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HARRY POTTER

UNTHINKABLE THOUGHTS

CHAPTER ONE

~

UNEXPECTED USE FOR A WAND

The Fifth Year Boys' Dormitory in Gryffindor tower, a room so magical and peaceful and secure that it had long since been the only place Harry had ever felt at home, was silent. It was very early in the morning. The wonderful clock that Sirius had sent him for his latest birthday - a small but perfect sphere in the style of a Snitch that hovered quietly whirring and clicking next to Harry's pillow, whose thousands of intricate working parts could tell him the time in any bedroom in the Wizarding World - informed him politely, and with a natural respect for the hour, that it was just after 4:30am. Harry did not know why he had woken so early, but it was becoming a regular occurrence since he had come back to Hogwarts for his fifth year.

Perhaps you have something on your mind? Hermione had suggested. Well done, Herm, thought Harry. When had he ever not had something on his mind?

Perhaps you are developing insomnia? Ron had suggested. Ron, who would take forever to rouse himself each morning after so many hours of trouble-free slumber that he could sleep for England, what could he possibly know of insomnia?

Perhaps Madam Pomfrey could make you up a sleeping draught? Neville had suggested. Hmmm, perhaps. But Harry didn't have any trouble falling asleep; it was waking up that was the problem. His mind drifted. Many people mattered deeply to him. Most of them were in the immediate vicinity of where Harry now lay awake, staring in the darkness at the thick hangings around and above him. Dear, dear Ron, asleep just feet from where Harry lay, who had made his own family Harry's. Always first to jump to his defence, always first to voice his outrage at the slightest unfairness. Ron would lay down his life for Harry, and Harry knew it. Harry prayed that he deserved Ron's unconditional friendship, and wondered whether he himself could be as good a friend to Ron if the circumstances were reversed. He knew how difficult it was for Ron to be always in Harry's shadow, always the guy at Harry's elbow; but never the guy with scar, the guy with the Firebolt, or the guy with the fame. And of course Hermione, who in her own way loved Harry as dearly as her own parents, and who, despite her better judgement, had a thousand times got Harry out of the muck with some evil piece of homework. Harry understood the differences between Ron and Hermione, but what he loved about them most were their similarities: they gave him - without limit - what they each had to give.

Others crowded his thoughts. Neville, Dean and Seamus, fellow warriors in the perpetual battle with the Slytherins. Hagrid and his unquestioned support. Fred and George with their fierce loyalty. Ginny and her flattering affection. Other Weasleys, who had made Harry one of their own. McGonagall, who worried and cared but couldn't show it. Dumbledore's wonderful wisdom.

And Sirius. Finally, a tangible link with his past, with his parents.

Harry hoped hard that he truly deserved all this love, for surely that's what it was. Hogwarts was home, in every sense of the word. And on each of the recent mornings that he had found himself awake at this hour, he had realised that he was now over halfway though his time at the school, and that before he knew it he and the other Gryffindors would have to leave the protective walls and find their way in the world. That thought was as scary to Harry as any possible scenario involving Voldemort. In such moments, Harry knew that even the aspects of life at Hogwarts that seemed sent specifically to test him - Snape, Malfoy and all the other Slytherins - appeared less irritating, less important, less significant. In these silent hours before the Tower awoke, Harry's softened view of his world was a comfort to him, and he realised that actually he enjoyed these moments of solitude and reflection. Perhaps that was why he continued to wake: this was the only time he got to himself.

It was raining. Quidditch practice could be messy and dispiriting in the rain, but still he looked forward to it that evening. He went over the requirements of the day, listing the lessons in his head. A tedious Transfiguration essay was still due after lunch; his was by no means finished, and he knew Ron hadn't started his yet. That seemed the only blot on the landscape of the day, and he resolved to get his underway and wake Ron a little later to give him a chance to hash together his own version of Harry's work. Harry smiled. Hermione disapproved of copying, like she disapproved of many things, but she often left her scrolls lying conveniently around when she knew the boys were close to missing a deadline. He had found her Transfiguration scroll on his bed the previous evening, no doubt delivered by her cat Crookshanks, who was always her accomplice in such subtle subterfuge. That way, Harry surmised, Hermione's own conscience was clear. Still, he silently thanked her and cast around for his wand.

'Lumos,' he whispered.

There was some good stuff here, Harry thought. Hermione was certainly more than just an astonishingly hard worker, she was a very talented Witch deep down. He read through her scroll and within an hour had cribbed enough of her work to complete his own. As if on cue, the silent form of Crookshanks landed lightly on his bed next to him, and he nuzzled Harry's neck affectionately. Harry had long since ceased to be amazed at Crookshanks' ability to get around the castle, the way that closed doors and bed hangings never seemed to pose him any difficulty. Another ally, thought Harry gratefully, reaching through the hangings to replace his wand on the small cupboard next to his bed. As he held the hangings open, Harry gave the cat Hermione's scroll and Crookshanks sprang away noiselessly, back to the girls' rooms. The door to the fifth form boys' dormitory neither opened nor closed. That was just what Hogwarts was all about, another aspect of his home that he now took completely for granted. I should take fewer things for granted, resolved Harry.

'Tempus,' he whispered.

The Snitch-clock informed him that it was now just after 6am. I'll wake Ron at half six, thought Harry. That will give him easily enough time to cobble together an essay and still get to breakfast before the majority of the school. Ron didn't appear to understand Harry and Hermione's liking for getting to breakfast early, but most days he grumpily went along with it. Gives you the psychological advantage, said Hermione. All those slovenly Slytherins emerging from their sewer of a dungeon at the last moment, when we've been chatting over toast for a good while. The best start to any day! Harry smiled as he heard her saying this in his head. The conversation happened nearly every morning, but he didn't mind. He was with Hermione on this one completely: anything that set them apart from Malfoy's mob was a good thing.

How would he fill this slack half hour before he would get Ron up?

It was raining more steadily. The sound of the rain beating against the small leaded windows was strangely comforting and he snuggled further under the covers, sumptuously comfortable in the warmth of his bed. Sometimes he dozed back to sleep at about this time, but he knew that morning that it wasn't to be so. Despite his comfort, or maybe because of it, his mind strayed away from the images of security to those which troubled him. Big issues like his parents, his battle with Voldemort, his concern for Sirius's safety, they never really went away: a constant dull ache in his stomach and in his heart. But lately, there had been something else. Or perhaps it had always been there.

It was pouring with rain now. The slashing of the rain against the window now seemed distressing rather than reassuring. Harry allowed himself to consider this latest sick feeling in his chest. It absolutely couldn't be. Please no. How could he ever tell his friends that?

He dragged his mind away from it, but he knew from experience that the fight was in vain. Why? If he could fight the Imperius curse, if he could summon a Patronus and fight the Dementors, if he could fight Voldemort and win, why couldn't he fight this? Deep, deep down Harry knew why: because those things were magical, whereas this, this was primal. Something that would be there even if he weren't a Wizard. The images and thoughts and feelings wouldn't go away and his mind was racing in full, horrible flow now. A desire so strong it scared him was welling up inside him. He could feel his own body responding to the desire, and the state of arousal he was experiencing was more fierce than it had been for some weeks. Hell, why should he fight it? He was a sixteen-year-old boy after all. His hands wandered around his body, tantalisingly avoiding their ultimate goal.

Harry knew his own body. He had been exploring it for years, behind the screen of the hangings around his bed. He knew his sensitive spots; he knew where one touch would send him over the edge. But that had been different, that had been a young boy coming to terms with what his body could do. Now, that whole innocent exploration was tainted with unthinkable thoughts. Now, it was like someone else was with him in his bed, sharing this most intimate of moments. But whose fingers were they that ran tentatively over his chest? Whose tongue played exquisitely over his lips and neck? Whose hand ruffled his hair when the pleasure became unbearable?

Harry did not know for sure, and he had a dreadful fear of analysing the feelings too closely in case they gave him an answer he couldn't deal with. But he knew one thing though: this lover who bubbled up from his subconscious in times of great desire, it was not a girl. It was not Cho, or Ginny, or even Hermione, or any of the other girls who had shown an interest in him. That in itself was a realisation that he was still coming to terms with. But please, please, please, Harry thought, don't let it be Ron. It would be the ultimate betrayal. Certainly Harry wouldn't deserve his friendship then. He wouldn't even be able to look Ron in the eye. So he didn't dare examine his imaginary lover too eagerly; he allowed to him to keep his anonymity. That delicate, diaphanous veil of secrecy allowed Harry to carry on talking to Ron every day as he had for more than four years now. It was essential that Harry never looked at the face of whoever it was that tormented him each morning in these dark lonely hours of wakefulness, whoever it was that drove him ever upwards into more intense climaxes, whoever it was that knew Harry's body as well as Harry himself.

Harry was on a collision course with ecstasy. His body writhed furiously under the covers, and his imaginary lover smashed his tongue deep into Harry's mouth. Harry gasped out loud at the intensity of the sensations, the reality of the feelings. He seized his most intimate part and began the final assent. He was flying! Like the ultimate airborne freedom of wheeling around on his Firebolt, his body and mind soared beyond the Gryffindors' dormitory. His breath was ragged and his heart racing, and the delicious warmth of his surroundings was given a fiery edge by the combined body heat of Harry and Whoever-He-Was. Harry felt them rolling over and over each other, their bodies pitching into the pleasure that felt so profane, yet so right. The climax rose, unstoppable, inexorable. Panting and gasping, Harry bucked uncontrollably and his body delivered its blissful gift. Oh God! Why did boys ever get out of bed when they could do this? Elated, exhausted and smiling manically despite himself, Harry flopped his head back on his pillow and tried hard to catch his breath. Wow!

He looked around in the gloom. The rain was still heavy. It was the same every morning: his lover had now vanished, disappearing at the moment of climax, but Harry didn't have quite the same sense of desperation now. Sure, he keenly felt the loss, and just one morning he would love to find out that the boy was real, tangible, touchable, and that he had a lovely face, and that they could laugh and cuddle together in the afterglow of their shared intimacy. But the absence of Whoever-He-Was, and the realisation that he had never been there at all, were never enough to obliterate completely the immense pleasure he had just experienced. As he came back down to earth, he heard the Snitch-clock tell him that it was 6:30. Just a few minutes, Harry thought, then I'll wake Ron. But as reality clicked back into place, a sniggering from beyond his bed hangings told him that he might not be the only one awake.

'Bloody hell, Harry,' he heard Seamus say, 'that was your noisiest yet!'

Harry bolted upright and shoved his head out of the parting in the hangings.

'What?' he said, alarmed.

Seamus had pulled back the hanging on his own bed and was laughing.

'You!' he laughed. 'You make so much noise! It's a wonder anyone can sleep. Sounds like you were enjoying yourself though.'

Harry was embarrassed but could not help laughing a little himself.

'Sorry, Seamus, I sort of get carried away sometimes.'

'Sometimes?' came Dean's voice. 'You're always like that. Every morning. It's more reliable than the alarm on your Snitch-clock.'

The conversation disturbed another Gryffindor.

'What's going on?' came Neville's voice.

'Harry again,' laughed Seamus. 'Playing boys' solitaire as usual.'

'Oh,' Neville stuttered, a little embarrassed. 'Actually he didn't wake me this morning.'

'Do I often wake you up?' asked Harry, blushing a bit.

The other three all laughed. 'Don't get a complex, Harry,' said Dean. 'Of course not every day. But when you get it into your head that you're going for it, nothing seems to stop you!'

'Oh God! I had no idea my habits were so public!' Harry groaned, surprised that he could still laugh. 'What about Ron?'

'Nothing wakes Ron,' said Seamus. 'You know that.'

They all laughed again. Then came Neville's small voice.

'Harry,' he asked curiously, 'have you got two wands?'

'No,' said Harry, bemused. 'Why do you ask?'

'It's just that, well, your wand is still next to your bed on your cupboard. Don't you, er, use it?'

Dean and Seamus looked suddenly at the wand. Harry was nonplused. Er, what do you mean, use it?'

'Blimey!' exploded Dean. 'You don't, do you?'

'Don't what?' said Harry, feeling a bit edgy. 'What are you talking about?'

'Harry,' said Seamus. 'Have you never used your wand when you, er...go for it?'

Harry tried to make light of a situation that he did not understand. 'In what way do you mean 'use', Seamus? You mean to see what I'm doing?'

'Oh my God, Harry,' said Dean. 'This is unbelievable. You don't know, do you?'

'So how do you get so, er...worked up, without it?' asked Seamus.

'I haven't any idea what you are all talking about,' replied Harry, now getting irritated. 'How can you use a wand to, erm...you know?'

Seamus got out of bed and sat on the end. 'Harry,' he said, eyes glinting. 'Bloody hell have we got something to tell you!'

'Tell me what?' Harry had not felt so out of the loop for ages. It was like he was discovering being a Wizard again.

Dean jumped out of bed too. 'This is weird. You shouldn't be hearing it from us. I just can't believe you don't know. Hasn't Ron ever told you?'

'No he hasn't! Will you just bloody well tell me?' fumed Harry. Then he softened. 'Sorry. But remember that I that I haven't really ever had a family, either Magical or Muggle. There's probably still loads about Wizarding that I don't know.'

'OK' said Seamus. 'But first, I'm curious: how do you do it?'

Harry was acutely embarrassed. He got out of bed too, picked up his wand, and sat down on the trunk at the foot of his bed, shuffling his feet.

'Erm. Well. Well, how do we all do it? I just get myself, you know, worked up...' - he made a halfhearted simulation with his hand along his wand - '...till, you know, till the sap rises.'

He looked up hopefully.

'My God,' said Neville, slightly in awe. 'He does it all with his hands!'

'Don't you?' said Harry, extremely surprised. 'Doesn't every boy?'

'Every Muggle boy probably does,' said Seamus. 'Who knows? But, Wizard boys use magic. Well at least I think we all do. We've never really discussed it. It's not the sort of thing you talk about.'

'So how do you all know then, if you don't talk about it?' said Harry.

'Well, I guess it's just instinct,' said Seamus. 'There's no handbook. Older brothers sometimes tell you stuff of course, but, only jokily. How many Muggle boys ever need to be told how to do it? You just, er, discover.' 'So how do you use magic then?' said Harry, intrigued.

There was a funny silence where Dean, Seamus and Neville all giggled a bit.

'Well,' began Dean slowly, 'it's personal I guess. I suppose everyone is different. But, essentially, you just learn a few spells and charms and adapt them just for this, er, very purpose.'

Harry had never seen Dean blush before.

Seamus was a bit more forthcoming. 'You know, certain hypersensitivity or constricting spells; Exquisitus is a good one, and then there's trusty old Frictia, that certainly, er...increases the blood flow.' The others all laughed.

'Or you could use an engorgement charm,' chipped in Neville. Dean and Seamus exploded with laughter.

'You use an engorgement charm, Nev?' choked Dean.

'Yeah, sometimes,' said Neville, a bit embarrassed.

'That's so funny!' spluttered Seamus, 'I've never even thought of that!'

'There you go then,' giggled Harry. 'None of you lot know how to do it either.'

'Well, I did say it was personal,' said Dean. 'Anyway Harry, from the sound of it, you don't need magic. I've tried it a couple of times when I've not got my wand with me, but I've always thought it's a bit boring.'

'Yeah, I reckon it's crap without a wand too,' said Seamus. 'But, Harry, if you've got to age sixteen without ever using one, then maybe you've got more tricks up your sleeve than we can imagine. We're not saying you've got to use magic; just...we are really surprised it's never occurred to you. Anyway, it's probably safer without.'

'What do you mean?' said Harry, his mind alive with new possibilities. 'Well, do you remember when we were in the first year and Lee Jordan had to spend a couple of days in the Hospital Wing? It was supposed to be a secret, but Fred and George couldn't keep the news to themselves. Apparently Lee had a nasty accident with a new pulsating charm he was experimenting with.'

Neville, Seamus and Dean were all laughing uncontrollably.

'Last time I went to see her, Madam Pomfrey said she's always having to sort out embarrassed boys who've got carried away trying out new spells,' said Neville, finding some confidence from the conversation.

Dean and Seamus looked at him incredulously and then another burst of laughter rolled over them.

'What do you mean, "last time you went to see her"? You've been there, haven't you!' yelled Dean. 'You can only know that if you've been there yourself! Come on Nev, what happened?'

Neville was crippled by a flush of embarrassment and Harry tried to think of something to say to stop him having to answer the question, but the diversion was unnecessary.

'What the fuck is all this noise?' A bleary-eyed Ron appeared between his hangings. 'It's only, shit, quarter to seven!' he wailed.

A babble of noise greeted Ron as he made his appearance, everyone speaking at once.

'Ron!' cried Harry. 'Sorry to wake you!'

'Ron!' yelled Seamus. 'Just wait till you hear what Nev's done!'

'Ron!' urged Neville. 'Don't believe anything they tell you!'

'Ron!' laughed Dean, 'you're Harry's best friend, why haven't you told him what Wizard boys need to know?' Ron was completely overwhelmed by this and sank back into his bed again, ignoring them all. Amid still lots of laughter, the conversation broke up more or less there and then, and the day proper began, as Dean and Seamus started to sort themselves out for a shower. Neville made himself scarce back in his bed, and Harry went over to Ron and tried to speak to him softly about McGonagall's Transfiguration essay.

It was moments like this that made Harry appreciate once again how happy and at home he was at Hogwarts. Most days there was nothing but hilarity and petty worries about schoolwork. These are good days, he reminded himself. And even as Ron said 'Sod off, Harry' as Harry tried to stir Ron into action over the essay, Harry found himself smiling.

'What's so funny?' said Ron, smirking, unable to maintain being bad- tempered while Dean and Seamus were fooling around.

'Long story,' said Harry. 'Now do this essay and then we'll go down to breakfast. And then, Ron, we've got to have a long overdue conversation. It appears that there's loads you haven't been telling me.'

'Eh?'

About an hour later the five fifth year boys were in the Great Hall having breakfast with Hermione, Ginny, the twins and assorted other Gryffindors. It was jolly scene and again Harry forced himself to realise that these moments must not be taken for granted. He would not have them forever. He sat back and watched his friends discussing Quidditch heatedly over tea and toast, and felt a warm sense of belonging. His eyes glazed over a bit.

'Harry? Harry! You all right?' Ron's voice cut through his reverie. 'Oh Lord, why does he have to be here?'

Harry cut back to reality and saw Ron throwing an evil look over to the other side of the Great Hall where a group of fifth years were just sitting down at the Slytherin table. A sudden sense of something chased through Harry's body as he saw Draco Malfoy take his seat, flanked by his ever- present henchmen. Harry's eyes met Malfoy's for a split second. There was no outward reaction from either of them, but again Harry felt a charge run through him.

God, how he despised Draco Malfoy.

CHAPTER TWO

~

AFTERNOON OF A FAUN

He woke suddenly.

What had woken him, he had no idea. But it was like a herd of hippogriffs had just trampled over his body, rousing him from an extraordinary dream. He stared around in the blackness, unable to see anything out of the ordinary, or indeed anything at all, but even so his heart was racing and he was rather out of breath. It was just before 6:30am.

Draco lay back and allowed his pulse to return to normal. Blimey, he thought, that must have been some dream, and he tried hard to remember what he had been dreaming about. It must have been a nightmare, he concluded, to have woken so suddenly. But something nagging in his head told him it hadn't been a nightmare. Nightmares he was used to: the perpetual threatening presence of his father and his father's expectations and demands reached him even in his sleep; but this had felt different. It had felt exciting. It had felt exhilarating. It had felt - what was the word? - illicit.

His fellow Slytherins were still asleep, and Draco could hear at least two of them snoring. Almost certainly Crabbe and Goyle, he thought. God, how he resented the presence of this pair of brainless thugs. It was one thing for one's father to choose his son's books and robes for him, but to choose his 'friends' too? And some friends Crabbe and Goyle were. Draco couldn't recall a single conversation with either of them that he had found enjoyable or rewarding in any way. Granted, they seemed to show him a great deal of loyalty, but Draco suspected that that was because their fathers desired the friendship too. And however long paternal pressure kept this trio together as an efficient and nasty bullying unit, Draco knew that he would never truly like them. Still, at the moment, they were all he had.

He was wide-awake now, silent, thinking in the darkness. The lessons of the day ahead presented no real problems, as usual. History of Magic (yawn), Defence Against the Dark Arts (sometimes interesting), and then Care of Magical Creatures after lunch with that giant oaf Hagrid. He owed McGonagall an essay on Transfiguration that he had spent a lot of time on (mainly in secret away from Crabbe and Goyle) and with which he was secretly quite pleased, but he doubted that it would be fully appreciated by her as she constantly seemed to favour her Gryffindor students and was always telling the Slytherins that Hermione Granger was far and away the best at Transfiguration in the year, maybe even in the school.

Bloody Granger. Would he ever beat her at anything? His father's taunts about her rushed through his head: Only second in the year, Draco? And who came top? Oh yes, Granger, a Mudblood. You ought to be thoroughly disgusted with yourself. Secretly, and he could never admit this to a single other Slytherin, Draco rather admired Hermione. Or perhaps it was envy. Her knowledge of magic was absolutely first class. And he couldn't blame McGonagall for taking a certain amount of pride in Hermione's achievements; after all, Snape's unfair favouritism of his own Slytherins was so blatant that it was beyond funny. And there was something else about Hermione that Draco envied: she had friends. Real ones. Not like Crabbe and Goyle who followed him around with sickening devotion just because they fundamentally needed someone to follow. If being a pureblood, who at his father's insistence could only be friends with other purebloods, meant that he had to have friends like Crabbe and Goyle, then he didn't know if he was interested. But he could never tell his father that.

He sighed deeply and rolled over. It was raining quite heavily; from his bed in his dungeon dormitory, he could hear the water splashing around in the gutters and drainpipes above his head. Maybe it was the rain that had woken him. Oh get real Malfoy, he told himself. It hadn't been the rain. It had been something else, some strong feeling or emotion left over from a powerful dream. But what had I been dreaming about? What had triggered the dream? Very gradually, sounds began to filter through the building down to the dormitory, and Draco could hear Slytherin House slowly stirring itself for the day. He decided he would join them, and got up suddenly. He gathered his stuff together and went off to the boys' bathroom, hoping that a long hot shower would rid his body of the strange, unsettling sweatiness of the dream.

Some time later his regular bunch of Slytherin cronies all assembled in the common room and set off for the Great Hall for breakfast. Here we go again, thought Draco. He turned on the sickly charm and set the sneer on his face as he did at this time every day. Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Millicent, Blaise and the others all simpered round him as they ascended the stairs. Slytherins rule! he thought. Purebloods forever! He snorted to himself. As they reached their table Draco was aware of a large amount of noise from the other side of the hall where the Gryffindors sat. He looked over and saw Harry, Ron and Hermione with their stupidly happy gang all laughing and arguing energetically. Draco felt a twinge of sadness as, by comparison, he suddenly resented the bitchy backstabbing that was about to begin at his own table, and as he looked over he caught Harry's eye for a fraction of a second. Harry did not appear to react but Draco felt something weird flood through him, a feeling that reminded him strongly of the dream he had not long woken from.

What on earth did that mean?

* * *

After breakfast the Gryffindors left the Great Hall in small groups of twos and threes and wandered back to the tower with time to spare before lessons began for the day. This was usually the slot that Harry and Ron used to catch up on their homework (sometimes with Hermione looking on with pursed lips and a disapproving glare, muttering about how they were never going to learn anything properly leaving everything till the last minute). But since Harry had starting waking early there had been far less urgency about work deadlines and Harry and Ron were beginning to see for the first time what Hermione got up to in this part of the day. Sure, there was the library, Hermione's favourite place in the castle, and often Hermione was to be found there checking something in preparation for a practice OWL paper or looking up some detail pertaining to Elvish rights. But what they had no idea of was that, for fifteen minutes or so, Hermione and Ginny very often sat in a corner of the common room and chatted in low voices and with a general air of secrecy. There were a lot of surreptitious looks around the room and the occasional burst of giggling, and Ron in particular was extremely intrigued with what they were talking about. But on that morning, as on several previous mornings, the girls had refused to allow him and Harry to join their conversation and this had irritated Ron more than he cared to admit.

'What are they talking about?' moaned Ron to Harry. 'Why's it all so secret?'

'I've no idea,' said Harry. 'But it all looks horribly girly. They're probably discussing bras or cosmetics or something.'

'Harry, do you really think that Hermione would spend her time talking about make-up when she could be doing extra Arithmancy? It's got to be something bigger than that. When has she ever been a girly type of girl before?'

'Well, last year at the Yule ball for a start. When I distinctly remember you, my friend, noticing how she looked, and being rather jealous that she was with Krum.'

'I was not jealous. Blimey Harry, you don't half have a selective memory. I expect you've also blanked out the facts that you were appallingly rude to Parvati and a crap dancer.'

'Me a crap dancer? Me rude to my date? Ron, you appear to be Hogwarts champion at recalling things inaccurately. You were shockingly rude to Padma, and anyway we both spent much of the evening hiding in the rose garden if I remember clearly. Which I do. And I also recall that you were achingly jealous that Herm went to the ball with Krum, and don't deny it.' 'Well, OK, a little bit maybe. She did look really good that night. But whatever, that doesn't give her the right to sit round having secret girly chats - with my sister of all people! - and cut us out of it like we don't even exist.'

'Cut you out of it Ron. Not me. I want no part of it anyway. And besides, you and I need to have a conversation of our own, oh so-called best friend of mine.' Harry smirked sideways at Ron.

'What about?' said Ron curiously. 'Is this what you mentioned this morning at about 4:45 or whenever it was that your shouting woke me up?'

'We were not shouting and it was quarter to seven' laughed Harry, 'as you well know! Anyway, yes it is about that. I've been totally embarrassed in front of the others this morning and I'm afraid I'm laying all that humiliation at your door, Ron.'

'Wha--'

'I thought you were my ally in all matters magical,' persisted Harry, still smirking.

'You know I am. What are you tal--'

'Then why have you never told me what wands are for?'

Ron was totally baffled. But there was no time for the conversation to carry on as at that moment the bell rang for the start of lessons and within about two seconds Hermione was standing next to them hurrying them along to Charms. The school day began.

Charms was interesting but fiddly, as usual. As usual Hermione was brilliant: there did not seem to be a charm that she had not heard of and practised on her own before it came up in the lesson. As usual Ron was quite good but not bothered about how well he did, and as usual Harry was also reasonably good and in awe of Hermione's ability to do just about anything asked of her in any subject. As usual, Neville was awful, and while practising a gyrating charm he managed to set much of the furniture spinning instead of his cushion. As usual Dean and Seamus found this funny and hilarity ensued. Harry laughed and found himself thinking once more, I must take fewer things for granted. These times will not last forever.

The heavy rain of the morning had stopped falling by break, and by lunch it was really quite warm and sunny. Professor McGonagall walked down the Gryffindor table reminding all the fifth years that she wanted their latest Transfiguration essays in her office before they went off to Care of Magical Creatures that afternoon. Harry looked up from his chicken-and-ham pie (his favourite) and looked at her as she was saying to Ron, 'I've got a free afternoon so I would like to read them all before our lesson tomorrow. You have done it haven't you, Weasley?'

'Of course, Professor! Ages ago,' protested Ron in mock innocence.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all sniggered to themselves, all aware that had it not been for Crookshanks and for Harry's early waking, then there would have been no way that McGonagall would have had a full set of essays that afternoon. McGonagall sensed there was some joke between them and smiled to herself. She couldn't actually tell them of course, but she was rather fond of all three of them.

Harry watched as she went down the Slytherin table giving the same instruction, and he noticed the half smile on her face. And then suddenly the smile was gone, and Harry saw that it was undoubtedly because she was speaking to Draco Malfoy. He seemed to be giving her some backchat that was being hugely appreciated by his Slytherin cronies. Shut up Malfoy, thought Harry, don't give her a hard time. As Harry was thinking this he looked straight at Draco, trying to drill that thought into Draco's head across the hall. At that very moment Draco looked up and his eyes met Harry's, and Harry felt the charge of dark emotion that ran through his body whenever he looked at Draco. It was becoming so familiar that Harry had now christened this feeling the Malfoy Shiver but he had kept this to himself as he was deeply troubled by his own capacity for hatred where Malfoy was concerned. God, how I despise you, thought Harry. Draco's eyes did not break contact with Harry's. He looked puzzled, then his usual cynical sneer returned to his face as he mouthed the words fuck off, Potter for Harry's own private benefit. Harry stared at Draco for some seconds afterwards, trying to inflict great pain into him just with the intensity of his glare. But Draco had looked away and was laughing with the Slytherins, and just as Harry was thinking that he had definitely won that particular staring competition, he was brought sharply back to earth on hearing Seamus say, 'So who's going got be essay monitor then? No point all of us trooping up to McGonagall's office is there?'

'I reckon it should be whoever's made the biggest pig of themselves at lunch,' said Ron, pointing at Harry, and the others all cheered.

'Harry it is then, no competition,' declared Dean, 'seeing as it's chicken- and-ham pie today!'

Scrolls began to fly at him from around the table.

'Not fair!' wailed Harry, laughing despite himself.

Shortly afterwards Harry found himself approaching McGonagall's fourth floor office trying to carry his book bag, wand and an armful of scrolls when he suddenly stopped because he heard voices coming from inside the room. Good God, thought Harry, Malfoy is talking to McGonagall! Why? What about?

He stood silently and listened for a little while. Harry could scarcely believe his ears. Malfoy was talking to her about Transfiguration. Since when had he become a keen, hard-working student? Harry knew that Draco was clever, everyone knew it: he would be top of the year if it weren't for Hermione's outstanding ability. But Harry had never thought of Draco as actually wanting to do well before. He had thought, if he had ever thought about it at all, that Draco was one of those amazingly clever guys that got good marks despite doing no work and showing no interest whatsoever in the academic. But here was evidence to the contrary. Perhaps he was secretly working very hard and hid it from his fellow students, most especially his fellow Slytherins. That would be interesting, especially if news of this new Malfoy were somehow to leak back to Slytherin House. Oh but anyway, who cared?

'Afternoon, Professor!' chirped Harry as he entered her office. 'One complete set of top-quality Gryffindor essays for your enjoyment!' he announced as he let them roll all over her desk. Then he pretended to notice Draco for the first time and let his lip sneer slightly, as Draco himself was at that very moment doing.

'Are you always so rude and ill-mannered, Potter?' snarled Draco. 'I was talking to Professor McGonagall, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'Sorry Malfoy, no, I hadn't noticed. Funny. Usually your dungeon stench is detectable from some distance. Nothing some time in a nice light airy tower wouldn't cure of course, but there's little chance of that I suspect. Anyway, I can see you're busy acting the dedicated student, so I'll be off. Not sure my stomach could take much more of that to be honest. Afternoon, Professor!'

He turned away, enjoying that he had managed to get one over on Malfoy, and in front of a member of staff as well. In fact, he was sure he had seen McGonagall try to suppress another half smile. Ha! Some days were just worth living. I'm certainly not going to take that moment for granted, thought Harry, smiling to himself as he went off back down the corridor, replaying the incident in his head.

Because of the essay delivery, he arrived several minutes after the others at Care of Magical Creatures, but he could see that there was a great deal of excitement around the paddock outside Hagrid's hut. It was now rather hot, the rain of the early morning now completely forgotten; one of those early autumn days when it seems like summer is still in full force. Harry screwed up his eyes against the sun and looked round for somewhere to drape his cloak for the next hour as Hagrid bellowed in his usual enthusiastic manner. 'Fauns!' cried Hagrid, obviously excited. 'Yeh'll need to be in pairs, and yeh're gonna get the chance to speak to real-life fauns this lesson!'

Harry joined the other Gryffindors, and found that Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean were standing slightly away from the rest of the group, highly amused about something. Harry knew instinctively that Neville, Seamus and Dean were bringing Ron up to speed on the issue of Harry's not knowing how to 'use' a wand. Harry again smiled and moved over to join them, and to laugh at himself a bit with the others. But Hermione touched him on the arm.

'Don't go over there Harry,' she sort of half-begged, 'you'll only encourage them. God knows what they're talking about, but I suspect strongly it's either misbehaviour or smut, or maybe both judging by the sniggering. Anyway, I need a partner and so do you.'

Harry stopped next to Hermione; he could always catch up with Ron later. Meanwhile Hagrid was still speaking and Harry and Hermione pretended to be really interested so he wouldn't get upset.

'Course,' he continued, 'fauns in't really creatures like flobberworms an' screwts an' stuff, oh no.'

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Draco join the group, straight from his cosy academic chat with Professor McGonagall, and pair himself with Pansy. Harry looked away and back to Hagrid again.

'They're intelligent, intense beings, bit like centaurs in that respect. Only a bit, mind. Course, their interests are a bit, er, earthy, but steer clear o' racy talk an' it'll all be alright,' cried Hagrid, and he seemed genuinely quite animated.

Harry found himself wondering exactly what Hagrid meant by 'racy' conversation and looked to Hermione for guidance, but she looked blank as well, and anyway Hagrid was already talking again.

Over Hagrid's shoulder Harry noticed that Ron was grinning like an idiot and trying to catch Harry's eye. Harry knew exactly what Ron was trying to signal to him. Harry tried hard to hide his own half-embarrassed, half- amused grin, but he couldn't stop himself sniggering out loud when he saw Ron make a series of obscene but friendly gestures privately to Harry which implied that a) Ron had now heard the whole story from Neville, Dean and Seamus, b) that Ron found it hilarious, and c) that Ron and Harry would have to have 'a significant talk' later on. Harry's reaction was a sudden and intense feeling of deep comradeship with Ron. He knew Ron wouldn't dream of laughing at him over this, he knew that the amusement Ron was experiencing was with Harry rather than at his expense, and he also knew that Ron cared enough about Harry to make a potentially cripplingly embarrassing conversation seem funny and perfectly natural.

Harry smiled his agreement with all of Ron's frantic signalling, and then looked away. He thought suddenly of the phantom lover that 'visited' him each morning. Please, please, let it not be Ron, Harry hoped with all his heart. Hermione realised that Harry's mind was elsewhere, and prodded him in the ribs to nudge his attention back to Hagrid.

'Don't take no nonsense, do fauns,' he was saying. 'And highly excitable they are, so don't go speakin' in high spirits or Gawd knows what'll happen. But seeing as how a whole herd just arrived in the Hogwarts grounds this morning, I thought it would be a shame for yeh not to meet them. Now jus' get with your partner and pick a faun and go and chat to 'em. That's it, nothing to it. Be polite and complimentary and yeh'll get on like a house on fire!'

The various pairs were moving towards the group of fauns who were standing idly around preening themselves on the far side of the paddock, but Harry heard Hagrid call him and Hermione back.

'Sorry you two, can't let you go in like that,' he beamed.

'What do you mean?' asked Hermione.

'Gotta be single-sex pairs with fauns,' Hagrid chuckled conspiratorially. 'All sorts could happen otherwise. Hermione, you'd better go wi' Pansy. And Harry, you go wi' Draco.' Hagrid shot Harry a look of sorry, mate as he said this, but Harry was nonetheless pretty appalled at the prospect of having to spend the next hour chatting to Draco Malfoy and a faun.

Draco himself was hardly delighted with the idea either.

'That giant oaf of yours has really surpassed himself this time,' he sneered at Harry, as they reluctantly made their way over to the far side of the paddock where a single faun remained. 'Marvellous. What a complete waste of lesson time. My father will be interested to hear of this latest venture of that cretin. And as if conversation with such a ridiculous creature itself wasn't bad enough, I'm now lumbered with you too. Still, that's two ridiculous creatures, I suppose. You might get on rather well with a faun, Potter.'

Harry's blood coursed in resentment through his body, the Malfoy Shiver in full angry flow.

'Your father is hardly in a position to go to the Ministry to complain about anything these days, Malfoy, not now I've formally identified him as a Death Eater,' said Harry sharply. 'So excuse me if I don't react to your empty threats with quite as much awe-struck reverence as your detestable sycophantic Slytherins. I've no doubt Hagrid has his reasons, and perhaps it could be rather interesting to meet a faun. But I expect your mind is as closed as it always is, Malfoy.'

'Interesting to meet a faun?' choked Draco, looking genuinely highly amused that Harry might think this. 'Did I hear you right, Potter? Have you no idea what fauns do all day? And what their only topic of conversation is? It seems you really are as stupid as Professor Snape says.'

Harry had not even the first piece of knowledge about fauns, but he wasn't going to let Draco know that. He was just thinking up a suitable retort when he and Draco reached the far side of the paddock where the only faun left unengaged in conversation was leaning casually against the fence in the hot sun. 'Hello boys, good to meet you,' leered the faun. 'What're your names then?'

'Harry,' said Harry, trying to appear bright and enthusiastic.

'Draco,' said Draco, sullenly.

'Good-oh,' the faun grinned horribly. 'I'm Dixter. Now, down to business. What do you want to know? Now come on, don't be shy, there's no subject I won't consider giving advice on. As I am sure you are aware, fauns do have a certain amount of specialist expertise and we are always willing to share our experience with the Uninitiated.'

The faun's voice was slurred, and he had a general air of slovenliness about him as if he'd been in the Three Broomsticks for the best part of a week; but that was by no means the most remarkable thing about him. With the upper half of a man and the hind legs of a goat, Dixter would have been pretty odd to look at in any light. But the fact that at least 50% of him was human in form did not seem to be important enough to him to consider wearing clothes. Harry tried hard to maintain eye contact with Dixter because he was sure it would be highly inappropriate to look anywhere else. But the undeniable fact was that despite Dixter's astonishingly hairy chest and the pair of short horns poking out of his extremely untidy hair, it was impossible to miss that between Dixter's legs hung a stupendously large and monstrously furry set of faun genitalia. It was beyond indecent. Harry suddenly thought of Neville - who only that morning had practically owned up to having used an engorgement charm at least once - and Harry was filled with a weird urge to ask Dixter if he had done the same.

But as Harry sniggered at this thought, Dixter was saying, 'So, Draco, like the look of what you see, eh? I won't deny it's all rather impressive. The ladies do always seem to be most appreciative of course, but it's nice to get recognition and admiration from fellow players from time to time as well!'

Draco coloured crimson right up to the backs of his ears and Harry burst out laughing. 'Caught checking out a faun, eh, Malfoy? Good God, is there no limit to the depravity and perversity that you and your Slytherin cronies will lower yourselves to?'

Draco was absolutely incensed, so much so that he could not find any words at all.

'I, er...er, well...of course not!!!' he eventually blurted out, blushing even more furiously, but Dixter seemed to ignore him completely.

'Course, to be fair, Draco, most fauns are pretty well equipped down there, but I do seem to have done better than most, I have to say. What do you think, Draco?'

Harry was loving every second of Draco's discomfort.

'Yes, Malfoy, what do you think about it? I'm just dying to hear,' crowed Harry.

Draco seemed to choke back just enough of his fury to be able to find his voice.

'That is absolutely enough. I refuse to stand here and be insulted by a part- human whose only interests outside violent fornication are boasting about his prowess and lauding the size of his genitals...'

Dixter chuckled slightly and winked at Harry. But Draco, warming to his theme, was in full flow.

'God knows why Professor Dumbledore allowed you lot in here. I know what fauns are like! We had one get in amongst the livestock at Malfoy Manor last year. And it seems you lot don't bother with niceties like discriminating between animals and humans either, oh no. Cows, sheep, house elves, domestic staff - even my father's elderly black wolfhound - none was safe from that sodding randy goat! Have you no bloody shame, or even a shred of decency?'

Far from being affronted by this, Dixter seemed remarkably animated. 'Ah! Now you're talking, Draco! House elves, you say? Good Lord, I'd like to have seen that. Wonder who it was? Down at Malfoy Manor? Sounds exactly like the kind of stunt my cousin Ramrod would pull, but I know he was ravaging in Ireland for most of last year. Says it's by far the best place to go these days: lots of fragrant young maidens sitting around bemoaning their virginity. You should get over there, Draco, sounds like your type of place!'

Draco was practically spluttering. 'Well!...of all the...!' was about all he could manage.

Harry was laughing so much he could hardly stand, but then Dixter diverted his attention away from Draco.

'What about you then, Harry?' he inquired jovially. 'Got a girlfriend? Good goer, is she? Gives you what you want and so forth? No point carrying on with them if not. Just ditch them and find another one. No shortage you know--'

'Oh yes, Potter!' squealed Draco, now with all his vocal powers miraculously restored. 'Do tell us about your girlfriend. And who is it this week? Which hapless young ingénue has been ensnared by the famous scar, only to find there's a pathetic weakling behind it?'

Harry shot Draco a look of pure venom but unfortunately Draco was not able to see it, because, at that moment, obviously having decided to remain in conversation with Dixter for as long as Harry was being made uncomfortable, he was pulling his school jumper off to try and get a little cooler in the hot sunlight. Harry watched as the jumper rose up over Draco's head, taking the Slytherin t-shirt he was wearing underneath with it, in the process exposing a foot or so of Draco's lean, hard, flawless, creamy-white torso. At this image, the Malfoy Shiver made one of its most violent appearances yet and surged through Harry's body, but this time Harry found himself even more uncomfortable with it than usual. What was happening? Draco showing a little flesh had produced a whole-body shock in him? What on earth did that mean? Could he really hate someone that much?

Troubled and tense, and feeling himself flush, he did the first thing that occurred to him, which was to follow Draco's lead and remove his own jumper. At least his burning face would be hidden from Dixter and Draco for a few seconds. As Harry pulled his own jumper off, he felt his own Gryffindor t-shirt rise up in exactly the same way Draco's had done, and, astonishingly, he could feel Draco's eyes on his body as sharply as if Draco was poking him in the chest with a wand. Jumpers removed, the two boys glowered at each other.

'Well,' said Dixter. 'There's a turn-up for the books.'

'What are you talking about, you stupid goat-fuck?' enquired Draco.

'I mean, I've heard of it between humans as an interesting alternative, as a way of ringing the changes kind of thing, but actually as a first choice, as a preference? Odd. Yet, intriguingly, decidedly full of possibilities...'

'What do you mean?' asked Harry, trying to be more polite than Draco had been.

'But if that's the way it is, then, OK.'

Both boys looked at him as if he were barking mad.

'Anyway, down to business. It's obviously time for me to do my faun thing. I don't always enjoy it actually, but it's what fauns do of course - certainly it's what's expected of us; and it is something I do rather well, I have to admit. But I will say this: I certainly didn't sense that it would be necessary when we first started this cosy lads' chat. Must be losing my touch! Nevertheless, nice talking to you boys, but duty calls, and good luck with, well, you know...'

And at that he started to hop around most distressingly. Harry and Draco looked at each other wondering what on earth Dixter was doing. Over the following thirty seconds his jumping got progressively more energetic, and then he started braying in a desperate, deafening manner. More disturbing was that Dixter's already madly overlarge tackle was stiffening into a ferocious looking erection. More alarming still was that a few seconds later when he was without doubt fully erect, thrusting his body around like he was actually rutting an invisible faunette and braying at the top of his voice, he actually made a lunge at Harry.

'Watch out!' yelled Draco, and immediately wondered why he'd shouted a warning. Helping Harry was an unusual experience, and he would have pondered this for longer had circumstances allowed.

Gone was the cheery 'open-minded' creature they had just been talking to. Instead Dixter looked like he was crazed with lust. Harry rolled out of the way and then Dixter made a swiping pass at Draco. Suddenly Harry was aware that they were both in extreme danger. If Dixter actually got hold of one of them, who knew what might happen. It didn't bear thinking about. Draco had fallen to the floor after Dixter's initial lunge, and Harry saw him step back as if about to jump onto Draco himself. Harry grabbed Draco's arm and hauled him out of Dixter's path in the nick of time. At that single touch, the immediate jolt of the Malfoy Shiver nearly floored him with its strength. Harry looked at Draco, somehow aware that he had sensed this shock too. But at that moment Harry became aware of lots of activity from all over the paddock, and the Shiver was temporarily forgotten.

'Get away from him!' Hagrid was yelling at them as he chased over towards them. 'Get away! Quick! They're dangerous when they get like this!'

Neither Harry nor Draco needed telling twice. Grabbing their jumpers they ran away from Dixter, passing Hagrid who was charging in the opposite direction. 'All of you get outside the paddock!' came Hagrid's hollered instruction as he raced over to Dixter. The class stood and watched the bizarre scene. Most of the other fauns were beginning to show the same behaviour as Dixter.

'Oh my God!' yelled Seamus. 'It's going to be carnage! We need to get Hagrid out of there!'

But it was not carnage that ensued. It was instead, bluntly, an orgy. After a couple of minutes the whole herd of fauns were in what could only be described as a wild, cavorting, thrusting, rutting heap. Once Hagrid had shepherded them all together into a single group he casually strolled past the swirl of faun limbs, batting off a playful advance from an adventurous female faun, and approached the fence from where the Gryffindors and Slytherins were watching, amazed.

'Well, that's fauns for yeh!' he chuckled to the class. 'Only ever one thing on their minds. But ah've no idea what triggered it. Usually they're happy just to talk for hours, unless o' course...'

'Unless what?' asked Dean.

'Well,' Hagrid got rather embarrassed and shuffled his feet a little, 'unless one of 'em gets a better idea of course!'

The students all laughed, even the Slytherins, and that definitely appeared to be the end of another eventful Care of Magical Creatures class. As they were picking up their cloaks off the fence, Harry's hand brushed against Draco's. The electricity of the contact jolted both of them again, and was a blunt reminder of what had just happened. They looked at each other furiously, neither of them speaking.

Then, for half a second, the words thanks Malfoy seemed appropriate to Harry. Draco had, after all, shouted a vital warning. But the words never got spoken, because just as it looked like Draco might himself actually thank Harry for pulling him out of Dixter's way - Harry swore he could actually feel the words forming in Draco's head - Draco sneered nastily and said, 'Remind me next time Potter that having you as a partner is to be avoided at all costs. Frankly I would rather drink my own urine.' He turned and walked away without looking back. Harry looked at Malfoy as he rejoined the Slytherins on their way back to the castle, unable to decipher his own complex feelings. Hermione watched thoughtfully.

The other Gryffindors assembled and were sorting through cloaks and jumpers. Reunited with Ron and the other boys, Harry was immediately high-spirited again.

'Harry, you cretin!' Ron spluttered as he came bounding over to Harry and Hermione. 'I just don't believe it! Is it really true? Except of course, I know you so well, I just know that of course it's true! It's just so you to be so, so...so cretinously cute, so stupidly, innocently under-informed, so, so Harry!'

Both Harry and Ron were laughing a great deal, even though Harry knew he was blushing. Ron's warmth was so wonderfully welcome after the chill of Draco's words.

'Ron, what on earth are you talking about?' asked Hermione, perplexed.

'Oh nothing, Herm,' he said, enjoying his chance to get back at her for not telling him what she and Ginny had been talking about, 'just boys' stuff. In fact, no offence Herm, but could you give Harry and I a few minutes? There's a couple of things we need to talk about.'

'None taken. Of course you can have your smutty little chat,' said Hermione graciously, with no trace of the slightest curiosity, which Ron found rather irritating. 'It's quite handy actually,' she continued, 'because there's something I want to check in the library.'

And with that she quickened her pace and was out of earshot within a few seconds.

'Now,' said Ron, clapping Harry on the back, 'it's time for a chat with your uncle Ron!

CHAPTER THREE

~

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING?

Ah, the Library.

Books, Knowledge, Learning, Experience.

Hermione's favourite place.

With a clear head, and with an academic's intellectual approach, Hermione determined to draw no conclusions until she had done the research. She circled the shelves with intent, face set in a look of half stern purpose and half enjoyment. Expertly flipping books down from their perches, she amassed a pile to begin with, then tottering slightly with an armful of about a dozen volumes, she made her way to the corner reading table, set the books down and tapped the lamp with her wand.

'Lumos,' she intoned lovingly. The lamp flickered into life.

Hermione was quite territorial in the library. This table was the one she had favoured since she had first come to Hogwarts, when she had spent a great deal of time in the library, soaking up everything she could about her new world. And then, part way through that first year, she had become firm friends with Harry and Ron, but her habits were set, and the corner reading table in the library had remained Hermione's ever since. Other regular library users respected her territory, as she did theirs. Funny places, libraries, especially magical ones. The atmosphere is as important as the books. Hermione looked at her watch: forty-five minutes till supper. Easily enough time to make a start.

She began with Magical Creatures and Where to Find Them. Four pages on Fauns, which Hermione devoured.

'Hmmm.' Then Woodland Folklore.

'Really.'

Then, in swift succession, A Brief History of the Forbidden Forest and Pastoral Delights: A Study in Faun Behaviour.

'Good Lord.'

There was more to fauns, it seemed, than met the eye. This new knowledge was filed away in her orderly mind, under a new directory: Fauns and their possible implications.

Onward. The enquiring mind knows when to explore further and when to sit and reflect, and Hermione's research took a left turn. Next was Essential Principles of Magical Biochemistry. Hermione was captivated.

'Extremely interesting.'

Reluctantly she turned her attention to Ten Ways to See the Truth: Interpreting Emotions.

'Useless fluff.'

Still, it had given her an idea. She got up and walked quickly to the shelves where official documents were archived: the Ministry's annually published statistics of births, deaths, marriages, census returns, employment figures, domestic arrangements and all manner of other socio-demographic information concerning the magical world. She looked extremely thoughtful. Then, replacing the reports quickly (and accurately of course) she turned round and went back to her table. She glanced through the books left unconsulted from her original selection.

And then at five minutes before supper, The Crimson Cloud: Love in the Wizarding World.

'Good God...!'

Oh. * * *

While Hermione was busying herself in the library, Professor McGonagall was just starting her weekly meeting with Professor Dumbledore. Truth was, that this was an important time for both of them. In happier times, the two used this time for tea and idle chat, cementing their friendship, while Dumbledore - neither of them admitting that they were aware of what was happening - went about the business of passing on absolutely everything he knew about most matters in general and Hogwarts in particular, in preparation for the day that they both knew would come sooner or later: the day when she would have to take over the helm of the school.

Before, such a day had seemed ages, years, away. But now, with Voldemort on the rise again, both suspected that Dumbledore would be called away to deal with higher matters, and the responsibility of Hogwarts would fall to this determined, principled, highly able Scottish witch. Lately, their conversations had been concerned with more serious matters, and increasingly prominent on their agenda was the security of the school and those within its walls, the ever-present threat of Voldemort hovering between them, rarely voiced. This day was no different.

'Minerva!' said Dumbledore, his eyes glinting warmly. 'Pumpkin juice or Earl Grey?'

'I think you should know my preference by now Albus,' she replied equally warmly, as she watched the great wizard effortlessly conjure up a tray of delicious tea things.

Both settled down for their chat, which, even in traumatic times, was enjoyable for both of them.

'Hagrid's had some fauns in today, I hear,' said Dumbledore, smiling. 'I wonder what consequences there shall be this time?'

'I honestly don't know why you permitted it, Albus,' came McGonagall's reply. 'You know the trouble it caused last time. Ravenclaw was an absolute nightmare after their last visit. I would have thought that, at this time, we would have tried to eradicate anything, which was likely to upset the precarious balance of this school.'

'Right you are, as usual, Minerva, but' - he took a mouthful of cake and then sprayed crumbs down his beard as he carried on - 'we must remember after everything that this is a school. Creatures as interesting as fauns don't come visiting that often. The school has every right to learn about them.'

'But honestly, fauns,' protested McGonagall. 'And already I have heard that there was a right scene down at the paddock. Something triggered a full-scale orgy. And my own Gryffindors were there!'

'Yes...yes, indeed.'

'What is it? You know something, don't you?'

'Well...yes. Alastor's box of tricks has been going haywire for the last hour.'

'Oh, that load of nonsense. Really Albus, I would have thought that a wizard of your ability would not put so much faith in a collection of old toys.'

Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, ex-Auror and friend to both Dumbledore and McGonagall, had sent the Headmaster some magical detection devices at the beginning of term, as his own contribution to the increased security of Hogwarts. A couple of sneakoscopes, a large sapphire that glowed in the presence of dark magic, a chart similar to the Marauder's Map and a half dozen other gadgets, some of his own design.

'Maybe so, Minerva. But this one has been spinning like a whirlwind since the fauns... er, you know, since the fauns, er, did what fauns do...'

'So it can tell you that fauns are randy old goats. What a hugely useful device.' 'Yes, indeed; I did not need a box to tell me that. But, when I heard it rattling, I got the others out, and, well, I really think you ought to see this, Minerva. I don't know yet whether it is good news or bad, but, whichever, it is certainly going to create a stir, and it just could be very important indeed.'

He proffered a small sphere at McGonagall. It was clear like crystal, but light as air, like a beautiful delicate bubble. Inside were a thousand minute crimson fireflies, all glowing like superheated coals. McGonagall was captivated.

'What is it?' she asked.

'It's an Orbis Ardens. If you like, it's, erm, ahem, it's a love detector.'

'Oh really Albus. What nonsense.'

She handed it back to him, no longer interested in it.

'Don't mock, Minerva. This is a highly perceptive device of great magical provenance, and as far as I am aware, it is one of only three in existence. Alastor said that this one was crafted by Rowena Ravenclaw herself. You know how complex the magic surrounding love between two magical people can be. Their innate magic combines in some way; very few wizards understand it completely. The love itself can take on an independent force, binding couples together in a way that Muggles cannot imagine, giving the couple emotional strength beyond the sum of their parts. The fact that neither you nor I, Minerva, have been blessed enough to feel this intensity of emotion for ourselves should not mean that we close our minds to its, erm, possibilities.'

'So, what are you saying? That we can tell who is in love with whom at the school?'

'No, nothing that base. Or that worthless either. At first I thought the same as you, that this device would be useless in a place like this. I thought that with all the hormones washing around the castle, the readings would be confused and unclear. But...this globe seems to act as a filter, removing all the usual teenage crushes, in fact, ignoring them completely. It has been totally inactive since the beginning of term. Until today. When I looked at it about an hour ago, it showed me - a picture I suppose, an image - of two of our own students, both experiencing a level of emotion so powerful that the tiny flies were buzzing in a frenzy.'

'What are you getting at Albus?'

'Imagine if we had had this here at Hogwarts in years past. What would it have shown us? Couples that we know of, for sure, whose love was so obvious and warm and strong that it brought joy to all those around them. The Browns. The Weasleys. Severus and...'

The pair looked at each other with smiling eyes.

Then Dumbledore hesitated, and continued slowly and quietly, 'James and Lily.'

There was a long sad pause. Eventually he went on.

'And maybe, couples that we don't know of, who didn't realise their love till after they left school. And of course, couples that didn't get together at all, but married others or stayed single. With this, we would have been able to make sure that none of that emotion was wasted. We wouldn't, have of course; but we certainly would have been able to.'

'Yes. But why is this important now?'

'Because this is a true piece of wonderfully ancient magic, like the Mirror of Erised. And I think that anything it tells us, it is doing so for a reason. I don't believe that something like this is here by accident. I think it needed to be here, to tell us something. Something that might help us. Minerva, if the love between this pair of students is as strong as the Orbis indicates, we might be able to, er, harness it in some way. Think what a positive and potent force it could be. Think how useful that might be in a fight against, say...a powerful dark wizard.'

McGonagall pondered Dumbledore's words for some time in silence. 'But, it's playing God. Manipulating children for our own gain.'

'You are right. It is those things. But, ordinarily of course, such meddling would not be necessary. Those concerned would know as clearly from their own experiences as we can see with the Orbis.'

'So then, we need do nothing. As the pair are obviously both at the school at the same time, they will get together; and when they do, they may be able to help in some way.'

'You're right again, Minerva. But, say that the couple concerned don't understand what they are feeling? Say that they face each other across such a vast divide that any conciliation is unlikely? Do we owe it to them to put them right? Do we need to correct this misunderstanding for their gain, or for ours, or both?'

There was another long pause, as Dumbledore refilled their cups.

'Who is it, Albus? Who did you see?'

Dumbledore reached slowly for the Orbis and gently tapped his wand against the wafer-thin glass, muttering an incantation so quietly McGonagall couldn't make out one word. He stared at it for several long seconds, lost deep in thought again. Then he passed it to McGonagall.

Letting out a loud gasp, she stared, not noticing she had dropped her cup in a tinkle of delicate china. Dumbledore's voice sounded clear and controlled.

'Over the last hour I have thought about this a great deal. It's not actually surprising, if you can look past the sensational. They both come from highly magical backgrounds. They are both immensely headstrong and determinedly independent. And, the level of animosity is such that neither is likely to appreciate exactly what they are feeling; indeed, for every reason that we could think in favour of uniting them, they would each be able to come up with ten for ignoring us. And of course there were the fauns. But. But...we may need every weapon and more. And considering whom it is, any increase in ability would be of significant importance. And remember: we're not manufacturing this love; it's already there. We may just be steering a little.'

McGonagall was still totally silent.

'But I understand your reservations, Minerva. Of course I do; they are mine also. So. We wait. We see what happens. We wait.'

