

He felt similar panic from Draco, and realized he'd spotted Snape on the other side of the room. As he moved away and the light dimmed slightly, Harry realized with a start that his spell had lit both their wands. He knelt beside Hermione and rolled her over, gratified to see her chest rise and fall, albeit slowly. "Ennervate!" he cast, careful to point his wand only at her.

She took a deep breath and coughed, eyelids fluttering. "Are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

"Thomas!" she said, eyes flying wide. "He killed Seamus and summoned the Death Eaters... oh god, Harry, it was Dean all along!"

"Fuck," said Harry with definite feeling. "Let's wake the others and get downstairs."

"No, you don't understand. Last year, the Slytherins, it was him! He'll have taken them all if we don't hurry!"

"Fuck!" said Draco from across the room, garnering him a glare from a woozy Snape.

"Right. Well, it's not like we don't know where his stronghold was. Come on, then, get up!" said Harry impatiently, looking around for Tonks' familiar pink hair and spotting Lupin instead.

"Ennervate!" he cast again, just as he heard Draco doing the same. Tonks and Lupin sat up groggily, looking disoriented.

"I'm going to murder that bloody Thomas with my bare hands," said Tonks dangerously, standing up on wobbly legs. Her hair, Harry noted idly, was actually quite long and violently purple today, which accounted for him not spotting her right off.

"Let's find him first. The castle was too quiet, I'm worried he's already spirited people away!" said Harry, making for the ladder. "I'll go in front, the rest of you make sure Draco isn't further injured."

Voices drifted towards them as they trudged through empty corridors towards the castle foyer. "And then Professor Snape said to evacuate everyone, and set us to organizing the houses. Since Seamus was already Gryffindor, I volunteered to stay behind and let you know where everyone--"

"Stupefy!" yelled Harry, and Dean's eyes rolled up in his head as he toppled over.

"Harry, what on earth?" said Professor McGonagall, taking in his dishevelled appearance and rather grotty-looking escort. They'd all managed to stagger down the ladder, but none of those he and Draco had revived were looking anything but sickly and wan. Nothing had been waiting for them but the three incapacitated Death Eaters, and a sickening feeling of dread as they found the rest of the castle just as quiet as Harry remembered from his breakneck flight.

"He was a traitor," said Harry dully, stepping back and motioning for Hermione to properly explain. He suddenly felt exhausted, his body aching from Draco's ordeal, and his shoulder wounds throbbing sharp reminders that they'd failed to protect him.

Just as Hermione took a breath to explain, the sound of raised voices drifted through the blasted front doors. "That was brilliant, what you did, Neville!" said a voice he thought might be Colin's.

"Did you see me throwing curses right and left!" said a girl, and they all hurried towards the door. Trudging towards them were most of the student body of Hogwarts, some of them limping and some leaping, a few carried by their fellows or levitated along. When Harry and Draco emerged into the last of the afternoon light, the entire group of them cheered at the tops of their lungs.

"Harry, you should've seen it! One minute we were getting all formed up to go defend the castle, and the next we were in this dungeon with a bunch of Dementors and trolls, but Neville just cast this really brilliant spell and then we fought our way out and caught the Knight Bus!" Colin Creevey gushed enthusiastically as he ran up to the group on the steps. "Professor Snape, you look awful!"

"Tactful as ever, Mr. Creevey," said Snape, with most of his usual vitriol. "I take it there were some casualties?"

"Yeah," said Blaise wearily. "We didn't leave anyone behind, though, but a few..." He looked like Harry had felt that night his fourth year, when he'd seen Cedric die, and Harry's heart ached for him.

"Well, let's get everyone into the Great Hall, and see if we can't find Madame Pomfrey," said McGonagall briskly. Harry noticed with a start that Flitwick and Dumbledore weren't around, but Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking as awful as Snape and the rest, was swaying slightly where he stood next to Ron.

Harry turned, along with Draco, and led everyone through the doors. "Reparo!" he heard from behind him, smiling at the thought that McGonagall couldn't stand to see the doors askew any more than he could. They all headed inside, to face the aftermath of battle and see to living what was left of their lives.

Chapter 22
In Which We Learn the Many Uses for a Post-Battle Adrenaline Rush

The Great Hall changed while Harry watched, dozens of house elves magically rearranging it to have beds, comfortable chairs and small tables full of chocolate and other restoratives under McGonagall's watchful eye. Neville had been sent upstairs to see if he couldn't find Madame Pomfrey, and the other students were gathered in the entry, waiting patiently as the elves finished up.

"All right, you may go in. Anyone who is injured should be on the left, with the worst in beds, starting at this end of the hall. Anyone who is not injured should take a seat to their right, and please make sure everyone eats some chocolate to help recover from any exposure you may have had to the Dementors." Her voice was strong, firm, and showed no hints of the grief and uncertainty Harry felt roiling just under the surface of his own thoughts, and Draco's.

The students piled in, some carrying their injured fellows, a few grim-faced Seventh Years levitating the limp forms of the dead. Soon all the beds were filled, the corpses lying in a cleared space beside them. House elves covered each body with a white sheet as it was laid before them, their tiny faces solemn and afraid. "Does Harry Potter think there will be more attacking?" asked a familiar squeaky voice at Harry's knee.

"No, Dobby. I think we're just about done with the attacking for now." Harry could hear the leaden weight in his own voice. He mentally identified each student even as their features were shrouded, seeing Seamus Finnigan's curiously unsmiling countenance, Luna Lovegood staring sightlessly upwards, young Graham Pritchard with his green Slytherin badge still glinting silver in the light. Half a dozen others Harry couldn't bear to think about, none of them older than his own 17 years.

Eloise Midgen was laying on a bed, her face drawn and grey, Ron already at her side looking worried. Neville Longbottom had returned at some point and was currently surrounded by a circle of uninjured admirers, asking him about the spell that had rallied the students to fight, which turned out to be a Patronus. Madame Pomfrey was moving among the beds, clucking her tongue and giving them directions as to who could go sit and who needed immediate attention.

Harry whirled, wand at the ready, and immediately felt foolish as Dumbledore and Flitwick walked in through the repaired front doors, followed by a crowd of Aurors and Mediwitches. "It's all been taken care of, Harry, never you fret," said Flitwick with alarming cheerfulness. "We got all the bits and burned them to a crisp, then cursed the ashes thoroughly and shoved the lot through the Veil. We'll not be seeing him again!"

"Quite so," said Dumbledore calmly. "I believe that we have sufficient help now to clear the castle up and see to the students. Harry, Draco, we will be having a feast later tonight in your honour. You might as well get healed and go enjoy a bit of privacy beforehand."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, dimly aware that a white-robed Mediwitch was already prodding at his shoulder, which responded by throbbing rather painfully. "Ouch!"

The Mediwitch patted his arm absently, getting out her wand. "Sorry, luv, hold still there and you'll soon be right as rain. Claudeus!" She tapped his shoulder gently and a feeling like warm, tingly fingers ran over the cut. She then repeated it for the other side, and turned to Draco. "Why, you're all fixed!"

Harry realized that the pain was gone, and turned to see them staring at Draco's bared shoulder. "Must be the spell," said Harry absently, suddenly fascinated with the sight of Draco's skin. "We'd better see to that, Draco. In the room." He took Draco's hand and caressed a finger along his palm, sending a shiver of lust through both their bodies as the sensations echoed from one to the other.

Harry tried very hard not to notice the way Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with mischief, or Tonks winked, or Snape's face grew curiously still as they turned and made their way down to their room. He had planned to wait until they could no longer hear the chatter before shoving Draco against a wall, but found himself dragged into a semi-secluded niche barely halfway down the dungeon stairs. "I'm going to fuck you until you forget both our names, Harry Potter."

Harry could feel the wall at his back, but more immediate was the soft velvet of his robe in Draco's hands, the slight chapping of his lips underneath Draco's demanding kiss. It was confusing and arousing and he thought he might come on the spot when their hips collided violently, rubbing Draco's cock against the silky lining of those velvet pants. Harry dropped to his knees, unable to stand the wait, and tugged the trousers down only enough to free the aching shaft that throbbed its need in his mind.

"Fuck," whispered Draco harshly as Harry took him in, and Harry could feel both a mouth on his cock and a cock in his mouth, the sensations almost equal in their clarity. He was starting to lose track of where Draco ended and he began, unsure if it was his throat working to take the whole length, or his hips urging him on with tiny, jerky thrusts. Draco's scent filtered through his brain like lavender infusing fine honey, and everything seemed to glow with the thick amber magic even with his eyes closed.

It didn't take long, the overload of magic, adrenaline and sheer physical pleasure practically wrenching their orgasm from them, and he felt Draco's throat working right along with him though only one of them had seed to swallow. Harry could feel the heat spreading through his own trousers just as he could feel his mouth licking the bitter seed from Draco's shaft. It was intoxicating, bewildering and exhilarating.

"Let's go to the room," he whispered against Draco's hip, reaching up a hand. He'd need help to stand like this, his body gone boneless and confused with being suddenly half a foot taller inside his head. Draco pulled him up, their bodies like a line of fire as golden fabric slid and caught against the black. They went downstairs in silence, arm in arm and swaying drunkenly as feet kept trying to compensate for belonging to someone else's body.

They made it to their room intact, both of them already hard and impatient as the door swung shut behind them. They separated only long enough to strip, leaving torn and blood-soaked clothing scattered on the floor as they tumbled, naked, into bed. "Want you in me!" said Harry hoarsely, flinging an arm towards the nightstand as though he could summon the bottle with an act of will.

He got yet another shock when it came to him, riding a current of silver-and-gold magic that shivered through him like a wind caressing places no hand could touch. "Silencio," they whispered in unison, and quiet blanketed them despite the fact that their wands had gone the way of their clothes.

No more words were needed, then. Harry let himself be touched, moved, opened. Each caress of Draco's hand brought with it the feeling of his own skin beneath a callused palm, his own hair tangling in fingers much longer and finer than his had ever been. He was familiar by now with the breathless feel of those fingers inside him, but he thought he might lose it completely when he felt his own body heat closing around them, his own tightness clinging to them as they worked him open.