* * *

Draco left the paddock feeling decidedly unnerved by the whole faun experience. Back in the Slytherin dungeon, in the slack period before supper, he was as unsettled and uncomfortable as he had been when he woke from the dream that morning. He lolled on his bed, half puzzled, half furious with Dixter the faun and with blasted Harry Potter. Crabbe and Goyle were cooking up some mischief for the next day's Potions class, but Draco was uninterested in their little schemes. There was a time when he would have been the one organizing the trouble making, but now, his henchmen's plots seemed childish and immature. And unworkable: no way were they going to get Weasley to fall for that!

He went over the strange happenings of the Care of Magical Creatures class. Dixter's reaction had been, precisely that. A reaction. But to what? And why on earth had Draco found himself looking so intently at Potter's chest when he had taken his jumper off? And why had he experienced an amazing body shiver when Potter had looked at him? And WHY, why had he almost thanked Potter for dragging him out of the faun's path? And, even more bizarre, why, when he spat out his usual insult at Potter, just as they had left, did he feel a pang of regret? Crabbe and Goyle had certainly found it funny. Ha! Drink your own urine! Good one, Dra! But, it had felt empty. No venom. No feeling. No nothing. Just regret.

Surely not. No. It was unthinkable...wasn't it?

The Slytherins were congregating for supper. Supper was a meal that they did well. Not like breakfast, which the Gryffindors had the monopoly on, with their constant cheery chatter and happy laughter. When the senior Slytherins arrived at supper, the whole school would notice. Draco would take his seat; acolytes would position themselves around him in order of social standing. Pretentious conversation would ensue. Pansy would flirt and simper. Crabbe and Goyle would laugh at his wit. God, no. Not tonight. He wasn't going to go.

Crabbe and Goyle were confused by their leader's mood.

'Not going to supper? But that's when we show the pureblood pride! That's when we are truly Slytherins, for all to see!'

'Bloody well do it on your own for once. I'm not going to supper.'

Pansy affected concern.

'Feeling alright, Draky? Under the weather? Shall I send for Madam Pomfrey?'

'No. Sod off, Pansy. I can be moody if I want. You are most of the time, after all.'

They left. Strangely, Draco felt no better when he was on his own. There was just...confusion. Draco hated not understanding things. He was clever. He was smart. He was bigger than this. It was nothing. He could turn his hand to anything. Potter unnerving him was hardly the end of the world. If he could cope with his father, he could cope with Potter.

Some time after his cronies had left, Draco tried hard to snap himself out of his stupor.

A shower. It had worked that morning. He stripped to nothing and chose a luxurious towel. It was good to be in the House alone. He strutted along the corridor to the senior boys' bathroom, a room of oceanic size and almost indecent luxury. Feeling slightly better, he stood and preened in front of one of the large mirrors. Damn it, Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are one hot looking wizard! He ran his hands over his white blond hair, then ruffled it madly. Ha! Even with messy hair you look great! Messy hair. Messy hair... Fuck off out of my head, Potter!

He selected his favourite shower cubicle. Cubicle was not really the right word, as it was a palatial black marble chamber with heavy gold fittings; almost as good as some of the showers at Malfoy Manor. The water coursed over his body. Warm, safe, soothing. He stood. Totally still, the water plastering his hair to his head and his face. This was a great shower. Good water pressure (one reason to be pleased about living at the bottom of such a large building), totally private, plenty of room. Yes, plenty of room. Easily enough for two, if that was your thing. Except, Draco knew not one person in the whole world with whom he wanted to share a shower. Bloody Pansy. How she would jump at the chance. And a fair few others. Sycophants, all.

Well, never mind. He was only sixteen. There was still time, it wasn't embarrassing still to be a virgin at sixteen. Seventeen however, that was different. If he were to maintain the Malfoy reputation, he would have to do it soon. Or, be seen to have done it at least. Who should he choose? His father, as usual, had been prescriptive and definitive on the matter, in one of their more sensitive chats last holiday.

I don't care how casually you screw around, he had said, but make sure you start soon. But if you get some halfblood or Muggle pregnant I will kill her. Then the baby. You will not besmirch the family name by siring some mongrel. You know who the purebloods are, find your fun among them. That way, there need be no 'accidents'.

And then he had grinned, like he had just shared the secret of life man-to- man with his son and heir. Oh Christ. Draco felt his eyes close in shame, as if he were blinking back tears. Fuck, he was blinking back tears.

Blanking out the thought of his father, he picked up a bar of soap, and began to rub it idly over his chest. Surprisingly, Potter's chest had seemed much more muscly than he had expected.

Expected? Had he actually had a previous mental image of Potter's chest with which to compare the real thing?

Surely not.

Must be all the Quidditch training, constantly tensing himself in all directions trying to grab the Snitch. Still, Draco was a Seeker too; why hadn't he got muscles like Potter?

Oh God, Potter...

His thoughts came fast and furious as he tried to ignore his increasing arousal. There had been some connection with Potter that afternoon. Draco had felt...something. And that bloody faun. Dixter. Dick-ster. He had sensed it. What had he said? Something about something being unexpected. A turn-up for the books. Something about he'd heard of it before, but actually as a preference, as a first choice? Draco knew about fauns. Hey, they were a boy's favourite magical creature; all that endless fornication with no shame. They had some special powers too. Mainly to do with sex. But what had he meant?

Surely not...

Oh God, Potter. Potter, FUCK OFF!

Why are you in my head? Why are you smiling at me like that? Why do you offer me your hand when we hate each other? Why is your hair always unruly? What does it feel like to run your hand through it? How did you get muscles like that? What do you dream of? What does your skin smell like? What do your lips taste of?

WHY AM I THINKING LIKE THIS? WHY ARE YOU HAVING THIS EFFECT ON ME?

The shame hit him at the same time as his climax. He dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face, his seed sliding down the drain. He wailed, like a baby in distress, alone, scared, guilty, bitter, unsure, panicked, ashamed, crying aloud like he never had in his life. The surge of emotion in him was more powerful than anything he had ever experienced. He was breathless, he was drowning. And in that moment, with the water crashing over his shoulders and the back of his neck, as he stared unseeing at his knees on the marble floor of the shower, he saw that no amount of water, not even an apocalyptic deluge, could wash away the feelings that had made him more alive than he had ever been. In that moment, his life had realigned itself: ghastly, terrifying, unthinkable.

* * *

When Hermione arrived at supper, there was a great deal of hilarity at the Gryffindor table.

Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville, the twins and a number of other senior male Gryffindors were huddled in a group, poring over their food and something else on the table, all exploding in regular howls of raucous laughter. Her eyes instinctively scanned the room for Harry, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Faced with the choice of eating with the large group of boys or the giggly group of Ginny, Lavender and Parvati at the other end of the table, Hermione opted for the girls. It wasn't usual that she chose not to eat with Harry and Ron, but, well, seeing as Harry was not there and as the other boys were obviously continuing talking about whatever smut it was that they had been obsessed with all day, the girls looked like a much more pleasant proposition. And anyway, that particular male gathering looked like one of those boys' talks that she would only have a passing interest in. Ron was so caught up in whatever the boys were discussing, that Hermione couldn't even catch his eye to signal that she would be eating with Ginny.

'Hmmm,' peeved Hermione to herself, subconsciously pursing her lips slightly, 'I wonder if he ever actually notices me?'

'Oooh, let me see,' said Lavender as Hermione dumped a pile of books next to her as she sat down, on top of which was The Crimson Cloud. 'Didn't know you were into all this stuff Herm,' she tittered. Parvati was also extremely interested, and the two buried themselves in the book. Ginny looked up at Hermione.

'What on earth happened down in Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon, Herm?' she asked, smiling, 'rumours are that there was an orgy!'

'Well, to be honest, I think there was,' laughed Hermione, 'at least, among the fauns! Hagrid chased us all out of there the moment things got frisky. Funny though, it just blew up out of nowhere. One minute we were all chatting to them - my God, Ginny, have you ever spoken to a faun? They are obscene! - and the next there was just mayhem.'

'What caused it?'

'I'm not entirely sure,' mused Hermione, still pondering on what she had read in the library. 'But I'm fairly certain that fauns will be off the curriculum for the time being! Hey, Harry!' she called out, seeing him enter the hall.

Harry saw her and waved but made a beeline for the secretive huddle of boys where Ron appeared to be holding court. Hermione was surprised to see Ron refuse Harry (albeit extremely good-naturedly) admission to their group. Harry however did not seem to mind, and slid into a seat next to Hermione, smiling.

'OK,' said Ginny, 'tell us. What the bloody hell are that lot cooking up?'

'Erm, er...' said Harry, 'I'm really, honestly, not at all certain, but I think it's, well, it's something to do with...'

'Oh for Heaven's sake spit it out Harry,' interjected Hermione, 'or is this censored by that ridiculous Boys' Code of Ethics that you lot have?'

'Well, yes,' he grinned sheepishly, 'I rather think it is actually...'

'Fine,' she said, though not at all unkindly. 'I'm hardly interested anyway!' she added, unconvincingly. 'Aren't you? I am,' laughed Ginny.

'So am I,' said Lavender, giggling.

'Me too,' Parvati smirked.

'Well, I definitely can't tell then if you lot all want to know,' laughed Harry. 'It's against the rules of being a boy; I'd probably have my membership revoked or something! Anyway I'm not really sure; and besides, you lot have your girly chats before breakfast and don't let us hear, and I'm telling you it drives Ron insane that he can't know what you're talking about!'

'Ooooh, does it?' said Lavender, eyes wide.

'Excellent,' said Hermione, with a broad smile.

All four girls laughed loudly, temporarily attracting the attention of the boys further down the table. The girls exchanged looks and Harry realised he was out of the loop on this one as well as concerning whatever Ron and the boys had wanted to hide from him.

'See?!! You're doing it now!' laughed Harry. 'That girly thing you do is just as exclusive as what Ron and company are talking about! I should think - '

But he was cut short by a sudden sharp feeling in his stomach accompanied by a lightheadedness and dizziness.

'What's the matter?' asked Hermione urgently. 'Your scar...?'

'Er, Herm! Oh God, oh, nothing...' moaned Harry, 'Oh, Herm, shit, oh GOD where did THAT come from?'

'What?' asked Ginny, nervously looking at the ashen colour Harry had just turned.

Hermione grabbed Harry's wrist and felt for his pulse.

'Blimey,' she said quietly, 'your pulse is--' But she didn't get to finish as Harry slumped inelegantly forward over the table, narrowly missing a glass of pumpkin juice. Fainted. Out cold.

Hermione scanned the large room for Dementors, but of course there were none. In fact she was quite at a loss to see anything that might have caused this. It was a serious moment on the Gryffindor table. Hermione, suddenly desperately worried about Harry, began to wonder how she could engineer his being covertly carried out to the Hospital Wing, and she shot another quick look around the whole hall. All seemed to be as normal, and miraculously, Malfoy did not appear to be anywhere to be seen.

Ron was there in a flash, all joking gone from his worried face.

'Herm! What happened?'

'No idea, he was laughing with us and then, all of a sudden, whoosh. We've got to get him out of here.'

Unspoken between Ron and Hermione, and among all the Gryffindors, was the knowledge that The Boy Who Lived did not faint without reason. There had been precious little news of Voldemort's increasing rise outside the safety of Hogwarts, but what there had been was worrying. Both Ron and Hermione knew how sensitive Harry was to all kinds of Dark Magic and Hermione feared Death Eater involvement, or Dementors, or maybe even the proximity of Voldemort himself.

The Gryffindors snapped into order, leaping into action as naturally as if they had rehearsed this drill a hundred times. Ron took control. He gathered Harry in his arms as Hermione performed a simple charm to make him about a quarter his normal weight. Ron swept out of the hall, Harry lolling unconscious, looking as pale as death. Hermione walked alongside, trying to shield what had happened from the rest of the school. Seamus, Dean, Lavender and Parvati surrounded them. Neville and Ginny exited behind them making a lot of noise as a distraction, and the twins remained at the table having a sudden game of Exploding Snap to divert the school's attention from the urgent entourage that was leaving the hall. Outside, Ron spoke quickly to the group.

'I'm taking Harry to the Hospital Wing,' he said in a low voice. 'Hermione, you go to Dumbledore, and Ginny, you go to the Owlery and send Hedwig to Sirius. The rest of you, form a group around me and we'll try to keep the rest of the school from panicking; the sight of our main hope against the Dark Lord out cold will not instill confidence in the others.'

Hermione looked at Ron, a huge mixture of emotion suddenly enveloping her. What on earth was wrong with Harry? This was no ordinary faint; he had been out for about two minutes now. Her heart plummeted at what this might mean, for Harry, for all of them. Then there was Ron, who, when it mattered, even when they argued and fought, would rather die than let anyone harm Harry.

There was some sort of bond between them, Hermione knew. Perhaps that of a boy who wanted a brother with one who could have spared three or four; or perhaps the bond of a boy who had craved to be needed with one who wanted to learn in an instant eleven years' worth of magical life. When Harry had been introduced to the magical world, Ron was the first person he had connected with, and he had subsequently seen everything new in terms of Ron's own experiences, through Ron's own eyes; from Quidditch to chocolate frogs, from Dumbledore to Lord Voldemort. Hermione had never been a factor in that part of their friendship, where they had stayed up half the night talking about things Ron took for granted and of which Harry had no knowledge, but she did not regret it. She was warmed to think that these two boys, her own two best friends, were themselves inseparably close. Simply, they brought out the best in each other, and, Hermione found herself thinking, the best in Ron was really very fine indeed.

He looked wonderful there in that moment, his best friend possibly in danger, his comrades rallying to the cause, his easy natural leadership blooming. She shook herself, blushing slightly, cursing her frivolity at such an important moment, and made her way in the opposite direction to find the Headmaster while Ron efficiently marshalled his troops to the Hospital Wing.

Hermione had never been to Dumbledore's office before. She knew where it was, but when she got there she had not the remotest idea of how to get in. She knew that the password was likely to be something you could buy at Honeyduke's, but when she had exhausted everything she could think of, she just slumped down on the floor against the stone gargoyle and prayed that a member of staff would come along soon who could help her.

Help in fact arrived quicker than she could reasonably have hoped for, and from an unexpected source. As she leaned back against the gargoyle she suddenly felt a grinding in the stone behind her and as the secret door opened she actually fell backwards into the space and landed right at the feet of Professor McGonagall.

'Miss Granger! What on earth are you doing?'

'Oh, Professor McGonagall!' she cried as she jumped to her feet. 'I need to see Professor Dumbledore! It's Harry! Something's happened!'

'Come up, Miss Granger,' came Dumbledore's voice from the top of the moving staircase. 'You too, Minerva, if you wouldn't mind.'

Hermione told her story to both of them. They sat in silence as they listened. And when she had finished, they remained in silence. Hermione sensed they knew more than they were letting on.

'Well,' said Dumbledore eventually. 'What do you think, Minerva? A catastrophe, or just the natural reaction of a boy who hadn't eaten enough in an exciting and overly warm day?'

Oh God, thought Hermione. Of course. What a fuss we had made. He had only fainted after all, but we are just so protective of him, we couldn't help but fear the worst. 'I think,' replied McGonagall, 'twenty points to Gryffindor for Weasley acting calm under pressure, and a bar of chocolate for Harry when he comes round. Which he almost certainly will have done by now. Crisis averted.'

Oh how bloody foolish do I feel now? wailed Hermione inside her head.

But then, as always with Dumbledore, came the unexpected.

'Miss Granger, would you mind telling me exactly what happened in Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon?'

Thrown off track for a second, Hermione quickly recounted all she could remember.

'Interesting creatures, fauns,' mused Dumbledore to nobody in particular. 'They have some unique magical powers. Still, I expect you knew that Miss Granger, being the fine student that you are.'

Hermione didn't quite know what to make of this, and said nothing.

'You can learn a lot from fauns,' continued Dumbledore, 'all sorts of surprising things sometimes. They have a knack for seeing things, things the rest of us don't notice.'

Hermione looked at McGonagall for guidance at this point, but there was none coming. Her face was unreadable.

'Oh yes. Very surprising, some of the things are.'

There was another pause, then Dumbledore seemed to snap out of whatever he was thinking.

'You did right to come and see us, Miss Granger. An extra five points to Gryffindor for your especially inventive attempts at the password. Now get back to your friends, and see if Harry is all right. I'll be along to see him myself in a short while.' That was most definitely the end of the interview, and Hermione withdrew with a lot less drama than she had entered.

* * *

Draco lay in bed, devoid of all feeling, staring blankly into nothing. He was utterly drained, both physically and emotionally, by his experience in the shower earlier that evening. It had totally wiped him out. And without a wand too, he thought absently. He had fastened the drapes round his bed and ignored all efforts from the Slytherins to coax him out to join then on a nocturnal trip out of the dungeon for some malicious mischief.

His tears had finally gone away, but his conclusions would not.

* * *

Later that night, the Gryffindors were all sitting around the common room, still concerned for Harry even though Dumbledore had not seem worried at all. They talked over the events of the day, from the mad Care of Magical Creatures lesson to the events of supper and after.

Madam Pomfrey, true to form, had shooed them all out of the hospital wing soon after she had got Harry settled in a bed. He still had not come round, but she maintained that he was in no immediate danger. And as they had all trooped out, Dumbledore had met them on his way in, and beamed at them all.

'Well done, all of you, especially you, Mr Weasley. Earned yourselves some serious house points this evening, as I am sure Miss Granger has told you.'

Ron had flushed scarlet at his pride at being singled out by Dumbledore for individual praise.

'Now get back to your common room, and I don't want you to worry about Harry. I'm sure he will be fine.' Now they were back in the common room, and even without Harry, the situation seemed a lot less desperate. Maybe they had overreacted. But, how were they to know?

Hermione was still thinking about what Dumbledore had said to her about fauns. She was sure he was encouraging her to do some research into them. Well, some more research. He probably knew she had already been in the library for that very reason. He seemed to know everything in fact. She was suddenly very tired, and with thoughts of Harry and Dumbledore and fauns swimming round her head, she excused herself and went up to bed.

'Good night Herm,' said Ron warmly as she left the room. Hermione's heart skipped a beat as he said it, but she didn't look back.

'Come on,' said Ron, to Seamus, Dean and Neville, who the only ones left in the common room, 'let's finish it. I'm sure he could do with a laugh when he gets back.'

Their mood was lighter again. Harry was fine; he'd be back soon, maybe even that night. Up in their dormitory, the boys got back to work on what they had been doing at supper, and were soon laughing and joking as they had been before.

They got so engrossed in their task that, about an hour and a half later, when Harry got back from the hospital wing, he was able to stand unnoticed and watch his friends secretly busy with something on Seamus's bed for a couple of minutes before he coughed and smiled at them.

'Glad to see you're all terrifically worried about me!' he laughed, as the others all whooped and Ron rushed over to him.

He reached out and held Harry's shoulder. 'We were worried, you git,' he beamed, 'the whole bloody house was.' Then, softer, so the others couldn't hear, 'are you OK? You gave me a bloody fright. What on earth happened?' 'I'm really not sure. Neither is Madam Pomfrey. I just fainted, no bloody idea why. I think Dumbledore might know though.'

'Really? What did he say?'

'Nothing. That's how you tell with him! I'll talk about it tomorrow, I'm sure ready for bed right now,' he said, smiling.

'Oh no you don't,' said Ron grinning, 'we've got a small presentation to make.'

'What?'

'Get yourself over here, Harry,' called Seamus, laughing. 'We've got a little present for you!'

'What is it?' Harry always got excited about presents, probably because after years with the Dursleys, they were still something of a novelty. 'Is this what you were up to at supper?'

'Sure is,' said Dean, grinning as madly as the others.

They all stood up and Ron handed Harry a small book. Handmade, parchment sewn together with cord, in a black leather cover. On the front in gold lettering some words had been magically emblazoned into the leather:

THE BOYS' BOOK OF SPELLS (SPECIAL EDITION)

Harry looked at them all, his eyes wide with an imminent roar of laughter.

'Is this what I think it is?' he said as he opened the cover and read the frontispiece.

To Harry

The Boy Who Used His Hands

with best wishes from your long-suffering room mates Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus had all signed it underneath the inscription.

'Well, we said there was no handbook, but now there is!' laughed Dean.

'Wizard Wank Manual,' stated Neville, grinning as widely as the others.

'Including a silencing spell,' added Seamus, 'so you don't carry on waking us up at the crack of dawn every morning!'

Harry was laughing so much he had to sit on the end of his bed.

'Oh my God! Have you been doing this all day?'

'Everyone put in their favourite spells and charms,' said Ron, his eyes alive, his embarrassment factor nil. 'Fred and George knew loads! And we got to speak to Charlie in the fireplace and he sent us this wicked one he learned in Romania. Well, he said it's wicked; none of us have tried it yet. You'll have to let us know. Welcome to the Wizarding World, Harry. Wands are not optional from hereon in.'

Harry looked at them all in happiness.

'I don't know what to say,' he said, a bit choked.

This was one moment he definitely wasn't going to forget in a long time.

CHAPTER FOUR

~

THE BOYS' BOOK OF SPELLS (SPECIAL EDITION)

The Fifth Year Boys' Dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, a room so peaceful and secure and comfortable that it always felt warm whatever the time of year, was the centre of Harry's life. The rattly old lead windows somehow, as September was just turning into October, magically repelled the increasingly chill winds that whipped around the tower. And although he shared this room with his best friend Ron and their fellow warriors Neville, Seamus and Dean, it had remained a private space, and was rarely, if ever, visited by other members of Gryffindor House.

Which was just as well, because at the moment the room was a bloody disgraceful mess; the kind of mess that would have had Mrs Weasley clucking her disapproval and would most likely have sent Aunt Petunia into an apoplexy. It did not seem to matter how often the house elves worked their magic in the room, within a day or so it was always a total tip. As Harry looked at it shortly after breakfast on the Saturday after the now- infamous Care of Magical Creatures lesson, it really did seem worse than usual. But then, his mood was pretty fierce. Bordering on aggressive, to be honest.

There were books and scrolls everywhere, on the large table, on the trunks and on the beds, and - where it had been necessary from time to time to actually go to bed - shovelled off the beds and onto the floor in heaps. Quidditch equipment hung from the four-posters, brooms stood or lay around in awkward places. Shoes, each one separated from its brother, ran in a chaotic jumble right across the room. Robes were strewn on every available area of floor space. And, wherever the position of the furniture allowed, heaps of other clothes - clean and worn alike - would accumulate, which were sorted through most mornings as the Gryffindors searched for something to wear that day. The contents of Ron's trunk lay in a disorderly pile next to his bed, as he had upended it the previous day looking for some clean socks. There hadn't been any.

But the Age of Chaos was about to come to an end, and as Harry stood and surveyed the mess he briefly wondered whether he would actually miss it. There was something wonderful about the mess in the room; it made it totally, territorially, theirs. And in most cases nothing was ever actually mislaid, as each boy always knew roughly where to look for whatever he needed. But an interfering prefect had been hassling them about it for weeks, and finally after one particularly stern warning (which, like the others, had gone unheeded), the unimaginable had happened: Professor M McGonagall, Order of Merlin (second class), Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School and Head of Gryffindor House, Nationally Renowned Witch, Transfiguration Expert and Animagus, to say nothing of Stern Disciplinarian, had been summoned by the despairing prefect. Harry well remembered trying to ignore her lip curling in something considerably beyond disappointment as she duly threatened the boys with the loss of twenty points each if the room did not get straight and stay straight, straight away. There was to be an inspection at 6 o'clock that evening and the five were supposed to be meeting to start the clean up, but so far Harry was the only one to have arrived. Where the bloody hell were they?

He sat on his bed. Sure, the room was a disgrace, but hardly the most important thing in the world. He idly ran his hand round the edge of his bed and his fingers alighted on a book, the one thing that was safely stored away in its own place. Just the one thing in the whole room: the Boys' Book of Spells (Special Edition) was tucked down between the mattress and the headboard of Harry's bed. Harry didn't know quite why this object was so special to him, considering the other wonderful things he owned, like a Firebolt and an Invisibility Cloak; but there was just something about the amount of trouble the others had gone to that made Harry stash it away like a little prize.

And sure, it was a great thing to have. Well at least that's what he'd thought when they had first given it to him. He'd tried out a couple of the spells in recent days (with the silencing spell in place for decency's sake) and then all the boys had wanted to borrow the book to try out Charlie Weasley's special spell from Romania. All things considered, Harry had had to admit that the Wizarding Way was far superior to the Muggle Method, and he had laughed with the rest of them at how he had ever managed without a wand. But since that very morning though, Harry wondered whether the book had become too dangerous to use. As he sat down heavily on his bed, he tried to stop his mind from recalling the details of just a few hours previously when...when, oh shit, it was too awful to think about.

But as always with things we try not to think about, the very act of not thinking about them keeps them at the front of our minds. It had been another early morning - earlier than usual, not long after 4am - when his eyes had blinked open in complete wakeful alertness, not one glimmer of fatigue in his mind or body. Thoughts and feelings and emotions had begun their usual clamouring, hemming him in, pinning him physically to the bed, stabbing into his chest. So much disappointment, so much shame, so much guilt. How could he ever tell them?

Ron would hate him. Even worse, Hermione would offer sympathy. Neville would be disappointed. Seamus would be unbearably smug. Ginny would be heartbroken. Gryffindor House as a whole would be uncomfortably embarrassed, maybe worse. The other Houses, especially Slytherin, fuck...can't think about that. The same thoughts, the same desperation every morning. Why couldn't he just tell them the truth, why couldn't it just be a non-issue? After all, he had never had to own up to having black hair or green eyes, and this unspeakable secret was as much part of him as those outwardly obvious things. He couldn't tell them. He couldn't. Hogwarts was his home, Gryffindor his family; the risk of rejection was too great and the consequences of rejection unthinkable. He would be alone.

But, he was alone. To have such a secret from Ron was destroying their friendship. To lie to Hermione about girls he fancied was an insult and a betrayal. To live in such familiarity with his room mates was a deception. Everything he took for granted was his because of what he kept hidden. The same thoughts, the same destructive circle of conclusions and fears. Every bloody morning. And, as every morning, there was really only one way out of the endless cycle of worry: a few fleeting moments of physical pleasure. And the boys themselves had now given him the means to make these private moments more exciting, more thrilling and more breathtaking than they had ever been.

But that morning, he had got more than he had bargained for.

Instead of the welcome luxury of forgetting his current situation for a short while and allowing himself to inhabit a world where he could caress his imaginary lover in a way that felt natural and loving and innocent, there had been a horrible, unimaginable catastrophe. Caused by the book, he was sure. Well, not the book itself, but the information it held. There was something about magically assisted pleasure that heightened perceptions, intensified experiences, enhanced imagination; and that morning, as Harry and Whoever-He-Was had tussled in their childish but intimate play, an image as sharp and clear as a colour photograph had erupted from Harry's subconscious and smashed him between the eyes.

His lover, his companion, his fantasy: he had (gulp) blond hair. White blond. And creamy skin. And clear, cool blue-grey eyes. And a handsome oval face that he recognised. And, bizarrely, a smile.

Oh Christ. Now there was nothing left. Nowhere to retreat to, nothing that wasn't tainted. Life with the Gryffindors was bearable because he could escape once a day and let his mind roam free of expectation and honour and respectability, and now, in that special place, in Harry's own private world, the face of his arch rival and sworn enemy grinned back at him. Mocking, sneering, jeering.

He hadn't cried though. Sure, he had wanted to, but crying had never been something that he had done. Crying was like admitting defeat, and the Boy Who Lived never admitted defeat, not even when duelling with Voldemort, not even when he thought of his parents. But something within him had taken responsibility for his actions and he had found himself suddenly acting with purpose, but without his knowing where the motivation had come from or what the purpose was. He had sat up, all arousal obliterated. The wand and book had suddenly seemed redundant and incriminating, and he had stuffed them under his pillow. He had jumped out of bed and showered quickly. He had dressed in the first things that he had found, wrapped a scarf around his neck and pulled on his robe. Then he had quickly left the castle and stepped out into the grounds a little before dawn, and negotiated a complete circuit of the lake.

Fast, deliberate walking, head empty but for the mental effort demanded by the act of walking itself.

Then, on his second lap of the lake, his mind began to consider some of what had happened, initially just tiny, inoffensive thoughts that gradually coalesced into a plan.

He would stop being close to Ron, in preparation for the inevitable day that they would no longer be friends. That way, Ron would not be hurt as much by the secret that Harry would one day have to tell him; he should never have allowed himself to get that close to Ron anyway.

He would stop relying on Hermione to get him out of trouble with work. When the shit hit the fan, he would have to get used to working on his own, and so now seemed a good time to start.

He would ignore Ginny; that way she would lose interest in him and go and find someone more worthy, someone who could return her affection.

He would not join in any more boyish pranks organised by Seamus or Dean. When they found out what he really was, he would hardly be welcome in their gang, so he might as well extricate himself from it now on his own terms. He would stop visiting Hagrid as much, as he had to learn to stand on his own two feet if he was ever going to survive when he left school.

He would not take any further advantage of the favours and privileges that were so often afforded him by McGonagall and Dumbledore, so that when their disappointment in him was revealed, he did not feel he owed them anything.

He would withdraw from the Quidditch team, as he wanted no part in anything where people relied on him.

He would stop pleasuring himself completely. Of course. Immediately. That one went almost without saying.

And above all, he would pay not the slightest attention whatsoever to...to, God, he could not even think his name, to the blond boy. Who is he anyway? I've never even heard of him. He does not exist.

It was after 7am when Harry completed his second circuit of the lake. Smoke from the squat chimney told him a fire was burning in Hagrid's hut but Harry did not stop off for an early cup of tea. He reentered the dormitory as the other boys were rising for breakfast, but ignored their questions as to where he had been. He spoke to nobody at breakfast, choosing not to hear Hermione and Ron's nervous enquiries as to how he was feeling. They had been wary round him since he had fainted at supper earlier that week - and what the fuck had that been about anyway? Another example of his weakness.

He would not faint any more.

Up in the dormitory again, staring at the mess as he awaited the clean up operation, he reflected that it was fitting that all this was going to change. Again, something in him snapped him out of his dreaminess and dictated an astonishing burst of activity. Getting sentimental about mess? Honestly.

He would not be messy any more; it was a shocking example of weakness and immaturity. Fuck it, he didn't need the others, wherever they were. Still laughing at breakfast probably. Hermione would be lecturing as usual on the importance of the bloody psychological advantage over the bloody Slytherins. Hell, he didn't need them. He went over the entire floor space of the room picking up things that belonged to him, tossing the others' belongings aside. When he had his bed full of his stuff, he packed it away into his trunk and locked it, the Boys' Book of Spells at the very bottom. Dirty clothes went in the laundry. Books, scrolls and quills were organised on top of his trunk. He made his bed. All the remaining untidiness was not his responsibility. He left the dorm again, and headed down to the common room, where the great mass of happy souls were just arriving from the Great Hall.

Oh shit. He didn't want to see them. Ever.

'Hey, there you are!' beamed Ron, his face full of warmth and friendship. 'Why'd you leave breakfast so early? We were worried. Are you feeling ok? Ready for the war against mess?'

Harry took a deep breath.

'Just so you know, in future you can save your energy by not worrying about me again. And please stop asking me how I am, it is becoming tedious.'

Harry looked Ron straight in the eye as he spoke. The crowd of Gryffindors went instantly quiet, unable to miss Harry's completely uncharacteristic iciness towards Ron.

'Er, I was just, I didn't mean to be...' said Ron, totally taken aback, but Harry ignored him and began to walk straight through the group towards the portrait hole. He pretended not to see Ron try to say something else while Hermione tugged on Ron's sleeve to warn him not to continue. Harry's heart tried to remain dispassionate as he saw the look of almost unbearable hurt on Ron's face as his best friend had just spoken to him so coldly in front of all the others. 'This came for you in the post,' said Ron brusquely, and stuffed a letter into Harry's chest. Harry cut through the crowd, muttered an inaudible word of thanks and left the room.

'What the hell is the matter with him now?' fumed Ron, to the group in general and Hermione in particular.

'Let it go, Ron,' said Hermione softly. 'Whatever it is, he will tell us when he can. You know what he's like.'

'Yes, I do,' said Ron. 'A rude, ungrateful bastard.'

* * *

He read it again, sitting on a rock on the far side of the lake. Here indeed was another bloody complication.

Dear Harry

I have just received a worrying note from Ginny via Hedwig about you fainting at supper. I hate the thought of you being ill or in distress while I am so far away, and as I have received no news about you for a while I am going to come to Hogsmeade this weekend. Meet me at the Shrieking Shack at lunchtime on Saturday, and bring some food if you can.

Sirius

Bloody Ginny.

Still, it was probably Ron who told her to write the note.

Bloody Ron.

Now Sirius was going to endanger himself while he was trying to run an important mission for Dumbledore at the same time as staying one step ahead of Fudge's men. It was such a risk coming to Hogsmeade! And now because of Harry, Sirius was going to put himself in danger by coming to check up on his stupid fainting godson. Lunchtime on Saturday. That was still a couple of hours away. And it wasn't, strictly speaking, a Hogsmeade weekend. But deep, deep down, deeper down than wherever the strength he had found to make the decisions by the lake had come from, Harry didn't care. He wanted to see Sirius. It suddenly seemed so important. He just had to be able to count on him. If he didn't have Sirius, he had nobody.

Well, the Shrieking Shack was as good a place to mope as any. He might as well go there now. He went back to the castle, 'raided' the kitchens (Dobby and the other house elves happily made up a picnic hamper for him) and walked out of the school gates in broad daylight. Why bother with the cloak or the secret passage? He didn't care if he got into trouble.

Up at the castle, two people watched thoughtfully as by chance they saw Harry leave the school grounds. Hermione, worried, upset, concerned. Dumbledore, smiling slightly, guessing correctly whom Harry was going to see.

* * *

Bad moods abounded at the castle that Saturday.

Ron was upset, in fact furious, at having been so publicly dropped by Harry. When his fury began to ebb it was replaced by a profound sense of confusion coloured with a big serving of hurt. They had argued loads of times before, but this was different. It had always been about trivial things and they had made up almost instantly, never bearing a grudge, each too dependent on the other for their disputes to last more than a couple of hours.

There had been that time of course that Ron had not spoken to Harry in the run-up to the first Triwizard Test, but if he had ever thought about it afterwards, Ron guiltily suspected that it was his own jealousy that had been the root cause of that difficulty. Or rather, his jealousy further aggravated by the nasty combination of both his and Harry's astonishing stubbornness. But even that was not like this. They hadn't even argued this time. Harry had just said, well he couldn't remember the exact words, but it wasn't what he had said, it was the manner in which he said it: the look in his eyes had glared fuck off out of my life. But why? What on earth had he done?

Hermione and Ginny had mooned around in the boys' dormitory that morning, ostensibly to help with the Great Clear Up, but Ron knew that they were as upset as he was and felt the need to be close to him. The clear up itself had become a tedious and soul-destroying occasion, Hermione acting as unnecessary supervisor, Ginny idly flipping through Ron's stuff, trying not to think about what had happened. Neville ignored the whole affair, thinking that Harry had always been highly-strung and unpredictable, and Seamus and Dean were treading on eggshells, wading their way through the disgraceful disorder in the room whilst attempting to inject a little light humour into the proceedings.

Up to a point they all silently ignored the moments when something of Harry's was discovered, merely placing his things in a slowly growing pile on his bed; but when Ron found Harry's Snitch-clock, which had rolled under his bed amid a tumble of Seamus's socks, his frustration suddenly burst out and he let out an involuntary shout of anger and hurled the clock at the wall. With lightning reactions, Hermione deftly flicked her wand, and muttering the words Accio Snitch-clock under her breath, the clock changed direction in midair and neatly landed in her hand with a light thwok that seemed just as loud as Ron's furious outburst. She slowly walked over to Harry's bed and placed it carefully on the covers with his other things.

Ginny sighed deeply and said, 'I'm going out,' and she left.

Hermione was feeling scarcely any less distressed than Ron, but she tried hard to maintain a degree of rationality. Even so, she was furious with Harry for behaving like this. She could think of no justification whatever for his actions and words, but the situation had been made worse by Hermione's immediate assumption that Ron must have done something awful to get Harry in such a mood. Following Harry's surprising words, there had been half an hour of bitter accusatory glowering between her and Ron, before she realised that Ron was both genuinely hurt and totally mystified.

Her heart had melted a little then and, Harry temporarily forgotten, she had looked at Ron and wanted to hug and comfort him and tell him that he was not to blame; and later, over the incident with the Snitch-clock, she had so sympathised with his anger and distress that she was almost sorry that she had prevented it being damaged. She had looked at Ron, and he at her: he, grateful for her actions; she, thinking that the combination of hurt little boy and angry young man was suddenly dangerously attractive. Her heart had thumped a little faster at this moment of nonverbal intimacy between them, until Ginny had unwittingly (or deliberately?) broken the tension by announcing her departure.

Bloody Harry, she mused. When she got hold of him she was going to give him a Bloody Stern Talking To. He better have a watertight excuse for upsetting Ron like this, OR ELSE.

The cleaning up continued eventually and Hermione had wandered over to the window, half-listening to the most pathetic of arguments between Seamus and Dean about who had thought it would be a good idea to mix up the playing cards in four separate decks, and as she was wondering exactly which spell would offer a solution, she had caught sight of Harry leaving the Hogwarts grounds, the weak sunlight glinting on his glasses.

Now where on earth was he going?

Ordinarily she would have been highly agitated by this crazy disregard for his own security, but she kept quiet about it and added it the list of things that needed to be considered later, when she was alone, and when Ron had been calmed.

* * *

On the other side of the castle another fierce mood was in evidence.

Draco lay on his bed, refusing to talk to any of his fellow Slytherins, his sense of despair growing with each hour. He had not slept at all the previous night, and hardly at all since the day of the Care of Magical Creatures lesson with the fauns. And he had more or less totally withdrawn from interaction of any kind with his housemates in that time, as wrestling with whatever was going on left little time and no inclination for the dreary reality of Slytherin life.

This thing with Potter would simply not go away. He had examined it from all angles, clearly and objectively, furiously and in deep uncertainty, until he thought his head might explode. And then, at sometime after four o'clock that morning, he had been hit with a blisteringly vivid image of a semi-naked Potter, laughing warmly, slightly out of breath and flushed in the face. It had been a deeply intense, erotic vision, and its clarity and reality had shocked him hard, leaving him both aroused and disgusted at his own arousal. He had abandoned the idea of sleep for another night, dressed silently and slipped out of the castle for some air to clear his thoughts. And maybe, just perhaps, think about something else.

But, incredibly, with a realisation that was beyond infuriating, he had seen someone else wandering the grounds early that morning, a cloaked figure moodily walking the edge of the lake in the murky gloom of pre-dawn, looking for all the world like a Romantic hero embarking on some epic odyssey, and with a howl of indignation he had recognised the figure as Potter.

Fucking HELL!!! There was nowhere that he could escape this blasted boy! Not in his head, not in his bed, not even at 4:30am in the (otherwise) deserted grounds of the castle!

Draco slumped to the ground in despair, exactly where he was standing, just right there on the ground next to the castle wall, and for a long while found himself watching Harry, whose outline gained in definition and clarity as the dawn progressed. With the stillness of the time of day, and the strangely comforting sight of Harry prowling the shoreline, Draco began to feel more relaxed than he had felt for some days. It was, he realised with some resignation, like if he could actually look at Potter, he felt much calmer, much less distressed, much less confused. Breakfast had been a sorry affair too. Back in the castle, Draco felt all his bitter anxiety return, and he took the odd step of resolving to sit where he could see Harry: after his feeling noticeably less uneasy while he had been watching Harry earlier by the lake, some tiny piece of logic told him that if Potter was the cause of his distress then he might also be its remedy. He was gruesomely uncomfortable with this scenario, but as he couldn't possibly feel any worse, he began to plan a number of 'experiments' - for want of a better term - to try to work out exactly why it was that Potter got under his skin so, and if his logic was founded properly, then also what it was about Potter that helped the distress fade away. But his plan had been shot to pieces by Harry's early exit from breakfast, in fact only a couple of minutes after the Slytherins had sat down.

Draco fumed in silence. Experiment #1 failed.

Or had it? He had learned from it that the sight of Potter retreating from the hall had left him feeling absolutely awful, which kind of confirmed that his state of emotional strength was somehow tied up with Potter's physical presence. Oh God. The omens were too unthinkable to consider.

But consider them he did.

Back in Slytherin house after breakfast, while Harry was off to the Shrieking Shack and the remaining Gryffindors were wading through a river of mess, he had returned to bed, and the full appalling nastiness of the situation began to make itself clear, as if Draco were daring to look at it full in the face for the first time. He felt totally wretched, and had now reached a state of such heightened anguish that it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus his mind on being constructive. With a near- monumental effort, he shrugged some of the torment away, sat up and reached for a quill and some parchment with a view to making his feelings clearer by outlining them on paper. But there was nothing concrete he could write down.

Sure, there were vague things. He felt bad beyond description, but was it actually a physical illness? Maybe a mental one? He knew that Potter was at the heart of it, but he didn't know why. He had dared to acknowledge that he might have a subconscious attraction to Potter, but that didn't make sense, because he hated him. And everything he stood for. And everything that went with him, and everyone that surrounded him, and more.

And, hang on Draco old boy, you're missing the obvious here: Potter is a boy. Is that a shock? Is it even news?

Draco scanned his whole adolescent memory looking for a girl he had ever felt sexually attracted to. There were none. But: there were no boys either. So, what was he attracted to then? What did he think of in his most intimate moments? He racked his brains. Nothing. Nobody. And out of this mysteriously blank came the painful realisation that he must only ever be concerned with his own pleasure; other people didn't even appear in his fantasies as faceless sex objects. Was that possible? What astonishing narcissism. Draco felt sick. He had probably never given a single thought to anybody but himself for his whole life. There was not one person he was even fond of, apart from himself. And at the moment he wasn't even sure he liked himself.

Shit, this line of thinking was getting nowhere.

But one thing was sure, he had never fantasised about a boy until a few days before in the shower on the day that that bloody faun had created a furor in the paddock. And the memories of that particular shower still cut into his psyche like a knife. Maybe it wasn't about girls or boys, maybe it was just about Potter. That might explain why Potter himself, even just the sight of him, seemed to act as a soothing, calming influence. There was still a lot of finding out to do where that was concerned.

Oh God oh God oh God. Was he actually considering entertaining this whole Potter thing? He had two options, as far as he could see: a) he could ignore it and hope it all went away, or b) he could try to find out more about what he was actually feeling and why. Taking option b) didn't mean of course that he had to act on anything he might find out (yeuch...) and put in those terms, it seemed silly just to hope everything went away.

Draco! Are you being positive about this? You're going to do something constructive? Does that mean that you are interested in Potter? NO NO NO! screamed Draco inside his head. I don't even like him! I hate him! But I've got to do something!

It was too much.

He scrambled out of bed and went through his trunk until he found the half-packet of cigarettes he had taken from his mother's dressing table at the end of the holiday. She seemed to like one of these when his father was being particularly foul. Draco had tried them a couple of times before and found them to be neither enjoyable nor disgusting, but as he drew hard on the cigarette a minute or so later, he saw instantly why his mother kept a pack of these odd Muggle things hidden away. Calm gradually crept over him until he could think straight again. Draco knew a lot about magic, and he knew a lot about emotions, (well, how to manipulate them in other people anyway) and he also knew in the core of his being what all these signs and happenings and feelings added up to. There were some things he didn't understand, but probably only because, he pondered, that he had never imagined that they would be directly relevant to him.

The library may be able to yield some answers. And it was maybe an idea to look a bit more closely at precisely what fauns could sense that humans couldn't. At least it was somewhere to start. He put out the cigarette on a saucer next to his bed and waved the smoke away with an incantation and a casual flick of his wand. Then, with a little more purpose than he had for some days, he left Slytherin House for the library.

* * *

'Right then. What on earth is the matter?'

It came out of the blue. They had been chatting for about an hour about everything and nothing and Harry found himself glad to be in the company of his godfather - someone from outside the whole Hogwarts mess, someone who he could talk to and forget the crisis that was overtaking him in the rest of his life. Harry had been genuinely delighted when Sirius, looking healthy, clean and alive, had warmly greeted him, having just seconds before been the large black dog he had seen sniffing round the Shrieking Shack. If Harry had been several hours early for their rendezvous, then Sirius had been even earlier, which had pleased Harry in a way he had not felt before. Both of them had not really had breakfast, and they attacked the food parcel with great mutual enjoyment. Now, in response to a definite change in the atmosphere, Harry eyed his godfather, totally unsure of what he could tell him.

'Nothing,' he replied, lamely.

'Do you expect me to believe that?'

'Believe what you want. I didn't ask you to come here. You should be doing Dumbledore's work wherever that takes you. Not coming here worrying about me.'

'What kind of godfather would I be if I didn't worry, Harry?'

'I don't know.' Harry's manner now bordered on surly, and he felt ashamed of his words, and got up to go and look out of the window. Sirius replied anyway.

'I had a note from Ginny, and I just knew I needed to see you. And it looks like you need someone to talk to. So, this meeting is good for both of us, no?'

Harry turned to Sirius and managed about 10% of a smile. Sirius supplied the other 90%, and took a step towards Harry.

Harry wanted to, he needed to feel it, but, he was not a little boy any longer, and he stopped himself stepping towards Sirius. They looked at each other, silent. Sirius watched Harry closely and then spoke very softly. It was like the previous hour's conversation hadn't existed.

'Harry. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you growing up with no support and no love, and I curse every day of those years in Azkaban when I should have been with you giving you a home and a family. And though we can't have those years again, we have many more to come.'

Harry stared at Sirius, all the strength he had found by the lake that morning crumbling into one single desperate need, to know, that he was not alone.

'I don't really know how to be a parent of any kind,' continued Sirius, even softer, 'so I'm more or less going on instinct here. But I can see, Harry, that there is something eating away inside you, and my instinct tells me that you need to talk about it. And I need to hear it too. It's the very least I owe you, after...' his voice trailed off into nothing.

'Sirius! You don't owe me anything. It wasn't your fault!'

Harry's voice seemed loud after the whisper Sirius had ended in. He looked up at Sirius and repeated, 'it wasn't your fault!' as he took the step forward he had been fighting against. Sirius moved quickly over the remaining distance between then and tentatively placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. All Harry's remaining strength disappeared with that touch, and he felt a huge welling of emotion inside him, like some fierce animal wanting to burst from within him. His head fell against Sirius's shirt front and Sirius gently pulled the boy towards him, encircling Harry in the most secure, safe hug of Harry's life.

In fact, the only hug of his life that he could remember.

* * *

Hermione had had enough of the boys' dormitory. She wandered out about half an hour after Ginny, her mind still full of recent events. Harry was acting very weird, and had been since the day of the fauns. The fauns.

It was Saturday and she had no homework left to do, so she cleared her mind of Ron and Harry, gathered up some books and made off for the library. The comforting surge of familiarity washed round Hermione as she entered the library, and as usual she was pleased to see that her own reading table was vacant. Nobody would dare!

But as she glanced along the shelves that housed the section on Magical Zoology, she found to her surprise and irritation that a good many of the books on fauns, which she had consulted earlier that week, were missing. How odd. This had not often happened to Hermione before. Where books were set as school texts or were required for any conventional piece of homework, she had either consulted them long before the rest of the class had thought of them or had her own personal copies. When she was using the library's extensive resources for her own purposes, such requirements had rarely, if ever, overlapped with someone else's needs. But obviously here was someone else going into fauns as thoroughly as she had already done.

Unconsciously pursing her lips, making the look on her face rather intent, Hermione considered the only remaining book on fauns: L'Art de l'Amour: Les faunes et ce qu'ils peuvent voir. Well, it would have to do for now, provided she could find a dictionary.

As L'Art de l'Amour had been the only book left on the shelf, whoever it is besides me who is interested in fauns, thought Hermione, as after about half an hour she finally reached page ten, obviously doesn't speak French. And nor, she concluded, do I. Hermione's parents had taken her on holiday to France every summer since she could remember, and she was perfectly capable of ordering an ice cream or even asking directions to the swimming pool. But when it came to wading through an ancient book written in turgid, florid, archaic prose with only rudimentary knowledge of the language and an antique dictionary, Hermione was, for once, lost. She silently determined to have a word with Professor McGonagall about the state of language teaching at Hogwarts as she made her way back to the shelves to replace the book.

As she rounded the corner into the Magical Zoology section she stopped dead still, not quite understanding if what she was seeing was significant or not. Hermione was no fool. She knew more or less, even without understanding whatever it said in L'Art de l'Amour, what had been going on in the Care of Magical Creatures class a few days before. And over the following few days she had begun to realise the full likely consequences of what she had learned and deduced. But to come face to face with a factor in the equation which she had until that moment deliberately blanked out, well, that was still something of a shock.

Standing at exactly the place where the books on fauns were housed was Draco Malfoy.

He was replacing a stack of books at the very place Hermione was herself making for. A sinking feeling overtook her, not one actually of realisation, but more one of horrible confirmation, and she tried to move silently away from the shelves before Malfoy saw her. But in the best style of someone trying to make an unobserved exit, she slightly caught her robe on a shelf and it moved one of the books in the Divination section. The noise was next to nothing, but it was just enough to cause Malfoy to turn round and see her. She felt she had no option but to pretend she had been heading for the books on fauns all along.

'Ah, Granger,' said Draco; rather subdued, Hermione thought. 'You've got it. I wondered where it had gone.'

He indicated the copy of L'Art de l'Amour that she was holding.

Is that it? thought Hermione. No insults? No disgusting Mudblooding?

Hermione didn't quite know what to say. Two things were odd here. One, she and Draco had never once had a conversation that did not end in one or both of them throwing insults at each other. The feel about this one was quite different. Draco looked drawn and tired, ill perhaps; certainly preoccupied with something, and obviously couldn't be bothered with the usual formalities. Two, he had without doubt been doing some research into fauns. They eyed each other, each deeply suspicious, but not exactly hostile. What does he know? she thought. As much as me?

'Yes,' she replied, eventually.

'Didn't know you spoke French, Granger. Another string to your overfull bow.'

Good, thought Hermione, this is more like it. Insults. Home territory.

'I don't,' she said. 'Not very much anyway. That is, I know enough to know that your name means bad faith, which, face it, is all the French the average Hogwarts student needs.'

Draco snorted. 'Oh well done, Granger. Good retort. Been working on that one for a while, have we? Interesting that you only think of yourself as average; I could have told you that years ago.'

Funny, thought Hermione. He was definitely better than her at throwing insults, even right then, when his heart was most definitely not in it. She looked at him closer. He seemed utterly exhausted, and not a little vulnerable. She tried a different approach.

'What do you want this book for anyway? I didn't know you spoke French either.'

'Hmmm. Well I suspect there's rather a lot that you don't know about me, Granger--' he said curtly, neatly swiping L'Art de l'Amour out of her hands. '--thankfully...' he added, under his breath as he turned and left.

But Hermione heard him.

CHAPTER FIVE

~

A WINTER'S TALE

Over the following weeks, the tension in Gryffindor Tower went from Bad to Worse, passed through Bloody Awful and eventually levelled off at Utterly Intolerable.

In mid November the unseasonably mild weather was brought to a swift end with a day of odd stillness as the weather changed direction, and then a cold front swept in from the North East, bringing with it biting winds and sharp icy mornings. The temperature dropped by about ten degrees in under two days, but whatever the chill factor outside the castle, it was nothing to the frostiness that now pervaded the Fifth Year Boys' Dormitory in Gryffindor Tower.

Ron's emotions were the easiest to see. He hid none of his dismay, his hurt and his anger towards Harry, and if left up to him they would have argued ferociously, got into a brawl, knocked five types of shit out of each other, collapsed bloody and broken on the floor, and arrived at a point where dialogue - and an explanation - would have been the only way forward. Ron played this scenario over and over in his head, always with the same ending: with Harry apologising wholeheartedly and with buckets of sincerity, saying that he, Harry, was totally to blame, that Ron was and always been his friend - how could he have been so blind? And then of course Ron would graciously forgive Harry (probably not immediately, but definitely by Christmas) and then they would be the rock-solid larking- about thick-as-thieves best mates they had been since they had met on the Hogwarts Express four and a bit years earlier.

But as Hermione so often told him: Ron, wake up; this has gone so far now that I cannot see such an easy way out. And unfortunately for Ron, Harry had obviously not read this particular script, because all Harry ever did was ignore him, as if the room were empty, as if Ron's voice were not audible on his frequency. Ron found this more hurtful and upsetting and infuriating than any number of insults and threats and nastiness. Seeing as Ron's plan was to goad Harry into some dreadful confrontation, a ghastly painful stalemate had been arrived at, where Ron was furious with himself for caring about it so much, and Harry just drifted in and out doing exactly as he pleased, not seeming the remotest bit bothered by the oceans of ill- feeling he had created.

Much of the rest of Gryffindor House felt the same as Ron to varying lesser degrees. The real crunch had come about two weeks after the Care of Magical Creatures lesson, which Hermione had identified as the point at which the rot had set in. Professor McGonagall had stormed up to the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and demanded to see Fred and George at once in her office. Oh dear, thought the body of Gryffindor house, rather amused, what on earth had they done now? But it was not at all what anybody suspected. About ten minutes later the twins reappeared at breakfast with a pair of identical looks on their identical faces, black as thunder. Oh God, thought Ron, they've been expelled. Ginny clutched his hand as Ron became spokesman for the now silent table.

'Fred? George? What's happened?' he asked, his voice soft, his mind running through a dozen wild possibilities. But nothing he considered came close to what they said.

'Harry Potter...' sputtered Fred.

'...has withdrawn from the Gryffindor Quidditch team,' finished George.

'McGonagall says we've got to find and train a new Seeker before the Hufflepuff match next week...'

'...so we've got to hold trials immediately. This evening in fact.'

There was an instant furor. Ron's anger found new intensity as he sat there and literally seethed with fury. Ginny was worried about him, in fact about all three of her brothers. Until that point, the dispute, if it could be called that, had seemed to be directly between Harry and Ron, with Hermione and Ginny drawn in as bystanders, but now, the whole house felt that his actions were aimed specifically at them. As Hermione and Ginny secretly discussed later, it was lucky for Harry that he was not at breakfast that morning. He might have been lynched, or worse. Looking at the outraged Weasleys at that moment, anything could have happened.

The occasion of the Hufflepuff match had been another turning point in Gryffindor Tower.

Fred and George selected Ron himself as the new Seeker, which was another torment to Ron. Should he accept the position knowing that the chance was only coming his way because Harry was 'not available' and worse still had been rather shamelessly given him by his own brothers, or should he rise to the occasion and think about the honour of his House?

It was Hermione who convinced him to take up the challenge, and he was glad he had listened to her. The week before the match he had practised and practised, with the twins drilling him in all sorts of manoeuvres until way after dark, all thoughts of Harry totally forgotten. And his skills were definitely improving. Sure, he was not Harry. Nobody flew like Harry did, with the ease and grace of a wheeling seabird, and nobody in the school other than Harry owned a Firebolt. But Ron had given it absolutely everything he had and then some, and it had nearly paid off. Lanky and ungainly as he was - and, riding a Cleansweep 6, hopelessly outpaced even by the Hufflepuffs - he had chased and spun and dodged and dived for all he was worth, and even though Hufflepuff won 170-80, Ron had been given a hero's reception back in the Tower.

Harry had not been at the match, and he was not present at the party in the Gryffindor common room, and for once Ron hadn't noticed. McGonagall had given him a broad smile and twenty points for sterling effort, and the House had toasted him with Butterbeer smuggled in by the twins, which had just about capped off a great day. But later in bed, hearing Harry move about in the soulless, vacant, anonymous manner in which he did everything now, Ron was deeply saddened to think that this moment, one of his best ever, had only happened because of Harry's own inexplicable behaviour; and yet despite Ron's fury with him, none of the congratulations he had received meant anything without a clap on the back from Harry himself. After the unbearable tension of the week preceding the Gryffindor v Hufflepuff match, Ron and Harry went back to the level of hostility they had reached before, which is to say that Ron went back to trying to provoke Harry into a fight while Harry remained oblivious to anything Ron did, said, thought or felt.

Hermione's feelings were much more complicated than Ron's. She had more reason to object to Harry's behaviour than Ron because not only was she having to deal with Harry ignoring her like he was everybody else, but she personally was having to pick up the pieces of the lives of the two most junior Weasleys that had been wrecked by whatever it was that had got hold of Harry.

She had been a tower of strength to Ron, always there for him, encouraging him in his Quidditch practice, comforting him when Harry's actions left Ron feeling lower than low, feeling furious with Harry on Ron's behalf. And, glory be, Ron had started to notice her.