Harry wanted to do this for hours, just touch and be touched, drown himself in the feel of Draco's joy at the smallest details of his own body, to roll them over and show Draco his own echoing joy even tempered by the fine threads of Draco's apprehension. But their own burning, urgent desire spurred them on, fitting Draco's cock into his body like it belonged there, his own body arching with the pleasure of it. He'd never felt this before, nothing at all like a mouth, hotter and tighter and just so right even as he was speared and taken and owned, and he ached with the perfection of it.

Then Draco pulled back, and Harry thought he might break apart, the way his body tried to keep Draco from retreating, the place inside him that Draco brushed sending sparks of electric pleasure throughout his limbs. Draco kissed him, his mouth full of coppery fear and warm golden magic, tongues tangling and teeth clacking as they lost track of who was who and began to just move.

Something clicked in place and it became a dance, rhythm and motion, this hand goes here to smooth along a jutting hipbone, this leg slides that way to make more room for them both, these teeth bite here just to taste the sweat of it, just to feel the flesh give and spring back and spark with bright pain in a sea of languid pleasure. Nothing mattered but the slide and bump and thrust of it, the bite and lick and kiss of it, the in and out and oh of it.

The power was building and building again, racing along both their bodies, twining with Draco's oh-so-recently-shared energy to make a silvergold ribbon that tied them to one another, binding tighter and tighter until something had to give. They might have cried out, words lost in the silencing spell as heat exploded from them in a shower of sparks and seed, tight-closed eyelids no match for the burst of light and magic.

Draco collapsed against him, and Harry opened his eyes just long enough to assure himself that, while the room was lit up like a Christmas tree with traceries of silver and gold energy, nothing had, in fact, caught on fire. Then he wrapped Draco in his arms and held on, their bodies slick with sweat and come and limp with real exhaustion. His last thought as they began to drift off was for the cold just starting to settle in, and he was unsurprised by now when a thick feather comforter appeared, to settle over them as they slept.

Harry awoke to the gentle, inquiring thrust of Draco's hips, the well-oiled length sliding easily into space it had never actually left. "Want to touch you," said Harry, words lost but meaning clear as his hands slid over Draco's pale, silken flesh. Draco's eyes flashed with lust as he rolled them over so Harry was straddling him, cock still buried in Harry's ass. It was almost too much to let it go, but Harry wanted more freedom than he'd get if they were still joined, so he pulled away regretfully.

He slid his entire body down, sweat-slicked flesh moving easily against Draco's as thighs and chest rubbed together. He started at Draco's feet, sucking the wriggling toes into his mouth, biting along the high arch of the foot. He licked and nipped his way upwards, sometimes tracing a scar but mostly ignoring them in favour of the pale stretches of unblemished flesh between them.

It was oddly jarring to feel the way sensation stopped when he ran over the deep wound where Draco's knee had been sliced open by a bowtruckle during a trip to the Forest for Care of Magical Creatures, but soothing to know the sensual tickle of his fingers at the back of Draco's knee. He worked upwards methodically, etching the body-memory into his brain as he found and caressed places he hadn't known Draco craved to have touched.

Harry felt Draco's surprise as he buried his face between his legs, spending long minutes leaving love bites peppered over taut thighs, suckling the soft-furred balls into his mouth and licking enthusiastically at the most sensitive, needy centre of him. Something in Draco longed to be opened, touched, taken, but Harry let it go with a single apologetic caress of his fingers when he felt fear thread through Draco's desire.

Instead, he nibbled over ticklishly sensitive hipbones, sucking another love bite in the hollow of one until Draco was curled almost double with silent laughter. He revelled in the sure knowledge of the pleasure that had tugged to the surface, tightening both their groins as his teeth scraped over the livid mark. He tongued his way over a stomach still fluttering with laughter, chin rubbing deliberately against the sensitive head of Draco's cock and making them both gasp at the intensity of it.

He worked his way up to those eager nipples, biting just to the point of perfect torment before leaving more marks up along the smooth column of Draco's throat. He found the spot just behind Draco's ear that made him sigh with pleasure, sighed himself as his own hands smoothed down Draco's back against the sheets. The dual sensations were less urgent now, softer around the edges or perhaps he'd just grown used to them, but no less powerful for all that.

Finally, face buried in Draco's fragrant hair, he slid his body down and onto Draco's waiting shaft, finding the head with just the knowledge of where they both were and taking it deep into the heart of him. That silver-and-gold energy spiked through them both as they were joined, bringing their earlier need back with in a rush of pleasure. He sat up, feeling Draco brush that place inside him as he rose and fell in a soft, easy rhythm like breathing, like the beat of their two hearts.

Draco's hands came up, then, and caressed not Harry's chest but his own, tweaking his nipples so Harry could feel it, running blunt nails over flesh already scored with old pain. Harry gasped and threw his head back, raking his own nails up his thighs and onto Draco, feeling the line blurring again, the heat of his own body surrounding a cock he knew was also his, the feel of hands on flesh that didn't matter whose was whose, it just was, and it felt oh so good.