Well, he could hardly not. They were in each other's company from breakfast to bedtime, and as Harry was absolutely no company at all, she had loved the time they had spent together, whatever the reasons behind it. And on the night of the Hufflepuff match, when Ron had been grinning and laughing like he hadn't for weeks, she felt a warmth developing between them that had a wonderfully right feel to it. He hadn't actually kissed her, or even looked like doing it, but he had just held her, not wanting to let go, hugging her for ages in relief that he hadn't embarrassed himself on his broom, wanting her by his side for the whole evening, wanting to share this mini-triumph with her. But Ginny had been harder to deal with. Hermione could offer no words of comfort to her at all, and over time worked out that the best thing for Ginny was simply to spend time her and Ron and the twins, where she felt at home and could try to forget Harry's inexplicable rudeness. But behind all this Hermione was desperately worried about Harry, in a way that Ron wasn't. Hermione couldn't bring herself to try to antagonise him like Ron, moon over him like Ginny, or even write him off like the rest of the House. She knew that there was something fearfully the matter with him, but his utter refusal to let her anywhere near him meant she was incapable of trying to help. She knew, because she kept track of this type of thing, that Harry had attended only four meals in the last five weeks; even at the Halloween feast he had eaten next to nothing and stayed, sitting next to Neville but remaining silent, for just fifteen minutes. She also knew that he hadn't slept properly for the same length of time, and was losing weight at an alarming rate. She watched him silently in class, as he kept himself to himself, walking between classes speaking to nobody, arranging his books and quills without care on his desk, missing deadline after deadline on homework, losing untold house points in Potions because of inattention; as she watched him, she could see the bags under his eyes, the scared look on his face, the air of impenetrable loneliness that surrounded him like a fog. And she cried to herself sometimes as she looked at him, physically having to restrain herself from rushing up to him and hugging him and begging him to talk to her.

Oh God, Harry, how can I help if you won't let me near you?

The Quidditch thing had been the last straw. If there was one thing that Harry loved, it was flying. She had written to Sirius twice, but his replies had been noncommittal: just sit tight and try to put up with him, I am sure it will work out in the end. She had even been to see McGonagall, who had said more or less the same thing. On top of this, Hermione knew much more than Ron about what was troubling Harry, and her suspicions were beginning to weigh her down. She had done her thinking, spoken to Hagrid about fauns, read up everything she could think of that might be relevant, and she had arrived at the only conclusion possible. And then she had just hoped that it would go away. But it hadn't gone, and it wasn't going.

Soon, she thought. I am going to have to speak to Ron soon, or we may lose him forever. Harry himself had hit rock bottom some weeks earlier. In his more clear- sighted moments he knew he had stuck rigidly to the plan he had worked out that morning by the lake, and although he couldn't judge its success or otherwise, he felt that as long as he stuck to his guns on this one, he was through the worst.

He was now no longer friends with Ron. Now, when he eventually had to reveal his secret, he would already have been through the pain of losing Ron. And fucking hell, what pain it had been. To see and hear Ron, face tearstained, begging him to tell Harry what he had done wrong, had very nearly broken him. But he had somehow managed to keep a cool exterior while his insides had been churning and mixing in shame and regret and self-disgust. And fuck did he miss him; it was like he had lost a limb. He had watched Ron from underneath the stands as he gave his all in the match against Hufflepuff and rejoiced in how well he'd done, thinking how proud he was of Ron and how much he wanted to congratulate him. And he had watched the growing closeness between Ron and Hermione with some pleasure, knowing that they would before long have each other and would not miss him. He had taken no pleasure in ignoring Ginny, but it had definitely worked, ok she hadn't actually started to look for anyone else yet, but it would surely only be a matter of time. Seamus and Dean didn't speak to him anymore, nor did Neville, which would now save him the humiliation of being tossed aside by them later.

But this kind of 'rational' thought belonged only to his clear-sighted moments. At other times, in fact by far the greater part of his life, he was drowning in a depression so deeply entrenched in him that he could go through whole days and remember nothing. He knew he wasn't eating; mealtimes were too painful, so every now and again he would go to the kitchens and brave Dobby's insufferable chatter to get something in his stomach, but he didn't have the mental strength for it very often. He had long forgotten what it felt like to sleep properly. Wracked by destructive insomnia, he wandered the castle and the grounds at night, the same desperate thoughts running in endless circles in his head until dawn, when he would then go through another meaningless day in a cloud of indifference. His physical appearance was now so wretched that he had stopped looking in mirrors completely. His grades were so poor McGonagall had had him in her office and fumed about her disappointment, but he couldn't even remember her words. Snape had deducted fifty house points for catching him wandering the grounds in the middle of the night, but he felt no shame or concern for house pride. And Hermione. She looked at him, all the time, forcing him to make eye contact with her, refusing to be pushed aside. She glared at his thin body, at his shabby appearance, at the bags under his eyes. And she knew. She knew.

The only bright spots in his life were with Sirius. They had met each Saturday at the Shrieking Shack since that first picnic they had had five or so weeks earlier, and gradually Sirius had begun to pick through the blackness of Harry's moods and tried to coax out of him the cancer that was rotting away his insides. Harry found the anticipation of his meetings with his godfather far better that the actuality of having to dodge questions and fake answers, but still he wouldn't be without these days, whatever the personal risk to Sirius. Each week was the same. Sirius would Apparate right into the Shack, and they would share some food while Harry talked, sometimes nonstop, always about nothing, but talking all the same. Sometimes he went whole days without uttering a single word to anybody, once an entire week; and to be able to talk about anything at all felt like the life flooding back into him. But then Sirius would begin his 'therapy', encouraging Harry to talk about what was bothering him, about why Ron and Hermione never came with him, about why Sirius received regular owls from Dumbledore about Harry's well- being.

But no way could Harry ever tell him what, and who, was on his mind every waking minute of his life.

He couldn't tell him that he wandered the grounds in the middle of the night with only one thought on his mind. He couldn't tell him that part of his very soul was being eaten away by a desire that he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge.

He couldn't tell him that he was so afraid of what his friends - his family - would think of him that he had pushed them away for fear of rejection.

And he surely couldn't tell him that he tried to restrain from pleasuring himself for fear of the image his subconscious would conjure, and yet sometimes the desire became so strong, so irresistible, that he would find himself masturbating in a desperate frenzy with the singular aim of glimpsing exactly what, or rather who, he was going to extraordinary lengths to deny the very existence of.

Oh God no. He couldn't tell him any of that.

So Harry would clam up, bitterly resenting the interference, until they would eventually part sadly, both knowing that they would go through the same things next week, Harry knowing that it was the only thing he had to look forward to.

The Saturday in mid November after the weather swung round from the north, they met in the same way for the sixth time, and true to form, the same things happened. But this time Sirius decided he couldn't ignore the overwhelmingly obvious any longer. Harry was ill. Dangerously low, malnourished, utterly exhausted. After failing to persuade Harry even to go and get a sleeping draught from Madam Pomfrey, he arranged to see him the same time the following week, hugged him warmly goodbye, then delved into his robes for some parchment and a quill.

He wrote quickly and succinctly - Please do something. I am terribly worried. Sirius - then began the tricky operation of transforming into Padfoot, going into Hogsmeade, sneaking into the Owlery at the Post Office, changing back into Sirius and dispatching an owl to Dumbledore.

* * *

Unnoticed by most of the school, but not all, another boy was in trouble. Draco's state of mind had not been as publicly discussed as Harry's but that was only because Draco was doing his best to make sure nothing was obvious. But to the few that thought they were close to him, it was impossible not to know that something was tearing him apart. Crabbe and Goyle sensed it - how could they not? - he hadn't entered into any pranks and tricks against the Gryffindors for weeks. Draco sighed. Pansy noticed it, simpering little bitch, and was constantly asking how he was and what she could do to help.

And, Granger noticed. She watched him like a hawk, ever since that day in the library that they had squabbled over that French book about fauns. She knew, without a doubt. Draco wondered all the time whether she had spoken to Potter about it, but decided not. Everyone in the school knew that Potter hadn't spoken to anybody for weeks, not even Granger, not even his brother-in-arms Weasley. But even so, why hadn't Granger acted on her knowledge? So in this horribly unsure situation, Draco kept up appearances. He strutted in the corridors. He made snide remarks in class. He held court at supper at the Slytherin table. But it wasn't him any more.

Whereas Harry's angst and denial had resulted in serious depression and insomnia, Draco's mind dealt with everything in cold clear reality. He had seen the dreadful state that Harry had sunk to, and felt contemptuous of him. Well, sometimes there was contempt. Other times there was...compassion. And understanding. And affection? And underlying all these things, there was attraction.

It was now undeniable.

Draco had had ample opportunity to study Harry's decline because he inexplicably felt better when he could see Harry, and so he watched him as much as he could. He would sit behind him in class, so he could stare at the messy hair and the robed back; at mealtimes he would sit in such a position so that if ever Harry made one of his very rare visits to the Great Hall, he would be able to see him; and every night he crept around and outside the castle until he spotted him, walking, walking, walking. Draco would sit somewhere he could watch him, pacing the Quidditch pitch in the starlight or clambering over rocks around the lake with his wand lighting the way, grateful for the moments of relative peace that the sight of Harry would afford him, but detesting the necessity for his actions. He often wondered why it was that Harry did not seem to be able to gain the same strength from him as Draco did from Harry. He must have just willed me out of existence, he thought. If he's denied me away to nothing, then he wouldn't ever think to look at me, so he may never have discovered. After all, he hasn't actually looked at anyone for weeks. It was at these moments that he felt closest to Harry, and felt an enormous sorrow at the sight of a boy gripped by such dreadful misery. One day, thought Draco, I am going to have to drag you out of that depression, before...oh fuck no, not that. You wouldn't be that stupid, would you, Potter? You bloody better not.

And in fact, now it wasn't inexplicable why the nearness of him affected him in this way. He knew what the matter was. He knew what was happening, what had happened. He felt awed by it and furious with it, but sort of relieved as well. There was only one way forward, and even though the idea of it was unimaginable, he at least knew that there was a way he could feel better.

But at what cost?

At best it would mean the beginning of something horribly unknown; at worst, unspeakable humiliation, devastating rejection and the end of everything he had so far ever been part of. Oh God. Hold on, Draco. There has to be a way to make this easier. Here we are, two people, caught in the same mess. One arrogant, one stubborn; but both so fiercely independent that it's surely a nonstarter from the off. But Potter, he thought, if we don't do something soon, then I am going to go mad, and you, you're so unstable at the moment you might, you might...his thoughts trailed off. He couldn't entertain the possibility.

It was unthinkable. * * *

On Saturdays, there were no lessons, which was just as well, because Seamus and Dean were well behind with their work, and the weekends offered them a chance to catch up. They didn't often take that chance though, and this Saturday was no exception.

'Where is it? Quick, where the fuck is it?' hissed Seamus as Dean was rifling through Harry's trunk. 'Come on, he could be back at any minute!'

'I don't know! It's not here, he must have hidden it somewhere else.'

'There is nowhere else. We've looked everywhere. It's got to be in there. Get out of the way and let me have a look.'

Seamus pushed Dean aside and delved into Harry's trunk, right to the bottom. It felt like an extraordinary invasion of privacy - hell, it was an extraordinary invasion of privacy - but he and Dean had now given up waiting for the mood in the Tower to lighten sufficiently for them to be able to ask Harry directly if they could borrow it. And he surely wouldn't mind: if he had been actually talking to them he was bound to say yes, he'd never denied them anything before. Shaky logic to be sure, but Seamus was now more or less convinced by it. His hand lighted on what he was looking for: a small, slim volume, handmade and bound in leather. He pulled out The Boys Book of Spells (Special Edition) and looked at it.

'Got it!' whooped Seamus.

He grinned madly and Dean laughed. 'Let's see!'

Seamus opened the book. They both crowded over it and Seamus flipped through until he found what they were looking for: Charlie Weasley's spell from Romania. 'Ha!' crowed Seamus. 'Me first!'

'No way, you Irish git. I opened the trunk. My privilege.'

'Yeah but I found it, you perv. Shove off and give me half an hour.' 'Half an hour! You don't need half an hour. Never taken you that long before, with your crappy technique. If you want half an hour, I'm definitely going first. Ten minutes and then you can have the book for as long as you want.'

'Ten minutes!' Seamus was laughing his head off. 'Ten minutes!!! You amateur! How old are you Dean? You really only want ten minutes?'

'Well, maybe fifteen,' said Dean, laughing as much as Seamus, and trying to wrest the book out of Seamus's hands. He managed to grab hold of it and pulled it hard, and the two boys - both laughing yet unwilling to give up the book - fell into a heap as they squabbled over it.

'Give it up, Deano you tosser!'

'Hey let go or...'

The sound of the book ripping in half tore through the room and silenced both boys, who stared at each other with the look of someone suddenly caught in a highly compromising position.

'Oh shit,' they both said softly.

As a single page fluttered slowly to the floor, the door opened. The piece of parchment drifted to a halt at Harry's feet.

'Oh shit,' they both said softly.

Harry stooped down and picked up the page, then walked over to Seamus and Dean. They remained in their rather awkward heap on the floor as they each silently passed him one half of the book. Harry held all the parts of the book in his left hand and tapped them with his wand, cleared his throat and muttered Reparo. The book miraculously rebound itself in a sudden whipping of paper and thread. Harry walked over to his trunk, dropped the book back inside and then knelt down and whispered an incantation over it, so softly that neither Seamus nor Dean could make out which locking spell he had used. There was a difficult uneasiness as the two boys stood and all three of them faced each other. 'Why didn't you just ask?' said Harry without emotion.

'Because, Harry, you haven't spoken to us for six weeks,' said Seamus boldly.

'So then what made you think you had the right to go though my things?' came Harry's response, just as blandly as before.

'Because, we thought, well, I thought, that had we been speaking, you would have said yes. But as we weren't speaking, you couldn't say either yes or no. So, I kind of took the yes as unspoken, and convinced Dean. Like, you know, as if you'd been away on holiday and we wanted to borrow something', said Seamus, aware that his thinking seemed much more dubious when it was voiced aloud.

'Besides', said Dean, 'it's not as if it's secret. We know what's in the book. We wrote it, if you remember...'

'Yes', said Harry, his eyes itching, 'I remember of course. It was a present, when...' he trailed off.

'When... when we were all mates, Harry,' ventured Seamus. 'When in fact you were one of the best mates any lad could ask for. When Neville and us used to enjoy your company better than anyone's. And when Ron used to get encouragement and energy and love from being your mate. Now he just seethes and storms and, when it gets too much, goes and cries on Hermione's shoulder. But you wouldn't know that, Harry, because you don't speak to us any more. And you don't care.'

Harry was silent for some time. The meeting with Sirius from which he was just returned had been emotionally draining enough, and he did not want to be in the company of Seamus and Dean at all. He should just walk away. But he couldn't. Something was tugging at him inside. He hated to think that Seamus and Dean thought he didn't care about them. The words formed themselves on his lips without his really being aware of them. 'But I do care, Seamus,' he said eventually, almost inaudibly, and a single tear leaked from his right eye. He brushed it away hastily, lest they should see this sign of weakness. 'I never stopped caring about all of you, it's just, I can't be that Harry any more...'

Seamus leaned over and gently touched Harry on the shoulder. He mouthed 'Go and get Ron' to Dean, who left the room swiftly and quietly.

'So why, Harry,' he continued, 'have you been behaving like a total bastard?'

* * *

The owl arrived at Dumbledore's office not ten minutes after Sirius had dispatched it. A clever and eager tawny, it was always delighted to get a job that meant going up the school, and to get to go to the head man himself, that was indeed an honour. Dumbledore looked up from his desk as he heard the tapping on the window, and the grateful owl fluttered around the room, showing off slightly, after he had let it in.

'Come here, little one', smiled Dumbledore, 'let's see what news you bring.'

The owl landed lightly on Dumbledore's wrist and offered him the note, gratefully accepting a small treat that the old man held out for him. Then as he read the scribbled message, and let the lively owl back out of the window, his face turned thoughtful.

'What is it, Headmaster?' asked Snape, his oily voice managing to find a modicum of concern. 'Something serious?'

'Perhaps, yes perhaps, Severus. Tell me, how is Draco Malfoy?'

Snape was mildly taken aback. 'Is that connected with this note?'

Dumbledore paused, politely waiting for his original question to be answered. 'Different. Quiet. Putting energy into work. Moody. Insomniac as well I think. Generally adolescent. Why?'

'How do you know he's suffering from insomnia?'

'I have seen him around the castle at night. In the grounds sometimes as well.'

'Really? I don't recall any house point deductions for that misdemeanour in respect of Mr Malfoy. There was recently a fifty point penalty for Mr Potter for the same crime, though, if I recall...'

Snape shuffled uneasily but Dumbledore, having made his point, did not leave Snape to wallow in discomfort, and continued more or less immediately.

'So. Generally adolescent.'

Dumbledore let the words hang in the air as he picked up the Orbis from his desk and watched the tiny fireflies reflect the intensity of feeling that surrounded Harry and Draco. He turned to McGonagall.

'Minerva, what about Harry. How is he coping?'

'He is not, Albus. He is undernourished, exhausted, depressed and despairing. Crippled by insecurity and insomnia. Dangerously low, and unstable. I am desperately worried. We must do something.'

'That is more or less what this note from Sirius says'.

'Sirius? Sirius Black?' snorted Snape. 'How long has he been around again?'

'Ever since this current business between young Potter and Malfoy was brought to my attention'. Dumbledore fingered the Orbis again. 'He is helping at my invitation, Severus.'

'What business between Potter and Malfoy?' grimaced Snape, trying to hide his curiosity. 'Severus, are you blind?' McGonagall's voice had a hard edge. 'Harry has hardly been himself for five or six weeks or so. He does not speak to anybody in the school. The only conversation he gets is once a week with his godfather. He has not eaten nor slept for weeks. Honestly, Severus, you teach him as often as I do. Have you not noticed?'

'I do not pay any attention to the behaviour of my students outside my classes. Their adolescent adjustments are not my business as their potions teacher.'

Dumbledore watched the squabbling between his two most senior members of staff, thought about interjecting to stop it, but then sat back with the Orbis and decided to let it run its course.

'Adolescent adjustments? And you a Head of House, Severus. If you had any care for your students you would have noticed that both Potter and Malfoy are in the grip of something that neither of them can handle. Malfoy is better at hiding it, that's all. And I object most strongly to the fifty point deduction you imposed upon Potter. His housemates should not be made to suffer for this, especially as Potter is doing all he can to cope, in his own way that is. I have seen both Potter and Malfoy out around the castle night after night, and notice Severus that I have never penalised Malfoy in this way.'

'Presumably because it's difficult to punish students while you're in feline form, Minerva.'

Snape had a distrust of Animagi that he had never been able to overcome. But his comment riled McGonagall to an extent that he had not anticipated.

'The difference between you and I, Severus, is that although I do often, and especially recently, go out at night around the castle as a cat, I do so for two particular reasons. One, I am extremely concerned about Harry and I find it easier to check he is all right if I can follow him closely. Two, the other cats in the castle nearly always witness everything and are a good source of news; indeed Mrs Norris and Granger's cat Crookshanks are excellent colleagues in this respect. Whereas you, Severus, patrol the corridors so you can penalise. And only penalise non-Slytherins, at that.'

'Perhaps if you had let me know of whatever this impending crisis is...'

'Case conference!' cried Dumbledore, 'is that what they call it? You're right, Minerva. Can't leave it alone any more; I'm worried about both of them. The three of us, Sirius Black, Poppy Pomfrey, my office, tomorrow morning at ten. I will owl Sirius immediately. Minerva, please bring Severus up to date with this whole business.'

Dumbledore smiled benignly at both of them and the meeting, it seemed, was over.

* * *

Dean rushed down to the common room and found Ron and Hermione talking quietly in a corner with Neville.

'Ron, upstairs, quick,' said Dean quietly, so as not to let the rest of the common room hear. 'It looks like... maybe Harry has begun to talk. He's with Seamus now.'

'And why should I go rushing off at the first moment that Harry summons me? Fucking hell Dean, I've spent enough time waiting around for him.'

'OK Ron, it's your call. But, it's not like that. Harry hasn't summoned you. It's just that Seamus seems to have finally made some connection with him, and he thought that you might like to be there. Harry doesn't even know I've come to get you.'

Hermione gripped Ron's hand, whether out of her own hope, or happiness, or relief, or Ron's, she didn't know. Ron spoke to the group.

'OK. Let's hear what he's got to say.'

But as they all trooped over to the stairs, Harry came down them, avoided all their eyes, and left the common room. Seamus appeared straight after him, and watched Harry exit the room. 'Sorry team', said Seamus sadly, 'thought he was going to talk. But he just clammed up and left, true to form.'

'Right', said Hermione, taking charge. 'Case conference. We need to talk, and I'll start. Boys' Dorm, five minutes. Neville, find Ginny; Ron, Seamus, how about a trip to Dobby to get us some snacks to see us through?'

'Sure', said Ron. 'Herm, do you know what this is all about?'

'I'm afraid I think I do, yes.'

* * *

Saturdays were always harder than the regular days of the week.

Without the distraction of lessons, Draco was left to stew for hours at a time. And lying on his bed in the Slytherin fifth year boys' dormitory that Saturday morning after the weather turned, Draco was certainly stewing. As far as these things were quantifiable, he was feeling worse than usual, although 'worse than usual' had ceased to have any real meaning since 'usual' itself had become 'intolerable' some weeks previously.

And as Draco was caught in the same emotional vortex that he was every day - a cycle of psychological need and denial that Draco would analyse and understand then try to refute - his responses were also the same every day, to the point that he knew how long he would stew for, at what point he would decide that he could not tolerate the dormitory any more, where he would begin his search for Potter, and in which order he would scour the castle and grounds until he found him. And then he would watch him from afar, the sight of him easing the need a little, but highlighting the denial, until the sight of Harry would no longer be any comfort, because all it did was tell him that he wanted more than the sight of him. And that morning Draco was just reaching the point at which he would stop stewing and go searching, when he suddenly thought fuck it and decided to try something else that day.

He brushed his hair, using his wand with a styling charm to create just the kind of floppy blond sexiness he knew would turn heads, cleaned his teeth and put on a smart bottle green cashmere sweater his mother had sent him, together with some snug fitting black moleskin jeans and a pair of dragonhide boots. He swirled his heaviest black winter cloak around his shoulders and left the dormitory with a purposeful stride, enjoying the masculine thud of his boots on the stone floors, and increased his walking speed until the cloak billowed behind him pleasingly. One of the large mirrors in Slytherin house told him all he needed to know: he looked dashing, charming, stylish, irresistible. Yes, hopefully irresistible. The mirror whistled her approval softly, and the inner enjoyment he got from the whistle seeped through to an outer smile, and Draco found himself using facial muscles he had forgotten he had. The very act of using these muscles seemed to make him smile wider, and at the next mirror he caught sight of a young man he almost didn't recognise. Fuck, you look good Malfoy, he thought, nearly voicing it aloud.

'Ooh, Draco, who's the lucky girl?' cooed Pansy as he swept through the common room on his way out to the grounds.

'Not you babe,' he said, emphasising the bass in his voice to give the common room's fleeting image of him a few extra ounces of sexiness. 'In fact, not any girl at all,' he continued under his breath as he left the room.

* * *

Shit, that had been close.

He had almost cracked when talking to Seamus. Somehow Seamus had just got under his skin enough to begin to coax him away from his plan, but luckily he had managed to force himself to leave before that happened. And good thing too, because it had looked like Ron and the others were just on their way upstairs, and he knew he would not have had the strength to resist all of them together. Especially Ron.

Harry always found the time on a Saturday after he had spoken with Sirius the most difficult time of the week to fill, a time when he found it even more stressful being around the others. So after leaving Seamus in the dormitory he naturally headed out to the lake where one spot on the far side had become a favourite place to sit and think in solitude. Solitude was a funny thing. You could live in it all week, avoiding contact with people and dodging difficult situations, but it was only when you actually were geographically displaced from those same people and situations that real solitude kicked in. And Harry had found that he liked such solitude, for some quite revealing reasons.

However much Harry acknowledged to himself that the acute depression he was suffering was real, and however much he knew that to ignore it was potentially dangerous, he seemed to gain a dark sense of enjoyment and satisfaction from allowing himself to descend into ever-deeper pits of despair. Like, to walk close to the edge of a cliff, to flirt with danger itself was on some level exciting, exhilarating. And sometimes when he was out by the lake, either at the weekends during the day, or in the week at night, Harry used such solitude as the location afforded to let him contemplate his own mortality. As he stared into the dark deep icy waters of the lake he let himself sit on the edge of life and death itself, knowing that just one moment of bravery could see him arc gracefully into the depths and not be troubled by the whole business of being in love with Malfoy again. It had become a delicious, addictive sensation: to flirt with the ultimate danger, to allow the depression to gain so great a hold that such an act seemed logical. And even though Harry was aware that it was only the depression that made him feel this way, and that this issue was not important enough to die for, he also knew that it was only in these moments of pure solitude, when he allowed his mind to think these unthinkable thoughts, that he felt truly alive - alive in the same way that he used to feel when he was wheeling in great free circles on his Firebolt.

And as so often in the recent past, Harry sat among the rocks on the far side of the lake, looking at the castle, and at the mountains and forests beyond, and staring deep into the eternity of the water, and thinking of Malfoy, about what he would love to say to him, and what he would love to do with him, if only he and Malfoy were different people and the world were a different place. It was bitterly cold, but rather than huddle his cloak closer to him and get lower into the rocks, Harry forced himself to stop shivering and tried to allow his body temperature to drop accordingly so that he did not notice the cold. The first few flakes of snow of the winter swirled around his head and began to fall silently into the lake, each flake landing gently on the surface of the water and effortlessly becoming one with its alluring darkness. Time ceased to have any meaning. There was just the snow, and the cold, and the water, and Malfoy.

'Hello Potter.' The voice came from behind him, and forced Harry's mind to drift back to the here and now. Even so, it was some moments before he could place the voice.

'Hello Malfoy,' said Harry, without turning around. 'What are you doing out here?'

Harry noticed that there was no leap of joy in his heart, nor any surge of hatred.

'I was just out taking a stroll and saw you sitting here,' came Malfoy's response. 'Do you mind if I sit down?'

Harry turned round and looked at him. He looked beyond beautiful, his clothes, his face, his teeth, the snow settling in his perfect hair.

'If you like,' said Harry. 'But why do you want to?'

'I'm not sure, to be honest,' said Draco brushing the snow off a rock a little distance away from Harry. 'Maybe because I've seen you sitting here before, and it looks a good spot'.

Draco sat down and there was silence for a little while. Harry felt slightly edgy. What on earth is he doing here? Why is he being civil? Is he trying to trick me into something? But he can't be, because he can't possibly know what I think about him...Oh God why is he here, in my own place, ridiculing me in my own peace?

What is he thinking about? thought Draco. Has he really no idea what I think about him? But despite this slight anxiety, Draco felt better than he had for weeks, being as close to Harry as he was then, even bearing in mind the temperature.

'Would you like one of these?' Draco's voiced seemed louder than necessary coming after several minutes of nothing. Harry looked at him; he was holding a packet of cigarettes.

'Malfoy, why are you being nice to me?'

'Would you prefer it if I were rude?'

'At least I would know where I stood.'

'Hmmm, it's difficult not knowing where you stand isn't it?'

Harry did not really know what to make of this exchange and didn't reply, but Draco was still holding out the packet of cigarettes. 'So, would you like one or not?'

'I don't know. I've never had one before. They say they kill you.'

'Yeah I know, I kinda like that about them.'

'OK'. Harry took one. 'What do I do?'

'Just suck gently while I light the end. You'll probably cough at first, but it gets better.'

Harry held the cigarette to his lips and Draco took out, not his wand, but a bronze Zippo cigarette lighter that he flipped open expertly and struck to produce a bright dancing flame which he held close to Harry's face. Harry dipped the end of the cigarette into the fire and duly coughed a little.

'I don't think I've done it right,' said Harry.

'Here, it's not lit properly. Let me.' Draco took the cigarette from Harry and held it to his own lips, lit it, then passed it back to Harry. It was an astonishingly intimate gesture, but neither boy noticed any unease in the other. Draco lit his own, watching Harry. Harry thought that the cigarette tasted hot and smoky, but not unpleasant.

'Are you a regular smoker? I thought it was a Muggle habit,' ventured Harry after another short silence.

'It is mainly; well, cigarettes are at least. Lots of old wizards have pipes though. And no, I'm hardly a hardened smoker. I've had' - he looked into the packet and counted the remainder - 'eight in my whole life. No, just seven; you've had that one of course.'

'Blimey,' said Harry a few moments later, 'I feel slightly lightheaded.'

'Yeah', said Draco. 'Nice, isn't it? Nicotine is a relaxant or something. Good for creating a few stress-free moments. Not easy to do it in the castle though. Have to get outside. Outside is better though, a lot of the time, even without a cigarette. I notice you are often out in the grounds.'

'I like it out here. Fewer people. Sometimes I come out at night. Actually, most nights. It's beautiful out here in the moonlight.'

'Hmmm, I know.'

Exactly what Draco knew, whether he knew about Harry coming out at night, or whether Draco himself knew how beautiful it was, Harry didn't ask. He didn't feel he needed to. He was feeling more and more relaxed as the minutes ticked by, but whether it was the cigarette, or Draco's presence, he wasn't sure. He looked out over the lake again, and stubbed his cigarette out on a rock. Still looking away from Draco, Harry spoke again.

'Well, this is a first. Two firsts in fact: a cigarette and a conversation with you.'

'Yes. Strange eh?' Draco stubbed out his own cigarette. 'And not at all disagreeable. Neither the cigarette nor the conversation.' He watched Harry looking out over towards the castle. 'Anyway. It's cold. I'm going in. Don't stay too long, you'll freeze.' Draco stood up. Harry turned to face him. 'OK. Thanks, Malfoy.'

'Thanks, Potter.' Draco shook the snow from his hair, pulled his cloak in and walked away.

Harry went back to looking out over the lake, and he watched Draco's progress on the walk back to the castle. He felt relaxed and at ease, and he hadn't felt that for a very long time.

CHAPTER SIX

~

THE COUNCIL OF HERMIONE

Ron's bed was crowded. He and Hermione sat at the pillow end, crossed legged, leaning back against the head. Ginny lay propped up on her elbows at Ron's feet, and Neville sat opposite her on a chair jammed next to the bed with his feet up on the covers in front of Hermione. Dean and Seamus had taken pillows from their own beds to cushion their backs as they each sat against one of the posts at the foot of the four-poster. The hangings were tied back out of the way, but even so it was a cosy and intimate gathering. A pile of cakes and sandwiches lay in the middle of all of them, together with a couple of flagons of pumpkin juice. Once they were all settled, Hermione called the case conference to order.

'Right gang. Listen to me. I suggest that I do the talking first, telling you what I know, then what I suspect, and then if anyone's got anything to add we can take it from there.'

'Oooh, this is exciting,' said Ginny. 'I feel like we're planning a great adventure. Seamus, can I tuck my feet under yours?'

The group all chorused their approval to this request, including Hermione who smiled at the look that was passed between Seamus and Ginny. Once all feet and legs and arms were tucked comfortably wherever was appropriate, Hermione began to talk. Everyone listened.

'First the facts. Harry is not himself. The evidence for this is chiefly as follows: he has not spoken voluntarily to any of us for a number of weeks.'

There was silent reflection on this sad fact.

'More than not talk to us, he has actually ignored us when we have tried to talk to him. I know we have all tried. We surely all recall the occasion near the very beginning of this sorry episode when Ron tried everything to get Harry to talk. And then all the times in between then and now, all as fruitless as the rest.'

More silent thought. Hermione continued.

'And it's not just us. I've been watching Harry closely for ages. He hasn't spoken to anybody at all. Not even Hagrid. Except, on Saturdays, he goes to the Shrieking Shack. This gives me comfort for two reasons. One, I expect he's meeting Sirius, and two, he has never got into trouble for leaving the school grounds in this way, which makes me think he is going with Dumbledore's blessing. The thought that Dumbledore is also on the case is a good one, and I have another reason to think that, more of which shortly.'

'You're right,' said Ron. 'He always disappears on Saturdays. How did you know where he was going?'

'Well, I first saw him leave that day we were cleaning up the mess in here. He just walked out bold as brass, coming back several hours later, carrying what I'll now swear was a food parcel. I noticed he went the following week again, so the week after that I followed him. I didn't actually see Sirius, or anybody at all, but I still think that Harry has no other reason to go there.'

'Unless he's just going to be alone,' said Seamus.

'Yes, possibly. But if he were just going for solitude, why go to the same place at the same time every week? It must be a rendezvous. Besides, I have written to Sirius twice outlining my worries. And so did Ginny remember, that day he fainted in the Great Hall and you carried him to the hospital wing, Ron. So we know Sirius isn't oblivious to the problem.'

'Oh yes,' said Ginny. 'I'd forgotten that. And anyway, who else does Harry have in his whole life other than us and Hagrid and Sirius?'

'I've written to Sirius too,' said Ron. 'With little result I have to add.' Hermione smiled at him. 'We should have coordinated our efforts. Well anyway, it's got to be Sirius he's talking to. There is nobody else. Although, I did wonder about your parents, to be honest. I think your mum is rather fond of Harry. He might have turned to her.'

'More than rather fond,' said Ron. 'Mum worries about him like she does all of us. I think she sort of thinks of herself as a stand-in mother for him. Especially since the Triwiz debacle.'

'No go,' said Ginny. 'I wrote to mum about it a few weeks ago. She said she hasn't heard a word from Harry since the summer.'

'Hmmm, we've all been thinking along similar lines I see,' said Hermione.

'Seamus and I went to talk to Hagrid only last week. He kept asking after Harry,' said Dean.

'Blimey, lots of duplication of effort I see. I've been to Hagrid too,' said Hermione.

'Me too,' said Ginny.

'Me too,' said Ron.

'He must wonder what on earth's going on,' said Neville.

'Well, we're all wondering that,' said Seamus.

'Actually I went to speak to Madam Pomfrey,' said Neville. 'I know she's bound by an oath of confidentiality and all that, but I was just hoping to find out if Harry had been to see her for any reason at all. She didn't think she was giving anything away, but she did let slip that she hadn't seen Harry since that day he fainted.'

'Oh,' said Hermione.

Another pause. 'Other facts. You may or may not believe me but Harry has dined with us for a total of only five times in the last five weeks. I have kept track. I went to see Dobby but he was rather protective of Harry and wouldn't let on if Harry had been down to the kitchens for food on his own.'

'He told me though,' said Ron. 'About twice or three times a week over the last month. Eats like a pig for five minutes then leaves.'

'Even so,' said Hermione, slightly piqued that Dobby had not divulged this to her, 'he's losing weight drastically, and he doesn't have much to lose to begin with.'

'Well, without being crude, Hermione,' said Seamus, 'you only get to see him with his robes on. We see him undress each night. He's as thin as a rake. He looks awful.'

'All bones and sadness,' said Neville.

'And then there's sleep,' said Hermione. 'You will know this better than me and Ginny. But he looks like he doesn't get much.'

'He goes to bed OK,' said Ron, 'so I don't know if there's a problem there.'

'Ron, you can't possibly know about Harry's sleep patterns,' said Dean. 'You fall asleep instantly and snore till breakfast.'

'I do not,' said Ron, slightly smiling, as he knew this to be true.

'Yes you do Ron,' said Neville. 'I can tell you that Harry goes to bed every night and then lies awake for a while. Then he gets up and goes out. And he doesn't use the cloak anymore. He comes back about 4 or 5 in the morning, then sometimes sleeps fitfully for a couple of hours. He is absolutely exhausted, but doesn't, or can't, sleep like the rest of us do. It is very sad indeed. Beyond sad.'

'Have any of you ever followed him?' said Hermione.

'I haven't,' said Dean. 'But I've seen him in the moonlight from the window, pacing the Quidditch pitch.' 'Alone?' asked Hermione.

'Oh yes, totally,' said Dean.

'So, no sleep, no food, no human contact,' continued Hermione. 'Also. He pulled out of the Quidditch team. We all know how much Harry loves flying, loves Quidditch. It's in his blood. I was astonished that he pulled out of the team.'

This needed no comment from the group. The vivid memories of the Gryffindor v Hufflepuff match were still fresh in all their minds, most especially Ron's.

'So, we know all those things. But now here are some things that you may not know.' Hermione had the complete attention of the group. 'It all started the day of the Care of Magical Creatures lesson when Hagrid got that herd of fauns in. If I'm right in what I think, this is highly significant.'

'That was also the day that he fainted,' said Ginny. 'The day I first wrote to Sirius, and the last day Harry went to the hospital wing.'

'Hmmm, and the day I was put on the right track by Dumbledore,' mused Hermione enigmatically.

'And that was also the day...' began Neville.

'...When we gave him the book,' finished Ron.

'What book?' asked Hermione and Ginny in unison.

There was a silence in which all the boys smirked a little.

'It was a present for Harry,' said Ron. 'From all of us.'

'We wrote it,' said Seamus, 'with contributions from others, the twins and Charlie Weasley to name a few.'

'But what's in it?' persisted Hermione. 'It could be very important.' 'I really don't think you'd be interested,' said Ron, awkwardly. 'It was...boys' stuff.'

'You mean you're not man enough to own up to whatever smut it contains,' said Ginny.

'Exactly', said Hermione, grinning slightly.

After a pause, Neville ventured, 'I don't think any of us would be totally comfortable telling you what is in it. It might be easier just to show it to you.'

'It's locked in his trunk,' said Seamus. 'And we don't know the locking spell. Is it really important that you know?'

'Yes', said Hermione, seriously.

There was another pause while all the boys looked at each other.

'I can get it.' said Dean. 'Just call me the Artful Dodger'.

'Who?' said Ron, perplexed.

'Muggle book,' offered Hermione, by way of explanation.

Dean left the bed and went to Harry's trunk. Within two minutes he had opened it and found the book lying on top just where Harry had dropped it shortly before. He passed it to Ron, who reluctantly gave it to Hermione.

The boys found the few minutes that the girls flipped through the book excruciating. Hermione had a look of surprise and amusement somehow penetrating her tightly pursed lips. Ginny was sort of giggling and sort of not.

'So,' said Hermione, trying to adopt a matter-of-fact tone, 'this is a guide to magically enhanced masturbation.' She and Ginny both goggled at each other.

'Blimey,' said Ginny, looking at one of the pages. 'Is that even possible?' 'My God,' continued Hermione, 'I just do not understand boys. Why on earth is there a need for such a book? Ginny, what do you make of this?'

'Erm, it's frankly too graphic for me to contemplate. And worse still, it contains contributions from four of my six brothers, which is conjuring squicky images best left well alone.'

Ron squirmed awkwardly.

'Yick!' said Hermione. 'Nuff said, Ginny. Pass it back here.'

'Do you lot really talk about that kind of stuff?' said Ginny.

'Well, no, not really,' said Ron, an odd shade of scarlet which sat uncomfortably with his hair.

'That was the whole point,' said Seamus. 'We don't talk about it. Not ordinarily anyway. That's why we wrote it down.'

Ginny didn't really grasp the subtlety of this distinction, but Hermione was still flipping through the book. Each rustle of the pages turning was almost unbearable to the boys. Then Hermione said, 'Well, I am glad I have seen it. It makes a lot of sense now I put this piece into the overall puzzle.'

'Does it?' said Ginny.

'How?' asked two or three of the boys together.

Hermione paused and then carried on carefully. 'This must be what you lot were all talking and laughing about on the day of the Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Tell me, if the question isn't too delicate, why was such a book necessary? Why did the four of you, with accomplices, decide that this would be a good present for Harry? Isn't he a boy like you? Didn't he know?'

There was silence. Then Ron spoke, very softly.

'Hermione, despite all the difficulty and hardship and pain and downright nastiness that Harry has caused over the last few weeks, if I answered that question, if any of us did, it would be a horrible betrayal of him. When that book was written and presented, it was because of an astonishing honesty and openness that existed among all of us in the dormitory, and the very act of bringing that book into existence was not done for the sake of smut or filth, but because Harry was our mate. There was no embarrassment or anything. Well, maybe a little' - all the boys smiled - 'but the point is we can't tell the circumstances that led to the idea of the book, because it's just not right. He would be mortified to know that you even knew of its existence, let alone had seen it, and I won't lay him bare here and now by telling you why we gave it to him.'

It was Hermione's turn to reflect. She passed the book back to Dean, who went and secured it in Harry's trunk. 'OK, I understand. Boys' Code of Ethics. The girls have a similar code of course, and neither Ginny nor I would dream of going as far in divulging things as you have today.' The two girls grinned at each other. Ron's interest was again acute, but he said nothing. Hermione continued softly, 'I have to say that he is incredibly lucky to have friends like you lot.'

'Pity he doesn't see it that way,' said Ron.

'I think he does,' said Hermione. 'I really do think he does.'

'Hermione, what did you mean by the book making sense in the larger puzzle?' asked Neville.

'Well, to tell you that I am going to have to surmise a few things. You needn't comment, that way Harry's honour and privacy will be maintained. But, I suspect that you gave Harry that book because he didn't know about magically assisted masturbation. "Cretinously cute" was your exact phrase if I remember, Ron. And don't think that I am scornful of that because that's a lot of what Harry's charm and appeal actually is, his not knowing things. Just answer me one question that won't compromise Harry. How much more intense is the magical kind than the regular kind?'

'Erm...' ventured Seamus, at the same time both embarrassed and amused at hearing Hermione say the word masturbation, 'potentially infinitely; depending on how good your wand skills are, and the strength of your innate magic.'

'Oh,' said Hermione. 'Well we know Harry's innate magic is very powerful. He can resist the Imperius curse, and he can summon a mature patronus. And he is exceptionally susceptible to Dementors, because he still carries some of his mother's innate magic. And in the regular classroom sense, his wand skills are excellent. Oh dear; the poor boy.'

'Er, let us in on this, eh, Herm?' said Ron.

'Sorry, yes, back to my theory. You gave Harry the means to achieve - what would have for him been - overpoweringly intense feelings. Especially as, to him, I am guessing - no need for you to say anything! - that they would have been entirely new. But the problem was the timing of this gift, not the gift itself. Because on the day of the Care of Magical Creatures lesson, Harry was in a highly vulnerable emotional state, although I didn't realise that till afterwards. And I bet he didn't either. For evidence of that vulnerability, we have his fainting.'

'Herm, I just do not see what you are getting at,' said Ron. 'We didn't give Harry the book until the evening after the lesson, when he came out of the hospital wing.

'Yes, but if I am right, then what happened in the lesson is still having its effect now. A few hours after the lesson would have made no difference. Better would have been for you to give it to him the day before, although this is all with hindsight. We can't change any of it, and I suspect that the book just acted as a catalyst rather than a cause. Presumably Harry didn't actually er, 'use' the book until the next day at the earliest, but the writing was already on the wall. It had probably been there for years. Coupled with the extraordinary intensity the book would have helped him to, and what happened in the lesson, it's no wonder he has reacted strangely.'

'Herm,' said Ginny, 'you have completely lost all of us. Go slower, and don't assume that we are taking things for granted. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.' There were murmurs of assent from around the bed.

Hermione sighed. 'OK, but don't interrupt. You are all going to find it quite difficult to accept the implications of what I think I know. Just listen, and try to understand.'

More noises of approval. Hermione started.

'Fauns are interesting creatures. Crude, but interesting. I know this from three sources. First, from the library; I went there immediately after the lesson because, let's face it, that was one of the most extraordinary lessons we have ever had here, even by Hagrid's standards, and I wanted to know more about why they reacted the way they did. In short, I wanted to know what had triggered the orgy.'

'And what was it?' said Seamus, but Ginny kicked him to shut him up.

'Second, from Dumbledore. Remember I went to see him after Harry fainted. He obviously knew loads loads more than he was letting on about the lesson and Harry's fainting. Dumbledore himself directed me to the books on fauns in the library, saying that you could learn a lot from fauns, and sometimes some very interesting and unexpected things indeed. Third, from Hagrid. When I had read all I could, I went and spoke to him. After all, he knows loads about all sorts of creatures. And everything I learned about fauns added up to the same thing about Harry.'

The Gryffindors on the bed were totally silent, hanging on her every word.

'But before I tell you about the fauns, you need to know a little about something quite different. About love. Specifically, about love between people with innate magic. In the Muggle world, love is a hit-and-miss business. You just have to hope that you meet the right person at the right time, and love can take ages, perhaps years, to manifest itself fully, or it can be evident immediately and fade shortly afterwards. In the magical world, this of course is also true; but there is another aspect. The innate magic of two magical people can bind together so strongly that it creates couples who become stronger than the sum of their parts.' Hermione looked at Ron and Ginny.

'Your parents, Ron, Ginny, are a classic example. You've probably heard the story of how they met so many times it doesn't mean anything any more, but I've only heard it once, last year when I was staying with you for the Quidditch World Cup, and when I think about it now, it is immensely telling. Your mum said that she just knew, the second she first saw your father, that he was the one. And he knew it too. And they were both young, at school here of course, but it didn't mean that what they were feeling was immature or adolescent in any way.'

'Mum's always telling that story,' said Ginny. 'We just tell her to stop being soppy.'

'I'm glad now that I heard it,' said Hermione. 'OK, that can happen in the Muggle world too, although very rarely. But for the Weasleys, both being purebloods, their magic bonded immeasurably strongly, making them emotionally perceptive, mildly telepathic, totally dependent on the physical presence of the other for their well-being. Effectively they became, magically, a single unit. They can use each other's wands, feel each other's moods, sense when the other is in danger, achieve magical feats they were not previously capable of, all because they are now both drawing on an exponentially enhanced pool of innate magic.'

'Mum can tell which room of the house Dad is in,' said Ron. 'And he can tell when one of her spells has gone wrong. Funny, I've never thought about it before.'

'Really? That's very interesting, in fact,' said Hermione, breaking her train of thought for a minute. 'And it may be unique to them, because the exact science of it is extremely complex and I think it is probably different for each couple. But for now it is enough to know that when two magical people meet, there is the potential for their magical selves to bind together irrespective of what the rational mind is saying. We know other magically bound couples of course, and I suspect that Harry's parents themselves were such.' Hermione paused and took a sip of pumpkin juice. The mention of Harry's own parents in this context was particularly poignant.

'Fauns act as a barometer of this magical attraction, and they can sense the auras surrounding magical people as clearly as if they were visible, in fact to fauns, such attraction-auras are visible. Apparently they are even colour coded, with crimson being the strongest possible match. Also, in totally exceptional cases of deep love between magical people, the 'crimson cloud' can actually become visible to the human eye. Your mother in fact spoke of it herself, although I don't know if she expected me to understand its significance at the time. What's more, fauns cannot help but react when they encounter particularly well-matched and vibrant auras. The nature of such a reaction is nearly always a spreading of sympathetic joy, or lust if you like, throughout the entire herd. They feed on this love energy as much as they do real food. This perceptive ability, and the resulting orgies, is the very essence of fauns.'

'You had that book, Herm, on the day of the lesson!' said Ginny. 'The Crimson Cloud or something. We looked at it at supper, when Harry fainted.'

'Yes. And it is just about the most interesting book I have ever read. And it was also by far the most relevant of all the books I looked at that day, or since.'

'Blimey,' said Ron. 'Imagine the library actually being useful for once!'

'Consequently,' continued Hermione, ignoring him totally, 'exposing a crowd of adolescents to a herd of fauns is a potentially dangerous exercise, although not quite as risky as you'd think, as fauns are not fooled by your average passing teenage crush or any effects of surplus hormones.'

Despite the seriousness of the moment, there was some giggling, during which Ginny wriggled her feet under Seamus's legs.

'However, Hagrid knew a thing or two about this, and in order to eradicate the risk of a dangerous full-blown faun orgy, he sent us into the paddock in single-sex pairs, knowing that if there were any potential magical couplings in the group, they would be left to develop at their own rate rather than be forced into the open by the fauns' reactions. But Hagrid had overlooked one thing. He watched all the couples go into the paddock and they were indeed all single-sex pairs, except for the last two. He then split up me and Harry and paired us differently. It was Harry's faun, Dixter, that started the orgy, in reaction, Hagrid says, to the strongest love-aura Dixter had ever sensed. Vivid crimson, he told Hagrid afterwards.'

Hermione took a deep breath.

'And on that afternoon, Harry's partner was Draco Malfoy.'

There was utter silence as this began to sink in. Hermione gave them time to adjust to the fact, but there were no comments forthcoming, and she carried on.

'I am certain that at that point, neither boy had any idea of what had happened or what had caused it. Also, until that time, and possibly still, Harry despised Malfoy. But this is not that surprising on closer inspection. The fact is that, like it or not, Harry and Malfoy are destined to be a couple as close and as loving as the Weasleys, but given the enmity that has existed between them since they first met, neither is about to let that happen, especially if they are not aware of it.'

'More than enmity,' said Neville. 'It's disturbing, the level at which that animosity is maintained. I don't know how they find the energy to fuel the acrimony so heatedly. It's like the existence of the ill-feeling is itself some kind of driving force in both their lives.'

'Exactly Neville,' continued Hermione. 'And let's think about how they met and what happened. On the Hogwarts Express on the first day of our first year, Malfoy offered Harry his hand in friendship and Harry refused it. He refused it because Malfoy had just insulted the friend he had just made: you, Ron. You hate Malfoy because of the silly blood feud that goes back years between your two families. Harry hated him because you did. Harry had no reason to hate Malfoy himself. Not then, not when he didn't know about Death Eaters and their role in his parents' deaths.'

'It is not a silly blood feud,' said Ron. 'If you knew some of the things Lucius Malfoy has--'

Hermione raised her hand sharply as a sign to stop. Interruptions were obviously so unwelcome at this point that she couldn't even find the words to object. Ron felt a little stupid and shut up.

'It makes more sense if you know that - as only Harry and Malfoy, and I think, me and Ron know - that on the train that day was not the first time Harry and Malfoy had met. They had both been in Madam Malkin's robe shop on Diagon Alley about a month before, selecting their new robes for Hogwarts. On that occasion, there was no actual hatred. Certainly they did not hit it off well; Harry told us afterwards when he realised who the boy had been, that even from the very start he seemed cold and arrogant, and was already - at that age! - voicing his father's opinions about letting Muggle children into Hogwarts.'

Hermione consciously slowed down and let each snippet of information hang in the air, so the assembled Council could watch them assemble themselves rather than have to piece it all together in haste.

'But despite this, there was no malice or hatred between them,' she repeated. 'Malfoy did not know who Harry was, and Harry did not really have a reason to hate Malfoy. It was only when they met on the train that Malfoy knew Harry would be better as an ally to him than an adversary, and that Harry felt indignant on your behalf, Ron.'

The significance of that moment all those years previously began to dawn on the group. It was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.

'And in that moment, that one refused handshake, the love that would ordinarily have started to grow as their innate magic bonded and combined, got twisted as the 'rational' minds got involved, and the coin that bears the love-hate thing got flipped over to the hate side. And as the emotional intensity between them increased over the years, it increased as loathing, until Harry was worried by how much he hated Malfoy, and until Malfoy's only reason for existing became to bring down great, virtuous, honourable Harry Potter. Until, as you say, Neville, the existence of the ill-feeling itself became some kind of driving force in both their lives.'

Ginny made some kind of gurgling in her throat. It was the nearest she could get to speech.

'And perhaps it would have remained so for ever, with neither of them knowing what the real root of the strength of feeling between them was, until the day the fauns came.'

Not one of the Gryffindors liked the way this was shaping up. Even in that moment, where they seemed to be sitting on the edge of something horribly new and uncomfortable, Ron recognised that Hermione was totally in control of the facts, and that nothing had escaped her keen thought processes. Thank God someone is on top of all this! He felt a rush of affection towards her, and looked at her closely. But her eyes were closed as she was evidently going down some mental checklist, and unfortunately for her, she didn't see the glance. After a glug more pumpkin juice, she was off again in full flow.

'So we come to Harry's current behaviour. I honestly don't think that he knows all this. He's never been one for looking things up in books and doing research, he nearly always goes with gut instinct. He's a Gryffindor, after all. Hatred between him and Malfoy has intensified even further since Harry came face to face with You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters on the day Cedric died. That 'hatred' would have been burning brightly between them when they met Dixter, as Hagrid had forced them to spend the time together, and, tragically, together in the presence of a faun. Dixter's reaction was bound to have affected Harry and Malfoy in some way. And, in this highly vulnerable state, Harry sits down at supper, maybe catches sight of Malfoy, or maybe Malfoy is experiencing some, lets say,' - she felt herself blushing - 'some intense feelings of his own somewhere else in the castle, and the telepathic thing kicks in. Result: Harry is overwhelmed; he faints.'

'Oh God, yes!', cried Ginny. 'Do you remember? He just slumped forward without warning. He said, "Where did that come from?" or something like that!'

'I think it's a compelling theory,' said Hermione. 'There was absolutely no obvious reason for him fainting that day. So, I'm guessing now, but after the lesson, he probably understands nothing, but he knows Malfoy is involved somehow. When it happened - the fainting - I went to see Dumbledore, and Harry was swept up to the hospital wing. Dumbledore told me to look into fauns. He knew, even then, for sure!'

'Oh blimey!' said Dean. 'I can tell what's coming now...'

'Yes. When Harry comes out of the hospital wing, you give him the book. He's a boy, he's hormonal, and he's intrigued. He tries out one of the spells. I'm guessing again, but going on what you said about your parents, Ron, there is probably some kind of mental link between him and Malfoy, and maybe it is particularly strong at er, such times; but still neither boy understands it. Immediately Harry sees the danger of the book and locks it away. It's enough to drive him to despair: to be obsessed with someone he hates. Surely that's what's happened! The symptoms he's showing are classic depression. He's terrified of what we, his friends - effectively his family - might think if we discover his secret, the secret that he himself hates and doesn't understand. So he pushes us away: his logic being that he won't have to face rejection from us if he rejects us first.'

'Oh God...' moaned Ron, the awful realisation washing over him.

'And not just us, but everything. He's built a new world, where he can wrestle with this without our knowing. No schoolwork, no friends, no Quidditch, all by conscious decision: a textbook defence mechanism. And conversely, because of the depression he's sunk into, no peace, no food, no sleep: just Malfoy in his head and the cloud that is drawing them together against both their wills. There is only one person who he thinks won't judge him. And he meets him every week to cry on his shoulder. Except, if I know Harry, he won't cry, because it will be giving in. So even Sirius is probably getting nowhere.'

Hermione seemed to have stopped talking for the moment. There was an aching, oceanic silence, broken only by tiny sobs from Ginny, whose head was buried in Ron's chest. It was a very long time before anybody said anything. Eventually Seamus spoke.

'Herm, I think you're right. When Harry came into the dorm earlier, when I accused him of not caring about Ron and the rest of us any more, he said that I was wrong, that he still cared, that he'd never stopped caring, but that he just couldn't be "that Harry" anymore. But he wouldn't say anything further, and he just left.'

There seemed to be no way to view this other than as corroborative proof of Hermione's explanation.

'Also,' said Ginny extremely quietly, 'during the Hufflepuff match, Harry was hiding under the stands. I saw him when I went to the toilet. He didn't see me, and of course I didn't go up to him because he was House traitor and everything then. But he was cheering. He was shouting 'Go on, Ron' at the top of his voice. I never told you Ron, because I thought it would have upset you.'

Ron moaned and buried his face in his sister's neck as Hermione held both his hands. The boys ignored that fact that Ron was bordering on tears. The Boys' Code of Ethics said that boys didn't cry of course, so when it actually happened, the form was to pretend that it wasn't.

Neville's voice came next, his voice too was shaky, but his words were sensible. 'Hermione, how much of what you have just told us is fact, and how much is guesswork?'

'Everything about the fauns, and the nature of magical love, and the auras, the Crimson Cloud, that is all fact.' The stability of Hermione's voice had a vaguely soothing effect on the group, even though the words themselves were unwanted. 'So are naturally all the events that have happened, including the circumstances of Harry and Malfoy's first meeting, the Care of Magical Creatures lesson, his behaviour since.'

She pondered slightly, then carried on.

'Guesswork based on observation accounts for my explanation of Harry's actions. Hagrid confirmed to me in tears that such a link certainly exists between Harry and Malfoy, based on what he remembers of the lesson and what Dixter told him afterwards. I have checked Harry's symptoms in a Muggle psychiatry textbook. I am guessing about the telepathy between them, but that guess is based on other textbook cases, and that seems to have been given more weight by what you said about your parents, Ron.'

Hermione took a deep, deep breath, and continued in a much more quiet, unsteady voice. The others were totally still.

'I also know, again based on reading, that if the pair both reject the match, and try to stop the innate magic in both of them bonding, the magical self will become volatile, like a chemical reaction only half completed. They have to accept it, or live in agony. As far as I see it, the two are bound together, but they are neither likely to allow this to happen. The book merely acted as an accelerator. As long as they both deny it, they will each become more psychologically and magically unstable.'

Hermione was suddenly much more emotional, and she began to gabble, as if her control and logic had deserted her.

'Oh God, we've come this far, you might as well hear what I think the horrible deduction of all this is.'

Her breathing was quicker, her speech faster her hands moving agitatedly.

'It's impossible to ignore this instability in Harry any longer. I'm sorry you have to hear this, I really am, but Harry may already be approaching a crunch moment. He may in fact be actively considering what would for him be the next 'logical' step: the realisation, oh Jesus, the realisation that his depression may have triggered, the realisation that he has only two options, to give in and go with it, or...' Hermione was starting to cry now. '...Or, sorry, but it needs to be said, or to end it all. I am almost certain that Harry does not have all the facts that I do, that we do. He will be driven solely by emotion and instinct, and who dares imagine where the emotions and instincts of a self-hating teenage boy may lead him, especially one who has divorced himself from all the stabilising elements of his life and spends hours and hours on his own...at night...'

She couldn't carry on.

'We've got to go to him!' cried Ron urgently, red-eyed. 'Tell him we love him no matter what! Herm, if what you have said is true, every minute he is left alone he is in danger!'

'Oh God, no!' cried Hermione. 'We can't do that!'

'Why on earth not?' said Ginny, nearly shouting. 'And why haven't you told us all this before now?'

'Oh God! I don't know!' wailed Hermione. 'Because, because, like Harry I guess, I was just hoping it would all go away! That he would find a way round it himself, that things would go back to normal! And we can't go to him! Imagine what we would have to say! We would have to tell him all this, and if, I as I suspect, he doesn't know, it may tip him over the edge, and then how on earth would we feel, if we had actually precipitated the crisis!'

'How we feel shouldn't matter now!' shouted Ron. 'What the fuck do we do then? I'm not going to sit here and do nothing while my best mate is in this state!'

'Too right! He's our friend!' shouted Seamus, 'we can't let him go through this alone!'

'He's loads more than a friend!' wailed Ginny, sobbing, 'he's our bloody family!'

'CALM DOWN!' bellowed Dean. The yelling subsided.

'Herm,' continued Dean, trying hard to restore some calm to the group. 'I know I speak for all of us when I say thanks for telling us all that you know. It cannot have been easy for you to bear this knowledge alone, and I personally apologise for not taking more notice of things and looking harder into them.'

Hermione, distraught, looked grateful for his intervention.

'Yes, well done Hermione,' said Neville.

Ginny and Ron snuffled their agreement.

A long deep silence settled over the whole group. It was like time had stopped, and that nowhere else existed in the world other than Ron's bed. The unthinkable consequences of what Hermione had suggested were just too appalling to consider, but they could hardly do otherwise. After a long time, when the possibility for hysteria had passed uncomfortably, it was Dean who broke the silence.

'So, Herm, what do you suggest?' he said. 'You've done all the thinking on this one.'

With a monumental effort, she began to speak very softly once more.

'We can't go to Harry. What he needs is stability, and if that stability means carrying on this seeming lack of care on our side, then it has to go on. He engineered this current state of affairs, so somewhere in his mind it's what he wants. Anything else could be a destabilising threat. So we will let it continue.'

'That is not an option,' said Ron. 'Not from where I'm sitting.'

'Well, we could speak to Dumbledore...' said Hermione, although she did not seem convinced of this suggestion.

'I'm not sure I can face that,' said Ron, slowly. 'Why not?' asked Ginny.

'Because, this is kind of immensely personal to Harry. It feels almost wrong that I know it all, and I'm closer to Harry than anyone. The thought of speaking to a teacher is ghastly. We'd have to lay open his innermost thoughts, and behind his back. It would feel like betrayal. Despite the seriousness of all this, that really is last resort stuff.'

'Aren't we at the last resort stage now?' said Seamus. 'It's been six weeks, after all.'

'Definitely feels like last resort time to me Ron,' said Ginny. 'Herm, what do you think?'

'I'm with Ron. But for different reasons. I just have this nagging thought in the back of my head that Dumbledore knows. And that is comforting. I guess the reason I haven't told you all this earlier is because I have secretly been hoping that Dumbledore himself would find a way out of this, or at least wouldn't let it get out of hand.'

'That would make him a logical person to talk to then, Hermione,' said Neville.

'Yes, I suppose that is true. But, I don't know, instinct tells me otherwise.'

'So we just do nothing?' said Dean.

'Well, I didn't say that exactly,' said Hermione.

'What do you mean then?' said Neville. 'What do you instincts tell you?'

'I suppose, well, I suppose there is something we can do.'

'What?' said Ron.

'You won't like it'.

'What is it?'

Hermione hesitated. 'We can go to Malfoy.' 'Malfoy?!' snorted Ron. 'No bloody way. And say what, exactly?'

'Ron!' sighed Hermione. 'For a start, all of us have got to get over our Malfoy prejudices. If ever Harry is going to be the happy guy we know and love again, Malfoy is going to be involved. Most likely as Harry's life partner. And if we can't accept that, we are no friends of Harry's. It's Harry's right to reject or accept him, not ours. And we better pray that he accepts him, because the alternative will only put Harry more at risk.'

Another ghastly reality sank in.

'We can go to Malfoy and talk to him about this,' continued Hermione, thinking aloud, and seemingly gaining in confidence as she outlined her thoughts. 'Malfoy has no friends to push away, we know that. He will have dealt with this on his own, like Harry. But he's more aware and more shrewd than Harry--'

'You mean he's a Slytherin!' interrupted Ron.

'Yes, I suppose I do mean that, Ron. He is bound to have seen the real situation sooner than Harry, in fact I know he's further down that particular path because the only two members of the school who have borrowed library books on fauns this term are me and Malfoy himself. In fact I caught him reading up on fauns the very day that Harry first went to the Shrieking Shack.'

Her control and logic were returning with each word.

'So we can go to Malfoy and make a truce. If Harry sees that we accept Malfoy it might make Harry less worried about the consequences of facing up to it all. Malfoy is likely to accept a truce, because in all likelihood he understands as much as we do.'

Hermione seemed definitely to be increasingly convinced by this plan, and the hope in her voice was enveloping the other Gryffindors.

'In fact,' she mused, 'it is slightly surprising he hasn't acted on his own already: if Harry is Malfoy's only way out of discomfort, I would have expected Malfoy simply to go out and sort of fetch Harry straight away. I suppose the delay in his doing anything is evidence that there may be a real person deep inside there somewhere, who is fighting as much as Harry is, but is just better at hiding it. Or maybe for him there is just nobody to notice how much he is struggling. Either way he's more likely to talk to us than ever before.'

'Are you saying, Herm', said Ron again, thinking hard, 'that in order to have Harry back as a friend, I have got to embrace Malfoy? In order to have Harry back as brother-in-arms, I've got to accept Malfoy as brother-in- law? For ever?'

Despite the tension around the bed, Hermione giggled. 'Hmm, yes, well put, Ron my boy. You have it in a nutshell.'

'Oh Lord,' said Ginny. 'A Malfoy in the family. Who would ever have thought it?'

'W-well,' stuttered Ron, 'I suppose, with a million years to get used to the idea, I might just be able to accept Malfoy myself. But I refuse to accept him as Harry's lot for life. Harry deserves so much more. He deserves the happy ending: to fall in love with and marry my sister, a warm welcome into a family that already loves him, lots of little Potters running around their lovely large home, acres of love tying it all together. That's what we all knew would happen, what we all wanted: for him to be happy, not be tied for life against his will to some arrogant asshole because of some stupid magical reaction.'

Ginny blushed but didn't say anything: she had already given up on that idea some time ago.

'Ron, wake up,' snorted Hermione. 'That is never going to happen. Not now, not ever. You have to decide, as do we all, whether your love for Harry is greater than your hatred for Malfoy. Because that is all that matters now. Harry and Malfoy are already an item. Their magic is already bonding, may already have bonded. It started to bond the day they met, in the same way it did with your parents. The fauns did not manufacture this love, it was already there; they merely uncovered it. And Harry has fallen in love; it's just that our presence in his life has meant that he can't accept it. And maybe one day he will live in a large house, with a loving partner, and lots of - adopted! - kids, and be as happy as we have known him before. And I for one will be delighted to go there for dinner and see him smile shyly in his innocent way, and hear him recall thrashing Malfoy at Quidditch. And who knows, maybe Harry's presence in Malfoy's life will make Malfoy himself a better person. But there is more chance of that happy ending - and that's the only one available, Ron - if we offer the hand of friendship to Malfoy. So. There. Shit, am I hungry now.'

And she took up a sandwich as the rest of the Gryffindors sat on the bed and contemplated this brave new world.

Hours later, they were all more or less in the same positions, sprawled over Ron's bed. The pile of food had gone and they had talked round and round the subject again and again. The immediate crisis did seem to have passed, but the longer term awfulness of it still pervaded the group to the core. Despite these hours of circular talking, or maybe because of them, no more had been achieved except for a vague plan to broach a conversation with Malfoy. They had all wanted to go, but Hermione had insisted that it would be overwhelming for him. Just Ron, she had said, and me. After supper. We'll grab him as he leaves the Great Hall, take him somewhere on neutral territory. Not threatening, she had said. Just open and honest. It was the only way forward they had.

It was dark now and supper was not far off, and the group were just thinking about getting up and stretching their legs before the meal, when the door opened.

CHAPTER SEVEN

~

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL?

Harry wasn't sure how long he remained out by the lake after Malfoy had left. But it must have been several hours as it was now dark, and he was covered in snow, and he was suddenly aware how cold he was, and aware that he was starving. He stood up and set off at a fast pace to the castle, thinking that he would grab some food from Dobby and then see if for once he could maybe go to bed and get some sleep. Jesus, it was freezing. He quickened his pace further. It had been nice, inexplicably, sitting with Malfoy and smoking a cigarette. It was a shame he had left. Malfoy's nearness had seemed to ease all the pain, and his warmth had remained with Harry for some time afterwards. Perhaps, thought Harry, perhaps it would not be unthinkable to see him again. They hadn't spoken about anything - hell, how could Harry tell him all he had to say anyway? - but the absence of animosity had been surprising and, and...hopeful.

* * *

Draco stood and watched Harry for the entire time after he left him by the lake. It had been an awful wrench to leave him, but Draco didn't want to rush things and scare him off. I don't honestly think he's got a clue what's happened, he thought to himself as he stood in the third floor corridor, warm, dried off, looking fabulous, staring out of a window as the lonely figure of Potter got progressively more snowed up, until only Draco would have been able to tell that one of the snowy lumps was not a lakeside rock but the boy he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. And when he saw Potter move away from the lake and towards the castle, Draco felt his heart tick a little faster, and wondered when it would be best to see him again. His inner self screamed tonight! but Draco's head said, wait, wait, don't rush it. He'll come round. Shit, thought Draco. I've been listening to my head all my life where he is concerned. And it's been wrong. I'll try to see him tonight. Somehow.

* * *

It was dark now and supper was not far off, and the Gryffindors were just thinking about getting up from Ron's bed and stretching their legs before the meal, when the door opened.

Harry entered, snow still in his hair and over the shoulders of his cloak, carrying a parcel that Ron immediately recognised as one of Dobby's food offerings.

His entrance was electrifying.

'Oooh, is it snowing?' cooed Ginny, nervously reacting to the tension.

'Oh,' said Harry, slightly startled by the gathering, and the fact that they had obviously just stopped talking. 'I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was interrupting a party,' and he turned to leave the room. But his heart was heavy, and he wanted to stay. They all looked so cosy there. He wanted to belong with them.

As soon as he had turned away, Hermione was wildly shaking her head at Ron, who had tensed to jump up and go to Harry.

'No!' she said in a whisper only Ron could hear, but Harry's almost imperceptible delay in deciding to leave the room was enough to convince Ron in that split second that Harry wanted to stay, but felt that he couldn't. Before Hermione or any of the others could stop him, he was behind Harry as Harry himself reached the door again.

'Harry,' said Ron, touching his hand on Harry's shoulder from behind.

The others watched, on tenterhooks, breath held, all dying to see what was going to happen, yet feeling rather voyeuristic.

'We shouldn't be here,' hissed Hermione inaudibly. 'They're going to make up, I can sense it!' 'Harry,' repeated Ron, and Harry turned round to look at him. Ron's eyes were itching with silent tears.

'Ron, what on earth's the matter?' asked Harry as he saw Ron's face screwed up in desperate hope.

'Harry,' repeated Ron, now with both his hands on Harry's shoulders, 'where have you been?'

'Just out by the lake, I didn't notice the snow getting heavy, that's all...'

But Harry knew deep down this was not the answer Ron wanted.

'No, I mean, Harry, you fucking stupid git, where have you been?'

'We need to get out of here!' insisted Hermione to the others. 'Quick, now, before it becomes impossible!'

She got them all off Ron's bed and hurried them over to the door, where Harry and Ron were on the point of reconciliation.

'Just off down to supper!' she said brightly, wiping a tear from her eye. 'We'll save you a couple of seats, it'd be great if you could both join us! No hurry though,' she continued cheerily - Shit! Shut up! You're gabbling, Herm! - 'take your time, but it would be great to see you both!'

Then the door was closed, and Harry and Ron were alone.

* * *

Draco sat at the Slytherin table, as usual with a clear view of the Gryffindor table, surrounded by his usual cronies. Speculation was rife as to who Draco had been out to see that afternoon, but Draco just sat above all the chatter and gave nothing away. He had left all his smart clothes on and restyled his hair for the maximum wow-factor. He wasn't sure, but he thought it just possible that Potter would appear at supper that night.

After their meeting by the lake, Draco himself was feeling loads better, even buoyant, and he felt that Potter's mood had lifted too. Potter's unhappiness no longer seemed to be hanging like a weight around Draco's neck, and he wasn't sure when it had happened, but he thought that one of the effects of the magic love thing was that he could feel Potter's moods even when they were separated. He just knew that wherever he was, he was happier than he had been for some time. It must be the afterglow of the time we spent together at the lake, thought Draco. The warmth is still running though both of us. Heads had turned when Draco had walked into the Hall. Draco ran his hand through his beautiful hair and smiled widely as he sat down. He enjoyed the looks and shot a few sexy grins around the Hall. Pansy watched carefully to see who he made eye contact with but she was out of luck.

'Oh do tell, Draky,' squealed Pansy. 'Who on earth was she? You looked so dreamy and yummy, and you haven't got dressed up like that for weeks! You must have been out with someone!'

'Hope you didn't get frostbite, doing the deed out in this weather, eh, Dra?' snorted Crabbe, and he and Goyle sniggered filthily into their food.

Draco rolled his eyes in fake theatricality.

Pansy noticed and giggled. 'Just tell us which House then!'

'Or which year group!' chipped in Millicent. 'Come on Draco, you don't get all toffed up like that for nobody!'

The crass conjecture about his love life was beginning to get on his nerves, and he suddenly found himself saying to the crowd, 'Quiet! All will become clear, as soon as the time is right. Now, no more chatter about it. It's none of your business. Yet.'

There were more squeals and chortles and a lot more nudge-nudging.

'So there is someone?!' Pansy was nearly breathless with excitement.

'Yes. Now quiet, and tell me how the plans to sabotage the Ravenclaws are going before next week's match.' The conversation gradually turned round and Goyle reported on some broom-hexing they were thinking of. Draco's mind drifted back to his own thoughts as the Slytherins settled down to skulduggery. Truth is, he sighed to himself, as long as my father is alive it will be next to impossible to pursue an open relationship with Potter. His fellow Slytherins could almost certainly never know, nor anybody else. Even if he could win Potter over, which was far from certain, he would never win his father over to the idea that he would live for the whole of his life in a relationship with someone who was a) not a girl, b) not a Slytherin, c) not a pureblood and d) someone who, in addition to points a), b) and c), just happened to be the nemesis of Lord Voldemort. Still, as far as Potter was concerned, he had made a start. True, it had only been a ten minute smoke with him in the snow, but, you hard to start somewhere.

With the attention temporarily away from him, none of his dinner companions noticed that Draco's eyes followed the crowd of happy Gryffindors which entered the Hall shortly afterwards and took their seats in his direct line of view. Hermione and Ginny were laughing excitedly, and Seamus, Dean and Neville were more than usually good-tempered.

Weasley was not with them.

Draco knew instantly what had happened, what was probably happening at that very moment: Potter and Weasley were patching their friendship back together. He had felt something ever since Potter had returned to the castle not twenty minutes earlier. Draco didn't know whether that was a good thing, a bad thing, or an irrelevant thing. Weasley might poison Potter against him again. Or he might have had his ear bent by Granger, who almost certainly knew everything, and could at that very moment be pushing Potter towards Draco. Or, more likely, they had so much else to talk about, that Draco's name would not be mentioned at all.

But whatever it was, Draco could sense that it was making Potter happy, and for that he was pleased. Lost in these thoughts, he suddenly felt a pair of eyes on him. But they were not from his own crowd, they came from across the Hall. He looked up in hope, but he saw Hermione looking straight at him, through her own crowd of unseeing Gryffindors, making sure and certain eye contact with him. And she was smiling, genuinely, warmly. She held the look for long enough to impart to Draco that it was more than a chance meeting of glances. Fucking hell, thought Draco, she wants to talk to me. Things are moving. Fast. He nodded imperceptibly at her, and she smiled again and looked away. Shit! What had he set in motion now? His mind raced. Things had happened in Gryffindor Tower; of that he was sure. They were still happening now. And then Draco was aware that Potter was very near indeed. Fuck, he thought. He's about to walk through the door! And I can sense it! Jesus this is weird!

It was no surprise to Draco that less than a minute later Weasley and Potter appeared at the door to the Great Hall. That is, the event was not a surprise, but the reaction of his heart was. It leaped and bounded nearly out of his chest when Potter came into view. His breathing quickened and he had to look away in case the Slytherins noticed. He knew he was blushing. He took a mouthful of pumpkin juice, composed himself, ran his hand through his hair, and entered into the conversation on broom- hexing. I've got away with it, he thought. But just as he was in the clear he had an irresistible urge to look up again, and there was a split second meeting of his eyes with Potters'. The force of the emotion nearly knocked him off his chair, and he pretended to be choking on his juice. It worked. Just. The wondrous feeling of golden light that coursed through him lasted for several minutes.

The Slytherins had not noticed any of this. But Hermione had.

* * *

Hermione rushed her charges down the stairs to the common room after closing the dormitory door carefully behind her. Despite her caution, her worries, and her knowledge of the situation, she was daring to hope that a corner might have been turned in this appalling episode. She had loved the time she and Ron had spent together, absolutely loved it. And she was hopeful that they might have laid a foundation stone for something stronger yet to come between them. But she also knew that time spent with a Ron who had Harry back as his best mate would be even better. And she was desperate, desperate, to make up with Harry herself. She wanted to take him in her arms, hold him, tell him everything was OK, that she would always love him whatever. And she did truly sense that she was going to get to do that very soon. Careful though, she forced herself to think. Don't get carried away. We're miles off a happy ending yet.

Ginny couldn't contain her excitement though. 'Herm! It's all going to get back to normal isn't it! Isn't it!'

'Shh, calm down Ginny! They could be knocking seven bells out of each other for all we know. Just hold on and see what happens.'

Ginny looked appalled at the prospect.

'They wouldn't would they? Would they, Seamus?'

'I dunno,' laughed Seamus. 'I might, if I were Ron!'

'Well, you're not Ron, thankfully,' said Hermione, smiling.

The boys were also filled with something like infectious hope. It had been intolerable in the dormitory for weeks, and at last there seemed to be a way through.

'Ha!' laughed Dean. 'You'll be able to borrow the book after all, Seamus! See what Charlie Weasley's spell is all about!'

'Oh God, don't!' cried Ginny. 'That book is horrible. Just wait till I tell Charlie what I thought of it!'

'You will do no such thing,' said Hermione, as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table. 'We only know about that book due to exceptional circumstances. It's boys' stuff, and must remain so, and you mustn't tell Charlie or the twins that we know anything about it. Just think Ginny what it would be like if one of your brothers came up to you with knowledge of what we talk about sometimes! You'd be horrified. Forget the book, and leave the boys their little thrills.'

Ginny faked a look of great abashment at this humorous rebuke and they all laughed again. There was a good feeling about the Hall tonight. It was alive with chatter from people who had been out in the cold snowballing and larking about. A warm glow of comradeship and security was settled over all four tables, blimey, yes, all four tables. There was a lot of laughter at the Slytherin table too. Hermione cast a casual glance over there to see if Malfoy were among the crowd. Ginny saw her looking and smiled.

She settled down next to Hermione, leaned over and whispered in her ear. 'He's awfully attractive isn't he? In fact, tonight he looks absolutely gorgeous.'

'Great! Sausage casserole!' Seamus boomed. 'Get stuck in everyone before Ron gets here, or there'll be none left!'

Hermione turned her head and slyly whispered back, 'who are we talking about Ginny? The stunning Slytherin over there, or the sandy-haired Irish charmer opposite you?'

Ginny's mouth dropped open in mock horror and she pummelled a lot of little girly punches on Hermione's shoulder. Both girls were laughing so much that Ginny couldn't get any words out.

'Hey girls, calm it, calm it!' soothed Seamus. 'No need to fight over me!'

'I meant the stunner, of course, not the charmer!' Ginny blurted eventually. 'Although, now you come to mention it...'

Ginny and Hermione descended into helpless giggles, the meaning of which were lost on the boys, who were already well into their first platefuls. Oh please, please let them both come down to supper tonight, thought Hermione. She took some food, absently thinking about Ron and Harry, and as another violent burst of laughter blew up around her, she looked over to the Slytherin table unnoticed. Malfoy looked up almost immediately. She held eye contact with him for several seconds, trying to send him all sorts of messages just with her eyes. After what seemed like a lifetime, she detected the slightest nod in reply, and she looked away. Good, she thought. Contact with the enemy. I am sure that a meeting will not be problematic now. Let's just hope it's still the right way forward when Harry and Ron get here. If Harry and Ron get here, she forced herself to think.

* * *

Then the door was closed, and Harry and Ron were alone.

'Where have I been, Ron? That's a very difficult question to answer.'

Harry felt his defences crumbling. All the weeks he had managed to live without Ron and Hermione and Hagrid and all the others, he had always imagined it would go on like that forever. But now, faced with Ron, not able to back out without hurting him even more, Harry just couldn't go through with it any longer. And after spending just ten minutes with Malfoy that afternoon, Harry was filled with a good will that had been missing for ages. Harry knew that he wanted to spend more time with Malfoy, lots more, maybe a lifetime more, and he couldn't keep Ron at arm's length for all that time. But, telling Ron what he felt about Malfoy would end their friendship, even if there were any left to salvage. So he just stood there, not knowing what to do, but increasingly aware of the pressure of Ron's hands on his shoulders.

Eventually some words came, tentatively.

'I'm sorry Ron, I really am. I've...been thinking a lot on my own. I'm afraid there's been something awful on my mind for weeks now.'

'Harry, Harry, listen to me. You don't have to apologise. You don't have to explain. You don't have to say anything, not now, not yet. Just tell me that you are all right, and that you are back.'

Ron's eyes were streaming. Harry was moved beyond anything he had ever imagined he would feel. He had hoped against hope that reconciliation with Ron would one day be possible, after the whole ghastly Malfoy business was sorted out. But he was never, it seemed, ever, going to sort out the Malfoy business in the way he had hoped. So why was he even considering carrying on with this painful scene with Ron now? Even now, it would be easier on Ron if he just left. Ron would never understand about Malfoy. If he apologised to Ron now, as every nerve ending in his body was telling him to do, wouldn't it only make it even more painful in the end?

Ron sensed the terrific doubt and fear in Harry eyes, and the deep need Harry had for friendship, then and always.

'Harry please listen. It doesn't matter to me what you have done, or what your problems are. I will never judge you negatively. If you've killed Snape or shagged McGonagall, or even vice versa, I'll be there waving the bloody banners, you git. There is nothing you can tell me that will make me change my mind. And I don't even want you to tell me now, for fuck's sake. All I want is for you to say that you are all right, and that we don't have to ignore each other for one second longer!'

He was sobbing openly now.

'Oh for fucking hell's sake Harry! Don't make me do all this on my own! Please don't let me make a fool of myself any more! If you're going to go again, just go, you bastard!'

Harry was cracking. In just seconds he would give in, he could feel the tension about to snap his body in half. But, unbearably, Ron had even more to say.

'Harry!' he was practically shouting by now, 'do I actually have to say it? Haven't you always known that you're the best mate that I ever had, that anyone ever had? Oh man, you've fucking torn me apart these last weeks, not knowing what I've done! It's a fucking shocking way to treat anyone, least of all me, who loves you like my own brother!' He had hit the top of what his emotions were capable of, and he was gripping Harry's shoulders so tightly that he couldn't let go. His voice came again, but unable to maintain the intensity at such a breathless rate, it cracked, trailing off into even more tears.

'...More than any of my brothers in fact, coz until recently you actually treated me like a real bloody person, and not some sixth-rate inheritor of some shoddy redhead genes...'

'Ron...' choked Harry in a tiny voice. 'Shut the fuck up. Let me speak. Jesus, Ron, I'm so fucking sorry. I AM SO FUCKING SORRY! I really am!'

Harry grasped Ron's shoulders and pulled him into a hug. They gripped each other tightly. Harry found that he was himself crying, and had been for a few minutes. But these tears - so long held in, for so many years left proudly unused - did not cause him to crumble into a heap. They forced him to focus on how important a moment this was, forced him to realise exactly how much Ron meant to him: so much so, that the realisation of how he had hurt Ron had provoked a stronger reaction in him than Quirrell, or Riddle, or Crouch, or Pettigrew or even Voldemort had ever managed. Ron was part of him, an integral part, and the tears that Ron had drawn from Harry's exhausted thin body seemed to give Harry strength rather than cause his spirit to leak away. His voice got stronger as Ron's lost all its impetus.

'Please please please forgive me! Believe me, Ron, honestly - Ron, are you fucking listening? - believe me, I never, ever, meant to hurt you. NEVER! How could I hurt you? You're like my bloody right arm! I did it because I didn't want to hurt you! It seems so fucking silly now, but I thought, if we weren't friends any more, then you couldn't get hurt by what I had to do. Oh man this is so stupid. I can't believe I was so stupid, PLEASE listen and forgive, Ron, please, I couldn't have done any of the things I've done without you, you've got to believe that, you've made it all worthwhile, I just didn't want to hurt you and...and...' His voice trailed off now as well, and the pair of them stood in a tight hug, swaying slightly, both still crying. But Harry had more to say. He spoke softly into Ron's neck.

'Ron, I'm sorry, I can't expect you to forgive me till I've explained myself, but I can hardly string two words together. You are owed the best explanation I can give, it's just that you're going to hate me when I've told you. And how can I apologise properly till I've told you, oh shit, Ron, this is so difficult...'

There was a long pause before Ron pulled away slightly and looked Harry in the face.

'Listen to me now. I will understand. I do understand, already better than you know. But we've got ages for explanations. Not now. If it's what you want, just tell me now that we are friends again, please, and let me decide whether I can forgive you or not.'

Harry looked at Ron. How on earth could he ever have not wanted Ron as his friend?

'Yes, oh yes, of course it's what I want,' said Harry, in a very small voice. 'If you will accept my apology now, which I offer with every ounce of energy I have left, I would be honoured to be your friend, Ron Weasley.'

Harry could feel Ron's anguish begin to dissipate as he said, very slowly, 'OK. It seems we have a deal.'

A glimmer of a smile appeared over both their faces, which became broad tearful grins. They hugged again, the wounds fading as quickly as they had been exposed.

'Jees, you look ugly Harry,' smiled Ron.

'You look bloody dreadful yourself, Ron,' said Harry, also smiling, relief coursing through him like blood.

Eventually they separated. Ron looked at his watch. 'Not bad. Twelve minutes! Thought it was going to take hours, knowing how fucking stubborn you are. Easily enough time for us to get to supper. And you, Harry Potter, are coming to supper with me now, to sit with our friends, who have all been off their heads with worry, and to eat a decent meal for once. No arguments.'

'OK, Ron, no arguments. Are you sure they will want to sit with me though?'

'Are you joking?' said Ron as they walked to the boys' bathroom to wash their faces. 'Hermione was wetting her knickers to get them all out of here so this sad little scene could happen. They will be made up.'

'Ron, thanks.' Harry paused slightly. 'I've really missed you, you know.'

'I know. And I've missed you, you git. And I've been, without wanting to sound melodramatic, rather worried. You're just skin and bone. And you're exhausted. And I think you're ill. But, we can talk about that later, or tomorrow, or whenever. All that matters now is that you look a little smarter for your public.'

Harry laughed a little. 'I haven't had to worry about you though,' he said.

'Well that's bloody nice, mate,' Ron laughed. 'And why not?'

'Because I notice that Hermione's been taking very special care of you. It's been lovely to watch it happen from afar.'

Ron grinned at Harry. 'Yeah, weird that, isn't it? I didn't see that coming.'

'Didn't you? Everybody else did,' laughed Harry.

They were walking down the stairs to the Hall.

'Ron,' said Harry suddenly, 'you were fucking great on that Cleansweep against the Hufflepuffs. You'd definitely have got the snitch if you'd been on a faster broom.'

He clapped Ron on the back. Ron stopped and looked at Harry. 'Thanks. Sincerely. You've no idea how much that means to me. Thank you, Harry.'

Smiling, they walked into supper together.

* * *

The entrance of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley to supper that evening made quite a stir for a number of people. Hermione and Ginny squealed as they saw them walk into the Hall. Seamus, Dean and Neville stood up and cheered. Dumbledore and McGonagall nodded to each other knowingly. Draco's heart skipped several beats as he and Harry caught each other's eye, and they both felt the charge of something good, something that was just beginning, but something that needed hours and hours more exploration before they would understand and accept it. But there was definitely, thought Harry and Draco separately, a way forward, a path to be trod.

As Harry and Ron reached their places at the table, Hermione ran towards Harry and flung herself around him. She was crying buckets and Harry's tears returned too as he was smothered by her warm hug. Ginny hopped from foot to foot waiting for her turn, and when it didn't look like Hermione was ever going to release him, she just barged Hermione aside and sobbed on Harry's shoulder. The boys clapped him on the back and Harry sat down between the two girls, who piled his plate up, neither of them saying that he was dangerously thin, but both thinking it.

Harry felt blessed indeed to be back among these wonderful people, but was aware deep down that this acceptance back into the gang was still to be tested by some extraordinary revelations from him. He wondered sadly how joyful any future winter suppers were likely to be, given what he had to tell them, but for the moment he was so relieved to be warm, and still wanted, that he could for the most part blank out this troubling thought. Harry issued no public apology or explanation for his actions, and miraculously it seemed that none was expected. He determined to speak to all of his friends separately as the opportunity arose, however difficult it may be for him.

The twins saw the commotion and moved their plates over to join the crowd.

'What-ho, Harry, back in the fold I see?' said George, warmly.

'When are you going to get back on that Firebolt of yours then, Harry?' said Fred, but Ron hushed him immediately.

'Quiet, Fred, there's loads of time to talk about that later. Just let him eat in peace for now, eh?'

Ron, his Protector, had Spoken.

Harry knew they were all itching to ask him a thousand questions, but they put on a show of a typical jovial Gryffindor supper to make him feel at home, with no mention of the past few weeks. As the chatter carried on around him, his eyes wandered instinctively to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy, who looked absolutely beyond beautiful, was talking engagingly to his crowd. Harry was suddenly aware that he himself looked awful, and nobody other than Ron had said so, and he felt embarrassed to be seen by Malfoy in that state. But Malfoy seemed to be able to sense this insecurity, and looked up warmly at him, with the loveliest smile Harry had ever seen him give anyone. The warmth of it rushed through both of them again, and Harry felt that he could have sat there for ever basking in that feeling until Hermione, seeing all as usual, flashed her own smile at Malfoy and nudged Harry gently in the ribs, begging him to eat some more. The meal ended eventually, and it had been wholly enjoyable for all.

But if Harry thought that all his problems would go away because he had made up with Ron and the others, he was only partially right. Certainly he ate a little more that night than he had recently, but he had no appetite for anything like an ordinary meal. He saw the look of worry that flashed between Ron and Hermione about this and was touched by it, but still he didn't want the food. After the meal he spoke jokily to Seamus and Dean while they were all gathering to go back to the common room, but he watched out of the corner of his eye as Ron and Hermione had another hurried conversation about something. Ron then ushered him out, and up the stairs. When they were alone again in the dormitory, Ron spoke to him seriously once more.

'Harry. I know it's early, and I know you'll think I'm fussing, but I'm asking you to try and get some sleep. You're exhausted. I'll make sure the dormitory is empty for a couple of hours and will keep everyone silent when they go to bed. I am sure that time alone in your own bed with the pressure taken away from you will at least get you some hours of slumber. Will you try?'

Harry was grateful again, but he wasn't sure how effective these measures would be. But Ron looked so worried, so concerned, that Harry just said, 'Yes, Ron, I will try. Thank you, I appreciate it.'

Harry didn't hear when shortly afterwards Ron gave instructions to this effect outside the door to Neville, because, wonder of wonders, he did actually fall immediately into a heavy sleep as soon as he had got into his pyjamas. Ron looked back into the room to check Harry had got into bed, and was pleased to see him already asleep. Excellent, he thought as he rushed back down the stairs to find Hermione, who, if things had gone according to plan, would have got hold of Malfoy for a quiet chat. Ron had no desire for this forthcoming interview, but he didn't care, because Harry was asleep upstairs, and Harry was his mate again.

* * *

Draco, Ron and Hermione stood in one of the empty classrooms on the fourth floor, a part of the castle that was unlikely to be busy at that time on a Saturday. True, they were all three of them in a room without any outward signs of hostility, but there was a very long way to go, and nobody was quite sure how to proceed.

The deadlock had been in place for a good ten minutes now, which Hermione thought was a shame, as until that point it had all gone swimmingly. As Ron had taken Harry upstairs to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione had kept the rest of the crowd just outside the Hall, still laughing and joking until the Slytherins left. As the two crowds had more or less collided in the Entrance Hall, a slight (planned) skirmish broke out between Seamus and Goyle, which Hermione used as a distraction to stand next to Malfoy. Without even the Gryffindors noticing, Hermione and Malfoy exchanged a few words. That is to say, Hermione whispered 'Charms classroom, 8pm tonight if you'd like to talk about a way out of this mess,' and Malfoy nodded as he walked over to Goyle. Ron had come bounding down the stairs shortly afterwards with the news that Harry was already asleep with Neville as sentry, and then the group had retired to a circle of chairs out of the way in the entrance hall to discuss a way forward for the meeting with Malfoy, and had ended at about ten to eight with a solid-sounding agenda. And then Ron and Hermione had gone up the fourth floor, found Malfoy already waiting for them, and absolutely nothing had happened since.

Eventually it was Hermione who broke the silence.

'Well, I think we all know why we are here.'

'Yes,' said Ron, encouragingly.

'Do we?' said Draco. 'Would you enlighten me then?'

'Why did you come, if you didn't know what we need to meet about?' scowled Ron.

'Oh, curiosity of course,' sneered Draco. 'When a foxy unattached babe like Granger gives me the eye at supper and whispers a secret rendezvous in my ear shortly afterwards, how could I not be intrigued?'

'Shut up, Malfoy,' snarled Ron, 'don't talk about Hermione like that. You have her to thank for our being here at all'

'Well, then thank you Granger, for this lovely little chat.' 'Quiet, both of you. This is not going to get us anywhere.' Hermione thought for a while. 'I wasn't the only one catching people's eyes at supper tonight, though, was I?'

'I am amazed you noticed anything at all at supper this evening, Granger, what with the drama that was going on at your table, crying, hugging and so forth.'

'OK, Malfoy, OK, we'll start there, seeing as you brought it up,' said Hermione. 'Certainly, yes, this evening at supper was a rather emotional occasion, and I am sure you know better than most why. After weeks of very difficult times, Harry began to talk to us again. It was only natural that we should be happy. And, of course, only natural that you should have watched it happen.'

'So what's happened then?'' asked Draco, in a level voice. 'What happened between his coming in from the snow and arriving at supper?'

'How do you know he was out in the snow this afternoon?' demanded Ron, but Draco ignored him, and Hermione continued.

'There was a rather difficult scene, I gather,' said Hermione. 'Although I wasn't actually there. You'll have to ask Ron.'

'OK Weasley, what happened?'

'None of your business,' snapped Ron. 'It was private between me and Harry.'

'It doesn't matter actually,' said Draco casually. 'I know what happened. Not the detail, but certainly the main thrust of it.'

'How do you know?' asked Ron. 'What happened then, O Omniscient One?'

Draco paused. When he answered, his voice was quieter. 'There was great hope, then a lot of tears and distress. Then happiness, in fact joy and relief.' 'How do you know?' asked Hermione, gently.

'Because I...I felt it.'

The words hung in the air. A step had been achieved. Hermione looked straight at Draco.

'So. We're getting somewhere. How long have you been able to sense Harry's moods?'

'I'm not sure. At first I thought I was actually feeling that bad myself, and then I gradually began to realise that what I was feeling was mixed up with what Potter was feeling, and in fact his sadness was encouraging my own.' Draco turned away slightly, embarrassed at having made such a personal revelation.

'So Harry is genuinely happy now?' asked Ron. 'In your opinion?'

'No,' said Draco. Ron and Hermione looked sharply at him.

'No; right now, he is asleep.'

Draco sort of half grinned, and Ron and Hermione smiled too.

'But,' Draco continued, 'sorry to piss on your bonfire Weasley, but although Potter certainly feels much happier now than he's recently been used to, it's not real happiness. It's going to take more than a few tears and a hug from you to put everything right.'

'Why do you insist on calling him Potter?' snapped Ron. 'He has a name, you know.'

'My word, are you actually inviting me to address the great Harry Potter by his first name? I'll call him what I like, Weasley; I'm in this mess, not you.'

'So you acknowledge there is a mess then?' said Hermione.

'Ha! Everybody in the school knows Potter's been the moodiest bastard ever for ages now,' replied Draco. 'That's not what I asked,' said Hermione. 'Do you acknowledge that Harry's condition is bound up with you?'

Draco dodged the question. 'So what is this, cards-on-the-table time?'

'Yes,' said Hermione, 'let's call it that. What do you know?'

'No way, Granger. You first. We both know that I am the one who is more directly concerned here. The reason I came up here tonight is because I want to hear what you know.'

Another pause. Ron stood close to Hermione as she began to speak.

'Essentially I - and for I read me, Ron and some of Harry's other close friends - know three things. One, that in some cases, when two magical people fall in love, their innate magic bonds to make the love deeper, truer, more long-lasting, and that if such love is not acknowledged the individuals will be destroyed by the conflict between innate magic and psychological intent. Two, I know that fauns can detect such magical bonding and when they do are compelled to react to it. But they do not manufacture the love, or enhance it any way. It is already there. Three, I know that the afternoon of Hagrid's lesson with the fauns, your faun, Dixter, reacted to very strong chemistry between you and Harry. Very strong indeed. The crimson cloud in all its glory. Red Alert, you might say.'

Draco was deathly silent. So was Ron, even though he had already heard this from Hermione.

'They are things that I know. In addition to that of course there are the things that I have worked out or have guessed. First, I suspect that neither you nor Harry had any idea of this until that day. Until the fauns of course, the emotional intensity between you burned as hatred instead. Second, it is entirely possible that Harry still does not understand, in fact it would make sense if he didn't, as it probably explains why he clammed up and pushed us away. If that is the case he may still hate you at this very minute, asleep or otherwise. Third, you know much more than Harry does. You've read the books on fauns. Coming from a pureblood family you will know about the Crimson Cloud. You were with Dixter yourself. You agreed to this meeting tonight. I suspect you know as much as us, maybe more. And if you dare throw this back in my face and strut off without a care, I will make it my life's work to bring misery to you at every turn. The only reason that Ron and I are here is because we love Harry, and we know that he is going to need you if he is ever going to break out of the depression he has sunk into.'

The silence was deafening. Draco shuffled his feet, and Hermione and Ron stared at him, no idea what to expect.

'You have a fine mind, Granger. Logical, orderly, well informed.'

'Blimey,' said Ron. 'Was that a compliment?'

'Yes, I suppose it was,' sighed Draco. 'I didn't know all that, actually, Granger. I hadn't pieced together as well as you the nature of mine and Potter's history up until the lesson with the fauns. Also I didn't know about the Crimson Cloud, and it didn't seem logical to me that Potter could possibly be unaware of all this, but, you know him better than I do, and well, he is rather stupid.'

'He is not stupid!' stormed Ron.

'Actually, Ron, in matters of emotional perception, he's as dense as they come,' said Hermione.

Draco smiled. 'That is curiously good to hear. I thought, in fact I was hoping, that I had imagined it all. I still would rather that it was all imaginary of course, but at least it now makes sense, knowing that Potter hasn't got a clue.'

'And he is not going to take this news well,' said Hermione.

'Hence this meeting,' said Ron.

'Hmmm,' said Draco. 'Now let me tell you a few things. You're good, Granger, but you haven't got the full picture. You deal in facts and intelligent guesswork well, but you may have misunderstood Potter's feelings a bit here.'

He shuffled his feet again.

'Go on then,' said Hermione.

'If we go any further, I want some assurances from you two,' said Draco sharply.

'What are they?' snapped Ron.

'Malfoy, listen,' said Hermione. 'We know. What we know privately would be as harmful in the public arena to Harry as it would be to you. If you are going to swear us to confidentiality, you insult us. But that is your way, of course.'

'Actually I wasn't going to say that,' said Draco. 'Not exactly anyway. What I mean is, this business with Potter, I haven't spoken about it to anyone. Nobody at all. Stated simply, I don't have anyone to talk to on that level. And even if I did, I'm not sure I'm the kind of guy who blabs about stuff like this anyway. But you two, however, have had each other, and your supporting cast of jolly chums from the Tower. Your ideas are formed and have been voiced before, but I am going to try to talk about it for the first time, and to two people I dislike as well. So, I am saying this is difficult for me. What I want your word on, is that you won't ridicule, or mock, or disregard anything that gets said now, between us three. It pains me to say it, but I need your support. And in return you will get the truth.'

Ron opened his mouth but Hermione stopped him from talking by jumping in quicker. 'We understand. It cannot have been easy for you to say that.'

'What do you mean, it cannot have been easy for him to say that he dislikes us?' roared Ron.

'Well that bit was easy of course,' said Draco smirking. 'I do dislike you. But stop sidetracking me. The second half of the assurance is the bit you expected, although I'm not asking for confidentiality regarding the rest of the school, the public arena as you call it; in fact I think the nature of this business is bound to get out at some time. Too many people know already, even if Potter isn't one of them himself. BUT. If, after this meeting, when Slytherin v Gryffindor hostility is bound to recur, if you two ever use against me something that I am going to tell you know, I will not be held responsible for my actions.'

'Ooooh, scary,' said Ron.

'That attitude is exactly what I am talking about Weasley. Granger, can you possibly lose your puerile sidekick and let us talk alone?'

'No,' said Hermione, forcefully. 'Ron stays. He is effectively Harry's family. Get used to him. I have.'

'Thank you for that unusual vote of confidence, Hermione,' said Ron, oddly. 'If that's what it was.'

'It's difficult to be sincere with his moronic interruptions,' insisted Draco, looking straight at Hermione and trying to ignore the face Ron was pulling at him.

'If Ron finds it hard to take you seriously it is no surprise. He has had to overcome years of ill-feeling to be here tonight. As have I.'

'As have I,' emphasised Draco firmly. 'Before we go on, if we ever do get past the bickering, I want to make one thing very clear. You called me here to this meeting. I came, because I assumed correctly what you wanted to talk about. To me it is no laughing matter. It has been fucking intolerable living with this, and I understand it; God knows what it's been like for Potter. But I did have a strategy of dealing with this, and I still do. I do not need to be here. I would like to be here, to hear what you have to say, and to talk about it. But I do not need to be here. And, understand this, you two: this is between Potter and me. Exclusively. As far as I'm concerned, you two are bystanders. And any more fucking pratting about from you, Weasley, and I'm out the door; and I'll pick up the pieces of Potter's agony on my own.' His voice echoed round the classroom. And then there was silence. Hermione spoke next.

'OK. You have made yourself very clear. But now I want to say something. I am not being deliberately confrontational here, but it needs to be said. I accept that we are not important to you. But remember that Harry is important to us. Right now that is a source of antagonism. But in the future it may be that we all have to get along, so let's try and drop the antagonism now, for your sake, and for ours, and of course for Harry's. Do we have the means to go forward now?'

'Yes,' said Ron.

'I suppose, yes,' said Draco.

'Good. Now you said we may have misunderstood Harry's feelings a bit. Carry on. We won't interrupt.'

'Right. OK. Yes.' Draco was flustered. Now it came down to it, it was immensely hard to voice his feelings. 'Right. Well, I said that you were good at facts, Granger, but not so accurate on emotions. And you've definitely grasped most of it the same as me. But I think you might be over exaggerating Potter's feelings a bit. What you've got to remember, and that I think you have both sort of overlooked, is that this is, erm, well...it's love. Which, in itself, is not a crisis. It may have dramatic knock-on effects, like total uproar in the school when it leaks out, but it's not the crisis itself. Ever since the day of the fauns, when I forced myself to come to terms with some really awful crap, I haven't felt the same about Potter. I don't hate him any more, I can't hate him, and I don't want to. Hating him now is like hating myself.'

He paused.

'Sorry, it's not coming out in the right order. I've never tried to explain it before, even to myself.'

'Hey, you're doing fine. Just go on however it occurs to you,' said Hermione. Ron said nothing.

No, thought Draco suddenly. No, no, no. This is wrong. What can they possibly understand, this pair of nobody Gryffindors? What on earth am I doing here, divulging the most intimate secrets I possess to Granger and Weasley?

'I'm sorry,' he said abruptly. 'I can't do this. Or rather I won't. There is only one person I want to tell this to, and he's asleep. And anyway he and I are nowhere near ready for this conversation yet, and it feels horribly wrong talking to you. I know you are only here out of concern for him, but, for the same reason, I can't tell you what I feel before I've told Potter himself.'

Hermione was about to say something when he brought the meeting unequivocally to an end.

'Good night,' he said, as he turned and exited the classroom.

Hermione and Ron looked at other.

'Oh great!' said Ron. 'All that fuss and absolutely nothing achieved.'

Hermione was more thoughtful. 'I wouldn't be so sure. We learned two very important things: one, he is human; two, he cares for Harry. I don't think we could have hoped for much more to be honest.'

'Yeah, I suppose. It's just feels frustrating though.'

'Well that's you all over, Ron. You want everything sorted instantly. Have you already forgotten that only a couple of hours ago you and Harry were still not talking? Overall, it's been a bloody good day. Come on, lets go and find the others.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

~

THE BATTLE OF HOGWARTS

Suddenly he was awake.

There was no gradual, gentle coming to, just an abrupt bursting into instant consciousness. His eyes pinged open.

'Tempus,' he whispered.

The Snitch-clock informed him politely that it was just after 2am. Wow, he thought. OK, it was early, very early, practically a late night rather than an early morning; but that meant he had slept for at least six hours, maybe six and a half. He had not slept that long since the beginning of term.

He'd fallen asleep so quickly that he hadn't unfastened the drapes around his bed, and now, with the room faintly illuminated by the dying embers of the fire, he could see that of the other four beds, only three were occupied. Ron's was empty. Instinctively, he was worried, but two seconds later he saw that there was no need: Ron was asleep in the deep armchair next to Harry's bed, in his pyjamas and wrapped in a blanket. Harry was touched. How ever could he have pushed Ron away for all that time? He got out of bed and shook Ron on the shoulder.

'Ron,' he murmured. 'Get into bed. I'm not going to run away.'

But there was absolutely no response: Ron, true to form, was in a deep sleep. Harry groped for his glasses and wand, muttered mobilicorpus, and manoeuvred Ron into his own bed, pulling the covers over him. And even before he had seen Ron settled, and despite what he had only seconds before whispered to his sleeping friend, he knew what he was going to do. There was a strong, irresistible pull in his chest, and Harry dressed swiftly in his warmest winter clothes and left the dormitory. As he sneaked through the castle shortly afterwards, he felt some of the thrill of nocturnal wandering that had been missing for weeks, and he was particularly careful about avoiding Filch, Mrs Norris, Peeves and anybody else who might have been prowling the corridors. He had made it to as far as the entrance hall when he saw something move in the shadows. The silent form of a sleek tabby cat darted out from a side room and positioned itself between Harry and the main door out of the castle into the grounds. Harry stopped and contemplated the animal.

'Hello,' he said softly. 'Have you been outside? I wonder if it's cold. I expect it's lovely with the moonlight on the snow.'

'I wouldn't know,' said Professor McGonagall, who stood before him in the exact spot where the cat had been only half a second before. 'I haven't been outside.'

'Oh shit,' muttered Harry under his breath.

Typical; the one night he was actually bothered about getting caught, and he walked straight into the Deputy Headmistress. But if trouble was coming, it certainly wasn't immediately obvious. McGonagall was looking at him in her slightly-less-than-harsh face.

'Harry,' she said, with genuine concern, 'how are you feeling?'

'Er, I'm fine thank you, Professor,' he replied uncertainly.

There was a little pause in which Harry wondered if he should say something else, but then she spoke again.

'It's late, Potter. And even though I haven't been outside, I am sure it is freezing. You have one hour. If you're not back in bed within that time, there will be a hefty point deduction and a detention. And don't think because you haven't seen me means I won't know where you are. I can get round this castle more stealthily than you.' Harry was certain he saw a glimmer of a smile cross her face, but couldn't be sure because at that moment McGonagall suddenly purred loudly and slunk away back into the shadows.

Well, thought Harry. Curiouser and curiouser.

Out in the grounds, with only an hour's grace, Harry knew there was not time to go over to his favourite spot by the lake. So, instead he made for the rose garden where he and Ron had overheard Hagrid talking to Madame Maxime nearly a year ago at the Yule Ball.

It was amazingly beautiful in the icy air. The snow crunched underfoot and as his cloak brushed past one of the frozen rose bushes a shower of petrified leaves scattered themselves over the path around him. The image of frosted green on white was captivating, alluring, like the cold depths of the lake, and Harry stared at the leaves for some minutes. And when he finally dragged his eyes away, he noticed that there was another scattering of leaves slightly further up the path, like somebody had disturbed another of the bushes in front of him. Suddenly he knew that he was not alone. He looked up and around the garden, and even before he saw him he felt his presence. A figure in a heavy black cloak was sitting on the stone bench about twenty yards in front of him, his white blond hair gleaming in the moonlight. It was too dark to see if he were smiling or not, but Harry could sense that he was.

'Hello Malfoy,' said Harry as he sat down next to him.

'Hello Potter. I was hoping you would come.'

They sat in silence for a little while. Maybe a minute, maybe fifteen, Harry couldn't tell. Then Malfoy spoke again.

'It's as nice here as out by the lake, don't you think?'

'Yes. And different. The lake has a great beauty at night, but this garden does too. Funny, I wasn't going to come here at all actually, but I am glad I did now.' 'What made you change your mind?'

'To be honest, it was Professor McGonagall. She's given me a one hour curfew. Not enough time to go to the lake and be able to sit for a while.'

'That's odd; she said something similar to me. She must be feeling generous tonight.'

They both smiled.

'She's not a bad person you know,' Harry offered. 'Not as bad as you probably think.'

'I'm beginning to discover that,' Draco muttered, rummaging in his cloak. 'Do you want another cigarette, Potter?'

'Yes, please. Although, I don't think I could actually be more relaxed than I am now. It's so peaceful here, with the rest of the castle asleep.'

There was the smallest of laughs from Draco.

'Potter,' he coughed, as he lit a cigarette and passed it to Harry, 'don't kid yourself that we are the only ones awake. It's a Saturday night. I expect the Astronomy Tower is very busy, considering the weather!'

'You're probably right. But if that's true I'm glad there's nobody else out here.'

They sat and smoked for a while. Harry began to feel lightheaded again.

'Whoa,' he moaned, feeling suddenly very dizzy, and he dropped his cigarette into the snow, 'Malfoy, I feel...oh shit!'

'What?' Draco, and even though Harry felt like he was about to pass out, he could still sense concern in Draco's voice.

'I think I ought to stop, I feel rather...dizzy,' and at that Harry began to slump forward. Quick as lightening Draco threw his own cigarette away and used his arm to steady Harry next to him. It wasn't until about a minute later that Harry realised his head was against Draco's neck and Draco had his arm around him. Harry didn't move though, he didn't want to.

'OK now?' asked Draco, gently.

'Yes, thanks. Fine,' replied Harry.

Draco could feel Harry's cold breath against his neck. He felt himself shudder slightly at the intimacy of their situation. Neither of them made any move though.

'Filthy things. Still, they were the last two,' said Draco. 'And I have no idea where you buy them from, so I guess that's my career as a smoker over.'

Reluctantly Harry felt he ought to move. He shifted slightly and Draco removed his arm.

'I don't think I want any more either. Perhaps...' mused Harry, the words slipping out before he had a chance to check them, 'we don't need cigarettes to enjoy sitting here together.'

'I'm sure you're right,' whispered Draco, so softly that Harry felt the words in his head as much as heard them.

The stillness of the night was intoxicating. The only movement was the slight rise and fall of the boys' chests and the visible clouds of their breath settling gently on the crystallised roses.

'Malfoy,' wondered Harry aloud, his heart in his mouth, 'what's happening?'

'We're sitting here in the snow.'

'No, I meant...'

'I know what you meant, but...I was scared of answering. I don't know, but, I know that I feel more peaceful now than I have ever been.' 'I feel that too,' confirmed Harry. 'Ever since we met by the lake this afternoon, I feel...different. I made up with Ron, I even managed to sleep.'

'I know.'

'Really? How?'

'I...er, felt it. I felt you were asleep.'

Harry felt the extraordinary peace envelop him further as Draco's words seemed to turn on the night air in front of him long after he had uttered them.

'Malfoy,' he whispered, 'I think...I think I came to the rose garden because I felt you were here.'

Draco's reply seemed to bypass regular speech and form right inside Harry's inner being: 'I don't think it's anything to be scared of. At least, I hope not. It would be a shame if we ran away from this because we don't understand it.'

Harry's eyes closed in some kind of breathless relief. Every thought, every sensation that he was having, Malfoy seemed to understand. And Harry thought that he could sense Malfoy's thoughts inside his own head. He opened his eyes again, and gasped slightly. He and Malfoy were holding hands, and Harry had no memory of when, or how, this had come about.

Draco felt Harry's surprise, mingled with his own, but neither boy removed their hand. They sat there for many more minutes, so still that to a passerby they could have been two more statues nestling among the frozen flowers.

Harry stirred first. 'Malfoy,' he declared, not knowing whether he was speaking or thinking, 'you're cold. I can feel it.'

'Yes,' Draco agreed. 'So are you. We should go in. If you like, we could come back tomorrow.'

'I would like that, very much.' Harry felt Draco squeeze his hand slightly. And then, as they were both about to stand - Harry could feel them both being about to stand - Draco leaned over to him, and in one movement that lasted only half a second and yet an entire lifetime, he delicately brushed his lips over Harry's, exerting the slightest, most delicious pressure, like the faintest breath of a winter breeze. Draco tasted of cold night air, of fresh-fallen snow, of frozen roses; but there was nothing cold about the feeling that flooded through Harry's body. Right from his fingertips to his toes the chill of the still winter night was magically transformed into a sparkling, golden tenderness, cloaking them both in the inner warmth of the other. The almost unbearable exquisiteness of it faded gently until the glittering, silvery iciness of the garden was restored.

'I...I'm sorry', stuttered Draco, 'I shouldn't have done that...'

'Shhhh,' soothed Harry gently. He squeezed Draco's hand.

The peace rolled over them again, and they could have sat there until morning, neither wanting to break the spell, but a slight movement at the other end of the garden disturbed them. A cat had appeared at the end of the path leading back to the castle.

'I think,' Harry said softly, 'that our curfew is over. We should go back inside.'

They both rose reluctantly and walked past the cat and up the steps to the main door of the castle. The cat followed them in and brushed past both their legs, before darting off again.

Draco and Harry stood in the darkness at the foot of the main staircase.

'Well, good night, Malfoy,' said Harry. 'I hope we will be able to meet again tomorrow.'

'Yes. Good night, Potter.' Draco smiled, and stood and watched Harry ascend the stairs, remaining motionless until Harry was finally out of view. Slowly he turned away and made off for Slytherin House. Professor McGonagall, human once again, stood in the shadows, moved by what she had witnessed. She remained thoughtful for a little while, then made her own way over to the stairs. Might as well have a clear out of the Astronomy Tower while I'm up, she thought.

***

At shortly after 9am the following morning, Sunday, the castle was mainly at rest. On Sundays, breakfast was a casual affair, with bacon and eggs for those that wanted it from about 8:30 onwards, and tea and toast available right up until noon for those who preferred to sleep in. Professor Dumbledore actively encouraged his students to sleep late on Sundays, and as he breakfasted alone at the staff table that morning, there were perhaps just a dozen students in all dotted around the four tables. Correction, three tables: the Gryffindor table was completely empty. But even though attendance at breakfast was sparse, by no means all of our main players were asleep.