Their hearts hammered in their chests, twin beating like a drum that sped their hips right along with it. Pleasure rose up past need and found its own heights, and Harry opened his eyes to see them both shining with love, silver and gold threads that ran between them thickly, that spread out and away towards friends, family, all the love they possessed brought to shining visibility by their combined magics. He was almost shocked when those threads expanded into blinding brightness as his body reached its own peak, releasing seed to glisten between them in the afterglow.

He fell in slow motion, collapsing against Draco with an, "Oof," that made them both giggle faintly as they lay there. Draco gestured, and the blanket settled back over them as their sweat cooled; gestured again, and their harsh breathing echoed in the previously muffled silence. "I love you, Harry, but if we don't undo this spell, I'm going to die very young. Happy, but young."

Harry nodded, grinning, and tried to drag the release word out of a brain gone completely to mush. "The word you searching for is 'Salvus," said Draco, his voice weary but full of humour and love.

"Right," said Harry. "On three?" Draco nodded. "One. Two. Three. Salvus!"

Harry thought he might cry as the amber faded from his sight, the strange underwater glow of it dimming until the room was dark and silent. He felt cold, bereft, and alone for all of a millisecond. Then his heart beat, in perfect time with Draco's, with the pulse of Draco's cock in his ass and the soft sound of Draco's chest beneath his ear, and he remembered that they were, in fact, still very much joined. "I love you too," said Harry softly, feeling life slowly returning to his limbs.

"I know," Draco murmured, and Harry ached more for the core of grief he could still feel inside his lover's chest than he did for his own. "I think... we'd better shower. Dumbledore said something about a feast?"

Harry closed his eyes, wrapping himself in Draco one last time before they had to go face the mob and be Heroes once again. "Right. A feast."

Draco's arms tightened around him. "Don't worry, Harry. This time, I'll be right beside you."

Chapter 23
In Which We See a Celebration, a Pronouncement and a Proposal

It turned out to be a very good thing they'd ended the spell just then, as a house elf popped in -- Puddy, Harry thought, but wasn't sure -- and announced that the feast would be in half an hour if the sirs would care to dress. They found their outfits cleaned and magically mended, Salazar Slytherin's weapon and Godric Gryffindor's sword lying quietly atop their respective piles of rich velvet.

Harry waited until the elf had vanished again to climb out of bed, wondering idly how long they'd actually been allowed, and if anyone else had noticed their magic orgasms this time. And if they had, just how much ribbing the two of them were in for, once the whole 'hero' thing wore off again and the other students started treating them like normal. He was brought up short when he realized that they wouldn't be students much longer, and there might not be time for them to remember that he was the same kid they'd thought was crazy during most of his fifth year.

He waited, yawning, while Draco made use of the bathroom, then did the same and climbed groggily into the shower for a quick wash-up. He'd rather be late to the feast than show up smelling like he'd just spent the last however long having as much hot gay sex as physically possible, truth or no. Draco washed him in silence, sighing happily when Harry returned the favour. It was almost strange to be running his hands over Draco's skin and only feeling it from the one side, but comforting, in a way.

Like there was, just possibly, a normal for them to get back to.

Harry's first thought, looking out across the Great Hall from the unfamiliar perspective of his seat at Dumbledore's right hand, was how young everyone looked. Despite the empty places at each long table where students too injured -- or, gods help them, dead -- to attend usually sat, despite the abundance of bandages and slings, they were laughing and talking just like any other holiday, eyeing the golden plates with greed and wondering aloud what special treats they'd get for saving the world.

Everyone grew quiet as Dumbledore stood, facing out over the crowd. "There are many things that could be said tonight, and many more that will be best left unsaid. Let us first take a moment to remember those who cannot be here, for one reason or another." He waited patiently as the students stopped fidgeting before continuing.

"Each and every one of you deserves far more than a feast, and although there are those that may seem to have done more or less, you all put forth your very lives today, for the sake of your families, your fellow students, and your futures. I believe the Ministry will be giving its own form of praise in due time, but for now let me just say that I have never had a prouder moment in all my years at Hogwarts."

The students glowed, Harry -- and Draco, on Dumbledore's left -- right along with them. The praise helped in a small way to fill the emptiness of guilt and loss, and he realized with a start that the one thing he no longer had to worry about was responsibility. His part was over, he was done, and he had nothing but the unknown future ahead of him. "Two of my best students were, as you all most likely know by now, central to our victory. Harry Potter risked himself to go into Voldemort's lair, but more than that, Draco Malfoy gave him the one weapon that Voldemort had no defence against -- the power of love."

Harry turned and caught Draco's eye behind Dumbledore's back, and winked. Draco blushed, and the students applauded, drowning out whatever else Dumbledore might have said. They stood, cheered, clapped and stomped, and someone started a chant of, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Dumbledore sat, eyes twinkling. "You might as well do as they ask, or we will never get to eat."

Harry resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the Headmaster in a very juvenile way, instead standing, drawing Draco to his feet with his gaze. He took the two steps behind Dumbledore that brought him to his lover's side, and swept Draco up into his arms dramatically. "Might as well make a show of it," Harry murmured, and then dipped Draco back dramatically, kissing him with a tender, chaste press of lips to lips.