In fact, only Ron was actually asleep, indeed in the same unbroken sleep he had been in when Harry had put him to bed the night before. Hermione and Ginny were talking quietly in the common room in their dressing gowns and slippers, and in the boy's dormitory, Dean was reading in bed, Neville was working on a Herbology project, and Seamus was dozing, hoping he might drop back into sleep for an hour or so. Harry lay, totally still, looking at the ceiling, practically unmoved since he got back from the rose garden the night before. His mind was both empty and overfull, as the events of the night before left no room for any other thoughts whatsoever. Malfoy had kissed him. That was going to take a lot of getting used to, but, he really wanted to get used to it. There were a thousand thoughts connected with that same issue that ought to make him regret what had happened, even be repulsed by it. This was Malfoy. His father was a Death Eater, who might even have had a direct hand in the deaths of his own parents. So why did he still want to see Malfoy again, hold his hand again, even kiss him again? Harry also knew that - elsewhere in the castle, at least half a dozen floors below - Malfoy was also awake: he had slept heavily for three or four hours when he had eventually got to bed, a couple of hours after Harry, as he had sat up in bed pondering what had happened in exactly the same way that Harry was now. Then he had slept, and, Harry knew, had woken about half an hour before. He was still pretty groggy, Harry could sense; and he decided Malfoy was unlikely to go to breakfast. So he saw no need to go himself.

***

To be honest Draco was more than groggy. The heaviness of the sleep he had eventually drifted into the night before had left him feeling exhausted, even slightly hung over, and his head was as confused as Harry's. When he was feeling 'rational' he was just about still capable of dismissing this thing with Potter as a silly infatuation. But, thought Draco, unerringly clearly despite his emotional hangover, I haven't felt 'rational' for about ten days. Before that, there had been maybe only three other such moments since the day of the fauns. So which was rational, the 2% of his thoughts, or the 98%? He had to face it. He was in love with Potter, he had been in love with him for some time, and he never wanted not to be in love with him again.

But what right did he have to expect Potter ever to feel the same way? There was simply too much bad blood to be overcome. There were too many things he had said, plotted and schemed, too many times he had insulted, deceived and betrayed. He was going to have to work very hard at convincing Potter, but he wanted to start. Even if it takes a hundred years, thought Draco, I'm going to have to try. We can't just carry on talking about nothing, slipping easily into something that is not built on solid foundations. Last night had been beautiful, the kiss had been exquisite, but surely they had miles to travel before they could kiss again and for it to be the beginning of something real, rather than a magic, timeless moment in the snow? Shit, thought Draco, I want to see him. Now. I know he is awake. Perhaps if I just went to the rose garden, Potter would follow, the way he had done the night before? No. Not yet. God, he was tired. Why couldn't he sleep? A few fitful hours grabbed here and there between hours and hours spent trailing Potter round the grounds had not been enough, not nearly enough. He slumped back into the covers, willing sleep to come, almost at any cost.

***

A sleek tabby was at that very moment nosing around the Shrieking Shack, wondering if she were too early. Her instructions had hardly been specific, and she had thought it best to get there in good time in case there were any mishaps. One of the problems with being a cat was that even though she had the full mental capacity of an able Scottish witch, her concept of time did tend to drift. She had no idea whether she had been there one hour or two, as cats tended to judge time by how hungry they got and when they last slept. The weather seemed to affect the speed of the passing time as well, and when it was as cold as it was that Sunday morning, it seemed to drag more slowly than humans could perceive. Still, this was an important mission.

Another thing about being a cat when you were more used to being human was that the urge to stalk and chase small vermin was often irresistible. And for the last ten minutes (as far as she could judge) there had a been a vole or something snuffling around in the snow under some bushes about twenty yards away, and she had tried her best to ignore it. But as she eyed the small creature with deadly intent, her muscles tensed into stalk mode, and she took a couple of noiseless steps towards it, then stopped and surveyed the surroundings. Cats have far more heightened senses than humans, and even though her attention was totally on the vole, she was suddenly aware of a huge, blundering, careless presence behind her. She turned round, and a great shaggy black dog was exiting the Shack. Despite the fact that this was whom she had come to meet, she couldn't help but feel rather irritated at the interruption.

The dog and cat approached each other warily, but when they were right up close, touched noses. Communication was problematic when you were a cat too. She had no problem understanding, even conversing on a limited basis with other cats, but dogs were a closed book to her. Still, this was no ordinary dog, and she was no ordinary cat. After a couple of minutes of snuffly inspection to make sure they really were both who they thought they were, the cat set off with the dog trotting behind at a jaunty pace. The cat's instructions were to take the dog into the castle unobserved, and her route was worked out with exact feline precision to avoid all possible human contact. If any of the inhabitants of Hogsmeade noticed this odd couple traipsing through the village that Sunday morning, it is thankfully irrelevant to our story.

***

There was a certain amount of ill-feeling in Professor Dumbledore's office that Sunday morning. The case conference that he had called the day before had not got off to a good start, frankly because Snape and Sirius were bickering as incessantly and as nastily as Harry and Draco used to do. First there had been the problem of who sat where, which had only been resolved by Madam Pomfrey swapping places with Snape. Then there had been the difficulty of Snape and Sirius not ever actually addressing each other directly, but always doing so through Dumbledore. But if the great man was irritated by this, he did not show it.

'Tea!' he cried happily, as a minor distraction. A sharp whip of his wand produced not just a tray of tea and other breakfast type foods, but a small table for the tray to sit on as well. McGonagall smiled at this little show of magic. Nobody did this kind of effortless conjuring as well as Dumbledore. Madam Pomfrey was not at all thrilled though, and made her views clear.

'Headmaster,' she said curtly, 'could we possibly get down to business? I have three patients in the hospital wing, and I have been here fifteen minutes now, still without any idea of why we are all here.'

'Right, yes, good point Poppy,' beamed Dumbledore. 'Minerva, would you...?'

'Ahem,' coughed McGonagall, clearing her throat in exactly the same way as she would if she were silencing an unruly class. Not that her classes were unruly. Ever. 'To business. The Headmaster has assembled this particular group of concerned parties because of a grave situation facing two of our students.' She stopped, thinking. The truth was that since she had witnessed the immense tenderness between the two boys the previous night, she couldn't help thinking that this meeting was now largely irrelevant. Oh well, on with it.

'The Crimson Cloud is hovering above Hogwarts at this very moment. Ordinarily this would be a cause for celebration. It may still be. But the two concerned, as we all know, are not at all amenable to the idea. At least, they weren't yesterday anyway.'

'What on earth are you talking about, Minerva?' asked Madam Pomfrey impatiently. 'Why are we here discussing teenage love lives? Headmaster, I really do have more important things to attend to.'

'You certainly do Poppy,' confirmed Dumbledore, still smiling, 'because the two concerned are both ill as a result of these circumstances. However well they disguise it, both have appalling insomnia, and at least one has acute depression and is positively malnourished. Very shortly I shall be turning them over to your care for an indefinite period. During which, if possible, you will try to restore a regular sleep pattern, build up appetites again, and use your unmatched skills to banish the darkness from their hearts. Because it is of the gravest importance that this couple are fit and well and in full control of their abilities considering the current bleak state of affairs beyond these walls.'

Madam Pomfrey looked immediately serious. 'Very well. Who are we talking about?'

'Draco Malfoy,' snarled Sirius, as if the name were poison on his tongue.

'And Harry Potter,' sneered Snape, with equal distaste.

'Oh,' sighed Madam Pomfrey. 'Oh, indeed. The Crimson Cloud, you say? How unfortunate.' 'No, not unfortunate at all,' said Dumbledore, still smiling. 'It's a joy. And I sense that the two concerned are beginning to be reconciled to the idea themselves, which is of course something to be encouraged at all turns. But there's a long way to go, and for a way forward now, Poppy, I need you to take them away from the rest of the school and provide them with an environment where their physical and mental ills can be cured. And where, of course, they can be together without distraction. Please place them in the small side ward and make sure their visitors amount to no more than half an hour a day, and nothing at all for the first week.'

'Headmaster, are you suggesting that I make my sanitarium into some kind of love shack?'

'Good Heavens no. Two beds will be supplied, Poppy. I do not say these things lightly. Potter in particular is dangerously ill, which is the real reason we are here today.'

'What is it, Albus?' said Sirius. 'What has happened?'

Dumbledore's words became slower.

'The latest owl from the Ministry indicates that Harry may well be needed sooner rather than later for...for, well we all know what for. Naturally I will do all I can to shield him from any danger as long as possible, but none of us can deny that he may well still have a crucial role to play. All of us know that Harry in his current unstable state is highly vulnerable, but happy and secure and drawing on the innate magic of both him and Draco, his strength in any unthinkable situation would be greatly increased. It is therefore in all our interests, most especially Harry's, if this matter is dealt with immediately, for who knows how long it may take for the two of them to become sufficiently comfortable to exist together without rancour. Hence, the need for action. Sirius will be remaining in the castle incognito for the immediate future. Poppy, please make your preparations and expect both the boys before lunch today, and I will call by each day in the evening for a report.' Madam Pomfrey took this as her cue to leave. 'Certainly, Headmaster. I understand.' She stood up. 'But I beg you to try and limit interest in the hospital wing. Curiosity in the school at large is bound to mount swiftly. I don't want it turned into a circus.'

'You have my word, Poppy,' Dumbledore replied, his face serious. 'Poppy, on your way back to the hospital wing, I would be grateful if you could you please seek out the head boy and girl and ask them to see me at their earliest convenience.'

'Very well. I will expect you this evening,' Madam Pomfrey concluded. She exited the room.

'Right,' said Dumbledore to the remaining members of the group. 'Another cup of tea, and then we have a lot to talk about. Fudge's latest memo reads as follows...'

***

The Gryffindors were all in the common room just before noon that Sunday, and excitement was mounting. A challenge to a mighty inter- House snowball fight had been received by owl about half an hour before, and the twins were marshalling their troops to the task. Practically the whole House was assembled in the common room, all dressed in cloaks and scarves and gloves. Fred was announcing strategies in snow warfare to the junior years and George was ticking names off a list. But just as the vast majority of Gryffindor House was about to pass out through the portrait hole, the picture swung wide, and the Head Girl entered, obviously bypassing that week's password with her own prefects' version which seemed to override all others.

Emily de Souza was a ravishing Hufflepuff honey with flowing black hair and a smile that could turn stone to jelly. She was clever and genuine with a whiff of European aristocracy about her, the latest in a long line of pureblood de Souzas who had been coming to Hogwarts for about eight hundred years. But most of the school acknowledged she had not been made Head Girl because of her breeding. She was simply one of the best- respected and nicest people in the whole school.

'Good morning Gryffindor House!' she cried as she stepped into the common room. All were silent more or less immediately. Normally an intrusion by an outsider into the common room would not be viewed with any delight, but normally such intrusions didn't come from Emily de Souza. They waited expectantly for her to carry on.

'Please excuse my presence here in your lovely common room, but I bring news of the arrangements for this afternoon's battles. At noon at the foot of the castle steps the Gryffindor v Ravenclaw snowball challenge will begin. It will last for no more than twenty minutes, and a panel of independent judges situated nearby will assess your performance. The panel will consist of Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and Flitwick, together with Andy Johnson, the Head Boy, and myself. You will be given marks for accuracy of targeting and effective blocking, as well as for any whole-House manoeuvres or strategies that are spotted by the panel. Madam Hooch will referee, she will be on her broom, but no brooms are allowed for the competitors. If she touches you on the shoulder, you have been penalised and should leave the pitch quickly. All competitors are required to wear a house scarf as identification. At 12:30 Hufflepuff v Slytherin will commence on fresh snow in the Care of Magical Creatures paddock. You are of course welcome to be spectators. At 1pm the winners of the two semi-finals as judged by the panel will contest the final on the Quidditch pitch. At 1:30 Professor Dumbledore will announce the winner and the whole school will be treated to a large lunch feast in the Great Hall. The winning House will receive one hundred House points. Good luck Gryffindor, and may the best House win!'

There was a huge cheer, and the level of excitement was now rising sharply. There was indeed so much anticipation of this surprise event that only Ron and Hermione noticed that immediately after finishing her announcement, Emily de Souza sought Harry out and spoke to him in a hurried whisper for about three seconds. He nodded to her and then turned back to the stairs. Ron followed him. 'What was all that about, Harry?' asked Ron as the rest of the House filed out singing a Gryffindor battle song, hastily composed by the twins.

'Dunno. She said Dumbledore wants to see me in his office right away. I was just going to take my cloak and stuff off. Go and give them hell Ron, and I'll hopefully be back for the final, which of course we will be in right? Hopefully against Slytherin too!' he grinned.

'You bet, Harry,' smiled Ron. 'See you shortly.'

***

At that very moment, the Head Boy had just finished making the same announcement to Slytherin House, who were feeling as competitive as the Gryffindors. And exactly as Emily had done to Harry, Andy Johnson collared Draco and gave him the same instruction to go to see Dumbledore at once. Draco was secretly quite relieved. Although he lacked no competitiveness, he really didn't want to go jogging round in the freezing snow taking hits from the Hufflepuffs in the name of house honour. Blimey, his hair might get messed up. Nobody noticed as Draco didn't follow the rest of house outside, but made off for Dumbledore's office instead.

And as he turned the corner to where to stone gargoyle which indicated the secret entrance to the Headmaster's study was situated, his face cracked into a smile, because Potter was waiting there too.

'Hello, Potter,' he said.

'Hello, Malfoy,' came Harry's reply.

'What do you think we've done?' smiled Draco.

'No idea. Unless, well, we were out of bounds in the middle of the night in the rose garden.' Harry blushed as he said it.

'You don't think McGonagall told him?' asked Draco. 'I wouldn't have thought so,' Harry pondered. 'I've really no idea what this is all about.'

At that moment the familiar stone grinding came from the gargoyle and the secret door opened. Dumbledore stood there, beaming.

'Ah! Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy, exactly on time, excellent, excellent,' he began, eyes twinkling a little. 'Do come on in.'

The boys followed him up the moving staircase until they appeared in the beautiful circular room that was the Headmaster's office.

'Sirius!' exclaimed Harry, and without even thinking, ran over to his godfather who smothered him in a big bear hug.

'How're you feeling, Harry?' murmured Sirius as they parted.

'Good, Sirius, honestly; I feel better. I managed to sleep a bit last night.'

Sirius smiled. 'That is good news, Harry, you certainly look a little happier this mor--'

'If we could possibly get this over with,' interrupted Snape, with the look of utmost contempt on his face.

'Yes, yes sorry to rush you all, but I have a snowball thingy to be at very shortly,' Dumbledore countered, beaming wider than ever. 'Take a seat please, Harry, Draco.'

Harry sat next to Sirius on one side of the room, and Draco reluctantly sat next to Snape on the other. Suddenly Harry had a horrible feeling of foreboding.

'You will have as long as you like to ask questions about what I am about to say, but not now. I will happily speak to you both at length this evening, if you should want to. But for now I want you just to listen and do as I ask.'

Harry and Draco caught each other's eyes. What on earth was going on here? 'Harry, Draco, this may come as a shock to you, but I suspect, not as much as a shock as it could have been some weeks ago. The nature of your er, predicament, has not gone unnoticed by me, and I have been distressed by the acute lack of sleep you have both been experiencing. You may put on brave faces now, here in this room, but I know if either of you denied there were a problem you would both be deceiving yourselves, so I have decided to take action, for reasons which I will explain at some future date, presently unknown.'

Draco and Harry maintained eye contact at this unexpected turn of events.

'You will each go back to your Houses and pack a bag that will enable you to stay in the Hospital Wing for an indefinite period. When you have done that, you will go and report to Madam Pomfrey who will have further instructions for you. Neither of you will be missed until this evening at the earliest, by which time you will have been completely removed from all the day-to-day stresses of the school. There will be no lessons or any other school activities for either of you for the time being. I will call on you this evening after supper.'

Removed from the school? wondered Harry. He could feel the same bewilderment in Draco's head.

'Harry, Sirius will be remaining close by for a little while but I warn you I am not going to allow an endless stream of visitors. Draco, Professor Snape and I have decided, after much careful thought, that we will not be notifying your parents of this action. Should you wish to owl them of course, that is your right, and I will be only too happy to explain my decision to them.'

It came so fast, that Harry didn't know what to make of it. Draco was equally nonplussed. Dumbledore saw their confusion, and continued more gently.

'Severus,' he requested, 'would you mind going and telling Madam Hooch to start the contest without me? And please tell Minerva and the judging panel I shall be with them in a few minutes.' Snape looked livid at having been excluded from any further discussion, but nodded curtly and left. Dumbledore carried on.

'Sirius, I suggest while the castle is empty you make your way to the room I have made available for you. You will be allowed to see Harry this evening, and I will want to speak to you again after lunch today.'

Sirius nodded, smiling. He knew that Dumbledore wanted a little time with the boys alone.

'Sure, Albus,' he replied, and squeezing Harry's shoulder, he left.

The remaining three looked at each other. 'Professor...' began Draco, but Dumbledore shushed him.

'Harry, Draco. You will think I am interfering. You'll think I have no right to take the actions I have. And in some ways you are right. I have put off meddling in this matter from the very beginning, but I now have serious and weighty reasons for taking these steps.'

He softened further and spoke gentler. 'But my reasons are not only serious or weighty. They are also because I am worried about you. You need to sleep again, and you need to get stronger and feel happier. And above all, you need to talk, probably for hours and hours, maybe longer.'

Then his eyes twinkled a little, and he said, 'And it will be easier and more comfortable to talk in the warm than roaming the grounds in the middle of the night.'

He looked thoughtful again, as he held what looked to Harry and Draco like a small glass sphere, he looked hard into its depths, and then he continued, 'So. Try not to look upon this as an imposition, although I am certain it will sometimes feel like one.'

Harry and Draco wondered if this was the end but after another little while he suddenly said, 'and above all, don't be scared. You are standing on the edge of a wonderful thing.' That definitely was the end. Draco looked at Harry, who was sort of smiling.

'Professor,' wondered Harry, 'did you think up this snowball thing to give us a chance to get out of our Houses without having to answer any questions?'

'Now, Harry,' beamed the Headmaster again, 'would I do a thing like that?'

***

Ron and Hermione missed Harry much earlier than the evening of course. Ron was looking round for him as they smashed Ravenclaw into oblivion, and couldn't concentrate on the Hufflepuff v Slytherin fixture because he was looking constantly at the castle door to see when Harry arrived. By the final, which was indeed Gryffindor v Slytherin, Ron was getting edgy, and couldn't get into the match at first.

'Where is he?' he moaned to Hermione. 'He won't want to miss this.'

'I don't kno--,' Hermione began, but then screamed, 'Ron, watch out!'

A forward wing of Slytherin snowballers came in a wave towards them and suddenly the battle was on at a furious pace. Hermione veered off to Ron's left with a terrific enthusiasm for combat, yelling obscenities that Ron found quite scary. She was frenzied in her efforts, at the same time as being more or less unable to control her laughing. Right in the thick of it, at the head of the Gryffindor attack formation, Fred and George were frantically screaming instructions at the troops behind them as, to be honest, absolute mayhem broke out around them. The melee split into several smaller battles and Hermione, Ginny and a group of fourth year boys were swiftly overpowering a cohort of furious Slytherins who found their retreat blocked by Fred and the Gryffindor seventh year girls, headed by Alicia Spinnet, who looked frankly terrifying. At that moment Ron found that he, Seamus and some third year boys were totally surrounded by some leering Slytherin senior girls and, fearing the worst, he heard Seamus bellow an Irish battle cry that practically froze the blood of all those around him.

In an effort to sabotage this Slytherin ambush, George counter-attacked from the rear with Lavender, who was displaying remarkable accuracy, and Parvati, who had given up on technique and was just blindly kicking snow in all directions, but screaming like a banshee in the process. But it was Hermione - at least as much as the twins - who was the driving force of the Gryffindor team that day. She was utterly committed to victory and, being both bossy and determined, had gained control with her band of guerrillas of practically half of the field, and after about fifteen minutes had managed to hem in a big chunk of Slytherin House against the goal posts. She had by no means the best throwing arm, but, the twins conceded afterwards, she had more than made up for it. Ron was amazed at her. It was like he was seeing her in a new light.

It was, quite truthfully, absolutely the most fun any of them had had for ages. Madam Hooch swerved around above them all, but made no disqualifications as it was impossible to see more than a fraction of the action at any one time, but she did award Gryffindor ten penalty points against Goyle, who had simply grabbed Dennis Creevey, held him off the ground and stuffed snow down the back of his cloak. The Gryffindors roared their approval and the match would probably have turned (even more) nasty, but shortly afterwards Madam Hooch blew her whistle in a shrill blast that brought the combat to a close.

All eyes turned to Dumbledore, who was conferring with the judges in the top box of the Quidditch stand. His magically amplified voice rang out over the pitch.

'Students of Hogwarts!' he boomed.

There was a mighty roar.

'The judges are completing their final tally of points in conference with the referee', he continued. 'Very soon we will know the winning House, who will receive one hundred House points!' More cheering.

'After the winners have been announced, you will have fifteen minutes to return to your houses and change into dry clothes. Then a vast and delicious lunch will be served in the Great Hall.'

Even more deafening cheering. Then Dumbledore turned away to consult with Madam Hooch. He then stood up tall, holding a Slytherin banner in one hand and a Gryffindor in his other.

The entire school watched him with breath held.

And then, very slowly, Dumbledore raised the red and gold banner of Gryffindor House.

The cheers echoed round the whole valley, and even in that huge noise, Hermione could be heard screaming victoriously.

Up in the hospital wing, Harry and Draco looked out of the window of their new room, watching Dumbledore holding the red banner aloft. Harry was grinning sideways at Draco.

'Don't say anything,' sighed Draco, trying to fume, but failing. 'Just don't say anything at all'

CHAPTER NINE

~

ON THE EDGE OF A WONDERFUL THING

They watched the school file back into the castle, and then stared out at the Quidditch pitch, which half an hour before had had a pristine covering of gleaming white snow, and now looked like, well, exactly like a war had been enacted on it.

'This feels weird,' declared Harry, as they turned away from the window.

'What does?'

'This.' He motioned with his arm around the room. 'This room. These beds. Our clothes not being in trunks. No schoolwork. No mess. This view from the window. It's all weird.'

'Well, I'm with you there, Potter.'

'How long do you think we are going to have to stay here?'

'As long as it takes, I guess.'

'As long as what takes?'

'Potter, I don't have any more answers than you.' There was mild irritation in Draco's voice. 'You heard exactly the same explanation as me. Maybe we will know more tonight, but until then I'm in the dark.'

'But you must have some idea,' Harry persisted, sensing Draco's rising disquiet but ignoring it. 'I know you've got more idea than me.'

'And how exactly do you know that, Potter?' said Draco, becoming angry.

'Because I can feel it! I know you know something!' 'Well get used to it, Potter. Just because you've got some sneaky way into my head doesn't mean I'm going to start telling you everything I know! Work it out for yourself if you're that clever.'

'It is not a sneaky way into your head! And anyway you can do it too!'

'That doesn't mean I want to be able to feel all your pathetic moods, Potter!'

They glowered at each other, and then went and got as far away from each other as they could, which meant that Harry went to lie on his bed and Draco went back to looking out of the window. They were perhaps just fifteen feet apart.

The room was not exactly small, but hardly spacious. It was just off the main ward in the hospital wing, at the other end from Madam Pomfrey's office. There were two beds, not the sumptuous four-posters of their dormitories but the regular sanatorium kind with bars at both ends. There were two armchairs, old but comfortable enough. And one cupboard for their things. A low table by the window. And a small bathroom with a shower. And that was it.

Harry turned against the wall so he did not have to look at Draco. The ill- feeling simmered for a while until Draco turned round again.

'Hey Potter, that's my bed. Shift your stupid Gryffindor ass to this one.'

'Get lost. I don't see a name tag on it.'

'Potter...' Draco's had a hard angry edge. 'Potter, I am not going to be able to stand it in here if you carry on like this. Get. Off. My. Fucking. Bed. Now!' He towered over Harry, glaring down, furious.

'What are you going to do, eh, Malfoy? Fight me for it?'

Despite Harry's words he could feel Draco was about to boil over, and Harry was scared. 'Ha! You're scared!' sneered Draco. 'No fucking guts at all! I thought Gryffindors were all about bravery!'

'And I thought that you might sort of be a decent bloke after all! But no, you're just the malevolent bully that you've always been! And to think I let you kiss me! Fucking hell, what a nightmare! Keep your filthy instincts to yourself in future!'

Draco raised his hand to hit Harry. But mention of the kiss had stung him hard, like a solid punch in the solar plexus.

'They're...they're the same instincts as yours, Potter,' he stuttered.

Almost eye to eye, they fumed, unblinking. Harry was trembling. Draco looked as if he were about to cry. On the back of a wild instinct, Harry quickly reached his arm round the back of Draco's head and pulled his face towards him. Draco resisted for about one tenth of a second, then felt Harry plant a firm, full, hard kiss on his lips, warm and urgent, but without any sense of the violence that had threatened just seconds before. The tension was temporarily diffused, and Draco sighed heavily and sat down on the bed next to Harry.

'Now whose instincts are filthy?' he said quietly, but without malice.

There was a long silence as the anxiety dissipated to nothing. Harry spoke first.

'Malfoy, I'm sorry. You can have the bed if you want.'

'No, don't worry about it. It's silly. Let's not argue about it.'

'We haven't done very well, have we?' Harry sighed, with an odd sadness in his voice.

'What do you mean?'

'Well, half an hour. That's all we lasted before it got out of hand.' Draco looked at Harry. 'Not a good start,' he agreed. 'Perhaps tomorrow will be better.'

'Malfoy, I don't want us to argue again, but there really are loads of things I don't understand. And I sense that you do.'

Draco said nothing, not quite sure how to respond.

'So,' continued Harry cautiously, 'whenever you want to start maybe telling me what they are, I'd like to listen.'

'Potter,' Draco said kindly, 'one thing at a time. Today, who sleeps where. Tomorrow, we move on. And let's face it, today's issue was hard enough to resolve on its own, don't you think?' He smiled at Harry a little sheepishly.

Harry smiled back.

'Hey,' laughed Draco. 'This is a nice bed Potter, but not quite as nice as mine over there I suspect. I think you may live to regret your choice.'

The glint in his eye shot acres of warmth through Harry.

'Regret my choice, Malfoy?' said Harry, with the slightest hint of flirtation. He looked straight into Draco's eyes. 'I hope not...!'

They looked closely at each other, their smiles so infectious that the moment lasted for several minutes.

'Potter, I have to say that's the first argument I've had when the word malevolent was used in the heat of the moment. Take two points for evidence of a decent vocabulary.'

'Two points, Malfoy?' Harry grinned. 'Are you sure you can afford two points, after Slytherin just lost the snowball thing?'

'Right!' Draco tried hard to feign seriousness, but he couldn't stop smiling. 'No more compassion! You've asked for it now, Potter!' He launched himself on Harry in a kind of playfight that was far, far more play than fight. They both collapsed giggling onto Harry's bed, until they were as totally comfortable with each other's presence as they had been the night before in the rose garden. Lying side by side, they both looked up at the ceiling.

'This is nice,' mused Harry.

Draco turned onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at Harry's face. 'I think,' he said, 'that if we're lucky, it might get nicer still...'

The mood turned serious, and Harry just knew Draco was going to kiss him again. He felt the intention in Draco's head, and signalled his own willingness with his eyes. But instead of kissing him, Draco reached over and gently removed Harry's glasses. They looked in on each other's souls, no longer needing speech for communication.

After a long time in perfect stillness, Draco spoke very softly.

'How about this for a way forward, Potter? We don't keep count of the arguments, instead we keep tally of the times we are not arguing. On that score, we've managed seven minutes of hostility and one hour fifteen minutes of something much more pleasant. We have made a good start if you look at it that way.'

'Ok Malfoy, that's a good plan.'

Draco nodded and smiled, and then, tantalisingly slowly, lowered his lips to Harry's.

'Oh God...' murmured Harry in the faintest, faintest whisper, before his voice was cut off by Draco's unbearably soft mouth.

*** 'He's gone!' yelled Ron in desperation. 'He's gone somewhere! There's no sign of him, and some of his things are missing! Wand, clothes, some books, robes, his clock, even his pyjamas! Where on earth can he be?'

The Gryffindors had arrived back at the Tower in the most buoyant party mood any of them could remember, but Ron had rushed straight upstairs to see if Harry was in bed. Hermione had followed him, as did Seamus and Ginny who, in the excitement of the snowball contest, had only just noticed Harry's absence. Ron stupidly looked under Harry's bed in case he was there, but the obvious futility of this action only made him more frustrated.

'Ron, calm down!' said Hermione, although she was worried too. 'There has to be a logical explanation!'

'There is a logical explanation,' came a calm voice from behind them. The four of them spun round. Professor McGonagall was standing there, looking half serious, half amused.

'Harry's gone, Professor!' blurted Ron urgently. 'It's just, I don't want to betray his privacy, but you've got to understand, he's not well! I thought he was better yesterday, he even slept for a while, but now he's disappeared!'

'Mr Weasley,' McGonagall began, 'listen to Miss Granger for once and calm down. Your concern for Harry is a credit to you, but there is no need to worry.'

'Where is he then, Professor?' asked Hermione sensibly. 'Do you know?'

'Yes, Miss Granger, I do. Now listen to me carefully and don't butt in till I've finished, Weasley. Professor Dumbledore has removed Harry from the school temporarily. He is in the Hospital wing, where he will remain for the near future, as we try to coax him back into a healthier sleep pattern. And after that we will work on his appetite, and his depression, and his other problems. You do not need to worry, he is going to get the help he needs at last.' Ron was relieved, but added, 'there is no need for him to be away from us, Professor. We understand his problems totally. We can easily help him sleep and eat. Anyway last night he slept for about six hours!'

'Mr Weasley,' McGonagall sighed. 'I do not doubt for one minute that you have been a great help to Harry. And I am sure that you all have worked out what is the matter with him, and are eager to help him. But the problem is, he has not worked it out yet. And when he does, he may get worse. So the Hospital wing is the best place for him, where he can be looked after all of the time, and he can be encouraged to sleep at any time of day. I know you have all been fretting for weeks, but you can stop now. Rest assured he is in a safe place, and let your minds be concerned with other things for the time being. Like your schoolwork for one, Weasley.'

Ron nodded reluctantly at her.

'When can we see him, Professor?' asked Hermione.

'Ah. You can't, I'm afraid,' said McGonagall, pursing her lips.

'Why not?' demanded Ginny, alarmed.

'Because those are Professor Dumbledore's instructions. No visitors at all for a week, and then half an hour a day after that. So you can see him after supper for a short while on Sunday, one week from today. And don't try to sneak in there before then, any of you, or the consequences will be dire.'

'But what if he wants to see us, Professor?' insisted Ron. 'A whole week without visitors, that's ages!'

'As I understand it, Mr Weasley, he has just been several weeks without talking to anybody. Just let it drop, please, and trust Professor Dumbledore's judgement on this matter. Besides,' she added quietly, 'he will not be alone in the hospital wing. So you really do not need to worry. Now go downstairs and join the party. I have provided a few butterbeers for you all,' she smiled. 'Is it Malfoy?' asked Ron. 'Is Malfoy in the Hospital wing with him?'

'Mr Weasley. I have said all I am going to say on the matter. Now, a celebration party awaits in the common room. Go and enjoy yourselves. It's not every day we score such a satisfying victory against Slytherin House!'

There were smiles all round at that. The snowball thing really had been fantastic.

'Pity Harry couldn't have been there,' moaned Ron as they trooped down the stairs.

'Oh, and Miss Granger...' added McGonagall just before they reached the common room, 'absolutely terrific performance this afternoon, I have to say. The judges were all rather impressed with your battle skills.'

Hermione blushed slightly, but was secretly delighted.

***

It was some time later when they received their first visit from Madam Pomfrey. They were still lying on Harry's bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in each other's thoughts.

'Gentlemen,' she said curtly as she entered, carrying a tray with two goblets of a smoky purple liquid. 'This room is equipped with two beds. Deliberately so. One of you will please move now.'

Reluctantly Draco got up slowly and dropped into one of the armchairs. Harry found his glasses and put them on.

'It was not my wish at all that you two should share this room, but Professor Dumbledore insisted upon it. However I will not delay in moving one or both of you to the main ward if I see fit. Is that clear?'

They both nodded.

'Now you will please drink one of these each.' She set the tray down on the table. Neither of them moved.

'Go on,' she ordered firmly. 'I am not leaving until they are empty.'

'What is it?' asked Draco.

'A deep sleeping draught, just prepared for you by Professor Snape. You will each sleep peacefully without dreaming for four, perhaps five hours. The relaxant in the potion will stay with you for some time afterwards. In time we will work on other ways to restore your sleep patterns to normal, but for now I am insisting upon enchanted sleep for both of you.'

'It's the middle of the afternoon!' protested Harry.

'Mr Potter. This point is not open for discussion. Drink the potions now, please.'

Draco picked up one of the goblets and carried it over to Harry, a gesture which pleased Harry no small amount. Then, looking Madam Pomfrey straight in the eye, Draco downed his in one gulp. Harry followed suit.

'Yick,' blurted Draco. 'What on earth is in that?'

'Sleeping potions are on the third year curriculum, are they not, Mr Malfoy?' smiled Madam Pomfrey. 'You tell me...'

Draco half-heartedly pulled a face at her, but she did not react at all.

'Good,' she declared, smiling through tightly closed lips. She reminded Harry slightly of Hermione.

'Now,' she continued. 'Pyjamas. Right now, please. You have at most ten minutes before the potion takes effect. Come on, in your beds, please.' She busied herself with turning down their covers, and tidying their few solitary possessions on the table.

The two boys just stared at each other, aware that they had just reached a crunch moment in the presence of a member of staff and with only minutes to resolve it. Madam Pomfrey sensed their discomfort, and found it rather endearing. The Crimson Cloud is engulfing this pair like a fog, she thought, but they are coy about getting undressed. It was sort of charming.

'Move, you two!' Her voice was commanding, but her tone was not stern. 'Come on, I've been in charge of this Hospital wing for more years than you have been alive. There is nothing that you have that I have not seen before.'

'You may have seen it all before,' said Harry, a little awkwardly, 'but we haven't'.

Draco looked at him and they both sniggered together, aware of how ridiculous this situation was. Madam Pomfrey found their laughter curiously infectious, and she warmed to them in that moment.

Oh what the hell, thought Harry, and Draco sensed this thought in his head. They sniggered again, then went to the cupboard to get their pyjamas. They stood next to each other as they got undressed, not wanting to look at each other, but unable not to look either.

Madam Pomfrey turned her back and secured the window and the curtains. Draco was already down to his boxer shorts as he fished out his pyjamas. For the boys, it was like Madam Pomfrey was not even there. Their laughter was easy and natural, and would not go away.

'Move over, Potter, you just elbowed me in the ribs.'

'Malfoy!' gasped Harry, surprised. 'Are they your pyjamas? They're silk!'

'Of course. That's what pyjamas are made of aren't they?' Draco pondered airily, as he removed his boxers and stepped into his pyjama bottoms in one easy movement. Harry admired the skill of the move, wondering if he could be that slick too.

'Oh nice,' commented Draco, snorting at Harry struggling into his own pyjama trousers. 'They're a real stylish garment. Blue cotton went out about forty years ago, Potter.' 'Shut up Malfoy,' blushed Harry. 'Pyjamas aren't supposed to be a fashion statement!' Pyjama bottoms on, he pulled off his t-shirt and slipped on the matching blue cotton shirt.

'Good lord,' Draco muttered. 'God knows why I find you attractive, you're all skin and bone!'

They looked at each other, mouths agape at what Draco had just said, then a loud volley of laughter rocketed between them as they remembered the presence of Madam Pomfrey behind them. She smiled to herself. Not much evidence of depression in here, at the moment anyway.

'Is this cabaret show over yet?' she asked good-naturedly as the two finally stood before her, one in blue cotton, the other black silk.

'It would appear so,' Draco yawned.

'We do hope you enjoyed it,' said Harry, and they both sniggered again. But sleep was now only moments away, and Madam Pomfrey hurried them into bed.

'Professor Dumbledore will be here to see you when you wake.'

It was the last thing they heard.

As Madam Pomfrey watched them drop into sleep, she smiled once more, then closed the door and left them alone.

***

'They are asleep,' declared Professor Dumbledore, to the group assembled in his office.

'Headmaster,' blustered Snape, 'I do not see why this ridiculous matter is taking up so much of our time.'

'Indeed, Severus,' said Dumbledore, but nobody could quite tell whether he was agreeing with Snape or dismissing his comment. 'You may leave, if you wish...' Dumbledore added after a short time, smiling benevolently.

The confusion evaporated instantly, and Sirius - enjoying Snape's discomfort - pulled a silly gleeful face at McGonagall, who ignored him completely. She still hadn't quite forgiven him for disturbing her stalking the vole that morning. The two of them had a rather odd relationship. It wasn't too many years since he'd been a student in her Transfiguration class, and a very talented one too. Somehow behind her back he had taught himself how to be an Animagus while still a teenager, which was no mean feat at all. McGonagall considered briefly the other two boys who had managed that same achievement in that very same class. One tragically dead, one a traitor; and she was saddened to think of all that Sirius had been through since those days and now. He was placing himself in immense danger by being here, but to him, the danger was of no consequence; the bond that linked him through James and Lily to Harry was one of the driving forces in his post-Azkaban life, if not the only one. It was a bond of a type she had never had and would probably now never experience, although, she was very fond of Harry herself, even protective. She caught Sirius's glance again and raised her eyebrows slightly in response to his smirk.

Sirius smothered a laugh at this astonishing show of humanity from the stern Scot.

'What's so funny, Black?' spat Snape icily, seeing the looks passing between Sirius and McGonagall. 'What is this, Gryffindor v Slyth--'

'...but I would prefer if it you stayed, of course,' continued Dumbledore, ignoring the previous tensions in the room. 'In the absence of Draco's parents, I would like you here as his Head of House.'

Snape made no move, which the group interpreted as his intention to remain.

'Are you going to inform Draco's parents?' asked Sirius. 'No,' replied Dumbledore, 'not yet anyway. Not unless Draco himself specifically requests it. I will speak to him this evening, but I have a hunch he won't want that yet. And the same instinct tells me, Sirius, that similarly we cannot assume that Harry will welcome your presence either. It may be some time before he is comfortable enough with his feelings to be able to talk you, in fact considering your reports of your recent meetings with him, I rather suspect this will be the case. You may see him this evening, but if there is the slightest sign that your being there is stressful for him, I will advise Madam Pomfrey that the no visitors rule extends even to you.'

Snape's leering, gloating grin was as wide as his face and distinctly as unattractive.

'Harry and Draco have got to be left alone to come to terms with this with each other as well as individually. However painful this may be for those closest to them to have to watch, it must be so, because we need it to happen as quickly as possible. As soon as I think they are stable enough mentally, even if they are not fully reconciled to their dependence on each other, we must start to assess the stability and extent of their magical bonding. This will require much extra work from all of us to establish as far as we can how their magical symbiosis will affect their abilities, and then to adjust their education accordingly.'

The mood in the circular room was now altered totally, all the petty sniping banished by the seriousness of Dumbledore's tone.

'I am uncomfortable interfering in this at all, Albus,' said McGonagall.

'I agree totally, Minerva. Ordinarily we would simply leave the couple to discover these things for themselves, but considering who this couple are, and considering the increasingly worrying nature of Fudge's owls regarding Voldemort, we cannot afford to wait for so gradual a process to complete itself.'

Dumbledore paused, and then if anything his seriousness deepened. 'This issue is not going to be solved overnight I am afraid. And its potential importance extends far beyond the walls of this castle. Very soon we are going to have one, or maybe two, significant problems to deal with. The dilemma here is that in forcing them to spend time together for a quick resolution to their difficulties, we are hugely increasing the chances of this news leaking out. The fact that these two archrivals are secluded together away from the school will become known very soon I am sure. Minerva, I believe you when you say that Miss Granger is already in possession of most of the facts. I would have expected nothing less from her. But whereas I am sure we can trust her not to inflame the scandal herself, we cannot expect the same from most of the rest of the school.'

He glanced around the room at the attentive faces.

'Which brings me to the second problem. If knowledge of the Crimson Cloud reaches any parents at all, or worse still gets into the Daily Prophet, it is bound to reach Voldemort. He will know that Harry will be weakened by this, and may act against him. Once he knows that the other half of this equation is the only son of his most faithful follower, the threat becomes immeasurably worse. He will know that a bonding between Harry and Draco could possibly produce abilities in both of them that would be a significant danger to him. Another complication is Fudge's blindness to the facts. It is imperative that he receive no news of this.'

'It is going to be nearly impossible to keep this a secret!' Sirius despaired.

'I realise that. We must form a tight-knit group who alone know the full picture, and we must pray that Draco's fear of his own father is enough to prevent him telling Lucius what has happened. And we need a cover story. At the moment I have no idea what that will be, but we must think of a compelling reason why Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy should be secluded in this way, something that we can allow to leak into the school without the real picture becoming obvious. Please all put your minds to this, we are going to need it I suspect before the end of the day.' 'Sleeping sickness,' provided Snape instantly. 'Some kind of sleeping disorder which they picked up from that dratted faun of Hagrid's. Perhaps we could say that the faun had been abroad somewhere outlandish, and the malady is not fully understood in this country. It would explain why only Potter and Malfoy are affected. It would also explain their bizarre recent behaviour. And it would explain why we have removed from them from the chaos of the school to the peace of the Hospital wing, and why, because of the need for sleep, we are not allowing visitors.'

'Excellent, Severus,' beamed Dumbledore. 'That fits the bill all ways, and it is interesting enough not to sound like a cover-up, too. We might be able to keep the lid on this after all. Because of the extreme sensitivity of this it is my proposal that absolutely nobody other than those already in the know are made aware of what is really going on here. The four of us, and Poppy Pomfrey. I think we must add Hermione Granger too. I will speak with her myself and assess the extent of her knowledge. If Miss Granger has spoken to her friends I will also speak to them and impress the strongest need for security.'

The others nodded.

'But above all, I want none of the seriousness of this to reach the boys themselves, who must remain no more troubled than they already are for as long as possible. This should be a time of great joy for them, and who are we to deny them all they may gain from being together? Especially as this could be of immense worth to all of us, not just to them: we should not forget that love for Harry Potter defeated Voldemort once before, and it may do so again...'

***

Draco woke first. It was a peculiar feeling, rising from an enchanted sleep in an unfamiliar room, and his first reaction was one of slight distress.

Then it all came back to him. He was in the Hospital wing, sharing a small room with Potter. The curtains were drawn and it was more or less completely dark but a small chink of light from under the door gradually began to illuminate his surroundings. It was peaceful. He could hear Potter's slow breathing from the other bed, and idly wondered when he would wake. Come to that, he thought, what is the time anyway?

In the dim greyness of their room, Draco spotted Harry's Snitch-clock hovering silently next to his pillow. He reached for his wand.

'Accio clock-thing,' he muttered.

The Snitch-clock made no move. Blast, he thought, you need to know precisely what something was before you could summon it. He slowly got out of bed and walked over to Harry to pick the clock up manually.

This is a neat little thing, thought Draco as he turned it over in his hand. But there did not seem to be a dial or anything else that could indicate the time. Even so, he was sure it was a clock. How does it work?

'What is the time please?' he asked, but it made no sign of having heard him. Bugger and blast, is this thing enchanted so that only Potter could use it?

'Potter, are you awake yet? How does this work?' he whispered in a low voice.

Harry lay totally motionless but for the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. His face was not exactly relaxed and not exactly in torment, and, like the clock, showed no sign of having heard him.

Draco looked closely at the sleeping Harry. His glasses were next to his bed neatly beside his wand. Draco paused as he recalled the events of the afternoon: an argument, nearly a fight, and two more kisses. If he wanted to stop this thing now, he wouldn't be able. It was not much more than a day since they had first spoken properly - out by the lake - but they had already travelled further in that time than he had dared to hope. When Draco had first roused himself from the endless stewing, got dressed and gone out to have his first ever conversation with Potter, he had scarcely thought that twenty-four hours later he and Potter would have spent several comfortable hours in each other's company, kissed three times, seen each other undress, and now be looking at an indefinite period in private seclusion with no interruptions. Don't be scared, Dumbledore had said. You are standing on the edge of a wonderful thing. Was Dumbledore actively trying to throw them together? It certainly sounded like it. Why would he want to do that?

His eyes remained on Harry. How painfully vulnerable you look right at this moment, he thought. His feelings for Potter had changed so much recently, changed out of all recognition. He knew he was fast falling in love with him, he had been aware of that for some time. But he was also feeling something else, another feeling that he was totally unfamiliar with. He was beginning to feel protective of him. The strangeness of that emotion was still unusual to him, but ever since he'd watched him wrestling with things he couldn't imagine out by the lake, he had begun to wonder how he himself could help drag Potter back into the light. Well, it looked like he was certainly going to get his chance now. However much longer they were going to have together, he was going to make every second count. He reached down and gently ran the back of a finger over his cheek.

Harry slept on unknowing.

'Oh, of course,' he said to himself. 'Tempus.'

The Snitch-clock informed him politely that it was a quarter to nine.

Harry was bunched up at the pillow end of the bed, and Draco pulled himself up onto the foot of Harry's bed and sat with his back against the wall, enjoying the closeness, feeling Harry's strange empty calm in his own head. But there was not the same calm in Draco's head. For the first time, his mind wandered to the implications of their growing relationship beyond the school. This was Harry Potter for fuck's sake. His fellow Slytherins...his parents...and even more unthinkable matters...

It was perhaps twenty minutes later, when Draco was still sitting at Harry's feet, troubled yet at peace, when the door opened, and in walked Professor Dumbledore closely followed by Madam Pomfrey and Sirius. The bright light from the lamps of the main ward flooded into their small kingdom and revealed the two boys as still as statues, one sleeping, the other guarding him.

'Mr Malfoy,' grimaced Madam Pomfrey. 'I told you earlier that this room is equipped with two beds. Please return to your own.'

Draco looked angry at this interruption, but sighed, slipped off the bed slowly and sank into an armchair.

'Good evening, Draco,' smiled Dumbledore. 'How are you feeling?'

'Tired,' replied Draco blandly. 'Relaxed, but more tired than I have ever felt.'

'And Harry?' continued Dumbledore. 'Is he just dozing?'

'No,' said Draco. 'He hasn't woken up yet.'

'Hasn't he?' The tone in Dumbledore's voice altered slightly. 'Poppy, how long ago did you give them the potion?'

'Exactly six hours, Headmaster,' responded Madam Pomfrey immediately.

Sirius walked past Draco to Harry's bed and laid his hand across Harry's head. 'He is sleeping deeply, Albus,' Sirius confirmed.

Draco sensed immediately the slight tension in the room.

'What's the matter?' he demanded sharply. 'Why is this a problem?'

'There is no problem, Draco,' answered Dumbledore soothingly. 'We are just surprised that the potion is still having an effect on him. Its strength was calculated for a maximum of five hours. Poppy will you please fetch Professor Snape? I want to know precisely which version of the potion he used.'

Madam Pomfrey left the room. 'Forget Harry for the moment please,' said Dumbledore softly. '...if you can. I want to talk to you. Sirius, could you leave us for a short while?'

Sirius smiled and left the room.

'Draco, I need to talk to you about your parents. Usually when a student is facing a long period in the Hospital wing I would owl the parents to inform them of the situation. But I think we are both aware that these are not usual circumstances and I don't think that that is a decision I can take. It has to lie with you. Have you had any thoughts about this yet?'

'Professor, may I be totally frank?'

'Of course.'

'I am grateful for the opportunity you have given us, and I think I am beginning to understand why you have done it. But I have a couple of concerns. I have far more idea of why we are here than Potter does, so we have a lot of talking to do. In the interim all I need is sleep, but he needs much more. I don't know how to explain it, but I can sort of feel a great hole in his head where the facts ought to be. And I sense he is very vulnerable, and all the while he is like this I don't want to make the situation any more difficult. Because of that I do not want you to tell my parents. Their knowledge would bring them here, and their presence could only bring...complications.'

'Very well. Your words are wise, Draco.'

'But surely they are not the main worry here; what about the rest of the school?'

'I told the main body of the school this evening at supper that you two have been suffering from a sleeping disorder caused by exposure to the faun Dixter. Thankfully this has not caused as great a stir as you would imagine. And certainly nothing like the kind of stir the truth would cause, I suspect.' 'The truth is bound to come out sooner or later. I am not going to be able to hide it once Potter is stronger.'

'No indeed. Hiding it will not be expected of either of you, in time. But right at this present moment...'

'Exactly.'

After a pause, Draco continued, 'you must let me tell him everything when I think he is ready for it, or when he demands it, whichever comes sooner. He can sense everything in my head, and already knows I am holding back on something. In fact we argued about it this afternoon. But, you can leave it to me. It needs to be me that tells him all of what this mess is, and what it all means. But it is delicate, and its importance spreads far beyond him and me. So, no complications, no parents.'

There was silence as the two reached an unspoken agreement.

'Draco, I am impressed with your calm maturity. It is a great credit to you. Harry is lucky. You both are.'

'Thankyou, Professor. I know,' said Draco softly. 'One last thing. There is at least one member of the school who knows as much as I do, maybe more, and a couple of others who are not far behind.'

'I assume you are talking of Miss Granger and her friends?' smiled Dumbledore.

Draco nodded. He was beginning to see, like Harry, that practically nothing escaped Dumbledore's notice.

'There will be no...complications from that quarter, Draco.'

The quiet remained for several more minutes until the door opened again and Madam Pomfrey came back in. Snape and Sirius followed her.

Snape signalled that he had something to say, but Dumbledore told him to say it despite Draco's presence. 'The potion was a standard five hour deep sleeping draught, Headmaster. It had some extra sopora root as an added relaxant, to ease the passage out of enchanted sleep. But it was nothing like enough to keep Potter in a deep slumber. If he is still in such a deep sleep, it is not due to the potion, indeed in Potter's current state I would have expected him to wake long before the five hours were up, not sleep beyond that time.'

Dumbledore remained calm. 'Poppy. Sirius. Any suggestions?'

'None yet, Albus,' said Sirius.

'No,' sighed Madam Pomfrey.

'Still, we will not worry yet,' continued Dumbledore. 'It has only been six hours. I think we can assume he is exhausted and leave it at that for now. Draco, thank you for our chat earlier. We will leave you now. Please try to sleep some more, but in case you cannot, Madam Pomfrey has some more of the sleeping draught, which will be active for another twenty hours or so. Professor Snape will prepare some more if you need it after that. And Draco, do not worry about Harry. Good night.'

They left, and Draco sat back on Harry's bed as he had before. How could he not worry? After another couple of hours of not worrying in which Harry still did not wake, he eventually pulled back the covers, curled up next to him, and was himself drifting into natural sleep in minutes.

Sleep seemed to come so much easier when Harry was next to him.

CHAPTER TEN

~

MANY MEETINGS

It was Dumbledore who shook him on the shoulder to wake him the next morning, the Monday following the great Snowball Challenge. But was it actually morning? All sense of time had been totally knocked askew thanks to the potions and the excitement and the newness of their situation.

'Tempus,' groaned Draco absently, and the Snitch-clock informed him politely that it was exactly 4:30am.

'Bloody hell,' Draco fumed, not really taking in that he was still in Harry's bed and the Headmaster was standing over them.

Suddenly the reality of the situation hit him hard and he sat up like he'd just been given a jolt of electricity.

'Shit, oh sorry, Professor,' he flustered, 'I mean, sorry, I didn't mean to disobey Madam Pomfrey, I just fell asleep here, nothing's happened, honestly...' and he hastily pulled back the covers to return to his own bed.

Dumbledore smiled. 'Shhh, Draco,' he soothed. 'Stay where you are. There is no harm done.'

Draco opened his eyes and focussed hard, but he was still groggy and it was some minutes before any productive conversation was possible.

'I am sorry to wake you so early. But Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape both thought it would be best if you were not allowed to sleep for great chunks of time, not yet anyway. They are both asleep now, so I volunteered for this early morning call. I suggest you rouse yourself until lunchtime and then take some more potion, if you want it, this afternoon. We'll build you up to nine hours or so again gradually.'

'Thank you, Professor,' Draco muttered, still rather disconcerted. 'Although I think I prefer real sleep to the enchanted kind.'

'That is pleasing to hear, Draco. But don't be worried about using enchanted sleep to ease you back into the real thing. Now, I have to ask. What about Harry, has he woken yet?'

'No,' sighed Draco. He concentrated hard on trying to feel Harry's thoughts. But all was blank. Dumbledore said nothing.

'I would know if he had woken while I was asleep,' declared Draco eventually. 'It still feels...like he's in another world. Before yesterday, when I could feel him asleep, it was different somehow. I thought last night that it was just deep sleep, but now it feels like he's just not there at all.'

Dumbledore remained silent, and Draco added, 'am I allowed to start worrying yet?'

'Will my answer make any difference?' asked Dumbledore, his eyes slightly glinting.

'Probably not,' smiled Draco, endearingly shyly.

'I want you to know that this matter will have the fullest attention of the small group of people who know the truth. But I still do genuinely think that this is not a major cause for concern. And you must worry about yourself a little anyway. You have a long way to go before you are back to your old self.'

'I don't think I want to be my old self again, Professor. When I think of some of the things I have said and done...Potter is never going to forgive me when he takes in the reality of this situation.' 'That is mainly why I have given you this time together, Draco, so you can address your differences.'

'I am grateful for it...but the more I think about it, the less hopeful I get. I'm even sort of dreading him waking up because of it.'

'One thing at a time, Draco. I am sure you will get there. Harry is...decent. He will hear you fairly.'

'Thank you, Professor. I hope so.'

'Now. To matters in hand. Madam Pomfrey will be attending to you regularly, and with Harry in this state you will unfortunately receive several calls from other staff today. I will call each day in the evening. But apart from that I will not allow any visitors from the rest of the school. This is to create the space you need to feel strong and healthy again. All your concentration is to go into sleeping, eating and resting. Your issues with Harry will arise as and when they do. Oh, and one more question,' finished Dumbledore.

'Yes?'

'What is this neat little device?' Dumbledore reached for the Snitch-clock.

'I'm not sure exactly, but it's a clock of some kind. It's Potter's. Great isn't it? I've never seen one before.'

'Tempus,' commanded Dumbledore.

The Snitch-clock said nothing.

'Oh. Did I do it wrong? How does it work?' asked Dumbledore, interested.

'Er...you just say 'tempus' and it tells you the time,' replied Draco, oddly, as this no longer seemed to be the case.

'Hmmm,' mused Dumbledore, with buckets more meaning than Draco could define exactly. Draco took the clock and muttered, 'tempus.'

The Snitch-clock informed him politely that it was nearly 4:45am.

'Hmmm indeed,' pondered the Headmaster again. 'Well, that is quite enough of your time. I will leave you now. If I were you I would doze for a while then busy yourself with a book or something. Madam Pomfrey will be in later with some food. I expect, Draco, when she does, she will want you in your own bed.'

'Oh right, yes,' said Draco, blushing. 'I'd better move now, in case I drop off again.'

'Or...' added Dumbledore intriguingly, '...Maybe she will simply give up on that point in time. Who can say?'

Draco smiled at him, and while Dumbledore left the room, Draco snuggled down again alongside the unmoving, peaceful warmth of the body next to him. Natural, unenchanted sleep came again after only a short while.

***

Lessons proceeded as usual the day following the Great Snowball Challenge. More snow had fallen overnight, covering the physical evidence of the previous day's battle, but in the corridors and classrooms of Hogwarts School the memories were still vibrant and clear, and to Gryffindor House this had been right up there with winning the Quidditch Cup and the House Championship. But only a handful of people knew exactly why Dumbledore had suddenly sprung the idea on the school.

Schools, especially boarding schools, are funny places, where it is practically impossible to keep a secret. With so many people living in close proximity day in day out, anything slightly out of the ordinary is jumped on and run with for a while as that particular week's vital topic of conversation. Dumbledore knew this of course, but he wasn't known as the Greatest Headmaster of Hogwarts Ever for no reason. Certainly in ordinary conditions the news that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were confined under mysterious circumstances in the Hospital Wing would have been irresistible as a source of conversation. But, on the back of such an event as the Snowball Challenge, and with the news disguised as a sickness and then distributed to the school in a long list of deliberately tedious notices that evening at supper, there was scarcely a batted eyelid. There was simply too much talk of how Hermione had won the Battle of Hogwarts for there to be room for any other interesting news.