The cheering grew deafening, and Harry let Draco up. He was grinning fit to split his face in two, he knew, and he felt something warm and familiar filling him up as Draco glared at him peevishly. "I'll get you for that, Potter," he hissed, trying to suppress his own grin.

"You already have me, Malfoy," murmured Harry in return, as Dumbledore stood back up.

"To further your elation, in light of your good work, end-of-year exams will be cancelled. Now tuck in!" That last was said over the loudest cheer yet, and Harry released Draco, going to his place rather reluctantly. He wasn't really looking forward to the dinner conversation, having Dumbledore on his left and, of all people, Snape at his right with Lupin just past him. Worse, Draco had McGonagall and Moody on his other side, with the other faculty and Order of the Phoenix members arrayed at the table ends.

A last glance over at Draco revealed him staring down at his golden plate with a small, private smile that matched the warm glow in Harry's chest. Then food appeared before him, roast and turkey and kidney pie, warm rolls and mashed potatoes, flagons of chilled juice and hot mulled wine. He reached for the juice at the same time as Snape, and found himself blushing unaccountably as their fingers brushed. "Pass the mulled wine, will you, Severus?" said Lupin, eyes twinkling.

Harry was shocked to see Snape's cheeks colour, and Lupin's fingers linger deliberately over his on the wine flagon. He poured pumpkin juice and wished he was brave enough for the wine, feeling the sudden need for something to scrub out his brain. "Got any plans for after, Harry?" asked Lupin serenely, even as Snape poured his own juice with fingers that just barely trembled.

"Not really. I mean, I was all for the war, wasn't I? Only it looks like we're not having one after all, so it'll really depend on how many NEWTs I take, I suppose. I'd thought of being an Auror once, but I don't know that I've got the marks for it." Harry very carefully served himself a helping of something and avoided looking at the two professors in this very new, very disturbing light.

"I'm certain you'll do fine, Harry," said Dumbledore on his left. "I'm sure that Professor Snape will be happy to help you with Potions, should you be falling behind."

Harry had the distinct feeling that Dumbledore knew exactly what was going on in his head, and he spent a long moment practicing the most calming Occlumency exercises he knew. Mind gratefully blank, he dug into his food without tasting a thing and wished fervently for the meal to end. "I believe he is getting excellent tutelage from Draco at this point, Headmaster. His performance in class has improved markedly since their... relationship... began."

"They do make a lovely couple, though, don't they, Severus?" Lupin's voice was amused and affectionate, and it made Harry smile. They'd grown closer over the last two years, brought together by war and grief and a mutual love for Sirius, and Harry's parents as well. He'd been rather neglecting Lupin these past weeks, and found it heartening to hear the approval in his tone.

"Ta, Professor," said Harry lightly, and then more quietly, "It's all happened so fast, hasn't it?"

"That it has, my boy," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "Who would have thought, three weeks ago, that you'd be sitting here celebrating victory with your husband?"

Harry felt rather sorry for Snape, and not at all sorry for Dumbledore, both of whom were on the fringes of the resultant spray of pumpkin juice. "My... what?"

"Although you have not been formally wed, your status is quite clear under Wizarding law, Harry," said Dumbledore mildly. "Otherwise, rest assured that you would still be sleeping in Gryffindor Tower."

"Yes, Mr. Potter, when will you be having the wedding? I assume that Mr. Malfoy will want to hold it at the Manor, should the Ministry choose not to confiscate it." Snape was smirking as he spoke, voice dry and edged with irony.

"Wedding?" he said, turning quickly to look past Dumbledore. "Wedding, Draco?"

Draco just smirked right back, and raised his gently steaming glass. Evidently, he hadn't been at all shy about taking the hot spiced wine. "I had been meaning to ask you about that, Harry, but there never seemed the opportune moment."

Harry blinked stupidly, suddenly feeling rather outnumbered and completely flatfooted. "You... you want to marry me?"

"That is the general idea when one forms a lifetime bond with their partner, or had you not considered that aspect, Harry?" This was Lupin, and Harry spun, glaring at his erstwhile friend for betraying him in his hour of need.

He turned back when he felt a tug at his shoulder, only to find Draco kneeling down in the space between the chairs, looking up at him with love and mischief in his eyes, and a small velvet box in his hand. "Harry Potter, will you marry me?"

Bugger, thought Harry dimly. He's even got a ring. "Er, yes?"

The cheering that shook the rafters forcefully reminded Harry that he was still in the Great Hall, sitting at the high table in full view of everyone. "Told you I'd get you," said Draco softly, slipping the ring on Harry's finger. It was a wide silver band set with a row of close-set diamonds, and a single large emerald in the centre etched with an ornate letter 'M'.

Harry snorted, and leaned down for another of those warm, chaste kisses. "I am not changing my name to Malfoy," he murmured as he pulled back, "But we can have the wedding wherever you want."