Hermione herself had of course smelt a rat immediately. A few things hadn't added up, but she'd kept them to herself, even kept them from Ron. It was all to do with timing. OK, she could accept that Dumbledore would want to speak to Harry. But. At the very moment that he was about to start the Snowball Challenge? And. There had been no need for Emily de Souza to come into Gryffindor House. The instructions could have been given out much more efficiently to the whole school when they were outside. Hermione knew that the only reason Emily had been there was so she could get hold of Harry and remove him from the rest of the House at a time it would go unnoticed. And then there had been McGonagall's curious reluctance to tell them whether Malfoy was also affected, even though she had actually ventured up to the dormitories to find them, and had volunteered more information than Hermione could ever remember. Hmmm. And what was all that rot about a sleeping sickness?

If Hermione was suspicious, Ron was just plain sulky. It had seemed bitterly ironic that the very minute Harry was again removed from their company, it was Hermione who had become the talk of the school. And he was mightily irritated by the fact that within only a few hours of his forcing a reconciliation with Harry - one of the most difficult and moving moments of his life - others had stepped in to do the job of helping Harry through his problems, the very job that Ron wanted to himself. He was still in a sulk when Hermione joined him at lunch and gathered the rest of the Gryffindor family around them for a quiet chat.

'Strange things are afoot,' she said to the group.

'What do you mean, Herm?' asked Seamus. 'I'm not sure, but I know it's imperative we don't breathe a word of what we know about Harry to anyone. Dumbledore has evidently taken control of the situation now, and he's obviously gone to great lengths to conceal it from the rest of the school, so I think secrecy is the order of the day. We are going to have to get on and forget all about it, and trust Dumbledore's judgement on this one now. We've done all we can for the time being.'

'How has he gone to great lengths, Hermione?' wondered Ginny. 'All he's done is said they are ill. Which is sort of true.'

'Yes, but to create the enormous sideshow of the Snowball thing, just as a cover? I call that great lengths. The entire school was looking the other way, including us.'

There didn't seem any argument to this, and the group went back to eating and talking about the Snowball Challenge, but Hermione was still suspicious, and Ron was still in a sulk.

Leaving the Great Hall about twenty minutes later, Hermione was not at all surprised when Dumbledore appeared almost out of thin air at her elbow, and without anyone else noticing, asked her if she would be good enough to stop by his office after Arithmancy that afternoon.

'The password's Worrisome Worms,' he glinted. 'Just come on up.'

Hermione sniggered after he left. Worrisome worms were the latest sweet craze to come out of Honeydukes'. In appearance they were just jelly worms about six inches long, but as soon as you bit into them they wriggled manically until you had bitten them into at least ten pieces. If you swallowed without disarming them in this way, they churned in your stomach for several hours afterwards. Rumour had it that the twins had actually sold this recipe to Honeydukes' for a large sum of money, but so far all parties had refused to confirm or deny the story. (Both the twins had been on new brooms that term though.) The image of the Headmaster trying to talk with jelly worms squirming in his mouth was an amusing one, and Hermione was still laughing to herself when she got to Arithmancy. ***

Dumbledore had been right about Madam Pomfrey's instructions; when she had entered the boys' room at shortly before 9am with some tea and toast, she had insisted that Draco return to his own bed immediately. After the Headmaster had woken him so early, he'd slept on and off for a little while but still the need for more deep sleep ached though his whole body. Draco sighed heavily and crawled out from next to Harry, who was still asleep.

He had picked at a slice of toast and managed half a cup of tea while Madam Pomfrey fussed round Harry, straightening his bed clothes and placing her hand on his brow at frequent intervals, and then she had left, and Draco had promptly got back onto Harry's bed and sat sort of over Harry's legs as he had the day before. He had a book to read, but his mind and gaze kept coming back to Harry.

The next visitor was Sirius, about half an hour later, who made no objection to where Draco was sitting. They had an odd conversation, the first they had ever had, in which precisely nothing of any real meaning was said. After about five minutes Sirius had left, with one parting comment to Draco.

'Draco, whatever happens, please promise me that you will never, ever hurt him.'

Draco sighed. Sirius was missing the point. But, instinctively, he kind of liked Sirius, and said kindly, 'why would I hurt him? I can't even bear to be more than three feet away from him.'

There was a moment of understanding between them, and Sirius left.

The next caller was Snape, who arrived a little after ten. Draco found it amusing to think that he had just taught the potions class at which he and Potter would ordinarily have been present. Snape was business-like and professional, without actually being gruff; no doubt to hide his embarrassment at this situation, thought Draco. Harry slept on unaware. Snape tried to make some kind of examination of Harry while he was sleeping, wondering if any clues to the extension of Harry's enchanted sleep could be gained from his temperature or breathing rate or such.

When Snape picked up one of Harry's arms and let it drop back to the bed with a thud, Draco shot him a warning look, and when Snape actually clumsily lifted one of Harry's eyelids, Draco said sharply, 'is that really necessary? I am sure poking his eye out isn't the best way to wake him up.'

Snape looked shocked at this insubordination from his most favoured pupil, but desisted nevertheless, and left shortly afterwards.

By the time McGonagall arrived about an hour and a half after that, Draco was beginning to wonder whether it might actually have been more peaceful to remain in the main school. But as he saw the genuine concern on her face when she saw that Harry was still not woken, he softened, and after she had been so kind to both of them only two nights before when they were out of bounds in the middle of the night, he found himself in a conversation with her that pleasantly surprised him by its openness.

'Draco,' she sighed as she sank heavily into one of the armchairs, making no comment that Draco himself was sitting up in bed next to Harry, 'we think that there is no point trying to understand any more about why Harry is still asleep until we maybe know a bit more about what happened beforehand. I know this is very personal, but can you tell me the extent of your contact with Harry since, well, over the last couple of days?'

'Er, Professor,' Draco blushed, 'the extent of my contact?'

'Oh goodness, Draco,' flustered McGonagall, 'no, I'm not asking for information that personal. Just, where and when you saw him, and what his mood was like. I know for example that you two spent some time together in the rose garden the night before last. How was he then?' 'Professor', began Draco delicately, 'I know that you gave your 'permission' for both me and Potter to be out of bounds that night, but how did you know we were in the rose garden?'

'Draco,' she almost laughed, 'I thought you were supposed to be intelligent. Tell me, what is the subject I teach you?'

'Transfig--' he began. 'Oh! You were the cat. I'd forgotten you were an Animagus.'

She smiled sort of serenely, but Draco had an uncharacteristic attack of shyness.

'Were you in the garden that night?' he asked softly.

'Good Heavens, no,' laughed McGonagall. 'I was not spying on you. I just turned up after a while to remind you of the curfew I'd given you both'. She carried on sympathetically. 'Was that...an important time for you? What was Harry's mood?'

'He was amazingly at peace, more so than he had been for weeks. Which is comforting because...' Draco broke off, not knowing quite how to continue, 'because in fact that was the most emotionally, er, charged time we had spent together yet.'

He knew he was blushing now.

McGonagall nodded. Draco spoke again.

'But we had actually spent some time together that afternoon too. It was only about ten minutes, but that was also peaceful. It was out by the lake, and it was snowing, but it was the first time we had ever spoken without animosity. But this peace in him is recent, Professor. Until we spoke by the lake, he had been in all sorts of anguish. I have been able to feel it in him for some time now.'

'So, you had spoken together twice?' 'Yes. But there are other significant things that have happened to him over the last couple of days. He had a very difficult and emotional scene with Weasley after he came in from the lake on Saturday. They patched up their friendship, and I know it was an extremely, er, tearful time for him. For both of them actually. After that I saw Potter at supper. He was reunited with his other friends and the relief and joy in him were overpowering. Later that night as you know I saw him in the rose garden. That occasion was also an emotional one. The next time I saw him was in Professor Dumbledore's office before the snowball thing. He was tired and, to be honest, apprehensive, nervous of what was suggested about coming here. When we got here almost the first thing we did was argue. Quite nastily. But, we had...' - he was definitely blushing now - '...more than made up by the time we took the potion. I honestly thought he was genuinely happy when we were getting ready for bed yesterday afternoon.'

McGonagall nodded again. 'That is very helpful, Draco. Please do not think we were prying.'

'Will you tell me something now?' he asked suddenly.

'Of course, if I can.'

'Why hasn't he woken up? Even without the factor of the potion he has now been asleep for nearly twenty hours. And it's not normal sleep. He just lies here, unmoving. He's not dreaming. His head is empty. It's like he's not here. You must have some idea, and I need to know.'

'Draco, as soon as we know we will tell you. I know that will not be enough for you now, but Professor Dumbledore will be back to talk to you again this evening, and hopefully Harry will have woken naturally by then anyway.'

That was obviously the only answer he was going to get.

'Now,' said McGonagall. 'It is nearly lunchtime. How much have you slept since Professor Dumbledore woke you this morning?' 'Not much. Just on and off for a while.'

'I think you should have something to eat and then sleep some more. Would you like more sleeping draught, or do you want to sleep naturally?'

Draco made a snap decision. 'Sleeping potion,' he declared. It was the only way he could get closer to Harry. Maybe he could join him wherever he was right now.

'I will ask Madam Pomfrey to bring you some shortly.' In standing up again she became the stern Transfiguration teacher that the rest of the school knew. 'I expect she will want you to move to your own bed.'

And then she was gone.

Blimey, thought Draco. This is weird. And hardly very quiet and relaxing, or whatever it's supposed to be. When Madam Pomfrey did duly appear a little while later with some sandwiches and another goblet of the smoky purple liquid, she gasped in exasperation to see Draco sitting up in bed reading next to the comatose Harry. Draco rolled his eyes in full view of her, and made a big show of getting out of the bed. He drank the potion in one gulp, left the sandwiches untouched and, when she had gone again, got back in next to Harry and knew no more.

***

Hermione sat back and took in all Dumbledore had said to her. None of it had been exactly new; it was more an extension of what she already had worked out. The implications concerning Draco's parents and ultimately You-Know-Who would have been the next logical step in her thoughts, and as she sat there that afternoon, there was the odd sensation of shock to her. Like, she had discovered something too early, or that the speed of her own understanding had been forced. It would take a while to adjust to. And even as she was sitting there in front of Dumbledore, she began to think of Ron and how he would react to this. He would be in despair.

Sometimes it just seemed as if Dumbledore could actually see right into people's heads. 'I would appreciate it if you did not mention any of this to the rest of your Gryffindor friends,' he said. 'Fair enough, they might simply have these thoughts themselves, seeing what they already know. But until that time I would rather that the potential for an outbreak of panic was kept to a minimum.'

'Of course,' she agreed, 'but in that case, Professor, why have you told me?'

'Because, Miss Granger, I would very much like you to help. I wonder, how are your studies going?'

'Fine, I think,' she answered, puzzled.

'Good. Then you might have a little extra time for an additional task?'

'Yes, anything. If it helps Harry, I will do it.'

'I rather thought you would say that. I need you to scour the library - I know you are very familiar with its contents - for information concerning how the magic between the two of them might have bonded, and what the effects might be. It is important that we understand this, and it is not an area of study familiar to any of the staff.'

'I will do all I can, Professor.'

***

This was becoming more distressing than Draco could ever have imagined. When the effects of the latest potion wore off and he was flung uncomfortably back into consciousness in the early evening of that same Monday, there was all the disorientation there had been before. But it was made immeasurably worse by the awful realisation that next to him, so close that Harry's body warmth was indistinguishable from his own, Harry just slept on, unaware of the mounting concern in the staff, unaware of Draco's now almost debilitating anxiety, unaware of anything. Harry's mind was as blank and as empty as it had been now for - Draco consulted the Snitch-clock - over twenty-seven hours. 'Wake up!' Draco yelled at him, right into Harry's face, his anguish bursting out uncharacteristically. 'Bloody wake up, Potter!'

He tried to get his arm underneath Harry's body, then managed to lift his torso slightly off the bed to shake him in both hands. There was absolutely no reaction. Harry was heavy, limp, utterly relaxed. He stared at Harry's closed eyes, trying to see a way inside, but there were no clues.

'Oh Jesus,' muttered Draco under his breath. 'Where are you Potter?'

Then he gently laid Harry back down on the bed, with his arm still trapped underneath him, flung the covers right over both of them, and held Harry closer than he had ever held anyone in his life.

Time, which was now utterly irrelevant in his life yet seemingly crucial in Harry's, drifted.

Presently the door opened and the light from the main ward flooded in.

'Oh what is it now?' fumed Draco from under the covers.

'Ahem,' came a discreet cough from somewhere in the room. Draco threw back the cover with his free arm and saw Professor Dumbledore standing there with Madam Pomfrey behind him. Behind her he could see more bodies entering the small room. Snape, Sirius. Oh God. What was this? Then McGonagall. Jesus, did they want to sell tickets? Then, inexplicably, Hermione Granger. Granger????

Hermione closed the door behind her. Of all the newcomers to their little kingdom, Hermione's reaction was the one that Draco would remember afterwards with the most enjoyment. She had last seen Draco up in the fourth floor classroom when she and Weasley had tried to make their peace with him for Potter's sake by suggesting a cosy little fact-swapping session. That had been only two nights before, but it felt like it belonged to another life. She was now agog at seeing him pyjama-clad in a small bed with Harry cradled in his arms. If things had been slightly different, Draco would have sniggered and offered some sharp comment. But he himself was totally bemused by her presence. Snape and Sirius looked to varying degrees embarrassed at having interrupted, and McGonagall wore the same slightly stern face that she did most of the time. Draco also rather enjoyed Madam Pomfrey's reaction, which was immediate and predictable.

'Mr Malfoy!' she exclaimed, maddened by the sight of him in the wrong bed yet again. 'How many times--'

'Hush, Poppy,' soothed Dumbledore. 'There is no harm being done here. Hello, Draco.'

'Hello all', replied Draco pointedly, gently removing his trapped arm and laying Harry delicately back down. Hermione was struck by the immense tenderness of his actions.

'How are you feeling?'

'Does it take one-two-three-four-five-six of you to be here to ask that question?' snapped Draco, then felt a little embarrassed and said, 'sorry, yes, I am fine. Just immensely tired still. And rather hungry now. And actually, flipping frantic. Why hasn't he woken yet?'

'We don't know.'

'You don't know?'

'No, not fully.'

'Well how about telling me what you partially know then?'

'Mr Malfoy!' came McGonagall's warning voice. 'I will remind you that, whatever you predicament, this is still the Headmaster you are talking to!'

'I'm sorry, Professor, I apologise. But please be aware of what this is like for me. You all just come in here poking around between bouts of startlingly unsatisfying sleep, and expect me to be all smiles while he just lies there like he's dead.'

'He is not dead, Draco,' reassured Dumbledore. 'Well, what is he then? You must have some idea. And why on earth is she here?' he asked, indicating Hermione.

'Miss Granger is helping us,' said McGonagall sharply. 'And you will afterwards owe her some gratitude because it is thanks to her that we know what little we do.'

'Ok, Ok, Ok! I'm really sorry. I won't bark any more. But please just tell me what you know.'

'Draco,' began Dumbledore, 'this may be difficult for you to accept. But we think that Harry is caught in some kind of magical coma.'

Draco remained utterly silent. Comfort came from an unexpected source. Sirius walked up to Draco, placed his hand on his shoulder, smiled warmly, and pulled up a chair.

'Draco,' he spoke softly. 'I admit it seems insensitive of us to troop in here in such numbers. But you will understand of course that you are not the only one who is worried about him. And everyone in this room has been working hard today to try to work out what is going on. And after this chat I promise you will be left alone.'

'Thank you, Sirius,' he said, the name feeling unfamiliar on his lips, but not uncomfortably so.

'We must consider that Harry's innate magic is unstable due to er, circumstances,' continued Sirius. 'Also he has acute insomnia, and therefore a desperate need for sleep. He has recently been given the chance for such sleep, in an environment in which he would have been happier than he has been for weeks. Perhaps the potion delivered him into deep enchanted sleep and has now worn off, but his disturbed magical self senses it is safe, and has kept him there because of the severe need for rest.'

Draco listened intently. 'So we suspect that this sleep has nothing to do with the potion. We think that there has simply been so much turmoil in his life recently that his body can't cope anymore. And now two of those issues are partially resolved for him - the uncertainty surrounding his feelings for you, and the pain caused by separation from Ron and Hermione and his other friends - and this resulting sense of safety and relief has enabled him to sleep properly again. He is resting, Draco. His mind, his body, his magical self. They are all trying to recover from recent weeks. And when he feels stronger, he will wake.'

'That makes a ton of sense. But how long till he wakes?'

'We have no way of knowing,' answered Sirius. 'Hermione has been in the library all afternoon looking up previous similar cases; she even voluntarily missed both History of Magic and Muggle Studies.'

Both Sirius and Draco smiled.

'But there are precious few such cases to refer to I am afraid. Usually the Crimson Cloud is not met with such anger and antagonism, so an explanation of the effects we are seeing in Harry is admittedly more guesswork than anything else. There are in fact only three previous instances of magical coma caused solely by psychological trauma that we have found.'

'How long did they last?'

'One lasted three days, another eight days,' replied Sirius.

'And the third?' asked Draco, very quietly.

'Draco,' said Sirius softly, 'don't be upset. That one lasted two years.' He finished almost silently.

'Two years?' howled Draco. 'He won't last two years! He'll waste away before then! There's no fat on him at all! Two years! Bloody hell, I won't last two years either! I'm frantic after just twenty-seven hours!' 'Twenty-eight actually,' corrected Snape pedantically.

Both Sirius and McGonagall shot him venomous looks. Draco was approaching a state of high distress, and Hermione, but only Hermione of the group assembled in the small room that evening, was shocked to see tears welling in Draco's eyes.

'Hush, Draco,' said Sirius warmly. 'There is absolutely no certainty that Harry's sleep will last anything like that long. He could wake tomorrow. He could even wake tonight. We just don't know. But', he continued as softly as before, 'we all think that it would be dangerous to try to wake him before then.'

'But what will trigger his waking?' persisted Draco, highly agitated. 'There must have been some reason that those other cases lasted as long as they did, and no longer. What was it that eventually brought the comas to an end?'

Draco was trying to hide that he was close to crying, and doing a very bad job of it. Sirius put an arm round him, and Draco found himself curiously thankful for it. Dumbledore took over.

'It is mightily difficult to be specific about what caused those other cases to become resolved,' said the Headmaster. 'We think that the body just decides when it is strong enough to resume normal life. When Harry feels rested enough, or safe enough, or maybe loved enough, he will wake.'

He let this hang in the air, watching Draco intently.

Parting from Sirius, and blushing unashamedly, Draco declared 'he couldn't be more loved than he is at this moment'. What the fuck, he thought. After all, they know everything. They've all seen me in his bed. I don't care about skirting round this issue any more for the sake of politeness.

'Every ounce of me aches for him. Every thought, every feeling, every...er, everything of mine is bound up with him. That's got to make him loved enough. There's simply no more of me to give. And he's still asleep. I lie here, holding him, begging him to wake up, and it's not enough. I obviously don't feel strongly enough. Oh God, I've failed him again...'

Hermione was deeply moved, and this time she was not the only one. Sirius rubbed Draco's back gently. Dumbledore continued, very sensitively.

'Draco, all of us here share your concern. But you are too emotionally distressed to see at the moment that how long he sleeps is not dependant on you. Please try not to saddle yourself with that guilt. It would only be destructive, and when Harry wakes, he will need you to be strong.'

Draco sat up further in the bed and flopped back against the head of the bed. He sighed and looked at the Headmaster. 'But I just feel so powerless, so helpless. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do. And I want to help him so much...'

'Draco, we all feel that. Take some comfort from not being alone in that respect. In fact, wanting to do something, but not being able to, has forced us to come to the one decision, the only one, that we can take at this time.'

'What is that, Professor?' said Draco.

'We cannot deny the facts here. Harry is in a state that none of us has any experience of dealing with. There is no care, magical or otherwise, that we can actively use to bring him around. So we have decided that if Harry has not come round within two weeks, I shall arrange for his removal to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. There, he at least can be cared for by people who will have a way to feed him. Unfortunately this will necessitate informing the Ministry, and from there the news may enter the public domain. But I fear it would be wrong of us to keep him here for longer than that if it would be potentially injurious to him.'

'Professor,' countered Draco urgently, 'that absolutely cannot happen. I would not be able to go with him. My parents would find out. He will be in even more danger if news of his condition reached the Ministry, it would certainly get to my father from there. He has, you know, certain contacts...' Draco trailed off.

'Quite,' agreed Dumbledore. 'But there may be no other way.'

'We will have to work out what exactly the advantages of his being in St Mungo's would be, and provide them for him here. Just give me the medical textbooks, I will work out how to feed him. I've got flippin' hours on my hands. Granger could help me, couldn't you, Granger?'

Hermione was about to reply that of course she would, but Draco didn't give her the chance.

'Or do you not know someone at St Mungo's you can trust? Someone you could bring here? Or could we not provide a totally separate location, somewhere secret? Somewhere we could keep him stable far away from the eyes of the Ministry and my parents and the whole world? Or couldn't we--'

'Draco!' cried Dumbledore, almost smiling. 'You are gabbling. We will give those ideas some thought. But I say to you honestly now, I do not expect such measures to become necessary. I'm sure he will wake soon. I should not have told you my thoughts on this matter, they have distressed you further. Severus, can you make a sleeping draught that will give Draco a couple of hours of enchanted sleep and leave him in natural sleep for several more?'

'Yes, of course,' said Snape immediately. 'It will require only a minor adjustment to the one I prepared yesterday.'

He left the room.

'Oh great,' sighed Draco. 'More sleep. Fab.'

'You need it, Mr Malfoy,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'We have distressed you, and that was not our aim.'

'What I need,' argued Draco, 'is to be able to do something.' Hermione couldn't help agreeing with him.

'Draco,' said Dumbledore, 'you are doing something. In fact you are doing more than any of us ever could.'

'What?' asked Draco, surprised.

McGonagall spoke this time. Her tone was warm. 'You are making him feel safe. Giving him the security he needs to get through this. Let him rest. Help him rest. And in the meantime, practise your wand skills.'

'Sorry?' Draco said, goggling slightly at this totally unexpected suggestion. 'How on earth is that going to help?'

'It isn't,' smiled Dumbledore. 'But, I think you are going to be surprised by what you are now capable of. We have inadvertently made something of a discovery. That charming clock of Harry's, it is enchanted so that only Harry can use it. Miss Granger confirmed this with a no doubt rather mystified Ronald Weasley earlier, before we realised that it was actually a present from Sirius, his godfather. You used it without problems earlier today. It wouldn't work for me, but your innate magic is bonding with Harry's and has been for some time.'

'Wow. Really?'

'Yes,' said Dumbledore. 'In time you will both draw on the same pool of innate magic, but we do not know how quickly this will happen, or by how much your abilities will be increased. But it will be an exciting time of discovery for you. And you might as well get on with it while Harry is asleep, and then you can bring him up to speed when he wakes.'

'That's kinda cool,' said Draco, sort of smiling now.

Sirius laughed. 'I knew Harry would like that clock. How odd it should turn out to be so significant.'

'Now, Draco, you're going to think I'm fussing again, but what have you eaten today?' 'Er...'

'Exactly one slice of toast and no sandwiches,' deduced Madam Pomfrey, eyeing the uneaten food on the table.

'Name anything you would like to eat,' beamed Dumbledore. 'I shall have the house elves prepare it directly.'

'Er, well, I am quite hungry,' thought Draco aloud. 'How about...oh I don't know, honestly I really don't mind. What are the school having tonight?'

'Chicken-and-ham pie,' Dumbledore said happily.

'That will be fine.'

'That's Harry's favourite,' put in Hermione, speaking for the first time.

'Is it?' asked Draco, sadly. 'I didn't know that, in fact I don't know any of that kind of stuff about him.'

'There will be loads of time for you to swap favourites, Draco, when he wakes', said Sirius warmly. 'Which he will. Soon. You just see.'

'Oh well, chicken-and-ham pie it is then,' said Dumbledore. 'That's easy, it is already prepared in the kitchens.'

He whipped his wand expertly and murmured something, and a tray appeared hovering in mid-air. Sirius stood up to fetch it, and laid it in Draco's lap. Snape reappeared at that moment with another goblet of smoky liquid, this one a deep green colour. He set it down next to Draco.

'Well, that's that, I think,' Dumbledore concluded merrily. 'A nice meal, a good sleep, all will seem better in the morning I am sure, Draco. Mmmm, that pie does smell good; I think we should all go down to supper ourselves. It's about that time.'

Goodnights of various sorts were said, and Draco was once more alone with Harry. 'So this is your favourite, eh?' mused Draco, looking down at the still peacefully dormant body next to him. 'One day we will enjoy this together.'

He ate more than he had for a while, then moved the tray over to the table and drank the potion. Snuggling down next to Harry, he realised that Madam Pomfrey had not insisted on his switching beds. He giggled slightly and held Harry close, and peace was soon washing over him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

~

A CONSPIRACY UNMASKED

Over the next few days, the time seemed to drag more slowly than he had ever known. The weeks of indecision and confusion between the lesson with the fauns and the cigarette by the lake were nothing by comparison to this constant cycle of sleeping and waking and worrying. And each time he woke, Harry was still asleep.

Madam Pomfrey was often in and out, bringing Draco food and more sleeping potion when he wanted it, and she had finally stopped asking Draco to return to his own bed. Dumbledore was a daily visitor, but after that meeting when they had discussed the possibility of St Mungo's, he had not said much at all. He would arrive just before the main school went into supper, and would sit with Draco for about ten minutes. They did not speak of much, but Draco felt that Dumbledore somehow needed this time near Harry, just to check that the situation had not worsened. Hermione had been once, and Draco had sensed that Dumbledore did not know about this visit, but Draco knew how much Hermione must herself have been worrying, and so he said nothing. Neither Snape nor McGonagall had visited at all since that day, and Draco felt that this was right; after all, what on earth would be the point?

Sirius was noticeably more edgy though, more worried; he visited each day at around lunchtime. Draco wondered what he was doing outside these visits. After all, his presence in the castle must surely be secret; he was still wanted by the Ministry. But since Draco was still mystified by the exact nature of the relationship between Harry and Sirius, he enjoyed these chances to get to know the man a bit more.

Back in a part of Draco's mind that he had promised himself not to examine until Harry was awake and they had sorted their differences - if indeed that time ever came about - Draco knew, if things worked out in a certain way, it was likely that Sirius would be someone he would know personally for the rest of his life. That was an intriguing thought. Everybody knew that Harry had no parents, and that his blood family, the Muggles, were the worst sort imaginable. But in Sirius, Draco sensed something entirely different. Here was a wizard that anybody would be delighted to have as a relation - he was clever, funny and caring, had the total trust of Dumbledore and obviously knew about many important matters beyond the school. But why Draco warmed to him most of all was that, however much Sirius actually tried to hide it, he was without doubt frantically worried about Harry.

As they had a sandwich together on the Wednesday following the Snowball challenge, when Harry had been asleep for approaching seventy- two hours, Draco felt bold enough to start a conversation that touched on more than food and the weather.

'He is extremely fond of you, you know,' began Draco.

'How do you know that?' Sirius's tone was soft and friendly. 'Have you spoken about me? I understood that you had only had a couple of very short conversations before he took the potion.'

'I don't need to have spoken to him to know that,' replied Draco. 'There was the reaction when he saw you in Dumbledore's office, when he went up and hugged you without a thought. That's not usually his style. And there was also the way he made sure that clock you bought him was by his bed before he went to sleep. And also, I don't know if you can understand this, but it's there in his head as well. When we were all in the office that time, there was great warmth from him. He was obviously hugely relieved to see you.'

Sirius was thoughtful. 'That is touching to hear, and you can probably also sense that I return those feelings.' His words were slightly obscured by a sudden scrabbling at the window. Draco and Sirius looked up and saw Hedwig tapping insistently on the glass. 'Oh yes,' laughed Sirius, 'I almost forgot. I saw Hedwig this morning and it was obvious that she was missing Harry. I know Dumbledore said no visitors, but I hardly thought that rule would apply to owls!'

He got up and let her in. She glided silently to the head of Harry's bed, where she perched and took up sentry duty. Another of Potter's admirers, thought Draco.

Sirius sat down again and hesitated, obviously weighing something up. Then he began to speak slowly.

'Draco, under these circumstances, there is probably much you should know about me. On one level I suppose I am just Harry's dad's best mate from school, but now, in actuality, I am the only link Harry has to his parents. Though Harry and I have been meeting recently, they have hardly been the happiest occasions, so we haven't ever had a real chance to discuss this. But I know we both feel that we are the only family each other has, even though there is no blood that ties us. I was James and Lily's best man, and they named me godfather to Harry when he was born. At the time, we were not much more than kids, but even so it was a great honour. I couldn't have been more proud.'

Draco remained quiet during this unexpected but welcome insight into a new part of Harry's life.

'Now, it's more than an honour, it's the most important thing in my life; I've got to be more than a godfather, I've got to be a real father. And a mother. Yet I have been no kind of godfather at all to him. I was in Azkaban for twelve years, when Harry needed me the most, when there was absolutely nobody to look after him apart from those awful Muggles he now has to spend the summers with. And just when it looked like I was going to be able to give him a home at last, Peter Pettigrew - who committed the murders I was imprisoned for - got away and so I had to go into hiding again.'

Draco could hardly begin to imagine what that must have been like. The sense of tragedy, which surrounded Harry in a general sense for most of those at Hogwarts, was beginning to focus itself into something sharper. It was an oddly sobering moment.

'So, you have no memories of him at all, between his being a baby and then seeing him again recently?'

'No. None. And of course neither does he. So there is a lot to put right, when he wakes. The saddest thing of all is the only thing I can actually offer him of his parents are my own memories. Another way I failed as a godfather was that...' Sirius trailed off.

Draco said nothing. These were obviously painful thoughts.

'...Was that I should have been the guardian, not just of him, but of all that should have been his. But that night, that bloody awful unthinkable night, I wasn't there. I bloody wasn't there. So I not only couldn't try to save James, and Lily, or rescue Harry, but I couldn't stop the house at Godric's Hollow being destroyed either.'

Draco sensed he should stay quiet. Sirius was lost in some awful memory.

'So there's nothing I have to give him, apart from the memories. The few small things I had of James's since we were at school were lost while I was in prison. There's money in his vault at Gringotts, sure, he'll be fine there; but I have no photographs, no personal belongings, not even the smallest most insignificant thing of theirs.'

'But then, if the house was destroyed...how did he...?' Draco didn't quite know how to word the question.

'To be honest, we will probably never know all the details. But as far as I can piece it together, and I have had twelve years to think about it, the Death Eaters must have gone mad at seeing the Dark Lord vanquished, and maybe they destroyed the house in anger. But they didn't dare touch Harry after what had just happened.'

Draco felt suddenly crushingly mortified. Had his own father played a part in this episode? 'Thank God Hagrid got there quickly enough to pull Harry from the wreckage. When I arrived - too late! - I wanted to take Harry myself but Hagrid insisted otherwise. Harry was seemingly a special, magical baby - how had he survived otherwise? - and obviously Hagrid was right, he needed to be got to safety immediately. I gave Hagrid my motorbike so that Harry could be taken to Dumbledore as quickly as possible. That very night Dumbledore entrusted Harry to Lily's sister and her family.'

Draco shuddered to think of the immense danger Harry had been in at such a young age. Vulnerability, it seemed, had been something Harry had lived with from the very beginning. Somewhere in a dark, unexplored recess of Draco's mind, there was a faint ringing of a small bell. He was still wondering briefly what this meant when Sirius spoke again.

'As soon as I knew Harry was safely away, I took off after Pettigrew, knowing that, as their secret-keeper, he was the only one who could have betrayed the whereabouts of James and Lily to the Dark Lord. I caught up with him the next day and cornered him, but he made a great show of wailing about how I had betrayed James and Lily; then caused a huge explosion in which it was assumed he himself had died. Died a hero's death too, and was honoured for it, even though he was not a dead hero but a living traitor.'

Draco was astonished. This part of the Story of the Boy Who Lived was entirely new to him.

'When the Ministry turned up, they had eye-witnesses that said I'd blown Pettigrew away together with half the street. It was easy for them to assume that I had caused this massacre because I was enraged at having defected just at the moment of the Dark Lord's demise. Very few people knew that the Fidelius Charm - that's the complex spell of secret-keeping - had been performed at all. And of those that did, none living except for Pettigrew and myself - not even Dumbledore - knew that it was Pettigrew, not me, who had been the secret-keeper. And Pettigrew was long gone. Everything pointed to my being the traitor. I was taken straight to Azkaban, and I did not see Harry again until last year.' 'Oh my God,' gasped Draco softly. 'Twelve years in Azkaban, as an innocent man. They say it's inhuman in there.'

'Yes, it is', Sirius answered, not wanting to elaborate. 'But do you know what? It's the house that troubles me most now. The house was in ruins. Everything was gone. At the time it was not important compared to the awfulness of losing James and Lily, or of being imprisoned. But now it seems just as tragic. A few presents - that clock, his Firebolt - they hardly make up for it'.

'Wow! You bought him his Firebolt?'

'Yes,' laughed Sirius, glad that the mood had lightened a little. 'Thirteen years of birthday and Christmas presents in one hit, from the only family he has. And do you know what's strange? On the couple of occasions I have seen him fly, I had to disguise myself as a dog.

'Are you an Animagus?' asked Draco, amazed. 'You're not on the official Ministry list.'

'Well, I had my own reasons for keeping that fact a secret, Draco,' said Sirius, enigmatically. 'But even as a dog, I could see that he's fantastic at Quidditch, just like James was.'

'He's brilliant,' glowed Draco. Sirius thought he could detect a touch of pride in Draco's voice. 'I've wanted to acknowledge it for years. He's totally natural on a broom, absolutely no fear at all. I don't know if you know, but from the very first time he got on a broom he outwitted me.'

Draco was embarrassed now.

'I provoked him into disobeying Madam Hooch's orders, on our first ever flying lesson. Oh God, I was trying to get him expelled. Think if I had succeeded...'

'Much has changed since then, Draco.' 'Yes, I know. That seems a lifetime ago now. Well it has changed for me anyway, I hope it has for him too.'

They both looked sadly at the sleeping Harry, who was sprawled inelegantly at Draco's side. Harry seemed to move a little from time to time, or maybe Draco was imagining it: he certainly was repositioning Harry's body so frequently (casually draping Harry's arm over his own lap and pretending that Harry himself had placed it there) that he often lost track of whether Harry or himself had been responsible for Harry's latest arrangement of limbs.

'You know, when he first got that Firebolt, I was so jealous, but my father said he wouldn't buy me one till I beat Potter at Quidditch. Now I'm really glad I know it was you who bought it for him. I can't think of anyone who deserves one more.'

'Well, Draco, if it means that much to you, it needn't be your father that buys you one. I am sure we can sort one out another way. Then you can go flying off together wherever you want.' Sirius smiled warmly.

'Do you really mean that?'

Sirius smiled again. 'Racing brooms are easily available from Quality Quidditch Supplies, Draco.'

'No, not that,' he gulped, uncertain of how to word what he actually meant. 'That...you would be happy to see us fly off together?'

'Draco, Harry is the only person in the world I care about anymore. If it's what he wants, I will do everything in my power to see that he gets it.'

There was a moment of silence in the small room while they both looked again at the sleeping Harry.

'I hope it's what he wants,' Draco wished softly. 'It's what I want.'

*** On the Friday morning, Draco woke to find himself disturbingly at ease with the situation. For five or so days now, this had been his life. He would sleep and wake and eat a little, and he would do it all within inches of Harry, but Harry had no knowledge of it. He would worry about a thousand things, all of which were connected with Harry. But on that morning, there was less anxiety, and in a funny kind of way Draco was actually disturbed by how peaceful he was feeling. He didn't even need to look at Harry to know that he had not yet woken; right inside Draco's head there was some emptiness that told him he was still unconscious. But he did look all the same, and ran his hand through Harry's messy hair.

'Yick, Potter,' he sniffed. 'You really need to wash your hair.'

Fucking hell, thought Draco. I haven't had a shower in all this time either! How disgusting! And these bedclothes: constantly occupied by two people for God knows how many days. Today will be a day of Steps Forward.

'What's the matter?' asked Madam Pomfrey as she came in with some tea a little later. 'You look different.'

'I've stopped worrying,' stated Draco. 'Or at least I've tried to stop worrying. And start waiting. Madam Pomfrey, can we have some clean bedclothes?'

'There is a bed over here on which the linen appears to be clean,' she smiled.

'Good point,' said Draco, smiling back. 'Can you help me move him while we switch the sheets over?'

'Why not just move him into this bed?' she asked, puzzled.

'Because, I'm not sure really, but, well, this one is his bed. We argued about it. He won.'

'You could have fooled me. He won, you say? Looks more like it was a draw.' Draco laughed, and Madam Pomfrey was pleased at his reaction. He's different today, she thought. She performed a mobilicorpus charm on Harry and they left him hanging in mid-air in his crumpled blue pyjamas while they switched the bedding over. That is to say that she did it while he watched, as Draco had absolutely no idea how to make a bed. When Harry was settled again, Draco turned his attention to the one piece of toast that was on the tray. That and the odd sandwich with Sirius was about all he had managed each day since he had come to the hospital wing.

'You know, I feel genuinely hungry this morning. Do you think the kitchens might have a spare bit of bacon hanging around?'

'I can easily find out. How did you sleep last night?'

Draco had tried to go a whole night without sleeping potion the night before.

'Rubbish,' he sniffed. 'On and off all night. While he's still asleep I've got nothing to lose by taking the potion, so I think I'll have some more later. Enchanted sleep makes me feel uneasy when I wake, but at least it's sleep.'

'Well, try to doze for a bit longer then, and I'll see if I can sort out a bacon sandwich.'

'Sounds excellent, but I think I'll get up for a while. I'm awake now, and I want a shower actually.'

Madam Pomfrey laughed. 'About time. It's been horrible in here, with the two of you just lying around unbathed all week.'

'Eurgh, sorry. I could do with some clean pyjamas too, do you think I can sneak back to Slytherin house to get some while the school are at lessons?'

'Absolutely not. Professor Dumbledore wouldn't hear of it. Tell me what you want and I'll make sure the house elves bring them here.' 'I've got some more like this but dark green,' he said. 'They'll do.'

'Very well,' she muttered, eyeing his expensive silk pyjamas with a little disdain, and then she left.

Draco went to the small bathroom, and fiddled with the shower till it was just right. It was nothing like as good as the Slytherin showers, but it felt marvellous to wash away all the worry of the last few days. However long it takes, wherever we have to be, he thought, I am just going to wait. It's all I can do. He spent nearly half an hour under the jet of water, and felt better than he had for some time when he emerged back into the room to find a fresh pot of tea, some bacon sandwiches and his green pyjamas on the table. I could get used to this, he thought.

And in the relative comfort of this new-found state of relaxation, another issue surfaced, almost as if it had been lurking until it was right to declare itself. Something Sirius had said a few days before was bothering him. Nothing left, he had said. I should have been the guardian of all that was his. This special, magical baby boy. Why was this vaguely familiar? And, coupled with this, there was the awful realisation that his father might have been present at the murder of James and Lily Potter. Perhaps the Death Eaters destroyed the house in their anger. Draco allowed himself to examine more closely the tinkling of the distant bell that had sounded in his head when Sirius had spoken to him earlier in the week. He tried to focus on the memory but still it eluded him. Something about...what? But it was definitely something he remembered from before...before he'd heard the story that Sirius had told him. Bloody hell, what was it?

He pondered for a little while longer while he had a pretty good stab at a bacon sandwich.

After breakfast Draco noticed that he was beginning to get twitchy for the first time that week. He recognised it as boredom. The morning spread out before him with only Sirius's lunchtime visit to look forward to. It looked a cold bright winter day outside, with the sun glinting on the semi- frozen surface of the lake, and he wondered if they would ever be allowed some fresh air. Even though they had been in the room nearly a week, Draco thought, Harry had no recollection of that time. For Harry, most of the memories that concerned their recent er...thing, belonged outside. Draco thought about the lake, and of course about the rose garden...

It was Hermione who made him snap out of these thoughts. She tapped on the door and walked in some time later, and Draco found himself curiously pleased to see her.

'Hello, Granger.'

'Hello, Malfoy. Still asleep is he?'

'Fraid so.'

'You look better, though.'

'Good. Thank you. In fact, could you do me a favour?'

'What is it?'

'You'll think this is weird.'

'Malfoy, nothing is going to seem weird after this,' she sighed, indicating the room in general and Harry in particular.

'Good point. But, you will still find this weird, I bet.'

'OK. So I am going to find it weird. What exactly is it?'

'I'm bored. I want to do some work. Can you ask McGonagall if she can take just a few minutes to finish explaining about that Transfiguration project we were doing last week, and then I could write the essay.'

'You're right. That is weird; coming from you anyway. I'll ask her, I know she hasn't been here because she didn't want to disturb you and Harry, but I'm sure she would come up.'

'Excellent. Quills, ink, parchment, that kind of thing would also be useful.' 'Why do I get the feeling I am running errands for you?'

'Don't know, Granger. Must be your natural negative predisposition to me. I bet if Weasley asked for some parchment, you wouldn't think of it as an errand.'

'You,' she stated, half smiling, 'are definitely feeling better. Where's all the blackness gone?'

'Don't know again, Granger. I suppose I just couldn't carry on fretting at that level. It was too draining.' They both looked at Harry. Then Draco continued, 'Talking of Weasley, ask him to sort out some clean pyjamas for Potter would you? It's getting a bit sweaty in that bed. Potter needs freshening up.'

'Eew,' coughed Hermione. 'That was definitely too much information.'

'Don't be coy, old girl,' smirked Draco. 'Get used to it. We could be in bed for weeks yet.'

'OK, stop it right there. Ron will be only too pleased to do something to help. He's driving me up the wall with questions. I wonder if Professor Dumbledore will let Ron bring them himself. You may have stopped worrying, but Ron hasn't. He's almost--'

'Not yet, please, Granger.' Draco was serious again now. 'I accept that Weasley and I will have to make our peace sooner or later, for his sake' - he indicated Harry - 'but I'm not ready for that yet. Just some pyjamas to start with. And that message to McGonagall.'

'I'll do what I can,' she said, and after a little while chatting about how Harry was still asleep, which seemed to be the only reason she had for visiting in the first place, she left.

Not a bad sort, after all, thought Draco.

*** 'Pyjamas? Is that it? After days of telling me that you aren't able to say anything, that it's totally top secret, even though I know most of it anyway, and far more than Harry, and you've been chosen as Dumbledore's special helper when I want to help too, all I get is, Harry needs some clean pyjamas?'

'Yes,' laughed Hermione. 'Now, does he have any?'

'I expect so. He's got two pairs. Did he say where they would be?'

Hermione, under Dumbledore's instructions, had not told Ron or the others about Harry's magical coma. She tried to brush this question off in such a way so that she wouldn't have to reveal why Harry hadn't asked for them himself.

'No,' Hermione said. 'He didn't. He was asleep actually. The request came from Malfoy.'

'Malfoy?' snorted Ron. 'Why on earth does Malfoy want Harry's pyjamas?'

'He doesn't, you fool. Not for himself. He wants them for Harry. I think he's being thoughtful, giving Harry the chance to change if he wants to. He's been in bed for six days, must be getting a bit sweaty by now.'

'Malfoy is concerned by how sweaty Harry is getting?' goggled Ron.

'That's about it, yes'.

'Hermione, why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?'

'Ron, you know I am not able to talk about this. But I will tell you one thing.'

'What?' Ron asked eagerly.

'Well, it's not really telling you anything. It's more of a sort of a word of caution.' 'Whatever it is, just say it Herm,' said Ron impatiently.

'Ok. I think you are going to be surprised by...erm, I don't know how to put this...by exactly how close Malfoy and Harry have become. Well, actually I'm not sure about Harry, but Malfoy's softened considerably towards Harry. They are very close now. Be prepared for it when the time comes.'

'Yick,' said Ron. 'Exactly how close?'

'Well,' mused Hermione. 'Close enough I guess for Malfoy to be bothered by how sweaty Harry is getting. So. Clean pyjamas, as soon as you are able.'

The look of queasiness on Ron's face actually made Hermione laugh aloud.

***

The next visitors were Sirius and McGonagall, who arrived at about the time Draco was expecting Sirius for lunch. Draco found himself rather irritated that McGonagall was there at all, even though he had requested her presence; he was tentatively looking forward to another chat with Sirius alone. Harry, it goes without saying, was asleep.

'So,' began McGonagall. 'How long has it been now?'

'It's now one o'clock on Friday,' Draco sighed. 'He took the potion at about three o'clock on Sunday, maybe three-thirty. So, practically five days. Or one hundred and eighteen hours, to be more precise.'

'You look better though.'

'Thank you, Professor. I feel better.'

'So I gather. Hence, your request for some Transfiguration to work on. Delighted though I am that you have chosen my subject for this great honour, we feel there are better ways for you to be spending your time. Have you practised your wand skills like I suggested?'

'No, not really.' 'Well, that's your project then. Charms, rather than Transfiguration. Just revise all the charms you know, and see if your abilities have altered. Go on, try it now. Levitation charm, this tea cup.'

Draco reached for his wand. 'Wingardium Leviosa' he intoned.

The cup rose out of McGonagall's hand and hovered about six inches above.

'Neatly done,' she judged, 'but a second year could do that. Now try the whole tray, and keep it steady.'

He duly did so. The tray lifted effortlessly from her grasp, and as a neat trick he raised the plate some way off the tray itself.

'Now that is more impressive. Try the chair.'

Draco was able to raise the chair easily, and he let it rise to the ceiling, where it bumped gently. Then he turned the chair twice in different directions, firstly swivelled so it faced the wall, then rotated so it was hovering legs upwards. 'Where shall I bring it down?' he said, enjoying himself.

The chair safely back on the floor, McGonagall said, 'now the bed.'

It was ludicrously easy. Draco raised the bed smoothly about four feet above the ground, then looked over the edge and down at Sirius and McGonagall. 'Wow!' he cried. 'I feel like I could take it out the window and around the Quidditch pitch!'

'That is excellent, Draco,' smiled McGonagall. 'Especially as I meant the empty bed, not yours.'

'Oh!' laughed Draco. 'Sorry!' He let the bed glide serenely back to the floor. 'This is amazing! I've always been crap at Charms!'

'And Mr Potter has always been excellent. You have much to discover, Draco. We expect you to have far greater magical ability now. You can do some more Charms later. Tomorrow you can do some Transfiguration, which is something Harry is not quite so good at. That will be interesting to see. After lunch, we want you to take some more sleeping draught, just a five hour dose, to make up for the rough sleep you got last night. You can do some more Charms this evening; in fact I'll ask Miss Granger to come and help. She will be an excellent partner for this kind of thing.'

'OK,' agreed Draco, still quite thrilled at his dramatic improvement at the Levitation charm.

She left after that, and Draco and Sirius settled down to another light lunch. Draco didn't eat much though, and strangely enough, neither did Sirius.

'You seem sad today, Sirius,' said Draco softly.

'Yes, I am a bit. It's just strange to think that I now know you better than I know Harry. I wish Harry and I could have had a chance like this. I have so much to tell him, so much he doesn't know, about his parents, about what they were like, about how much they loved him'.

Draco remained silent. That was indeed sad, but he didn't feel it meant they should never have started talking.

'I'm still glad we've had these chats though,' he ventured. 'I think Harry's really lucky to have you as his family.'

'Thank you Draco, that is very generous of you.'

Draco let this compliment hang in the air, but inside he turned thoughtful. He wanted to say something, even though he had nothing concrete to say.

'Sirius, there's something on my mind.'

'What is it?'

'That's the problem. I have no idea. I can't remember.'

Sirius smiled. 'Well, I can hardly advise if--' 'It's weird though,' interrupted Draco, afraid that Sirius thought he was joking around. 'At least, it feels weird. If only I could blasted well remember what it was. But it's certainly something to do with what you said the other day. About Harry as a baby. It's been nagging in my head for two days now. But I just can't think why.'

Sirius was silent, as if saying something now might sever the connection that Draco's mind was trying to make. But Draco remained in thought for some minutes more, and Sirius decided that the moment had passed. Draco looked suddenly tired, and Sirius felt it was time to go.

'Well, I'm sure it's not important,' he said. 'And if it is, it will occur to you soon enough. Now, take this potion, and get some more rest. You are looking lots better, but it can only help more. Oh, and by the way, these are for Harry, from Ron, via Hermione and me. How's that for a good delivery service? We'll work out a way to get him into them tomorrow.'

He placed a clean pair of pyjamas on the other bed.

Sirius watched Draco drink the draught, and then waited till he was deeply asleep, curled up in the little bed with his godson.

***

It had been a regular sleeping potion, so there was the usual uneasy jolt back into consciousness when its effects wore off at about six o'clock that evening. Oh God, I am never going to get used to this, thought Draco, feeling slightly sick. He stayed as still as possible, waiting for the anxiety to pass, gaining reassurance from the warmth that surrounded him. Harry's arm had somehow got around him while he had slept, and Draco snuggled lots closer to him to ease the discomfort he was feeling. This was soooo comfortable. I could stay here like this for the rest of my life, he thought.

His thoughts cleared slightly. Evening. Another attempt at a meal, and then some extra Charms with Granger. Not an entirely awful way to spend an evening, he thought. Although, blimey. Hang on, something's different here. His eyes pinged open.

Harry was laying on his side, his arm draped round Draco, looking at him and smiling.

'You're awake!' cried Draco. 'You're really bloody awake!'

'Yes,' replied Harry smiling. 'Unlike you, who was sleeping like a baby till just now. It was nice watching you. What did you do, sneak in with me when Madam Pomfrey left? I don't remember you getting in, I must have already been asleep.'

Draco had so many things to say that precisely none of them came out.

'Er, er, erm...!'

'Can't stay away from me eh, Malfoy? Or were you just bitter about losing the bed?' grinned Harry.

'Potter, listen to me! You're awake! That's marvellous!'

'Marvellous, is it? Well I do feel better, that's for sure. Although, it's only six o'clock, so that can't have been a full five hour potion like Madam Pomfrey said.'

'Potter, shut up! You think it was nice watching me sleep? I'm the flippin' School Champion at watching you sleep, you git!'

'What do you mean? You've only just woken up. It was strange being able to feel you become conscious again.'

'That is true. I have only just woken up. But, well, Potter, you might find this difficult to take in, but it is not Sunday.'

'Eh? Don't be silly. It's evening. We went to sleep this afternoon, after we changed into pyjamas. It was funny, remember, seeing Madam Pomfrey's face! You said, you said, blimey I can't even say it. You said you found me attractive. I can't believe you said that! I've been thinking it about for the last half hour, watching you sleep so peacefully. And do you know what Malfoy, I can't believe I'm going to say this either, but I find you--'

'Potter, stop side-tracking me! Save the special compliments for later. What colour are my pyjamas?'

'Malfoy, what on earth are you talking about? I was just about to say--'

'Potter! What colour are my pyjamas?!'

'Black, you idiot. Black silk. I watched you put them on just this afternoon.'

'Oh God, are you infuriating!' cried Draco. He threw back the covers that lay over both of them.

'Or...green,' said Harry, surprised. 'How did that happen?'

'I changed, you moron. Because today is not Sunday! Now, will you let me speak?'

'OK, speak. It appears we have time.'

'Time? Stop interrupting! Don't say anything; not till you've heard me.'

Harry said nothing, waiting, mildly interested.

'You took that potion on Sunday. We both did. I slept for the duration expected. You did not wake. There was some alarm. Snape said that it could not be due to the potion. I got more worried the more I thought about it. Then after a lot of indecision and ignorance and guessing, they finally worked it out. You had not slept for ages, and your body was tired. The potion delivered you to an enchanted sleep; your body and mind liked it there. You needed to rest, and blocked everything out. No wakey- wakey. Granger and Dumbledore got to the bottom of it: you were in a magical coma, caused by psychological distress. I was frantic; couldn't help it. You slept on and on. I changed my pyjamas, because now it's been ages. Potter, you won't believe me, but it's Friday. You have slept for five days. And now thank God you are awake again, and I can begin to stop worrying.'

Draco, shivering suddenly, pulled the covers back over them, and held Harry tightly.

'It's Friday?'

'Yes.'

'I've been in a coma?'

'Yes.'

'Hermione worked it out?'

'Yes.'

'Well, at least that bit makes sense.'

'It all makes sense, dummy. And when they find out you are awake, they are all going to be so happy. Everyone's been so worried. Sirius - really nice guy by the way, your godfather - he'll be made up.'

'You've been talking to Sirius?'

'Yes. He's nice.'

'I know he's nice. He's my godfather. Did you know that?'

'I just said I knew that. Blimey Potter, keep up.'

'I can't keep up. What you said makes no sense. I can't have slept for five days, you git. Your brain's distressed.'

'My brain has been distressed, you bastard, I can't even begin to tell you how much. OK, have it your way. But boy are you going to be proved wrong! Quite soon, I would imagine. What's the time? Dumbledore usually comes in about seven. Tempus.'

The Snitch-clock informed him politely that it was twenty past six. 'Hey!' cried Harry. 'That clock is enchanted so only I can use it! How did you do that?'

'Potter, we have a great deal to talk about. I have about a hundred things to tell you, and we have many disagreements and tears in front of us. The clock is about as far down the list as it is possible to get. Now, just concentrate hard on what I am saying: YOU HAVE BEEN ASLEEP FOR FIVE DAYS!!! That is a fact. In that time they've all been worried, but none of them as much as me. Potter, do you get all this? I have been here next to you for five days. And on that note, you bloody need a shower. And Weasley dug out some fresh pyjamas for you. Nice to see they're as stylish as these groovy babies. So, a shower, some clean PJs, and you must be mighty hungry. I didn't know chicken-and-ham pie was your favourite, so I tried to eat enough for both of us. That sounds very very soppy now I have voiced it aloud. I am sure Dumbledore will let you have whatever you want. He let me, and I had chicken-and-ham pie, because Granger told me it was your favourite.'

'Malfoy, are you on drugs?'

'No! You're not listening.'

'Well, you're not explaining! Have you really been here in bed with me all that time?'

'Yes,' Draco blushed. 'I just couldn't leave, sorry, it was so awful, the only way I felt better was to be right next to you. I'm sorry. Are you upset?'

'Yes,' said Harry, slowly. 'I'm upset that I wasn't awake to enjoy it. I would like to have known what that was like.'

'Well, you're awake now. And I'm here. Are you enjoying it?'

'Yes.'

'Well, that's what it's been like. Except for five days. And with the most enormous dose of frantic worry. They were all worrying, even though not all of them showed it. But I can stop worrying now--' 'Who is this "they all"?'

'Me. Sirius. Dumbledore. McGonagall. Snape. Pomfrey. Granger. And me.'

'Ha! A regular conspiracy. You said me twice.'

'I was worrying twice as much. I should have said me twenty times. A hundred times.'

'Snape was worried? Come off it. And why Hermione but not Ron?'

'Snape was worried. Believe me. Especially when he thought there might have been something wrong with the potion he made.'

'What about Ron?'

'What about him? Did I mention that I was worried?'

'Yes, you mentioned it about a hundred times I believe. What about Ron?'

'He's not in the Inner Circle, it seems. The only visitors have been Sirius, staff and Granger. Dumbledore's had her researching stuff about comas in the library.'

'She would have been excellent at that.'

'Apparently she was. Sorted it all out. Even missed lessons to do it.'

'Good on her. But what about Ron? He would have helped her I am sure.'

'Potter, it's secret. You and I being here is secret. The Inner Circle is small. The rest of the school think we're suffering from sleeping sickness. Weasley is not in on this one, Potter. Dumbledore's decision.'

'Oh. How cloak-and-dagger. Sleeping sickness? What are we suffering from?'

'That, as I said to you earlier in the week, is tomorrow's task.'

'Oh. Yes. You said that about five hours ago.' 'No, five days ago, you cretin. Haven't you listened to anything?'

'How worried were you again?' asked Harry coyly.

'Potter, don't make me say it again. Anyway, I've stopped worrying now. Well, worrying about that, about the coma. I have loads of other things to worry about.' Draco turned rather quiet. 'Like...whether you can ever really like me or not.'

'Ha! You're worried about that? Bit late now you've just been in bed with me for five days.' Harry was grinning again. 'Jesus, five days, I still don't believe you! Let's call Madam Pomfrey, she'll be able to sort this out.'

'No!'

'Ha! She'll expose your Inner Circles and sleeping sicknesses and clever pyjama switches and chicken-and-ham pies. Five days! Come on, let's call her.'

'No!'

'Why not?'

'Because, Potter you moron, because I want to have you to myself for a little while,' said Draco softly.

Harry smiled. 'Well, you've got me. God only knows how it happened, but I appear to be in bed with you. And I am surprisingly sort of enjoying it, as we established earlier. So that would seem to count as having me to yourself. What do you suggest happens now?'

'Potter, you insufferable git, come here.'

Draco hugged him hard, breathing deeply. Harry could feel a mountain of tension flooding away from him. He felt so comfortable there in that warm safe hug with Malfoy, and he instinctively hugged him back. Something close to genuine relaxation filled the room.

'Don't go away again,' said Draco into Harry's neck. 'I'm not going anywhere, ever.'

They parted and lay still in the bed, aware of each other's breathing, sensing each other's comfort.