The rest of the feast passed in a blessed blur, although a few images stood, unfortunately, rather sharply out in his mind. A rosy-cheeked and drunken Lupin giving Snape a kiss on the cheek, for instance. Or the moment when Moody had given him a congratulatory hug and offered to give him some pointers for their honeymoon. He kept staring down at his hand, baffled by the unfamiliar weight of his engagement ring, and then staring back up at the laughing faces of his fellow Hogwarts students, three sentences running on a loop through his head.

They'd won. And he was getting married. To Draco bleeding Malfoy.

Chapter 24
In Which We Learn That Not Everything is Happily Ever After,
But Some Things Make a Good Start

Monday morning dawned far too early, and it was sheer torture to drag themselves from their warm, comfortable bed out to face the horror of NEWTs. Breakfast involved a lot of the older students glaring at the rambunctious youngsters, as only the Fifth and Seventh Years had class of any kind. Dumbledore had effectively given them an extra week to celebrate with their friends before school let out, but the OWLs and NEWTs were far too important to skive off, even after preventing a war.

Harry wore his most comfortable school robes, surreptitiously wearing his favourite pair of Draco's green silk pants underneath for luck. Given the way Draco had dressed, Harry expected to find his own beloved blue boxers hadn't so much disappeared as decided to appear on hips other than his own for the day. Potions would take all day, sitting the exam in the morning, followed by the briefest of lunches and the practical.

Instead of the Great Hall, which was filled with Fifth Years taking their OWLs, they were down in the Potions classroom, taking the same bare dozen desks they usually did. There was one desk conspicuously empty and the guilt was like a missing tooth for Harry, something he prodded at with his mind just to make sure he could still feel the spot she'd taken up in his memories. Su Li had been quiet, and quite good at Potions, and he felt a stab of loss when he realized that was the extent of his knowledge of her.

"Quit feeling so bloody guilty, Harry, or I'm going to tell you what I saw in the corridor," snapped Draco irritably as the Ministry Wizard conducting the test strode in with Snape at his side.

"Er, what?" said Harry softly, confused now.

"I came 'round a corner and caught Lupin snogging Snape. And if you don't shut up, I'll describe it in vivid detail." Draco's voice was an echo of his old arrogant sneer, and Harry could feel nervousness fluttering in his stomach as well as Harry's own.

"Eew," said Harry with feeling, trying very hard not to notice the subtle flush to Snape's cheeks, or the shiny redness of his lips. "Oh, eew."

"Heh," said Draco, a small burst of satisfaction welling in his chest as all thoughts of grief were drowned out by vividly unpleasant images of Snape and Lupin together. He was actually grateful when the Ministry Wizard began handing out the exams, explaining that lunch would be provided in the classroom and immediately followed by the completion of a very complicated potion, which had been brewing for weeks in preparation for this exam.

Harry sighed, took up his quill, and began reading the questions over. Next to him, he felt Draco's feelings narrow down to focus on his parchment, only a small, warm thread of love left to show his awareness of Harry at his side.

By Friday, Harry was barely able to figure out the order in which to don his clothes, let alone decide which ones he was going to wear. His exams were done, four days of hell, but he still had to drag himself out of bed and get up to breakfast, or else Draco would never make it to his Ancient Runes NEWT. "C'mon, there's got to be tea up there."

"But the bed looks so nice and warm!" Draco protested, trying to climb back under the covers fully clothed.

"C'mon! Let's get you fed and off to your last NEWT." Draco had had Tuesday and Wednesday blessedly free while Harry took Transfigurations and DADA. They'd had Charms together yesterday, spending the afternoon on an exhausting series of complex spells, and in the end briefly demonstrating the Sanctuary Charm to the rather impressed Witch running the tests.

They'd tumbled into bed with barely a kiss, and been too tired this morning for even a cursory shag in the shower. The tension sat in his throat, pooled heavy in his groin. They hadn't heard about Draco's father's fate, and tomorrow there were funerals and ceremonies to be dealt with. It was eating at them, and even the warm, honeyed magic in their kisses didn't slow the acid corrosion enough. Even the weight of his ring didn't cheer him up like it should, feeling the gap between them growing with each passing silence.

It was almost a relief to be called up to Dumbledore's office late that afternoon, Draco quiet and solemn at his side.

Spring rain pattered against the high windows as they sat in comfortingly familiar squashy armchairs, tea in hand, and listened to Dumbledore speak. Lucius had been recaptured with the rest of the unconscious Death Eaters, and would sit trial right along with them. Questioning had revealed Draco's mother to be under the Imperius curse. Lucius Malfoy's estate would not be confiscated, but passed on to those he had most injured, Draco and Narcissa, contingent upon a thorough cleansing of the house by Aurors.

At some point, Draco's hand had fumbled over to clasp Harry's, and Harry sent all the love he could find along the bond, surprised to find so many other things damping it down. Guilt, of course, always the guilt, but also simple exhaustion, and a deep-running fear of estrangement. He'd had Draco for such a short time, and there was so much bad blood between them, old and new sins of commission and omission. Beneath the fear and guilt and pain, though, the love ran deepest of all, just waiting to warm them both when he called it forth.

They left still wrapped in numbness, Dumbledore's words of comfort ringing in their ears. Tomorrow they'd be expected to show up to everything, be paraded about to accept Orders of Merlin and possibly say things over the cold bodies of the dead. Harry shivered as they stepped into the cool gloom of the dungeon corridors, and tried to uncurl from his own brain long enough to make sure Draco was all right, nearly surprised at the anger and uncertainty simmering at the edges of his awareness.

"I'm sorry about, you know," said Harry softly as the door closed behind them. Draco lit the candles with a wave of his wand and began stripping out of his school robes in robotic silence. "If there's anything I can do..."

"What could you do, Potter? You don't know anything about real family, do you?" Draco spat, stripped down to a pair of Harry's missing boxers and looking pale, thin and angry. "You're not exactly gagging to become a Malfoy, anyway, so why don't you just leave it alone."

"Draco, what...?" Harry felt the weight of despair crushing his chest, most of it coming from Draco. His hands went to his clothing, stripping him bare of all his school clothes, everything that marked him as Gryffindor, as different. He fell to his knees in front of his partner, brought low by the weight of emotion, face turned up in supplication. "What can I do to make it right between us, Draco?"

"What are you on about? This isn't about us, don't you get it?" Draco was confused as well as angry now, looking anywhere but at Harry, hands fidgeting restlessly over the scars on his chest and arms.

"I think it is, Draco," said Harry softly. "I will try to be whatever you need, Draco, even if you need to hit me or fuck me or call me Harry Malfoy for the rest of my life. Just... don't hold it in anymore. Take it out on me, because it's hurting us both this way." Harry's cheeks were oddly damp, Draco's eyes suspiciously bright in return.

Draco lashed out, slapping him backhanded across the face. Harry's cheek exploded with pain and his head whipped around, but he recovered quickly, resuming his posture, this time with his hands submissively behind his back. Draco stared at him in horror, then dropped to his knees in front of Harry. He lifted his hands, fingers stretching towards the spot that Harry knew was already red and beginning to bruise. "God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't... I don't want to turn into him, d'you understand?"

Harry pulled Draco into an awkward embrace, ignoring the throbbing in his skull. "I understand. I won't let you, you know. I'm Harry fucking Potter, not some bloody girl."

Draco laughed wetly, harshly, and dug painful fingers into his arms. "Right now I just want to hurt anything, anyone, just to make my own pain go away." He practically choked on his own bitter laughter as he cried out, "Imperius!"

"You love her, don't you?" said Harry softly, running careful fingers through Draco's baby fine hair. "She'll recover, you know, and be your mum again."

Draco sniffled. "I should be grateful, at least I've got a mum, but god, it's hard."

"Bugger that for a lark," said Harry, with feeling. He'd spent a lot of time feeling sorry for himself for losing his parents, but he'd also learned a thing or two over the years. There was more than one way to lose someone, and horrible tragedy happening to someone else in no way diminished your own pain. He stood, and pulled them gently up onto the bed, curling them together under the covers. "You be as angry and sad as you need to be."

Draco broke down and began to sob, crying wetly into Harry's shoulder, and Harry wished briefly for a handkerchief or box of tissues as they both began to sniffle. He let out his own grief and fear and pain, losing friends -- Luna, and oh god, Seamus! -- and having killed someone in cold blood, even if that someone was Tom Riddle. He felt something breaking loose in his chest, knocking itself loose in Draco's as well, and suddenly the warm golden love was pouring out, washing it all away.

He felt almost ashamed when he grew suddenly and undeniably hard, and Draco's head snapped up, eyes flashing. "You want to prove your love, Harry?"

Harry felt the breath leave his body in a rush and nodded once, dumbly. "You'll do anything I ask?" Draco's voice held too many things to read, like a book with half a dozen Pages stuck together, writing bleeding through the thin, wet Pages to make an indecipherable blob. Overflowing with meaning to the point of incomprehensibility.

Draco slid off the bed, pulling back the covers and shaking his head when Harry moved to follow. He grabbed his wand off the nightstand and gave it a wave, and thin silver ropes snaked out of it. Seconds later, Harry was surprised to find himself bound hand and foot to the four bedposts, spread-eagled, still naked and very, very vulnerable. Draco turned and rummaged through his wardrobe, producing a green silk scarf which he used to blindfold Harry, following it with a harsh, claiming kiss.

Harry found himself caressed roughly, pinches and slaps as often as kindness. He knew where Draco was at all times because of their bond, feeling the frustration and fear welling up as he raked nails down Harry's thighs, bit his nipples until he cried out, licked over the white scar on one shoulder from Lucius' knife. He moved away and back, always hovering close by but never giving away his intentions as he explored Harry's skin and his tolerance, his desire, for pain.

Harry let his mind go limp, freeing himself of all his worries, from NEWTs to Voldemort, mismatched socks to dead friends, he let it all go and sunk himself into this new, physical world. At some point Draco had cast a silencing spell, and Harry's world narrowed to the smell of them together on the pillow, the lingering taste of tea on his tongue and, first and foremost, Draco's touch.

He was still hard, aching with need that wound tighter each time Draco's hands or mouth came in contact with his skin, regardless of whether to give pleasure or pain. It was all blending in his mind now, nothing but his lust for Draco, his desire to please and his overwhelming love for the arrogant, needy, beautiful boy. He couldn't move, or speak, so instead he let himself drown in the contact, in the heavy golden magic that dripped between them like honey and the love and lust that poured off of Draco like heat from a furnace.