It was twenty glorious minutes before Dumbledore arrived for his usual brief visit, and in that time Harry and Draco lay quietly together under the covers of Harry's bed, talking a little more, but not much. There was such genuine happiness in the small room that Harry kept smiling and laughing to himself, and then thinking Bloody Hell! Malfoy!

Draco himself was increasingly more sober. After the initial thrill of seeing Harry awake, he was beginning to feel weighed down by the task in front of them, but found Harry's mood infectious all the same. As the minutes ticked by, Draco was torn between trying to enjoy the moment and worrying about what was to come. And seeing as he had made no issue about being in Harry's bed all week in front of the whole Inner Circle, why was he suddenly feeling that their current situation was too intimate to be seen by the others?

Because, he supposed, before, he knew they all shared his concern, so it wasn't as personal to him, but now, they had no part of this thing between him and Potter, so he didn't feel they had a right to see this closeness. Even Dumbledore. In fact especially Dumbledore. He sat up suddenly, drawing his knees up close and leaning uncomfortably against the head of the bed. Harry was surprised.

'What's the matter?' he asked.

'I don't know really,' said Draco. 'It's just...Dumbledore's going to be here any minute.'

'So what? Dumbledore put us here.'

'Yes I know. But did he put us here so we can do...this?'

'I don't know. You tell me. Why did he put us here?' Draco was silent.

'And anyway, why are you suddenly embarrassed, if you've been in this bed for five days? I'm not embarrassed.'

'Aren't you?' said Draco slowly, looking at Harry hopefully.

Harry shook his head, smiling warmly.

'Potter...' began Draco, very tentatively. 'Do you really not know why we are here?'

'Well...' breathed Harry slowly.

The door opened, and Dumbledore entered.

For a man who, despite eccentricity, always seemed totally in control of even the weightiest situations, his reaction on seeing Harry awake was striking.

'Harry!' he cried. 'How terrific! Gosh, all awake and smiling!'

Among the Inner Circle, as Draco had called it, news spread fast once it was discovered that Harry had woken. Over the next couple of hours each member of the group called by briefly, and they all looked relieved to various degrees ranging from Snape's brusqueness through Sirius's warmth to Hermione's squeal. And when Madam Pomfrey left them for the night with some more food and, surprisingly, some more sleeping potion, Harry felt disoriented, as if he'd been overtaken by events.

'Everybody I have seen since I woke up,' he said to Draco, 'has known something that I haven't. Including you. Especially you.'

'Potter...' said Draco, feeling tired again, and bashing the pillow in the same way that a dog circles its bed before sleep, 'that's tomorrow's task.'

CHAPTER TWELVE

~

TOMORROW'S TASK

The next morning, Saturday, Draco experienced a weird additional restlessness mixed up with the usual discomfort of rising from enchanted sleep: Harry was going through it as well. What's more, the unease of both of them combined seemed to be more than twice as bad as Draco was (sort of) used to.

They were entwined in their most intimate position yet, a tangle of limbs and mild nausea.

'Eurghhh,' moaned Harry from somewhere near Draco's neck.

'Awful, isn't it,' muttered Draco, grimacing as his head and insides forced themselves through some sluggish internal gymnastics.

'You can say that again,' croaked Harry, his throat dry, his body unnaturally warm.

'Awful, isn't it,' repeated Draco.

Harry punched him half-heartedly in the ribs, a movement which required more effort than he would have expected, as his arm was crushed under Draco's body. Draco managed a tiny snigger.

The two of them drifted gradually into full consciousness.

'Tempus,' Harry whispered about five minutes later, once the nausea had passed.

The Snitch-clock informed him politely that it was almost 6am.

There was another pause, and then Harry said, 'Well, Malfoy, it's tomorrow now. I think we have some talking to do.' 'All in good time, Potter,' Draco replied. 'How about a shower and some breakfast first? Pomfrey managed to rustle up some bacon yesterday, how do you feel about that?'

'Bacon? Er...I'm not sure if I want...we had a huge meal just last night...'

'It was not a huge meal. It was some boiled eggs, and you finished precisely half an egg and no toast. Come on Potter, you can't do this not eating forever. You're painfully thin anyway, and I don't--'

'Are you nagging me?' asked Harry, his eyes wide in a surprised smile.

Draco looked at him, slightly sheepishly. 'Well, if I don't, who will?'

'Ha! That's an easy one, Malfoy,' laughed Harry. 'Ron. Hermione. Sirius. Mrs Weasley. You want me to add your name to that list?'

'No! Definitely not. I don't want to be on any list with two, maybe more, Weasleys. Eat what you want, Potter. I will have some bacon though. Probably in a sandwich. Don't whine when you see how good it looks.'

They laughed a bit more and fell back into their previous tangle, their bodies as closely mixed up as they could get. Suddenly Harry felt decidedly uneasy, and oh my God...no! He was becoming aroused. Incredibly, unmissably, rigidly aroused. The nearness of Malfoy's delicious body was having that effect on him. He broke away from the hug in a panic.

Draco looked at him in amusement.

'What?' said Harry, edgily.

'Can't fool me, Potter,' he grinned.

'What do you mean?' blurted Harry quickly.

'Well, you're forgetting. I can feel these things in my head. To say nothing of jammed against my leg.' Harry blushed crimson, but Draco laughed. Harry felt warmed that Draco was so comfortable with what had happened.

'And I'm guessing it's not the thought of the bacon that's got you so steamed up,' he added, smiling.

They both stared at each other and burst out laughing, Harry seemingly losing his self-consciousness in an instant. Then the laughing stopped and Harry felt the mood swing abruptly to the left. Harry could feel Draco's intention in his own head.

Draco leaned over and kissed Harry on the forehead. Then on the nose, then on each cheek. His lips were as soft as feathers. Harry trembled, and then their mouths met, and the whole world seemed to stop. And this time, it wasn't one kissing the other, but a natural union of both of them.

It was wonderful.

'You,' stated Draco breathlessly, breaking away, '...bloody need a shower.'

'Malfoy, I...' began Harry.

'Shhhh. Shhh-shower. Now. Then food. Then we will talk, I promise.'

Harry smiled shyly and said, 'OK, Malfoy, it's a good plan,' and then rose and disappeared into the bathroom.

Draco got out of bed and turned to the window, but as it was so early in the morning it was too dark to make out whether there had been any fresh snow overnight. Staring at the shadowy nothingness of pre-dawn, he heard the water begin to run in the bathroom, and then his thoughts began to wander. This was going to be the make-or-break day. It was going to have to be handled very very sensitively and he was naturally nervous, but he was sort of looking forward to it as well. Here's where we lay the foundations, he thought. This day has got be...right.

The view was still nothing and the water was still running. His mind wandered back to what had been niggling him for a couple of days now. Sirius had said there was nothing left. Why did Draco feel deep in his guts that this was not so? How could it possibly be that he might know something that Sirius did not? And if he did know something, what on earth was it? Blast. This frustration was not exactly welcome considering everything else that was still to be tackled.

He sighed deeply, and tried to shake off the irritation by concerning himself with something totally mundane. Hell, it was probably nothing. Hearing once again the dull hiss from the water in the bathroom, his thoughts turned to Harry, and he busied himself clearing the table so that he and Harry could have some breakfast when he got out of the shower. Madam Pomfrey always seemed to know within a few minutes when the effect of the sleeping potion had worn off, and no doubt she would be in within moments hassling them about eating. Leaving Harry's clean pyjamas where they were, he picked half a dozen objects and moved them to the spare bed: some parchment and quills, a bag of Hedwig's owl treats, a library book on Transfiguration and their wands.

And then he stared.

Of course! The recognition became a memory, and the memory linked itself to several other thoughts in quick succession. Of course! That book.

As he thought about that day years before, the drumming of the water from the shower seemed louder. And then the moment was gone, as Madam Pomfrey opened the door and entered, followed closely by Sirius.

'Where's Harry?' he asked, alarmed at not being able to see his godson.

'In the shower,' smiled Draco. 'At last.'

Sirius looked relieved, and Draco warmed further to him.

'So...to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit...' enquired Draco, in mock annoyance, '...so early?' Madam Pomfrey looked like she has already tried to ask Sirius the same question. 'Well, I'm here...so early,' she mimicked, 'to see how you slept. But as for Mr Black, I have no idea.'

'I just couldn't stay away,' said Sirius, grinning.

'I slept well, thanks, and so did Potter. At least as well as you ever can sleep with the aid of a potion. And I also have something of an appetite, and I think I have convinced Potter of the same.'

'Good. I'll see what the kitchens can do,' she said, and left.

'Sirius,' began Draco, sounding rather puzzled. 'You know what I said yesterday about not remembering something? There's a book.'

'Er...sorry?' said Sirius, slightly bemused.

'There's a book. In the library at home. I've been trying to remember something for the last couple of days, ever since you told me the story of how...of you know, the night when Potter was a baby, and the house...well, it rang some kind of bell in my head.'

'Draco, you're not making any sense. What book?'

'I just remembered. When I was little I used to go and sit with my father in his library. He used to tell me about a different book each time. I suppose that's when my education began. There were magical textbooks, history books, and, well, some others too.'

Sirius did not push the point. What Lucius Malfoy might keep in his library didn't really bear thinking about.

'And then there was this one particular book', continued Draco, half- smiling at the memory. 'I must have been eight or nine years old. And my father told me that this was a very special book indeed, because some books could hold more than words. They could hold thoughts and feelings and memories. And this book, he said, held memories of a magical baby boy. I thought he meant me. But it wasn't me. The pictures were not of anyone I knew. The words came from voices I had never heard. It was obviously...a different magical baby.'

'Do you mean...?'

'I don't know. I never thought about it again. Maybe--'

'Happier now?!' trilled Harry as he came out of the bathroom, utterly naked, despite a towel he was trying (and failing) to secure round his thin waist. 'I'm completely clean and fresh as a baby and, oh shit, Sirius! Er, hello.'

Harry gave up on the towel in his haste to cover himself up and grabbed the clean pyjamas. He tried to jump into them as quickly as possible but in his rush his leg got caught and he went hopping clumsily towards the bed considerably more out of the pyjamas than in them. He landed on the bed in a heap of nudity that was far from elegant.

Draco was highly amused, but Harry was mortified. Harry's intense discomfort at being caught naked made a powerful and immediate presence in Draco's head. Not just naked either, but naked in a way that he obviously intended to be fine in front of Draco but which was way beyond embarrassing in front of his godfather. He went quickly to where Harry, whose blush was so angry it looked like he'd been scalded, was struggling with the pyjama trousers tied in some kind of knot around his ankles. Draco speedily and effortlessly helped him to a state of decency.

Then with Harry sat tidily on the edge of the bed, Draco placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and said quietly and warmly, 'steady on, old boy.'

They exchanged grins.

'Er, I think I'm intruding,' said Sirius. 'So I think I'll go.'

Neither Harry nor Draco heard him speak, or leave the room.

***

It was not going badly, but it was not exactly going well either. Breakfast lay in a cold, congealed mess on a plate next to their bed, as Madam Pomfrey had optimistically provided them with enough bacon for a dozen people. If only the bacon itself had a way of making this easier, they would have been laughing. But there was no laughing, not yet anyway.

'So...' said Harry, 'our magic's got mixed up together?'

'Er, in a way, yes.'

'Why exactly? That's the bit I don't understand. And go over that bit about the fauns again.'

'Potter! Have you been listening? I have tried to explain it hundreds of different ways. But if you refuse to accept what this is all about, this is going to get very very difficult, not to say painful.'

Harry looked hurt and turned away from Draco. His world, so newly sort of patched back together, was falling apart again. Was this warmth between them not due to anything other than a crazy side-effect of having innate magic? Was it not actually real?

'OK, Potter, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. Let's start again; very slowly. I know this is a lot to take in. When two people with innate magic meet for the first time, there is the possibility that...'

***

It was nearly lunchtime. The mood in their little kingdom had been rocketing around all morning, and Draco was beginning to wonder if it was all simply going to be too much for Harry to take in. After all, he was still rather vulnerable.

'So let me get this straight,' summarised Harry. 'A long time ago, on my first full day of consciously being a wizard, I met you in a shop.'

'What do you mean, consciously being a wizard? Haven't you always been one? You must certainly have been one when, as a baby...' 'Yes, but I don't remember that. When I went to London with Hagrid that day, I'd only found out I was a wizard the night before, when I got my letter. But that's another story. We're way off the point and I was going--'

'You only found out when you got your letter?' Draco was astonished. 'Nothing at all before? No brooms, wands, Quidditch, nothing?'

'No!' Harry was getting irritated again. 'Now it's you who's not listening! I only found out the day before! My aunt and uncle had hidden it from me, hoping I would never get the letter, so that they would never have to acknowledge what I was, what I am. They told me my parents had died in a car crash, that I got the scar from the same crash.'

'They did what?!' exploded Draco.

'You heard me. Dumbledore knew the letters weren't getting to me - my uncle was destroying them - and he sent Hagrid to sort it out. The next day Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley to buy my Hogwarts stuff. It was all amazingly new, overwhelming. And I met you in that robe shop. Hagrid was the first member of the magical community that I ever met. Apart from a few casual hellos, you were the second.'

'I can't believe your aunt and uncle did that! You're...you're Harry Potter! Famous and everything. And you knew nothing about it? How come I don't know this?'

'Malfoy, shut up interrupting will you? This is difficult enough as it is without you getting bogged down with boring past history.'

'But Potter, your past now affects me, greatly. I need to know this kind of stuff. I'll never truly know you otherwise.'

'Malfoy,' Harry was choking with frustration, 'my past history affects you? What about yours? What about your father? Do I need to know about your shameful background too? Do I even want to know?'

It was too difficult to continue. Draco paced the room while Harry fumed on the bed, and another impasse was reached. ***

The arrival of some hot soup and bread at lunchtime had temporarily eased the situation. But only marginally.

'So,' began Harry again, trying to state conclusions. 'A long time ago, I met you in a shop. Details of that meeting, like for example how you called Hagrid some kind of servant or something, are for the moment irrelevant--'

'Don't mention them then, if they're irrelevant,' snapped Draco.

'And in that moment,' said Harry, ignoring him, 'we fell in love? At eleven years old? I hardly think that's credible. I am sure--'

'Potter, listen. Not in that moment, no. Nor in any other specific moment. But in the shop that day a connection was made. We'll probably never know why. Maybe because you were more susceptible to new things on that day than you had ever been. Maybe because I had never really had any friends. Or maybe because I was simply the first person of your own age you met in your new world. But whatever, a connection was made. And since that day, the love has grown a little at a time, a tiny bit more each day, like stacking up bricks until we had a castle. Until in fact, we reach a stage where you can be comfortable being naked in front of me, and where I can't bear it if we don't sleep in the same bed, and where we can kiss, Potter, like our very lives depend on it.'

Harry looked at him incredulously.

'And they may very well depend on it, in fact,' added Draco casually.

'But that doesn't make any sense! I hated you until last week. I haven't been stacking "love bricks" anywhere. This is crazy, Malfoy!'

'The connection was made that day,' insisted Draco. 'On that day, we both took our first step on the path that leads to where we are now. But...there were complications.'

'What complications?' 'Well, loads; thousands probably. But they all stem from the first, critical complication.'

'Which was what?'

'Weasley.'

'Leave Ron out of this.'

'I can't. You wanted to know. You've got to know. The next time we met, on the train, I offered you my hand. You refused it, because of Weasley.'

'Of course I did. You insulted him outrageously. And have done countless times since.'

Draco softened a little, sighing slightly.

'Potter, we're going to have to split this conversation into two bits. The first is this one: the facts, and getting our heads round them. The second will have to be dealing with all the shit that comes out of the first bit, but which we can't look at now, or we will never ever get to the fucking end. I'm sorry about Weasley. I truly am. And I'm going to owe you more apologies than that before the end of the day. But just try to put aside the ill-feeling for now. Please.'

'OK,' grunted Harry, after a while.

'Good. Now. On that day, you refused my hand. And somehow, because of that refusal - I don't quite know how, and Granger's still trying to understand it I think - the emotional intensity between us increased as hate instead of, well, instead of love. But it increased all the same...'

***

'That bloody faun! You mean, we've got Dixter to thank for this mess?'

'POTTER! You have understood NOTHING! The fauns did NOT cause this! They merely brought our attention to it. Well, my attention. You were so blind you just went off on a six-week moody because you didn't understand what was going on. Try to understand NOW, please, I'm begging you! God, you've no idea what this has been like for me! Watching you night after night creeping closer to the edge of despair, wondering how on earth I was going to tell you! And your bloody friends! They were frantic. Weasley was distraught. Granger had it all worked out of course. She--'

'Hermione knew?'

'Yes of course she bloody knew. And in your heart of hearts you know she knew. She came to me with Weasley to call a truce for your sake, trying to make it easier for you to come to terms with it. You don't know how fucking lucky you are having friends like that. How on earth could you have put them through all that pain? Have you any idea what--'

'Hermione knows everything? And Ron?' For the second time in his life, Harry was fighting a losing battle against tears.

'Yes. And all your other mates from the Tower. And all the Inner Circle of staff, and Sirius. And me. All of us frantically worried about you. And what did you do? You cut everyone out and try to be valiant and self-sufficient. Typical bloody Gryffindor.'

'Hermione and Ron came to talk to you, because of me?' Harry's voice was small, almost terrified. 'They did that for me?'

'They love you, you tit. Even in the face of startlingly shoddy behaviour from you. Everyone cares about you, moron. Most of all me.'

Such an awful realisation, that he'd thought they would hate him, but they had actually become even more like a family than he could ever have hoped, made him feel both indecently blessed and wracked with guilt. The combination was too much, and tears began to leak silently from his eyes. Draco stopped talking, and, unable to stop himself, pulled Harry toward him. They sat for a long while, Harry sobbing into Draco's chest, and Draco rubbing Harry's back softly and murmuring gentle nothings into his neck.

*** Harry was edgy now. The range of emotions he'd been through that afternoon was too much for anyone, especially someone still as vulnerable as Harry was. He paced the room incessantly, pausing by the window every few steps to watch the dusk settle over the snowy world outside. Draco watched him from the bed, eyes never leaving him, trying to work out exactly what Harry's state of mind was now.

Suddenly Harry grabbed a quill and a small piece of parchment, and scribbled something in double quick time. He nuzzled Hedwig for about one second and then despatched her with the note.

'What was that all about?' asked Draco.

'Nothing,' muttered Harry quickly.

'Have it your way then,' sniffed Draco.

Harry paced for a long while more, and then stopped and said quickly, 'so it's not unnatural then? It's not caused by magic, or fauns; it's not a disease or a sickness; it's just, real emotions? And what I'm feeling, what I've been feeling increasingly for weeks now, about you, that's real? It's true, and decent, and I've not been tricked into it, or anything? And all the pain I've felt, it's because I haven't dared face up to the fact that I might' - gulp - 'like you?'

Draco smiled.

'Bingo. We have a winner! And it's the same for me. But the one difference is, Potter, that I am not afraid to say the word love.'

Harry's shoulders sagged, and Draco thought for a second that Harry might be about to collapse. He jumped up and steadied him, and held him close in the middle of the room.

'Potter', he whispered. 'You're exhausted. And I am too. Let's get some potion, and sleep for a while'. He laid Harry down in the bed, and then ventured out onto the main ward to find Madam Pomfrey, who nearly had a fit at him for the effect his sudden appearance had on a group of Ravenclaws who were being treated for Quidditch injuries. He asked for two goblets of five-hour deep sleeping draught, and, refusing food, retreated back to the little room.

'Blimey', said Draco, as he snuggled up next to Harry. 'It was Slytherin v Ravenclaw this afternoon. I wonder who won? I wonder who we used as Seeker?'

'No idea. You know something else weird? Apart from Sirius, we've had no visitors today.'

'I think that was probably deliberate. Give us a chance to talk and such. You know.'

Madam Pomfrey entered with the smoky potion, and set them down. She tried briefly - without success - to get them to eat something, then left.

'Come on Potter, down in one, and let Morphia be our companion.'

'I think she'd probably feel like she were intruding, don't you?' grinned Harry, as they settled down again into each other's familiar warmth.

***

'It's Hedwig!' cried Ron at supper that night.

Hedwig glided to Ron's shoulder and stuck out her leg to deliver the slip of parchment. Ron took the note and began to feed the elegant snowy some of his dinner: cold beef and potatoes.

'Ron!' said Hermione sharply. 'Don't feed animals at the table, it's gross.'

Seamus and Dean ooohed dramatically at this rebuke. Hermione pursed her lips. Ron didn't notice.

'It's not an animal, it's Hedwig,' stated Ron, reading Harry's words intently. 'Is it from Harry?' asked Hermione, her manner softened again.

'Yes. He wants the cloak. Tonight. I'll take it to him after midnight when the castle is quiet.'

'Ron! You can't! McGonagall said dire consequences if anyone snuck in there before tomorrow evening!'

'I don't care. Harry wants the cloak, and he's asked me for it. I'm going to take it to him.'

'Ron you're so stubborn...sometimes I think--'

'I don't care what you think, not this time, Herm. I'm going to take the cloak to Harry. So live with it.'

'OK. Well. I'm coming with you then. You're not going to risk anything without me.'

Seamus, Dean, Neville and Ginny all ahhh!-ed at this moment between them.

'Oh! So...cute!' cooed Ginny.

'Shut up, Gin', said Ron, blushing.

'Or what?' demanded Ginny.

'Or, I'll tell everyone what I saw you and Seamus up to last night.'

'And what exactly do you think you saw, Ron?'

'You really want me to say in front of everyone?'

'Er...no,' said Ginny, blushing as much as Ron.

Ron and Ginny resumed eating to the accompaniment of more sarcastic ooohs from around the table.

*** Harry woke up not far off midnight that night, with the same uncomfortable feelings he'd had that morning. Draco was still in enchanted sleep: there was an emptiness in Draco's head that he'd not felt before. But that is not to say that Harry was not aware of Draco's presence. Their legs were completely entwined, and their arms were all mixed up under and around each other's bodies. Draco's (empty) head was lodged somewhere in Harry's left armpit, and though there were no thoughts to connect them, each shallow exhalation from Draco seemed to be in synchrony with his own relaxed heartbeat.

This is what it must have been like for Malfoy for five whole days, thought Harry. He wanted to hold Draco even closer, but that was not possible, so he just kissed his hair lightly instead. Who would ever have thought that Malfoy would have been so warm, he thought. But that was the least surprising thing about the last couple of days.

Curiously (or was it curious?) it wasn't whatever was going on with Malfoy that was on his mind the most. It was Ron and Hermione. The thought of what he had done to them just made him cringe in guilty disgrace. Doubting Ron and Hermione was something you just never did. Their loyalty was unshakeable. Thinking of the time Ron had begged him to tell what the matter was, tears streaming down his face, Harry felt another wave of shame wash over him. He didn't deserve them. Just give me a chance, thought Harry, and I'll make it up to him...to both of them. Properly.

Draco's head remained empty. Harry, still uncomfortable with his guilt concerning Ron and Hermione, suddenly felt undeserving of Draco as well, and he gently untangled himself from Draco's embrace and got out of bed.

With a little bit of luck, thought Harry, Ron might get here before Malfoy wakes. I seem to have only been asleep for four hours, which might well mean that he will sleep for another hour, perhaps longer. But despite the enormity of the situation with Draco, and the nauseating sense of shame he felt for other reasons, Harry wanted to stop living all that for a while. He wanted to get outside. A nocturnal walk: to digest all he'd heard that day. It was the only way. He would sit by the lake, and think. So much needed thinking about...

He was getting itchy now. Come on, Ron, he thought. What time had he written in the note? Had he put a time at all? It must be past midnight now. Ron wouldn't leave it too late; he would want to get his usual ten hours' sleep in somehow. Ten hours! That was luxury Harry couldn't imagine.

Harry paced the room, and then decided to dress quickly. As he shed his pyjamas and scrambled into his jeans and a sweater, he felt like he had energy again. He looked out of the window: good, he thought, in fact, fantastic. A clear moonlit night, the soft light glinting on the fields of snow. Just like the night...

He looked over at Draco, whose hair, in the dim gloom of the room, seemed to glow like the snow outside. That night in the rose garden...how amazing to think of it now. Their lives had changed, forever, in that one moment. That one kiss. Nothing would ever be the same again. But would it be better, or worse? Better, prayed Harry. Although, had he any right to hope for something even better than the love that Ron and Hermione had given him unconditionally for years? And which they still gave, even now, after he had treated them so badly?

Harry went back to the bed and sat down next to Draco. Was his whole future really wrapped up with this sleeping angel? This son of a Death Eater, his enemy for four years? I hope so, thought Harry. He gently ran his hand over Draco's cheek. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was fate, maybe it was Harry's presence, but at that moment Harry felt Draco pass from enchanted sleep into an uneasy natural slumber. He moved agitatedly, turning several times, unconsciously reaching out to find Harry.

'I'm here,' whispered Harry, as he touched Draco's shoulder.

Draco opened his eyes and smiled. Harry looked in on his thoughts at the very moment Draco emerged into wakefulness. 'Hello, Malfoy,' said Harry.

'Hello, Potter. I was worried. You weren't here.'

'You were asleep. How can you have been worried?' smiled Harry.

'I don't know,' replied Draco shyly. 'Because I can feel where you are all the time, I guess. Wherever you are, even if I'm asleep.' Draco suddenly looked upset.

'What is it?' asked Harry gently.

'I...er...'

'What?'

'Nothing.'

'What is it? Come on Malfoy, I'm not going to be upset.'

'It's just...I'm a bit frightened by all this. How am I ever going to cope when we leave here? I get uneasy if you're even outside touching distance. That's...not healthy, is it?'

'Shhh.' Harry hugged him as he sat up, brushing his lips against Draco's neck. 'Shhh. Everything is going to be fine.'

'How?'

'It just is. It's meant to be. The Crimson Cloud, remember? We'll find a way.'

'You really mean that?'

'Yes.'

'Even though...even after all the things I've done?'

'Yes.'

'And...' 'And what?'

'All the things my father's done?' finished Draco, almost inaudibly.

'Malfoy, one step at a time. That's tomorrow's task.'

Draco smiled. 'Hey. That's my line, Potter.'

'Not any more, it seems.'

They hugged for a little while longer, then parted. Draco's eyes had now adjusted to the lack of light.

'Why are you dressed?' he asked, concerned.

'Er...'

'What are you doing? Are you going out?' There was mounting urgency in Draco's voice.

'Hey! Calm down! I'm not running away. I just wanted a walk, that's all.'

'You can't! You--'

But Draco's voice died suddenly as the door opened.

Then closed again.

'What the hell was that?' wondered Draco.

But Harry knew. He bounded over to the door, flaying his arms wide, giggling.

'Ron!' he laughed, as his arm connected with a Ron-sized lump standing in front of the door. He was eager to see his friend again.

'Ta-daah!' cried Ron dramatically, flinging the cloak off.

'Lumos!' intoned Hermione, brandishing her wand. 'And Hermione!' Harry laughed. 'Wow! It's so good to see you both!' He hugged them both in turn, Draco temporarily forgotten.

'How are you, Harry?' asked Hermione warmly.

'Great, thanks. Sleepy of course. And you! I can't believe you're here! Did you sneak here all the way under the cloak together?'

'Herm insisted on coming,' laughed Ron. 'Wouldn't let me out alone! Good thing too, as I was being so hasty, we practically walked into Filch. Harry! You look so much better! You're even laughing!'

'Yeah, I feel a lot better,' answered Harry. 'Today's been a difficult but good day. Ron, I have so much I need to say to you.'

'It can wait, Harry,' said Ron, kindly. 'There's no rush.'

'How are things going then?' asked Hermione warmly. 'Eating well? You look more relaxed than you have for ages, that's for sure.'

'Well, not much eating, to be honest, but lots of sleep, yeah.'

'That's an understatement,' said Draco.

Ron and Hermione swung round, noticing Draco for the first time.

'Hello Granger, Weasley', he said, genuinely pleasantly. Harry recognised Draco's efforts at civility, and felt another rush of affection for him.

'Oh>, hello Malfoy,' sniffed Ron. 'I'd hoped you would be asleep.'

Draco did not react.

'Well, I'm not,' he replied, without malice. 'I'm sorry to disappoint you, Weasley.'

'Blimey. Malfoy issues an apology. Your presence must be doing some good, Harry,'

'Ron,' urged Harry, 'drop it. There's no problem here.' 'His presence is doing the world of good, Weasley,' said Draco simply. 'I envy you for having enjoyed it all these years.'

Ron was speechless.

'What is this anyway?' asked Draco. 'Is this what you used that time at the Shrieking Shack? An Invisibility Cloak? Wow!'

'Cool, isn't it?' said Harry. 'It was my dad's. It's...the only thing I have of his.'

'Then...it must be very precious to you?'

'Yes,' said Harry softly.

Ron and Hermione suddenly felt awkward. Hermione tried to lighten the mood slightly.

'What do you want it for, anyway, Harry?' she asked.

'Er...I need some fresh air. I must get out for a little while, you know, lots of thinking to do. And I needed the cloak, because, well, I can't really let Dumbledore down by getting caught, can I?'

'Oh,' said Hermione.

'What's the problem, Herm? Please don't tell me what I can and can't do. I am going out. Final.'

'It's not that - it's Filch. We can't go back without it. We'll have to wait till you return.'

Draco was alarmed. 'Potter? Are you really going out?'

'Yes,' Harry answered quickly.

Draco didn't know what to do. In the end he decided he didn't care what Ron and Hermione thought. 'Please don't go,' he begged, softly. 'Please don't leave me here.' Ron snorted. 'We won't bite, Malfoy.'

'It's nothing to do with you!' snapped Draco, then immediately regretted his harsh tone. 'Potter, I couldn't, I can't...if you're not here...'

Harry nearly kissed him in front of his friends, but just stopped himself.

'Don't be worried, Malfoy', he soothed. 'You're coming too.' He'd not planned on taking Draco with him - indeed, that kind of defeated the whole reason for going - but he just couldn't leave him.

Draco smiled in relief.

Harry melted.

'Come on,' he urged, 'get some clothes on. Let's go.'

'Turn your backs, you two?' requested Draco, unbuttoning his pyjama top.

'Why doesn't Harry have to turn his back?' whispered Ron to Hermione.

'Shhh!' hissed Hermione, digging him in the ribs.

'You sure you two don't mind waiting here?' asked Harry. 'I'm sorry to go out so soon, I know we've got loads to talk about, but, you know, I've just got to get out.'

'S'OK, Harry,' said Hermione. 'Don't worry about us. Just don't be hours.'

'I promise. Just some real air and some time outside.'

And then he and Draco donned their black winter cloaks. Ron winced as he saw Harry slip his arm round Draco's waist to pull them closer together, and then with one big swirl of the invisibility cloak they were gone.

'Well,' Ron sighed. 'What do we do now?'

***

As Draco and Harry sat in the rose garden some time later, the resonance with their previous time out at night was almost tangible. That night, as well as this, Harry had intended to go to the lake, but settled for the rose garden. Also the weather was practically a carbon copy. And they sat on the same bench, just as closely.

But the conversation had distinctly more direction. Or, at least, more energy.

'...but I don't understand how you can make it this easy', persisted Draco. 'I have done so many things.'

'Malfoy, this is supposed to be tomorrow's task'.

'It is tomorrow. It's well after midnight. We're going to do this now; if not I'm going to burst with anxiety. I tried to get you expelled in our first week...'

'But I didn't get expelled--'

'I faked the injury from the Hippogriff and engineered his execution...'

'But he escaped--'

'I tried to get Hagrid sacked...'

'But he kept his job--'

'I betrayed you to Rita Skeeter...'

'But we got the better of her in the end--'

'I pretended to be a Dementor to get you to faint on your broom!'

'But I didn't fall! And I forgive you!'

'I have made your life hell in so many ways! I tricked you by not turning up for that duel...'

'I forgive you!'

'I sabotaged your work in Potions!' 'I forgive you!'

'And I made those awful POTTER STINKS badges!' wailed Draco.

'I forgive you, Malfoy!'

'How can you forgive me so easily?'

'Malfoy, stop, please! This was supposed to be a quiet time away from that room. All we've done is brought the room outside!'

'You're too good, Potter. This is supposed to be difficult! How can you forgive me for abusing Weasley and Granger for so many years? Or what about...'

***

'Do you remember, Albus, the day of James and Lily's wedding?' Sirius asked, as he sat chatting with the Headmaster late that night.

'Of course,' smiled Dumbledore. 'A happy day in the midst of so much darkness. You, I recall, were rather the worse for drink. As was Remus.'

'As were you,' grinned Sirius. 'You and Minerva dancing the fandango has remained for me one of the most extraordinary memories a man could have.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'Yes. Well, I was a bit younger then, Sirius. And Minerva was quite the showgirl.'

They reflected for a while.

'Why do you bring that up now, Sirius?'

'Well, it may be nothing. But something Draco said to me this morning has got me thinking, and I want to ask you, in case I've remembered wrongly, what did you buy them as a wedding present?'

'Ah, yes,' remembered Dumbledore, and became sad. 'How poignant that seems now. A scrap-book. Well, it was intended as an album of some kind, I don't know what they used it as, if they ever got to use it at all. Just a small blue book with blank pages that I had, er...well, you know, enhanced with a little charm of my own, enabling them to record whatever they wanted just by leaving the book open on a new page each time, a little like a Pensieve I suppose.'

'Yes,' Sirius sighed, 'that's what I remember too. A much better present than the case of champagne that I bought them. Which I think they only had one bottle of before...' he trailed off. 'We had that bottle at Harry's christening,' he finished, finding the recollection too painful to look at directly.

Sirius had had so many years to think over memories of James and Lily, but even so they were still as difficult to consider now as they were at the time. He tried to snap himself out of it.

'They did use your scrap-book,' he affirmed. 'I remember it at Harry's Christening, and on other times we met for dinner, picnics, Quidditch matches, anything really. And I hadn't recalled it at all, until today, when Draco said something.'

Dumbledore said nothing, allowing Sirius to piece together whatever it was he was trying to say.

'He remembers a book from the library at Malfoy Manor,' continued Sirius, 'containing what he called memories of a magical baby boy. But that boy was not him, it was another baby.'

'What makes Draco think that the book in his father's library might be the same scrap-book of James and Lily's?' asked Dumbledore, perturbed.

'Nothing. I don't even know that he does think they might be the same. His reminiscence was triggered by the fact that it concerned a magical baby, not the fact that it might have been Harry. And he doesn't know anything about the scrap-book in the first place. But I'm left wondering why he told me. It had obviously been on his mind, troubling him somehow, and the crucial thing is that he only tried to dredge this memory up after a conversation we had about the night...you know, that night...'

Dumbledore sat perfectly still, thinking hard. Sirius ventured another thought.

'If, as I have always imagined, it was the Death Eaters who destroyed the house at Godric's Hollow...that would have placed Lucius Malfoy at the house before it was ruined. He could have picked up anything. Especially something he thought might be useful to his master, or even to him I suppose, at some future point.'

Dumbledore remained as unmoving as a statue. Then he spoke, very softly.

'We have no proof that this book of Lucius Malfoy's is the same scrap- book. It could belong to any member of the Malfoy family, from any point in time. But it would be utterly like Lucius to display such a trophy to his son, even if he didn't go into details. The question is...if it is the same book, could it ever be used against Harry? Could it ever be a danger to him? I can't see how. Even destroying the book would not harm Harry in any way. But in that case, why would Lucius have taken it from the house?'

Now it was Sirius who remained silent.

'Whatever the facts, I do not want Draco to be troubled by this,' said Dumbledore. 'If he speaks of it again, I want you to tell him somehow to forget it. And Harry must know absolutely nothing.'

'My thoughts exactly, Albus.'

'I think, on reflection, it is too dangerous to assume that it is not a threat,' said the Headmaster. 'There may be dark methods in which the magic in the book could be turned in some way. And we know of at least one scheme of Lucius Malfoy's in which he used an enchanted book, a diary, in fact, to unthinkable ends. We must recover it.' 'How exactly?' asked Sirius. 'Nobody just walks into Malfoy Manor and browses through the library. And it is rumoured that the magical protection around the house makes it into some kind of fortress.'

'You are right,' smiled Dumbledore. 'We cannot walk into the Manor. But we know someone who can.'

***

'He put his arm round him, Herm. He watched him get dressed. It's just not Harry.'

'Oh Ron. Wake up. The Crimson Cloud, remember? Get over it; they obviously have. And look how much better Harry looks.'

'Yeah, I know. But. It's difficult.'

'How difficult it is for you is not an issue, in fact--'

Hermione stopped talking suddenly.

'What--'

'Shhh!'

'What--'

'Shhh! I can hear something. Oh my God, it's Madam Pomfrey talking!' she said in a desperate whisper.

'Don't be silly, Herm, she'll be--'

'How many patients were there on the main ward?'

'Herm, I don't remember, you were there as--'

'How many?'

'Two perhaps. Three maybe, or--' 'Only three? That's not going to give us enough time! There's no time! And she's going to come in here! I can feel it!'

'Herm, stop panicking. Let's just go in the bathroom.'

'No! Then she'll see that they're not here! And then she'll be bound to look in the bathroom!'

'Herm, calm it. Just accept that we might get caught. There are extenuating circum--'

'In bed, quick!' she urged.

'OK,' said Ron, seeing the sense in the idea. He threw back the covers on the bed nearest the door.

'No!' hissed Hermione. 'This one!'

'But you're in that one.'

'Ron, this one quick, I think she's coming!'

Ron looked totally bemused.

'Ron, there's no time to explain, just trust me! They sleep in the same bed!'

'They...they what?'

'They sleep in the same bed! QUICK!' Hermione looked like she was about to burst with agitation.

Unable to take in this extraordinary fact, Ron stood stock still. Madam Pomfrey's footsteps could be heard just outside the door.

Hermione moved with lightening speed. She grabbed Harry and Draco's discarded pyjamas then seized Ron and hauled him to Harry's bed, pushing him down. Then she jumped in next to him, crammed herself up close and threw the covers over their heads.

The door opened. 'Settle down you two,' came Madam Pomfrey's voice. 'Stop talking and go to sleep. Do you want any sleeping potion, or do you want try to sleep without it?'

Hermione poked Ron in the ribs.

'No...I'm...we're fine thanks,' said Ron weirdly, in a sort of choking impersonation of Harry.

'Very well. But if you're still awake in an hour I want you to come and get some more potion.'

'Yes, OK, thanks,' croaked Ron as neutrally as possible.

After a pause of unbearable length, they heard the door close.

'They sleep in the same bed?' boggled Ron.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

~

HEART OF THE MATTER

'It's easy for me to forgive you, Malfoy. I don't know why you've got so worked up about this. You said it yourself: the intensity between us increased as hatred instead of as love, which we can look at now as a positive thing in two ways.'

'How can any of the things I did to you ever be considered positive, Potter?' asked Draco, still distressed. 'What do you mean, two ways?'

'Easy. First, say we hadn't had the complication of the refused handshake on the train. We would have been in love, at eleven years old. That's a gruesome thought. Neither of us would have been able to cope with it. We would never have understood it, but now, five years later, we can just about get our heads round it. In a way, Ron was not a complication; he was a flippin' saviour.'

'Yeah, I guess,' said Draco in reluctant agreement. 'What an awful thought. Yick, squick, horror.'

'How eloquent you are when you're worked up, Malfoy. Lose two points for lack of a decent vocabulary.'

Draco punched him half-heartedly, and they both smiled.

'Second,' continued Harry, 'because, as it was hatred, surely we should have expected crappy behavior from both of us. Funnily enough, hearing all your misdemeanors in one long list like that, I find it quite flattering. Each one is a little example of how strong the emotion was. Of how much you hated me.' Draco blushed a little.

Harry grinned sideways. 'If we carry on this thinking, those POTTER STINKS badges might just as well have said Potter is sexy and I want to have his children, signed Draco Malfoy, oh and by the way, he's got dreamy eyes.'

'I have never once said anything about your eyes, Potter,' said Draco, unable to stop smiling. 'And besides, all that would never have fitted on a badge.'

'You would have found a way, Malfoy,' laughed Harry. 'You hated me that much.'

'But even so, Potter,' Draco protested. 'I don't understand how you are able to just sweep all the ill-feeling away with a few words. Aren't you even going to make me grovel? I am quite prepared to; I've been working up to it for days. Even got a few snazzy moves worked out, designed to have you weeping in forgiveness.'

'Really?' giggled Harry. 'I don't need to hear them, Malfoy. As I said, forgiving your crimes has been easy considering the Crimson Cloud. Although, if you want, I could have a look just to see if they would have been as effective as you think!'

'Er, I don't think I can perform on demand,' said Draco, embarrassed. 'It was going to be a...sort of spontaneous type thing.'

'Only you could have worked out your spontaneous moves in advance, Malfoy!'

They both laughed.

'Oh Potter,' said Draco with so much genuine warmth Harry felt slightly self-conscious. 'You're just so flippin' noble. You look at things and see the best in them. You could explain away the worst atrocities with some good old Gryffindor optimism. I will never be able to think like you.' 'That's just as well, I suppose,' said Harry. 'Anyway, I don't expect you to. I want you to be you, not something you're not.'

'Being a Slytherin is all about being something you're not, Potter. I'm trying to cast all that off, for you. And for me.'

'You don't have to change yourself for me, Malfoy. Just be you. Listen, we don't have to alter the past, or forgive and forget to forge a way forward. Despite all I've said, it's not really about forgiveness at all, because you've never done anything to me that can't be explained by our active denial of the Crimson Cloud. So I don't need to forgive you. And you don't need to change, because acknowledging the Crimson Cloud has already changed our perception of each other. It's just about looking at things in a new light.'

'Blimey, Potter. When did you get intelligent?'

'I don't know,' laughed Harry. 'It must be all those years of having Hermione as a friend. Some of it's rubbed off.'

'But...' Draco pondered, 'this all feels very one-sided. I thought we were in this together. Why didn't you ever do any unpleasant things to me?' Then he added, very quietly, 'didn't you hate me too?'

'Oh Malfoy, I loathed you! Despised you, in fact.'

'Phew! That is pleasing to hear.'

They both laughed loudly, looking at each other.

'Shhhhh!' said Draco, still chuckling. 'We'll get into trouble!'

'I don't care,' said Harry. 'I really don't.'

'Oooh,' said Draco. 'Such disrespect for authority, and from a Gryffindor too...'

'Malfoy, I don't rate too highly on the respect for authority scale, not for a Gryffindor - in fact I've broken about a thousand school rules since I have been here. It's just that you only know about a few of them. And I'm afraid I am not innocent of plots against you, either.'

'Really?' Draco whispered, mystified. 'What have you done?'

'Well...' said Harry. Now that it came down to it, he was actually rather embarrassed to own up, even though Draco had just shamelessly itemized a succession of his own appalling crimes. 'Well...oh yes, when "Moody" turned you into a ferret, we called you ferret boy.'

'Is that it?' said Draco. 'Is that the best you can come up with? Oh blimey, that is going to be extremely difficult to forgive. Give me about a week to get over that one, would you, Potter? Come on, I know that's not what you were going to say.'

'OK, ferret boy,' said Harry. 'But this is difficult. Really difficult, so bear with me. You remember in our second year when people were getting petrified, including Hermione?'

'Yes...?'

'Well, there was all that about the Chamber of Secrets being opened again, and that only the Heir of Slytherin could have opened the door to the Chamber.'

'Yes...?'

'Well, I thought you were the Heir of Slytherin, but I had no way of proving it.'

Draco was silent.

'So I needed to find out somehow. I genuinely feared that lives were at risk, Hermione's especially.'

'I wasn't the Heir of Slytherin, Potter. The only shameful part I played in that episode was feeling disappointed when I realized someone else was the Heir.' 'I know you weren't the Heir,' said Harry. 'I met the real Heir and, well, there's no need to talk about that. But the point is, I thought it was you. So, to try to prove it...'

'Yes...?'

'To try to prove it, oh God, you're going to hate me! Ron and I used Polyjuice Potion to disguise ourselves as Crabbe and Goyle. We got into the Slytherin Common Room and had a chat with you. During which chat you proved to be utterly insufferable, but not, ultimately, the Heir of Slytherin.'

'Blimey. Did you really? Polyjuice Potion? But that's an extraordinarily complex potion to brew, Potter. Forgive me for being rude, but there's no way your Potion skills would have been up to it.'

'They weren't then and they're not now. But Hermione's were.'

'Ah...La Granger foils me once more.'

'Why aren't you upset?'

'Because, Potter old boy...I forgive you. Or rather, to put it in Gryffindor- speak, I have now re-interpreted that episode in the light of informed hindsight. You hated me, remember?'

They smiled.

'Quite a brilliant scheme, I have to admit,' said Draco. 'Far more daring and clever than anything I ever thought up. Just compare that plan with one of mine: I put on a black robe and went 'wooo' in a scary voice. And what did you do? You produced a flippin' Patronus, the strength of which has probably never been matched by any student at Hogwarts. That put me well and truly in my place, Potter.'

'That - that was not aimed at you, Malfoy. I thought you were a Dementor, remember? Professor Lupin taught me how to conjure a Patronus because...because, well, the effect Dementors have on me is just truly unthinkable.'

'What...what happens to you, Potter?'

There was an almost imperceptible shift in the prevailing mood.

Harry looked at him. 'You really want to know? Why?'

'Because...I want to know you better, Potter. I don't know even five percent of what you're all about. And here we are...in the Crimson Cloud, and I don't really know you.'

'And I don't know you, Malfoy.'

'No indeed. But believe me, you don't want to know me. It's not nice stuff, getting to know me. Maybe that's why I've never let anyone get close, because I don't want to have to own up to what I really am.'

'What you were, Malfoy. You're utterly unrecognizable as the Malfoy of a few weeks ago, at least as far as I'm concerned.'

'Rubbish, Potter, I'm just the same; that's why I want to change, like I said earlier. You just see me differently. I still have a thousand shameful secrets. What the Crimson Cloud's done, among other things, is make me want to be worthy of you. And it's made me want to get to know you properly. And when I know you properly, I want to know you better than anyone else. So I'm sorry, I wasn't prying, but if the Dementors are too distressing to talk about, then I accept that. But the reason I want to know is because I want to be able to help you.'

Harry thought long and hard.

Then he said, 'But this has got to be a two-way thing. I want to know, I need to know you as well as you know me. And if that means we have to tackle some very difficult shit, then we have to be prepared for it. I guess I just thought that if I told you about the Dementors, then it would open the door to some conversations that are more than just personally painful. We could both get hurt.'

'I know where this conversation is going, Potter. And I am scared of it. But that doesn't mean I am not willing to go there. We've got to go there, in fact. Otherwise what we have, what we might have in the future, it will be founded on quicksand. We will never truly feel that we can trust each other.'

Harry reached for Draco's hand and held it tightly. He began to speak, very slowly.

'We're at the beginning of something, right? It might last for the rest of our lives. We have to be able to trust each other, or our lives will be a hell of insecurity and suspicion. Whatever there is to tell, it's got to be said before we become any...closer. Or it could become destructive.'

'OK,' said Draco, squeezing Harry's hand. 'I'm man enough if you are.'

Harry gulped. 'When I get close to a Dementor, I hear my mother, screaming, just as she is being murdered by Voldemort. Then there's a flash of green light, caused by the death curse that killed her. After that, there's nothing. It's not the Dementors that cause me to faint, Malfoy, it's the power and the terror of the memory they trigger in me.'

Draco felt tears welling in his eyes. He put his arm round Harry and held him close.

'I can't stop the memories, Potter,' he said. 'But I promise you will always have someone to hold.'

Harry shivered, tensing slightly.

'Oh my God,' Draco whispered slowly. 'That's it, isn't it? You're not sure, despite how close we've become, despite the fact that we've seen each other naked, and slept in the same bed, and kissed, you're not sure that you want it to be me that holds you...' 'No! I do want it to be you! But...'

'But...earlier you said that I've never done anything to you that can't be explained by the Crimson Cloud. Me. Not anyone else. But you cannot divorce the father from the son,' concluded Draco, sadly. 'And why on earth should I expect you to?' he sighed.

Harry said nothing.

'That's why you didn't want to tell me about the Dementors, isn't it? Because that wasn't anything do to with me, but perhaps loads to do with my father. Or in case I might actually give away a weakness of yours to him. I've been so stupid. Your anxiety isn't about forgiving each other our past crimes. It's about who we are, and where we come from. And you will never be able to forgive and forget that I am the son of a Death Eater, because no matter how you look at it, you can't re-interpret that fact in the light of the Crimson Cloud.'

'Malfoy...I, er...'

'Shhh, Potter, and let me speak. You need to hear this, and I need to say it. I cannot imagine the things you have been through. I met the real Heir, you said casually earlier. I'll bet that was a terrifying experience, but you play these things down, as is your style. I know you've met the Dark Lord, and you've even dueled with him. The thought horrifies me. But it doesn't horrify me because I can empathize with the danger; I can't. It horrifies me because of the thought of what might have happened to you.'

Every word Draco spoke rang in Harry's head. The rose garden ceased to exist. There was just the two of them, and the most important conversation they would ever have. Draco continued.

'I can no longer imagine living without you. If it comes down to it, and it almost certainly will, I will choose you, not my father. That decision would have been unimaginable a few weeks ago; my father has always been the single most dominant force in my life. But that was until I realized what you were to me, Potter. You've simply got to trust me on this point. Until I can find a way to prove it to you, I am begging you to believe me that you can trust me.'

Draco was starting to weep quietly. But he struggled on, staring at the ground.

'You know what it's like for me. You've seen it. I can't bear to be more than three feet away from you. I have nothing to gain from betraying you, and everything to lose. You've become part of me, Potter. Hurting you would be like hurting myself. Bringing about your downfall would be like committing suicide. Worse. Because I would have to live without you. And...that would be unthinkable.'

Harry lifted his own arm and put it round Draco.

'I believe you,' he said softly. 'I do. But...that wasn't my only worry.'

'What is it then?' Draco asked, looking worried. 'Tell me, I need to know!'

'It's not just your father. It's me. I might not be good for you.'

'What do you mean? You're overflowing with good. How could you possibly not be good for me? You've already made me feel better than I have ever felt!'

'Because, danger and tragedy surround me constantly.' Harry's voice was cold, distant. 'I have no parents, Malfoy, because someone wanted them dead. Someone wanted me dead too, and they still do. Three times already I have come into direct contact with the Dark Lord, and there have been attempts on my life even here at Hogwarts. My magic is not powerful enough to resist for ever.'

Harry took a deep breath.

'I...can't bring you into all that. What if something happened to you, that was my fault? If Voldemort ever finds out about this, think of the danger you would be in! He might think to use you as a way to me. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you, not now, not after what we've discovered. You are safer, far safer, with your father, not with me.'

Draco was agitated.

'My safety is irrelevant! Do you think this is news to me, Potter? Do you think I haven't had all these thoughts already? Why is it, do you think, that I haven't told my parents that I have been in the hospital wing for a week? Your flippin' concern for me, is deeply touching. But it's my risk to take, Potter. If I want to be with you, it's my decision. I want to be the person who holds you when you hear your mother scream, I need to be that person. Because...'

Harry's arm was still around Draco. He knew what Draco was going to say, he could feel it in his head, but his heart was in his mouth all the same.

'Because I love you, Harry.'

***

'They sleep in the same bed?'

'Ron,' said Hermione, 'things have moved on.'

They were still under the covers of Harry's bed, but neither of them was uncomfortable with the intimacy. That did not mean however that Ron was not uncomfortable with other things.

'This bed?'

'Yes.'

'Oh God. We are in Harry's love pit.'

'Ron, I don't think it's a love pit. I think they just sleep here.'

'Even so. You told me yourself it was getting sweaty in here.'

'Yes, but that was only because...' 'Because what?'

'Oh Ron, I'm sorry I haven't told you. But I wasn't allowed to. I'm still probably not allowed to, but it seems so silly, your not knowing. Harry...'

'Yes?'

'Harry has been in a sort of coma for five days. He only woke up yesterday.'

'He what?'

'Asleep. Five days. In this bed. Malfoy slept alongside him. Hence sweaty.'

'He's been in a coma and you didn't tell me?'

'I wasn't allowed to!'

'I can't believe you! You know I care about Harry as much as you do. What did you think I was going to do?'

'Ron! I'm sorry! Don't take it personally!'

'And Malfoy slept with him?'

'Malfoy feels the pull of the crimson cloud differently from Harry. Or maybe not, I'm not sure; Harry has hardly been available to talk to. But Malfoy can't bear not to be within a few feet of him. He gets all panicky. You saw how he was when he thought Harry was going out without him just now. He nearly cried.'

'Blimey. Malfoy has a weakness.'

'So it seems. But don't you dare think about exploiting it, Ron. For all we know Harry may feel the same. And, the closer they get, the more Harry is going to get upset if he sees Malfoy getting hurt.'

'This is all very difficult to get used to.'

'But you will get used to it, Ron. And so will I.' 'Herm, do you think that one day, don't know when, Malfoy will sort of be...one of us?'

'Only if we let him, Ron. And if we don't, Harry might drift away from us.'

'No he wouldn't. You underestimate what we've all been through. Malfoy doesn't share any of those memories.'

'No, he doesn't. But very soon he and Harry will have memories that we are not part of. They may already have. What do you think they're doing right now for example?'

'Er...having a walk?'

'Possibly.'

'Or a talk?'

'Yes, maybe. The point is we don't know. And we may never know, because already lots of what goes on between them is simply none of our business.'

'This is definitely going to be difficult to get used to.'

'No it isn't. We don't own the monopoly on Harry's life. Just like...he doesn't know everything about ours.'

Ron blushed, and even under the covers of Harry's bed in the dark room, Hermione could tell.

***

Oh God. Had Malfoy really said that?

Of course he had.

He had said, 'I love you, Harry.'

Why had the world suddenly stopped turning? He had already known Malfoy loved him. It had been tangible; as obvious as the color of his hair. But to hear it voiced aloud - that was extraordinary. And beautiful.

And there was something else, something which occurred to him for the first time at the exact moment he heard Malfoy's words: he was the first person he could recall saying those precise words to him. Not from his mother as a child, not from any other family member, not even from a friend in half-jest. The first person ever to say 'I love you' was...Draco Malfoy.

Was Malfoy waiting for a response?

There was no expectation in Malfoy's head. There was just - hope.

What was he hoping for? That he hoped to hear the same in return? Or that he hoped that saying those words would not change anything? Or did he hope that his almost omnipresent father could begin to be less of a threat to them?

Of course he had already known that Malfoy loved him. And he knew that he loved Malfoy. But had he ever thought he would tell him?

If he did, would something alter irreversibly, for ever?

If he didn't, would he regret missing this moment? Would they both regret it?

He had said, 'I love you, Harry.'

Malfoy was not the first to say Harry to him, though. Harry, Harry, Harry. Everyone said it. Ron yelled it, whispered it, shouted it, chuckled it; he seemed to own the right to the name as much as Harry himself. Hermione squealed it. Seamus hollered it. Ginny purred it. Aunt Petunia bawled it. But nobody had ever spoken it in such a way that made Harry's heart leap in his chest. Had Malfoy deliberately chosen this location, this conversation, this moment, with those very words, as the perfect time to utter Harry's name for the first time? Or had it crept out unchecked? Or had they simply become so close that not to use it now seemed churlish? Or had it seemed so natural that he hadn't even noticed?

Still he could feel hope in Malfoy's head.

How much time had passed since those words had hung in the air, melting the snow around them with their warmth? Two minutes? Ten? Was it too late to say anything in response?

There was only one thing to do. Only one thing to say. And his body ached in the need he felt to say it. But now, it would seem that he was only saying it because Malfoy had said it first. Wouldn't it?

He looked into his companion's eyes, and all Harry could see there was the same hope he could already feel. But Harry didn't need to see anything because he could feel more now. The level of perception between them seemed to be focusing into something sharper even as they sat there. Malfoy was saying to him, somehow in his head, that it was OK, he didn't have to be scared, that he could say what he wanted, that he didn't have to feel pressured into saying it, that if he didn't say it Malfoy wouldn't love him any less, that it was OK to own up to saying it, because nothing would ever come between them, not even his father, especially not his father.

Harry made a slight noise in his throat, and squeezed the hand he held tightly.

'I...'

He felt the pressure on his own hand returned. It was supportive, caring, adoring.

And eventually the words came, as easily and as naturally as anything he had ever said.

'And I love you...Draco.' ***

'But that's our business, Herm,' said Ron. 'Harry's not part of that at all.'

'Er, hello, Weasley? Is anyone at home? Isn't that what I've just been saying? Now there's a part of Harry's life that we have no part of.'

'But that's the bit I don't like. We are never actively going to exclude Harry from anything. But him and Malfoy, well, they're just going to disappear off into the sunset and we won't ever see him again.'