He was spiralling out of control, everything building and him waiting, waiting to break apart until Draco was inside him, holding on to those last threads of everything with tooth and claw and other metaphors, his brain chanting over and over, "Yours." Draco was roiling with emotion, fear and frustration spiking through the simpler emotions of love and lust, edged about with a flock of smaller, stranger things.

Harry was so shocked he almost came and ruined everything when he felt that thing he'd only felt twice before, and only then by proxy. He felt himself surrounded by tight heat and wished he wasn't blind just so he could see Draco's face as he lowered himself onto Harry's shaft. It was agony, holding back as Draco slipped down onto Harry's cock with protracted care. Harry bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and felt himself pulse once, dangerously, when Draco leaned down to lick away the coppery drops.

His ears popped as the silencing spell was lifted, blinking in the sudden light as Draco peeled the blindfold away. He was still bound, but that felt safer, somehow, with Draco before him, around him like this, looking vulnerable and beautiful and like nothing he'd ever seen before. Magic shimmered between them like a heat haze, Draco's own power glittering silver over his skin while Harry sweat gold into the sheets. Draco's eyes were closed, lashes like a fringe against lust-pinked cheeks as he began to move.

They moaned in unison, and Harry felt the fear slice through Draco one last time, then fade away completely as he found that other thing inside himself, slid it over Harry's cock again and again, drawing them both towards the edge at breakneck speed. He tried to file the memories away in case Draco never wanted to do this again, but his brain wasn't tracking right and all he could do, still, was feel, and chant aloud with every gut-wrenching thrust, "Yours."

It came as no shock at all when he screamed Draco's name, pulled over the edge finally by the sheer weight of feeling, each bruise and bite part of the chorus of sensation, the magical bonds soft and weightless as he pulled against them, not to get away but just to know he couldn't. Draco rode him out, canting his hips and biting his pink bottom lip, his own release only moments away. Harry longed to touch the glowing skin, to pull his orgasm out of him with a few practiced strokes, and he felt riveted as Draco's hand drifted up to do it himself.

Draco's cry was wordless, soundless, as he spilled over fist and thigh, belly and chest. Harry felt him moving around his still-hard cock, milking those last few drops from his exhausted body. Draco found his wand, dismissed the bonds and collapsed in Harry's grateful embrace, leaving them joined and sated, the magic sinking back under their skins to curl, warm and waiting, in their chests. Harry borrowed Draco's wand long enough to summon the blankets back up over them, and drifted off to sleep.

Harry woke, for the first time in ages, alone. He immediately sat up, frightened as the memories of last night flooded in, and was relieved to see Draco sitting in his chair, reading. "Wondered when you'd get up," said Draco, smiling, as Harry slid out of bed and padded towards the bathroom. He felt the fool for ever doubting as Draco's warm presence thrummed in his chest.

"Why didn't you just wake me?" Harry asked, pausing at the door.

Draco shrugged in a swirl of affection. "I liked watching you. Go on, the house elves brought tea."

Harry took care of his morning things, splashing cold water over his face and finding a pair of soft flannel pyjamas to keep him warm as he sat next to Draco. The tiny table was nearly overflowing with pot, cups, creamer, sugar and a small plate of chocolate biscuits. "Er, are we ok, then?" Harry asked, nibbling on a biscuit.

Draco looked up, then folded the book in his lap, finger holding the place. "Yeah, we're ok. Thank you, for..." Draco reached out, leaning so his fingers could brush the impressive bruise on Harry's cheekbone. Harry had considered trying to heal it before he got out of the bathroom, but had felt it would be dishonest, somehow. "Everything."

Harry dropped a kiss on Draco's palm. "I meant it, you know, what I said. I love you like a part of me I never knew I was missing, and I'll do whatever it takes..."

Draco lowered his eyes, then nodded. "I hope... I don't ever want to hurt you, Harry, but I can't promise I won't."

Harry snorted, and Draco looked up, startled. "'Course you can't. People hurt each other, even when they don't mean to." Draco smiled, eyes going suspiciously bright. "Er, just for the record, are we going to..." Harry made a familiar obscene gesture, ending significantly near the tent in his trousers.

Draco laughed. "Yeah, we can. Any way you like it." Harry grinned, and Draco blushed. "I was afraid to, you know, until we... until I could feel how much you really enjoyed it."

"Bloody right I enjoy it, and you're going to do it to me again before we leave. I can't possibly sit through all of the crap today unless you've come in my ass at least once." Harry got a great deal of satisfaction at the way Draco's face slipped from nervous to positively eager as he processed Harry's words.

"You mean, you still want me to...?" Draco trailed off as Harry downed the last of his tea in one gulp.

"What, you thought I'd let you get out of doing all the work, just 'cos you put out once?"

They both laughed, and tumbled into bed. The road ahead was rocky, strange and unknown, but Harry knew one thing for certain -- he'd always have Draco beside him, wherever it took them.

finis

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