'Ron, you are the most melodramatic person I know, and considering I know Parvati, that is really saying something. It needn't be like that at all. Harry's not going to forget you overnight, you moron. Look how pleased he was to see you just before they went out. It's just that you're going to have to accept that you're no longer the most important person in his life. And if you can do that, you'll find that he comes back to us happy and buoyant and just as dippy and unperceptive as he's always been.'

'Hermione, sometimes you speak so much sense it's like listening to my mother. It's a habit I hope you grow out of...'

'Ron, be quiet,' she said gently. 'Why must we always speak of other people? First Harry, now your mother - haven't we got things to talk about of our own?'

'Yeah,' chuckled Ron, 'I guess we have...'

***

There was a long, uncomplicated silence.

After a while the stars and the snow and the perfect icy stillness of the garden seemed to slide back into being. Their fingers were entwined in natural intimacy, kind of loosely and tightly at the same time. Harry could feel the softness of Draco's skin as Draco gently stroked his fingers with his own. 'Is it possible to know it so surely after such a short time?' asked Harry quietly.

'Yes, I think so. At least, I know I'm sure. I've been pretty sure for a while now, and absolutely certain since that time we sat together by the lake.'

Harry looked at him in wonder. 'Really? Wow. I feel - honoured. I've been sure since I heard you call me Harry.'

They both laughed.

'But I think I've known for longer than that. To be honest, it's happened so quickly, I haven't had time to think about it.'

'Well, I've had a bit longer to think I suppose. Five days longer to be exact.'

'But...it's impossible isn't it? I mean, your father and everything? How can we ever be...together, like we both want? What's going to happen when everybody finds out?'

'Hey, Harry, so many questions. I don't know the answer to any of them. And come on, we just shared a special moment. Let's not bring my father into it.'

'How can we not? He's present in every factor. We can't do anything at all without considering him. Draco, listen, I'm as elated as I know how to be over this thing between you and me, but unless we address this, that's all it's going to be: a special moment. Don't you want more than that? You just said you can't bear to be more than three feet away from me. How are we going to get through the holidays, let alone the rest of our lives, if we don't work out the issue of your father first?'

'Oh Lord. I thought I was going to be the sensible one in this conversation. You're beginning to sound like my mother.'

Harry was quiet.

'What did I say?' said Draco, concerned. 'Exactly that. I don't know how you can treat this matter so lightly.'

'Harry, you've lost me.'

'It comes down to parents, Draco. You've got them; I haven't. Aren't they worth hanging on to? Whatever your father is like, whatever he has done, isn't he still your father? You've no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that you would choose me over him. And I believe you. But it saddens me too. I don't know how you could give him up just like that. All my life it's what I've wanted more than anything. Parents. And you've got them, and you're willing to risk estrangement, or things much worse than we can imagine, because of me? Just like that?'

'That is about it, yes. You are that important to me, Harry. And I know there will never be a time when that is not the case.'

'But I don't want to be responsible for driving a wedge between a father and a son! I've always believed that bond to be the strongest, and I envy you so much for having it, whoever the father concerned is! And now, you just cast it off, as if it's nothing!'

'Harry! Do you really think that my father and I have a typical father-and- son relationship? Do you think we went fishing together, and he taught me how to milk cows and tie useful knots? Do you think he's proud of anything I do? If you want to make this easier for yourself, don't imagine that my father is anything like yours would have been.'

Harry shuddered. 'We will never know what my father would have been like.'

'No, we won't. And that is a grave and terrible injustice.' Draco pulled Harry closer to him. 'But I bet we both know that he would not have made you choose between him and someone you love.'

Harry fell silent again.

'Let me tell you about my father, Harry. The great Lucius Malfoy. The last significant chat we had he instructed me to publicly lose my virginity this year, and he didn't care who it was with; any pureblood Slytherin girl would do. Malfoys must have a certain image, he said. The rake, the cad; be the irresistible bounder with a black heart. Make a conquest and move on. In short, be the bastard. Above petty friendships and alliances. Just create an aura of respect, and if you can't do that, one of fear. They come to the same thing anyway.'

Draco was becoming agitated and Harry was concerned, but he let Draco talk it out.

'And you. Do know how often he taunts me with your successes? You can't have a Firebolt until you've beaten him at Quidditch is one of his favourites. I swear he doesn't actually care whether I beat you or not, it's the control he likes. If I ever did beat you, he wouldn't be proud, he would just set another challenge.'

'You might. You're a good Quidditch player,' said Harry.

Draco ignored this kindness.

'Do you know what I am to him, Harry? Not a son. I am his duty. Proof that he has done his bit, seen that there will be another Malfoy in the Manor to continue the line. Someone with the Malfoy genes to bear the name, inherit the millions, maintain the power, engender the fear and respect that go with it. That is all. Beyond that I am a kind of inconvenience in his life, the full horror of which I am sure you have more idea of than me.'

'Well, what about that? Isn't that worth hanging onto? Would you give up your right to the Manor and all the money, for me? Even if you don't think your father is worth hanging on to, surely that is?'

Draco snorted. 'It is nothing. I would give it up in an instant. I would rather live with you in the Shrieking Shack than without you at the Manor.'

'It won't come to that, Draco. I have money. Lots, I think. Not a fraction of your family fortune, but enough for both of us to be OK for years.' 'That is just beautiful of you, Harry; that you would share your parents' money with me. But you're right; it won't come to that. It doesn't matter what I do, there is no way on earth that my father would disinherit me.'

'But...'

'You're forgetting snobbery, which is the driving force in my father's life, even more so than pursuit of the Dark Arts or a craving for power. Snobbery drives my parents like you wouldn't believe. It defines their existence. They must have, and be seen to have, the best of everything, no matter what the cost. And they have a conscious and deliberate anti- Muggle viewpoint, regardless of whether they ever actually liked any or not. Which they wouldn't, but only because they would never allow themselves to meet any. And above all, there is the supremacy of the Malfoy line.'

'Er, I don't quite understand...?'

'It is everything. My father treats the name like a precious object. It must be preserved at all costs. Disinheriting me would mean he had failed. It would hurt him like an arrow in the heart to let the house or the money go to cousins, of which there are many, all constantly eyeing the Manor, looking for a weakness. Running away with you would be desperately harmful to him in the short term, but as an event in the hundreds of years of the family's existence, it would hardly rate as a blip. There have been murders, massacres, assassinations and all kinds of carnage to wrest control of the fortune over the centuries. No way would my father risk losing face because his son has an unsuitable choice of lover.'

'An unsuitable choice of lover? Is that all I am?'

'Not to me, you tit. To him.'

'I meant to him, you cretin. Privileged though I feel to have been given this insight into the thinking of the aristocracy, aren't you overlooking one crucial thing?'

'What?' 'That because of the Crimson Cloud, our magic is bonding. Say the combined pool of our innate magic tips the balance of power? Say that, because of your abilities added to my own, I become stronger and more likely to be a match for Voldemort? Is your father really likely to stand for that? That his own son has not only run off with an unsuitable choice of lover, as you so charmingly put it, but actively mutinied against what your father stands for? How ironic would it be if I were only capable of facing Voldemort because the only son of a faithful follower had made me stronger? The danger that would place you in is too awful to consider. That's what I meant when I said I might not be good for you.'

'No! You're more than good for me; you're everything! As I said, I choose you over my father. Whatever the danger, for that very reason. Because if our combined magic can make a difference, I am bound to let our magic continue bonding to make you safer. And anything I can do to protect you I'm going to do whether you like it or not. And anyway you're overestimating this. The snob in my father is as great as the Dark Wizard. He sees the Dark Arts as the ultimate snobbery, the one area that is not just inaccessible to Muggles, but to a lot of magical folk too. It's like the most elite club he can join. But it's snobbery nonetheless.'

'So then...?' ventured Harry, hopefully.

'Yes! If the Malfoy fortune looked like moving somewhere he didn't like, it would hurt him, sure; but not as much as seeing it go to anyone other than me. True, he could place some sticky conditions on my birthright, like forcing me to produce an heir before I inherit. Or he could try to leave me penniless by fathering another heir, but he himself would see any such action as a compromise, and therefore a weakness. And anyway, it's only money; remember it's the name that matters most to him, and he can't take that away from me, whatever I do.'

'Blimey. Who would have thought money could be so complicated?'

Despite the tension of the moment, Draco laughed lightly. 'Besides, the family haven't always been dark. It's see-sawed back and forth over the centuries. Some Malfoys have been utter shits, and some have been philanthropists and benefactors and general good guys, like any family I guess. As heir to the fortune myself, the choice, between Light and Dark - philanthropist and shit, if you like - is mine alone to take.'

'But which will it be?' Harry asked cautiously. 'Why wait till you inherit? Can't you decide now?'

'That's the point, Harry. I am making that decision now. But Light or Dark, that's not the real heart of the matter: I will be wherever you are, not where my father isn't.'

'But, that's not enough, Draco. I need you to think exactly the same as me on this point, or I can't let it happen, whatever the consequences of our not being together. The way my parents died is more than just an ache in my side; it's the whole bloody deal. You've got to be anti-Dark Arts and anti-Death Eaters, or I'll never know if I can trust you or not. And as I said earlier, I don't have a right to expect that from anyone.'

'Harry,' said Draco, very softly. 'I think I'm saying more than that. When I said I love you earlier, that's exactly what I meant. The key words there are love and you. Not hate and my father. Now, I say again: let's leave my father out of this special moment. He is not a factor in my loving you. You can trust me totally, Harry, I promise you. I love you, Harry, and wherever you go, whatever you think, whichever battles you fight, I will be next to you. I will be the one holding you when you hear your mother scream. Light and Dark are irrelevant. My father is irrelevant. It's you that I'm pledging myself to, and everything that comes with it. And if that means siding against my father on some unthinkable day of judgment, it is of no consequence.'

Harry stared into Draco's face for some time.

'Draco, you've no idea how happy your words make me feel,' said Harry, slightly choked. 'Yes I do,' laughed Draco. 'It's obvious to me. It's all over your face, and all in your head. And besides, I feel it too.'

Draco felt Harry's relief sweep over both of them, and the hope they dared have at that moment, hope for a future that they would be able to share, was infectious in both of them. The foundations are laid, thought Draco. Now we can build on them. The prospect was delicious and exciting and priceless.

The gravity of their conversation faded gradually, until once more they were just two young lovers sharing a special moment in a moonlit rose garden. Inevitably they shifted even closer to each other. There were no barriers, no stresses, no pressures. There was just love, alive between them, like a living, beating force that bound them together, that defined them.

They looked at each other at the same moment. Draco gently reached to Harry's face and delicately removed Harry's glasses. Harry pulled Draco closer to him, his arm under Draco's thick cloak and around his back. They were practically nose to nose, breathing as one. Draco's lips touched Harry's cheek and nose and, like a butterfly unable to settle, he began to plant a hundred slow delicate kisses over Harry's face. Harry moaned at the profane beauty of Draco's actions. Harry's lips sought to catch Draco's to lure him into the deeper kiss they both wanted and needed. Inexorably they were drawn together, and now that they both acknowledged and accepted and understood the longing that burned between them, they gave into it totally. When the full contact they both craved became irresistible, they fell into a fiery, desperate kiss that seemed to fuel their inner selves, so long deprived of sleep and happiness. Eyes fluttering, bodies trembling, minds alive with desire, they sank into each other's souls, breathless, drowning, but neither wanting to be saved.

*** It was the most powerful moment, the most wonderful kiss that either of them had ever experienced, and when they eventually parted, they were both lost for words.

A new understanding had been reached. But it still seemed so private. After weeks of difficulty and despair, coupled with support and flirtation, it seemed that neither could now ignore what had just happened.

The power of speech returned slowly.

'Wow.'

'Wow? Is that it? Is that all I get after committing myself so blatantly?'

'Blimey. I don't know what to say! It must be this bed. It's giving off love- vibes.'

'Ron!' squealed Hermione. 'It had nothing to do with this bed! Don't ruin it. It happened because we both wanted it to, not because we're in Harry's bed!'

'Yeah, I guess,' giggled Ron. 'Good job they didn't come back though, eh?'

'Maybe. But neither of them would have minded, Ron. I suspect they are far too much in love themselves to deny anybody else a little intimacy.'

'I'm beginning to like the idea of Harry being in love. If it feels for him anything like that just felt for me, I reckon he should just get stuck in and go for it.'

'That is the least romantic thing you have ever said, Ron Weasley, and believe me there are a lot to choose from.'

They both laughed.

'Sorry. I'll try harder next time.'

'Oh? So you're confident there will be a next time, then?' said Hermione, airily. 'Yeah. I was thinking of kind of about now, actually.'

'Oh! Were you? What if I were busy?'

'Shit. Problem. Are you busy? You got to be anywhere else in the next half hour?'

'Er, no. It seems I am available.'

They both laughed again.

***

'Shit,' said Harry. 'I promised Hermione we wouldn't be hours. And look, it's nearly dawn, and you know how early Pomfrey comes in.'

They had eventually torn themselves apart and gone for a walk, which, Harry had reminded Draco, was the original reason for going out that night at all. On a tour round the Quidditch pitch and a circuit of the lake, they had chatted like neither of them had ever chatted before. They had told of their pasts, and their dreams, and their favourites. They had stopped frequently to snog without shame every time they reached a new location. And they had strolled and jogged and skipped without ever losing hold of the other's hand.

And then, as first light was showing on the eastern horizon, they found themselves at Hagrid's hut, and Harry could tell that Hagrid was awake because he could see smoke from the chimney and hear the man lumbering around inside.

'Well, we should get back then,' decided Draco. 'She and Weasley have been cooped up there all night.'

'Yeah,' sniggered Harry. 'But I bet they will have found some way to amuse themselves.'

'Eurghh! Do you really think so?'

'Yes. It's been on the cards for ages.' 'Gosh. The Brain and The Weasel. What a pair.'

'Don't mock them, Draco. They're probably saying the same thing about us. The Scar and The Ferret, no doubt.'

'That's not fair. How come you get to be something sexy like a scar, and I get to be a rodent?'

Harry laughed. 'How about because I'm sexy and you're a rodent?'

Draco punched him half-heartedly, and they kissed again.

'Now then, gentlemen,' boomed a huge voice behind them just after they separated. 'Bit early to be out on a stroll in't it?'

'Hagrid!' cried Harry. 'How are you? You're up early too!'

'Well, I got a bit of a meeting with Dumbledore first thing. Good lord, Harry, you look better. Can't tell you how worried ah've been. Fancy a cup o' tea, you two?'

'Well,' said Harry cautiously, 'we're not really supposed to be out, and Ron and Hermione are kind of stuck in our places in the hospital wing till we get back, so...'

'No problem. I understand. Best get yerselves back then. But mind you come down to see me soon, Harry. It's been far too long, but I'm not goin' to lecture yeh. You're welcome too, Malfoy, if you'd like.'

'Thank you, Hagrid. I would love to meet you properly at last.'

'Hagrid, you wouldn't, er, say anything about seeing us would you?'

'Course not, Harry. Mum's the word. Hurry along now, it'll be fully light very soon.'

They headed back to the castle. As they donned the invisibility cloak just in front of the main school door, Draco said, 'Is Hagrid always that nice?' 'Yes. He's great, and totally loyal. But, when he says mum's the word, be very scared. He'd never give anyone away consciously, but he has a habit of letting things slip out. And if he's going to Dumbledore before breakfast, the chances are we'll have some explaining to do before long.'

They couldn't help giggling under the cloak as they turned corners and hurried down corridors on their way back to the hospital wing, where the patients on the main ward were thankfully still asleep. Once back in the room however, there was a strange stillness; Ron and Hermione weren't there.

'Strange,' said Harry. 'I wonder why they decided to leave without the cloak?'

'They didn't leave,' said Draco. 'Look!'

He pointed at their bed. A two-body lump was just evident under the covers in the gloom of the room.

'Who's been sleeping in my bed?!!' laughed Harry as he pulled back the covers.

'Eh? Wha?' came the voice of a sleepy Ron. 'Hey! Harry! Herm, wake up!'

'What on earth are you two doing in there?' grinned Harry.

'Well, sleeping, mainly,' said Hermione, and Ron giggled. She sat up and straightened her hair. 'Gosh! It's dawn! How long have you two been out?'

'Hours, sorry,' apologized Draco. 'We just lost track of time. Any problems?'

'I'll say', said Ron. 'Pomfrey came in to check on you two!'

'What happened?!'

'Hermione saved the day,' said Ron.

'Doesn't she always?' laughed Harry. 'What did you do?' 'Hid your pyjamas and jumped in here and pretended to be you,' said Hermione, laughing. 'The problem was trying to convince Ron in under three seconds that you two slept in the same bed! I practically had to haul in him in here.'

'Oooh, Weasley,' grinned Draco. 'Bet you enjoyed that!'

'Er, I've had worse nights, certainly,' Ron said, blushing.

All four of them laughed.

'Ron,' said Harry, shyly, 'I am sorry you had to find out like that.'

'No worries, Harry. I was more concerned to hear about your coma than your sleeping arrangements. Are you alright now?'

Harry looked at Draco, glowing. 'I've never been better, Ron.'

'I think,' pondered Hermione, gently breaking the tender moment, 'that we need a swift change of position. Ron, get up, and you two should get back into bed before Madam Pomfrey comes back in.'

'Good thinking,' said Draco. 'She usually comes in early. And we know Dumbledore is up too. He can call at any time.'

'Turn your backs, you two!' laughed Harry. He and Draco shed their clothes and struggled back into their pyjamas. Ron poked his head out the door.

'Shit! She's already up!'

Harry and Draco jumped into bed and arranged themselves to look like they had been there for ages. Ron was astonished at the signs of intimacy between them, they giggled and hugged and entwined their arms and legs like they had been together for years. He stood just watching them, almost staring, and Hermione nudged him sharply.

'Ron,' she hissed. 'Let's go, quick.' 'No,' said Ron, firmly. 'It's too risky. She's already on the main ward. We could hide in the bathroom, or under the cloak in here. Or...'

'Or what?' said Draco, intrigued.

'Or, well, it's Sunday now isn't it? We're allowed to visit. Why don't we just look like we called by for breakfast? Then we don't have to sneak back to the Tower.'

'Ron,' said Hermione. 'That is the first sensible idea you've had for ages. How do we make it look like we just got here?'

'Straighten your clothes and hair and pull the armchairs up to the bed,' said Draco instantly. 'Lay your cloaks neatly on the other bed. Don't look overly comfortable, and start with the usual how-are-you?s.'

The other three all looked at him, startled at his level of detail.

'Master of deception, I guess,' said Draco, almost proudly.

'OK,' agreed Hermione, enjoying herself. 'All set. Begin normal level of conversation...NOW!'

'Hey', began Draco, in a slightly louder voice than they had been using. 'What happened in the Slytherin v Ravenclaw match?'

'Ah,' said Ron. 'You lost, I'm afraid.'

'You're afraid? Aren't you delighted?'

'Well, a bit I guess, yeah, sure,' grinned Ron, 'but it was the right result. The truth is that with you two not having played in the last two matches, the results have been skewed. Gryffindor should have beaten Hufflepuff, and you should have beaten Ravenclaw, so when you two get back to playing, it'll be a fair contest again. With you losing yesterday, and provided we each win our next games, the contest should go to the final match, Gryffindor v Slytherin. Which is just as it should be. We are the two best teams, after all.' 'Blimey. I'm learning a thing or two about the Gryffindor sense of honour, that's for sure.' Draco looked at Harry, and they smiled at each other. 'Who did we use as Seeker?'

'Ah. Therein lies the Slytherin tactical error, I reckon,' smiled Ron.

'Come on, who was it?'

'Parkinson.'

'Pansy Parkinson? Please, please, Weasley, tell me this is some unfunny Gryffindor joke?'

Hermione and Harry were laughing.

'Quiet, Harry, this is serious,' said Draco, trying his best to mean it.

'Malfoy,' Hermione asked, intrigued, 'did you just call him Harry?'

'Yes, Hermione, he did,' said Harry simply.

'Wow. There have been a lot of developments in the last few hours, it seems,' said Ron.

All four looked at each other in enigmatic smiles, which became more laughs.

'Although not as many developments as there seem to have been on the Slytherin team in my absence. Pansy Parkinson played Seeker on the House team?'

'Yes. And she was awful. Bad luck, Malfoy.'

'Why on earth did they choose Pansy?'

'Well, Malfoy, it seems that she just begged for the chance to follow in your footsteps. Apparently you are something of a hero to her. And nobody's quite sure how it happened, but Snape chose her above all those who took a trial.' Harry and Hermione caught each other's eyes at this obviously hostility- free conversation between Ron and Draco.

'Oh God! Tell me the worst! What was she like? What was the score?' Draco, with a hint of genuine distress.

'She just messed around at the edge and attempted a Wronski Feint at about five miles an hour. She even had time to adjust her hair as she pulled out of the dive, if you could call it a dive. But, Malfoy, honestly, it was one of the most entertaining matches ever. And you didn't lose too badly, only 170-90. Your beaters were quite good in fact, if you like watching grossly dirty tactics.'

'The only way to play, of course,' smiled Draco. 'I expect Pansy's performance was some amazingly subtle ploy to side-track the opposition.'

'Malfoy, if it pleases you to think that, by all means go ahead.'

They all laughed, including Draco.

'And what on earth is going on in here?' came Madam Pomfrey's voice from the doorway.

'Er, we've got some visitors for breakfast, if that's OK,' said Harry.

'Harry owled us and said you always give them breakfast early, so we thought, as this is the first day we're allowed to visit, we'd stop by and see how they were,' Hermione added, with supreme confidence.

Ron and Harry caught each other's eyes, and grinned. Draco sat closely to Harry in the little bed.

'Well. Indeed.' Madam Pomfrey seemed stumped, but couldn't put her finger on any actual wrong-doing. 'Well, in that case, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, if you really want your breakfast at -' she glanced suspiciously at her watch - 'shortly before seven, then you can help prepare it. We can't expect the Elves to be at work at this time on a Sunday and I am not running room service here.' Later, as they all tucked into eggs and toast - well, rather Ron tucked into eggs, Hermione and Draco had one each and Harry picked absently at half a piece of toast - they all sensed that a new chapter had been opened. Each watched the others in a state of high interest as breakfast continued. Both Draco and Hermione could tell that Harry and Ron were so glad to be something like back to normal that their level of chatter seemed to get louder and louder. Ron himself noticed that Draco's attention to Harry was almost adoring. When Draco thought that nobody could hear in a particularly loud moment of talk, Ron was moved to hear him whisper 'Harry, please eat something more than this'. Hermione herself saw that the body language between Harry and Draco was incredibly intimate, and absolutely trusting. Even Harry, usually so slow at picking up other's emotions, could sense that Ron and Hermione had been doing more than sleeping in their bed. Funny, he thought. What a significant part this bed has played in the last week, for all four of us.

And all too soon, one of the most important nights of their lives was over, and Madam Pomfrey was overseeing the clearing away of both breakfast and visitors, and urging Harry and Draco to take some more sleeping draught. Shortly afterwards they were all four asleep, Harry and Draco tangled together in enchanted slumber, Ron snoring in his own bed as he caught up on hours missed the night before, and Hermione, dozing quietly in the girls' dormitory, serenely happy for all of them.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

~

DANCE OF THE SEVEN CHARMS

Beginning at not long after 7:00am that morning, Dumbledore opened his earliest ever meeting. It was surely the also the oddest collection of Hogwarts folk that had gathered in his office for some time. The usual suspects, Snape, Sirius and McGonagall, all tried to varying degrees to hide that they were tired, but none of them could quite hide their slight surprise at the two newcomers.

'Good morning all,' twinkled Dumbledore with his usual bonhomie. 'Tea all round, is it?'

Without waiting for an answer, his wand whipped in its customary fashion and a tray totally overloaded with several pots of tea and a couple of plates of delicious breakfast things appeared in mid-air, and then, as Dumbledore looked in vain round the room for somewhere to set it down, he conjured a small table as well.

Show off, thought McGonagall affectionately.

The serving of tea was never a straight-forward affair at these meetings. Snape would rather have dispensed with it altogether and got down to business straight away, but Dumbledore was usually - as this morning - insistent on it.

'Now,' he beamed, with the look of a mother hen feeding her chicks, 'Minerva. Earl Grey, yes?'

She nodded, and smiled as she realised that one of the pots contained her favourite brew. Dumbledore made a great performance of pouring her a cup, and she was not the only one to notice that, although nobody beat Dumbledore at effortless conjuring, of those present he was perhaps the least able at pouring tea without drips.

'Sirius. What will it be this morning?'

Sirius smiled. Was this some kind of game? He looked at the tray: there were four pots, of which one obviously contained Earl Grey. Has Dumbledore anticipated the type of tea we would all prefer? But - there are more than four of us here. He regarded Dumbledore closely, then said, 'English Breakfast, please, Albus.'

'Oh good choice, Sirius, one of my favourites,' smiled the Headmaster, and poured a cup from one of the other pots.

Two-nil to Dumbledore, thought McGonagall idly, sipping her Earl Grey, which had obviously been brewed for the perfect four minutes, and not just the 30 seconds since Dumbledore had produced the tray. She wondered briefly how he had done it. Must be Magic! she smiled to herself.

'Now,' continued Dumbledore. 'We are one missing, I wonder, where is...?'

At that moment Madam Pomfrey entered and was surprised to see a bizarre tea ceremony taking place, with Dumbledore kneeling next to a curious three-legged table with serpents for legs. Good Lord, she thought. He's losing it. I know we all say he's eccentric, but...

'What's your brew this morning, Poppy?' The brightness in the Headmaster's voice was quite at odds with the hour.

All the eyes in the room turned to Madam Pomfrey, as if she had just been asked a question of far higher importance than her choice of tea blend.

'Errr...' she said, looking round the room rather nervously, 'Earl Grey I think, Headmaster.'

There was a definite shift in the room. Had she said the wrong thing?

McGonagall and Sirius caught each other's eyes. Once Madam Pomfrey was settled down with her tea, Dumbledore turned his attention to Hagrid. 'And you, Hagrid?' he asked politely.

Hagrid looked delighted at being offered tea by the Greatest Headmaster of Hogwarts Ever, and answered, 'Well, sir, if it's alrigh' wi' you, sir, ah've allus bin a bit partial to a cup o' Darjeeling meself'.

Snape snorted. 'When have you ever developed a taste for Darjeeling?' he barked, but nobody paid any attention as Dumbledore serenely poured Hagrid a cup from the third pot.

'Oh I do like Darjeeling,' said Dumbledore to nobody in particular and poured himself a cup as well.

Three-nil to Dumbledore, pondered McGonagall.

Then he turned to the second newcomer.

'And what would you like?' he beamed.

Dobby could not take it any longer, and threw himself at the Headmaster's feet. He'd been uncomfortable being given a real chair to sit on in the first place, but to be offered tea as well was too much.

'No! Sir! The great Dumbly cannot serve Dobby tea! It's Dobby's job to serve the tea! Dobby cannot accept tea from the great Dumble, sir, no!'

Snape rolled his eyes in exasperation. How long was this meeting going to last?

Dobby was jumping around in some agitation. 'Dobby is perfectly happy to drink the tea that drips into the Great Dumbly's saucer, sir!' he squealed.

'Really?' Dumbledore looked mildly amused at this, and protested a little, but Dobby could not be pressed into tea of any kind and all eyes in the room turned to Snape.

Snape eyed the fourth pot. There was a strange air of expectancy in the room. Sirius couldn't suppress a smile.

After what seemed like an age, Snape cleared his throat.

'Er...I think I would like, if possible, Headmaster, a cup of Lapsang Souchong.'

McGonagall and Sirius gasped, as if Snape had just bowled an ungentlemanly ball.

Dumbledore, however, with a sort of distant smile, simply said, 'of course, Severus,' and lifted the fourth pot.

Four-nil to Dumbledore, thought McGonagall with huge enjoyment.

'Actually, no, sorry, I've changed my mind, I'd rather have coffee,' blustered Snape, realising his ball had been knocked for six.

'Of course, Severus,' smiled Dumbledore, without altering the pot he was holding, and suddenly the room was awash with the aroma of deep- roasted coffee beans as a rich, dark liquid flowed smoothly from the spout of the fourth pot.

Game, set and match Dumbledore, thought McGonagall, or at least she would have done had she ever heard of tennis.

The whole room laughed softly, even Snape.

'Very impressive,' said Sirius warmly to the Headmaster.

'Oh, it's nothing really,' muttered Dumbledore, eyes still glinting.

'Er, are we ever going to get down to business?' asked Madam Pomfrey rather curtly.

'Yes, Poppy, indeed. There are two items on today's agenda, both of which I consider to be important enough to meet at this antisocial hour on a Sunday,' began Dumbledore. The mood changed instantly.

'First, how are our two patients?'

'On the mend, I should say,' said Madam Pomfrey. 'They were having a party when I went in this morning.'

'A party?' choked Snape.

'Well, Granger and Weasley had turned up for breakfast. But there was certainly a lot of laughter.'

A look of vague understanding passed over Hagrid's face, but only Dumbledore noticed.

'I am sure I said that they couldn't visit until this evening,' mused McGonagall.

'Then they should be punished,' said Snape. 'I suggest--'

'Oh Heavens, no' interrupted Dumbledore. 'There will be no need for that. I am amazed Weasley has stayed away this long, to be honest. I think we can take laughter as an indication that they are indeed feeling stronger, rather than as a cause for punishment. It's a good sign. It is certainly enough of a sign for us to move on.'

'What do you mean, Albus?' asked McGonagall.

'The two of them are obviously feeling happier about their situation, and we cannot afford to wait. Even if they are still sleeping and eating erratically, we must hope that those things will mend in time. The latest owl from Fudge is distressing. We all know Harry may yet have a role to play, so it's vital that we begin to assess exactly how their magic is bonding and evaluate any increase in ability. Whatever we discover will almost certainly mean tailoring their immediate education to new needs, and we must begin today. Severus...'

'Yes, Headmaster?' preened Snape, openly delighted that Dumbledore had turned to him first. 'You will take Harry and Draco this afternoon to your classroom and see if there has been any alteration in their ability at Potions. You will find that Harry has the means to get the two of them through the school unnoticed. Take them through something complex and then report back to me. Minerva...'

'Yes, Albus?'

'We will deal with Charms together later this afternoon and then you will test them on some Transfiguration this evening. Anything unusual or untoward we will all need to hear about. Then Sirius, tomorrow, please take them through some curses and hexes, and defence against the same. Steer clear of the Unforgivable Curses...for the time being at least.'

The room had the feel of a secret mission being planned and it was rather exciting despite the exceedingly early hour.

'I myself will take them for some...special conjuring,' stated Dumbledore clearly.

McGonagall was suddenly hit with the curious image of Harry temporarily flummoxing Voldemort by producing a tray of tea things at the height of battle, and then cursed herself for being frivolous.

'Also, Severus, some Arithmancy. I know it seems peripheral but I want to know the full picture, and I don't want to expand the group of staff involved beyond what is absolutely necessary, although...yes, I suppose also...yes, we really must...Minerva, please take them up to Sybill Trelawney tomorrow night and see if you can determine if there is any clairvoyance yet present in either of the pair.'

McGonagall, Snape, Sirius and Hagrid all rolled their eyes.

'Yes, yes,' countered Dumbledore, 'I know what you all think. But we can't take any chances. There's probably no need for Sybill to know precisely why we are conducting this survey,' he added, smiling. 'I think it would be a good thing not to inflame her rather acute sense of drama.' All present, even those not fully in the picture, smiled.

'And finally,' stated Dumbledore, 'we must teach them how to Apparate. I know they are underage but I don't think we can justify denying them this defence. We will begin immediately. Tonight, Minerva, Severus, Sirius, you will join myself and Harry and Draco in the village for a preliminary session. Any questions?'

All seemed clear with their tasks, and then Dumbledore altered his approach slightly.

'Good. Now, we come to the second item for discussion. Sirius, would you...?'

Sirius cleared his throat.

'There is a book,' he began. 'Draco spoke to me about a book he recalls his father showing him when he was younger. It seems to contain memories of what he called 'a magical baby boy'. Draco himself has no idea of the potential importance of this book but the Headmaster and I think that it is possible that it is a scrap-book given to James and Lily Potter as a wedding present. If that is true it may be that Lucius Malfoy has a use for it in mind. It is difficult to explain his possessing it at all otherwise.'

'It was just an ordinary book,' supplied Dumbledore. 'Enhanced by a...erm, special charm of my own. The idea was that you just left it open on a new page and all the thoughts and words and events were captured in the paper.'

'It was your own present to them?' McGonagall looked worried.

'Yes. And Sirius recalls that it was actually used on several occasions.'

'Harry's Christening for one,' added Sirius. 'And I think a game of Quidditch, and maybe a picnic too.'

'How on earth did Lucius Malfoy come to be in possession of it?' asked McGonagall, sounding distressed. 'That's the crucial point,' said Sirius. 'We think...that on the night of James and Lily's deaths, Lucius may have been present at Godric's Hollow. It would be utterly typical of him to pick up something that could be used in the future rather than go mad with grief like the other Death Eaters.'

'Even so,' began Snape. 'It's difficult to see how the magic in the book could be used against Potter. If it works like a Pensieve, even destroying the book would not affect Potter in any way. But...'

'Yes,' finished Dumbledore. 'My thoughts exactly. It would need some powerful Dark Magic to turn the book to advantage. But if anyone is capable of it, Lucius Malfoy is. And I don't see Lucius being sentimental enough to pick up a pointless trophy at such a moment. So I have decided that we must try to recover it.'

There was silence.

'Where is it?' asked McGonagall eventually.

'In the library at Malfoy Manor,' Dumbledore replied evenly.

'Or rather...' added Sirius, 'if it's the same book, that's where it was when Draco was eight or nine years old.'

'But...the Manor is known to be protected by some highly complex magical defences... Nobody just walks into the library and helps themselves, surely?' pondered McGonagall.

The size of the task seemed to dawn on them all at the same time. As did the reason for Dobby's presence.

Dobby looked terrified, but Dumbledore turned to him gently.

'Dobby...' he started.

Dobby's mouth was opening and closing noiselessly and he was wringing his hands, wide-eyed. 'Dobby, you know the Manor better than anyone. Nobody here has ever been there at all, let alone in the library.'

A look of distinct unease passed over Snape's face, but only Dumbledore noticed.

'N-No!' stuttered Dobby. 'Dobby can't! Please don't ask Dobby to go back to the Manor!'

'Don't you want to help Harry, Dobby? Hasn't he always been good to you?'

'Oh yes! Harry Potter has always been excellent to Dobby! He has given him socks, and even a jumper!'

'So, if Harry was in danger, wouldn't you want to help him?'

'Oh yes! Harry Potter helped Dobby become free! But...but...'

'Dobby, surely you have the best knowledge of the Manor than anyone! You must know all the secret ways in and out, and how to avoid the defences! You would be marvellous at this special mission!'

Dobby preened himself slightly but was still far from convinced.

'And think of what you would be doing! Helping Harry out of great danger! What do you think Dobby? Thirty minutes, you reckon? Maybe just twenty? In, out, nobody knowing anything? I am sure you could do it...'

'W-well...'

'And with Hagrid to make sure you get there and back in one piece, very quickly? Does it sound so dangerous now?'

'W-well...'

'Do you know a way in and out, Dobby, a secret way for a secret mission? Think you could slip in and out without being seen?'

'W-well...' 'And when you get back, I'm not sure, but I think there could be a pay rise! I'll have to look in the Hogwarts Charter, but I am sure there is something about special pay for special missions...'

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. She had never heard of the Hogwarts Charter.

'Really...?'

'Oh yes! And I think socks too. And a new jumper. The Charter definitely says something about a jumper. Doesn't it, Minerva?'

'I believe it does,' smiled McGonagall warmly.

'But Dobby is scared!' squirmed Dobby. 'Lucius Malfoy is a very bad man...'

'So who better to go take on this task than our own brave Dobby?'

'But...'

'Oh stop yer yammering, elf,' said Hagrid gruffly. 'Dumbledore's got a job for yeh, to help Harry out o' trouble. There's no point arguin'.'

'Dobby will do it!' cried Dobby. 'Dobby will help brave Harry Potter, of course he will! It is always Dobby's aim to serve the great Dumbly!'

'Good good,' said Dumbledore warmly. 'I said to my colleagues that I knew you would brave enough for this secret mission.'

There were murmurs of assent from around the room, although the Headmaster had said no such thing. McGonagall found herself admiring the way he had dealt with Dobby, knowing that she herself would have lost patience some time earlier.

Dobby looked like he was about to burst with pride.

'Now,' continued Dumbledore. 'What do you think, Dobby, dead of night? It would be easier to get in and out at night, wouldn't it?'

'Oh yes,' said Dobby, delighted at being consulted. 'That's what I thought,' mused Dumbledore. 'When you get in there, you'll need to be quick. Look for a blue book. It will look identical to this one.'

He whipped his wand and a slim book, dark blue, about two hands across and about half an inch thick appeared in his hand.

'Now, let me see,' pondered the Headmaster. 'Oh yes...'

He used his wand again and some words emblazoned themselves into the leather cover.

For James and Lily, on this Happiest of Days, from Albus Dumbledore

'When you find it, put this one in its place and then get out as quickly as you can. Hagrid, you still have the motorbike I understand? Take it and get Dobby as close to the house as you safely can, and some kind of silencing charm might be in order for the bike. Make sure you choose somewhere Dobby can find you quickly when he gets out of the Manor.'

Hagrid shifted uncomfortably. He looked at Sirius.

Dumbledore was suddenly aware of a sense of unease in the room. McGonagall wondered if Sirius and Hagrid had exchanged any words at all since the night of James and Lily's deaths.

'Hagrid,' began Dumbledore. 'Sirius has risked many personal dangers to be here. He is here at my invitation and has my complete trust, as you do. There is no shame in owning up to still being in possession of his motorbike. I am sure he will be glad to see it used on this mission.'

Hagrid looked slightly relieved. 'Er, fine piece o' machinery, Mr Black. I takes her out fro' time to time, yeh know, just to keep her ticking over nicely...'

'I'm glad to hear that it's been in such good hands,' smiled Sirius. 'It's good to know that at least one thing from...before, is still around and working well. Thank you for looking after it so well.' 'Fine,' said Dumbledore. 'So, take the motorbike. As soon as Dobby gets out, go straight to London and deposit the book in the school vault at Gringotts. With a letter from me you should be granted admittance at any time of day. If you don't find it, come straight back here and we will talk again.'

'If the book is there, Headmaster, it will be safe. Think of it as already done,' proclaimed Hagrid with unusual gravity.

'Good. I knew I could rely on you both. One last thing. I don't think there is any sense in wasting time on this matter. I would like you to go tonight.'

***

It was very soon pretty clear to Harry and Draco that Steps Forward had been taken by the Inner Circle. As they contemplated a little lunch after waking from their latest period of enchanted sleep, Snape entered the room.

'Right you two,' he sneered slightly. 'Out of bed. That's enough lazing around.'

Harry was half-sitting half-lying with his back against Draco's chest, and Draco was casually eating a sandwich with his arms on either side of Harry, dropping crumbs in Harry's hair. The two of them looked up with mild interest.

'My classroom, five minutes. We have a potion to brew, if you're not too busy...'

There was a definite snarl in Snape's tone that made Harry feel as uncomfortable as he usually did where the Potions master was concerned.

'Well, we are quite busy actually,' Draco supplied in an offhand manner. Harry jarred visibly, praying that Draco wouldn't go any further. This behaviour seemed rather out of character for Draco. Harry wondered if he was showing off a bit for his sake. Snape looked rather surprised at this insubordination from his most favoured pupil. 'With what, exactly?' he enquired sharply.

'Well, there's sleep of course. And the odd sandwich. And of course some light snogging.'

Draco took a bite from his ham sandwich. Harry looked in utter horror at Snape's face, which was rapidly turning purple.

Snape's ability at speech seemed to have temporarily deserted him as he stared unblinkingly at Draco in shock.

'And five minutes is a little harsh,' continued Draco. 'This is rather a small bed, and it can get quite sweaty in here. Do you want us to turn up in your classroom unshowered?'

Oh God, Draco, please please please shut up! prayed Harry in his head. He's going to blow his top!

But Draco had more to say.

'Of course, if you are absolutely insistent, we could always shower together. That might save a little time, don't you think, Harry?'

Harry closed his eyes and hoped that he was imagining it all.

'It's not a step we've taken yet, actually, showering together, but, I suppose it had to happen sooner or later. Or would you prefer--'

'Very well, Mr Malfoy,' choked Snape. 'You have made your point. You have half an hour to finish your lunch and prepare yourselves for an afternoon of Potion making. Beyond that, the details of your er, ablutions, are your own affair. Professor Dumbledore assures me you have the means to reach the classroom unnoticed by the rest of the school. I will see you shortly.'

He turned with a grand swirl of his robes and left the room. 'I don't believe you!' cried Harry. 'You're...astonishing! If I'd done that, it would have been fifty points from Gryffindor!'

'Yes, it would,' mused Draco, calmly chewing on his sandwich. 'But that's because you don't know how to deal with him. The thing about Snape is, he's absurdly, painfully embarrassed of our situation. He doesn't know where to look when he sees us snuggled together like this. A complete prude. He would ordinarily use something like this to make pupils squirm as if they'd done something wrong. But take away his ability to belittle, and he crumbles: typical behaviour of your average common or garden repressed Potions master.'

'Wow.' Harry swivelled his head and smiled at Draco. 'I like having you on my side.'

'Good-oh, Harry, old boy. Because on your side is where I'm going to be. And at your side. And...in fact...' he twisted himself and buried his face somewhere under Harry's left armpit '...in fact, all aspects of your side appear to be particularly fetching.' He chuckled a bit and kissed the side of Harry's body.

A little light snogging ensued.

'Did you really want to do it?' Harry asked, after a while.

'Do what?'

'Shower with me.'

'Oh yes, Harry. Of course. If only to wash your dreadful hair myself.' Draco laughed. 'But I think...don't you think that we'd need a little longer than the half hour Snape has allocated us?'

There was a little more laughter, and quite a lot more light snogging. They never did find the time for a shower.

*** It had been the most extraordinary afternoon either of them could remember.

'A Perceptivity Potion,' declared Snape. 'It's highly complex, and you will need to concentrate.'

Highly complex was putting it mildly. There was a list of about twenty ingredients, at least half of which were unstable unless kept in magical stasis until the moment they were required. Shredded mandrake root had to be used within twenty seconds of uprooting the plant. Three of the live ingredients had to be combined with an ambient temperature close to freezing which necessitated a complicated spell to lower the temperature of the room, performed effortlessly by Draco. But by far the most taxing aspect of the Perceptivity Potion was the Willow sap.

Sap from the Whomping Willow had to be harvested during sunlight and was then dried and powdered. In such a state it was inert, but it had to be added to the mixture for only intermittent periods, during which it became dangerously volatile. After a fixed length of time the active Willow sap particles had to be removed from the brew using a complex version of the Summoning Charm, then secured in a second cauldron, which needed to be kept at precisely the temperature of the main mixture. During periods while the Willow sap was absent from the main mixture, the other active ingredients were combined one by one.

After only a few minutes, Harry and Draco were totally enthralled. This made regular Potions classes seem like simple cookery. And Snape was becoming more and more animated as the session proceeded. Indeed, when Harry first successfully raised the Willow sap from the bubbling concoction - they all watched, bright-eyed, as the particles lifted smoothly above the steam in a beautiful sparkling cloud of glowing green - Snape cried Oh, well done, Potter! Ten points to Gryffindor!

Harry was immensely pleased. Potions had never been his strongest subject, whereas Draco had always had a certain gift for it. But Draco himself was just as delighted at seeing the increase in Harry's ability. 'Harry!' he cried, on seeing the Willow sap particles hovering above the main cauldron. 'You're...astonishing!'

Snape was off somewhere in his own world, where incantation and alchemy all combined perfectly in a blur of potions and ingredients and boiling points. Harry and Draco felt privileged to be part of it. And after an hour of constant monitoring and stirring, and Summoning and re- combining, and ensuring that a dozen subsidiary spells and charms worked in effortless harmony with each other, Snape declared the potion ready.

And he served up three goblets, and tried it himself first. Draco and Harry followed suit.

Draco knew in that moment that he would never forget the following ten minutes. He glanced round the room and immediately he could see the trees that once gave up their trunks to become the benches and counters, and could sense - actually feel - dozens and dozens of Potions that had been brewed in that classroom over the years. He felt light as air, invisible, transient and ephemeral. Books on the shelves started to cry out their contents, unused ingredients glowed in their jars, the very air throbbed with an active combination of Nature and Magic. Without any advanced knowledge of Potions, he could instantly see how certain ingredients would blend perfectly with others, or react violently if treated wrongly. It was like the entire subject and all its associated magic suddenly made complete sense to him and arranged itself in a logical and beautiful path in front of him.

He dared to look Harry, slightly wary of what he might see. At once there was Harry as a baby, and as a young boy, and as the teenager he loved. All Harry's emotions shone around his head, like the actual reality of Harry's magic was whirling around him. And amazingly, but also logically, he could see the combination of Harry's magic and his own swirling together in their own magical mixture. Harry was smiling. Draco knew that everything he could see himself Harry was also seeing, and as they sank deeper into the effects of the Perceptivity Potion, there was the certain knowledge in both of them that the Crimson Cloud was not just an intangible philosophical concept, but a vivid, living actuality.

Eventually the effects began to fade, and Harry and Draco found that Snape was talking again.

'Oh, my boys!' he was chanting, still himself charmed by the Potion. 'Do you realise what you've done?'

Harry suspected that he and Draco had much more of an idea of what they had done than Snape did, but still he was filled with a warmth toward Snape that he had never got remotely close to before.

'I never dreamt you would do so well. I actually chose one of the most notoriously difficult of potions so that you wouldn't get ideas above your abilities. But you have totally proved me wrong. Summoning Willow sap particles from an active mixture is well beyond the ability of most wizards. It is advanced Potion making of the most complex kind.'

He stopped and looked at them oddly. Then Harry saw his face take on a bizarre twisted aspect, which, he realised with a jolt, was a smile. And then Snape spoke again.

'There are only five wizards currently in the country who can brew a successful Perceptivity Potion, and we, gentlemen, are three of them.'

***

Harry and Draco were still glowing with this praise when they reached their little room in the Hospital Wing shortly afterwards.

'Did we really do that?' asked Draco.

'So it seems,' smiled Harry.

'Did you see his face?' laughed Draco. 'He was gobsmacked when you first Summoned the Willow sap particles. It was brilliant!' 'I can't believe it! It was amazing! All those ingredients blending together like that! It was just so easy. And I've always been crap at Potions!'

'Well, you're not crap any more, obviously. You're a regular Potions genius now!'

'So are you, Draco, don't forget you did it all too.'

'Yes. But the difference is I expected to be able to do it...!!' he grinned.

Harry laughed and punched him hard on the shoulder. 'You are insufferable at times, Draco,' he despaired.

It started with a sock.

Harry walked over to the window and turned back to look at Draco, still smiling at their success with the Potion. He grasped his wand on a whim and levitated a sock that was lying on the floor. The sock drifted to Draco and tapped him on the shoulder, then nuzzled against his ear.

Draco laughed. 'What's he saying, Harry?' he asked.

Harry looked Draco straight in the eye. 'Can't you tell, Draco?' he asked, coyly. 'He's saying, you are astonishing!'

Draco laughed softly. 'Of course.' He picked up his own wand and the sock's brother danced next to Harry's shoulder.

'What's he saying, Draco?' Harry asked, laughing.

'Don't you know, Harry?' asked Draco gently. Communication between them became unspoken as the two of them stared at each other.

'Yes,' replied Harry silently. 'Yes, I know.'

The mood changed. Harry used his wand instinctively to animate several more items of clothing sending them circling slowly round Draco. Draco began to levitate small items of furniture and as more objects began to rotate entrancingly around the room, Harry stacked the chairs and beds above their heads from the ceiling downwards. Gradually the little room became their whole universe, and all the contents of their universe became toys in their hands. When all the fabric of their room was spinning slowly above their heads, Harry again looked right into Draco's head and they smiled at each other. Harry set the lamps flickering in complex cross- rhythms which made the room glow in a soft iridescence, and Draco sent a cool breeze floating around them, fluttering the curtains and ruffling their hair.

Time seemed to slow, somehow itself turning in the same alluring, breezy, flickering way that the furniture was rotating in its curious airborne ballet. Seconds seemed like weeks, and minutes became an eternity. Draco set all four pairs of their pyjamas dancing slowly around Harry like a group of disembodied backing vocalists and Harry laughed aloud, which sent the pyjamas quivering in sympathetic chuckling. Then they both looked at each other again, and knowing what the other was thinking, they each performed a Levitation charm on the other in perfect synchronisation. Rising slowly to a height of six inches above the floor, they both felt the same magical intensity flooding their veins.

'My boys!' came a voice from the door.

The atmosphere in the room was immediately shattered. The furniture fell deafeningly back to earth, and the pyjamas and clothes collapsed into heaps. Suddenly the light returned to normal, the air was still, and their feet found the floor.

They turned to face Dumbledore, who was standing at the edge of the room with McGonagall behind him in the doorway.

Harry felt awkward. Surely they had behaved irresponsibly; but he also felt that Dumbledore had disturbed a private moment. He shuffled uneasily.

Draco was more direct.

'We're sorry, Professor. We just got carried away.' 'Sorry? Why on earth should you be sorry?' asked the Headmaster, who, with one movement of his wand, restored the room to its previous order.

'Er...irresponsible use of magic?' suggested Harry.

Dumbledore ignored him for a while and pondered, 'Draco, which charm did you use on the pyjamas?'

'I'm not sure, I just sort of willed it to happen and it did.'

'And Harry, how did you set the lamps flickering?'

Harry looked nervously at Draco. 'Er...flickering charm?' Harry flustered.

'Really?' said Dumbledore. 'Ever heard of a flickering charm, Minerva?'

'No. It's certainly new to me. What was the incantation for it, Harry?'

'Er...'

'He doesn't know,' answered Draco. 'Neither of us do. We're sorry. It won't happen again. It's just that we were feeling pretty high after such a good time in Potions, and--'

'What happened in Potions?' interrupted Dumbledore.

'They brewed a perfect Perceptivity Potion,' said Snape as he entered the room. 'More stable and much more potent than the one I brewed earlier in the year.'

'A Perceptivity Potion?' repeated Dumbledore, not able to conceal his surprise. 'Which one of them Summoned the Willow sap particles from the mixture?'

'They both did,' replied Snape. 'Potter was particularly impressive.'

'You should have seen him, Professor!' said Draco, with more than a touch of pride. 'The way they just lifted out of the green steam, it was amazing!' 'Well, I suppose after what we have just witnessed, it is not surprising. It's a shame you missed it, Severus.'

'What happened?'

'Well, I almost lost count, but I before I stopped it I counted seven charms being performed simultaneously. Including three complex ones and two that they cannot have learned yet. And one - a flickering charm, Harry calls it - that I've never heard of. Have you ever heard of it, Severus? Do you know what the incantation might be?'

'Seven?' repeated Snape, goggling so much he ignored the question. 'Are you sure? I can only do two.'

'I can do two as well' said McGonagall, 'although two at once tires me more than twenty in a row.'

'And I,' continued Dumbledore, 'after years of practice, can perform three spells or four charms at the same time. But you two, my boys, did seven without even thinking about it. And who knows how many more you could have done had I not disturbed you.'

'Why did you stop them?' asked Snape. 'It would have been valuable to see how they did it.'

'I had to stop them because the build-up of magic in the room was becoming dangerously high. There was a risk of the charms becoming confused.' He beamed at Harry and Draco. 'It is still sparking round the walls now, which you would be able to see if you took some more Perceptivity Potion.'

Dumbledore was looking distinctly pleased about something.

'What do you make of all this, Minerva?' he asked enthusiastically.

'I think that the programme of Charms we had worked out now looks rather inadequate.' She also was looking excited. Dumbledore addressed the boys directly. 'Harry, Draco, you've no need to be sorry. What we have just seen was astonishing. Evidently your abilities have increased far more than any of us suspected. Seven charms! That's almost beyond belief. But we've seen it here, so we must believe it. Tell me, how did you work together? Have you become telepathic? How did you synchronise the Levitation charms you used on each other?'

Draco felt bewildered by so many questions.

'Professor, we didn't plan any of it. It just happened. But...seven is an odd number; I don't quite understand. Was one of us doing three and the other four?'

'No. I think you were doing seven between you. Your pool of innate magic now seems to serve you both. On your own you may not been able to manage anything like seven, we will have to see. But together...together you seem to be extremely accomplished.'

'I've never seen anything like it,' added McGonagall. 'It was like you somehow harnessed a vast quantity of raw magic.'

'Nobody knows very much about raw magic,' supplied Snape. 'It's the preserve of a few highly intellectual theorists; most wizards prefer to deal in applied magic - spells and charms and potions and the like - rather than the theory. We just accept that we have the ability, without questioning where it comes from. But...what I saw in the Potions classroom when I had taken the Perceptivity Potion, and what Professor Dumbledore could see washing round the walls of this room, that was obviously real physical presence of something. It is all rather intriguing.'

'Yes. Well put, Severus,' said Dumbledore.

Harry and Draco looked at each other. Neither knew what to say.

'We will leave you, I think. Take an hour or so off, it's been a draining afternoon. Then you can have some supper and you will be doing some Transfiguration this evening; your friend Hermione Granger will be assisting Professor McGonagall. Then you will have some sleep, and later tonight you will receive your first lesson in Apparating. Exciting times, my boys, exciting times. For all of us.'

And with that Harry and Draco were left alone.

'Did we really do that?' asked Harry.

'So it seems,' replied Draco. 'Although, I'm not sure exactly how.'

Harry stepped up and pulled Draco towards him. 'Easy. Crimson Cloud. Magic bonding and all that. Together, it seems, Draco, we are special.' They hugged. And kissed. They fell onto their bed, glad to be alone again after the events of the afternoon.

'You were special before, remember?' mused Draco after a while. 'Scar, duel with the Dark Lord, Triwizard Champion, and other famous deeds as reported in the Daily Prophet. I was nothing, just an arrogant bastard.'

'I wasn't special, Draco, it was just circumstances. And you weren't an arrogant bastard...all the time.'

They both laughed, slightly nervously; they were both aware that the atmosphere in the room was becoming increasingly highly charged.

Draco ran his hand through Harry's hair as he removed his glasses.

'You were special, Harry, and you still are. And you make me feel special.'

Further conversation proved impossible as they gave in to the crushing desire they both felt. Harry began to feel close to tears as he saw his whole life mean nothing, emotionally, magically, physically, if he didn't always have Draco with him. The temperature on the bed began to rise as they each sensed their shared experiences that afternoon fuel the flames of the physical desire they had both repressed for weeks.

'Draco...' murmured Harry.

'Shhh,' whispered Draco, closing Harry's mouth with his own. 'Don't talk. Just let it happen. Just let our love pull us together.' The room blurred. To each of them, there was only the other. The individual details of what was happening were not lodged separately in either of them, but the rising desire was burning the experience as a whole indelibly into their very identities. Draco became both tender and desperate. He pulled Harry's shirt over his head and ran his hands over Harry's slim lightly-muscled body, breaking the kiss, their vital link, for only the briefest time necessary. Harry quivered in delight at the exquisite touch, but for Harry, unused to such astonishing sensual intensity, the pleasure became unbearable, and he flung Draco away from him with his back against the bed. Draco looked up at him in surprise, but Harry was staring at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world, and he melted. Tentatively Harry unbuttoned Draco's shirt, and Draco wriggled out of it. For a moment there was stillness, and then their kiss resumed more frantically than before. As their naked chests met, the skin-on-skin contact sent sparks through both their bodies. Harry moaned. This was too, too, too pleasurable to be allowed, surely?

But this time Draco broke away, and Harry gasped as Draco's tongue burnt a path of electric sensuality over his chest. Draco gently kissed him everywhere there was exposed skin, each touch making the heat rise in Harry to heights he hadn't thought possible. A burning in him caused him again to pull back up and crush their mouths back together, as Harry's hands ran all over Draco's torso, desperate for the feel of him. Gradually the balance of power shifted between them, and as Draco felt Harry's rising passion as if it were his own, he revelled in the feeling of Harry beginning to dictate the direction and pace of their love-making. Harry was on top of Draco, grinding his body into Draco's, wanting complete and total contact, his previous inhibitions blown away. Oh God, thought Draco, he is miraculous. He is everything. I want this so much...

Draco himself was overwhelmed. He gently eased Harry off him and they lay, side by side, shirtless, panting. Speech was not required. They both knew what was going to happen. Draco propped himself up on his side, and without taking his eyes off Harry, delicately moved his hand down Harry's chest until it rested on his belt buckle. He loosened it, very, very slightly. Harry breathed a deep, stuttering breath, and pulled Draco's head down to his own. The contact of their lips was this time intensely loving and delicate. Draco's eyes closed in ecstasy as the moment seemed to last forever, a moment of exquisite realisation, their most tender kiss yet, the moment when Harry's kiss gave Draco the permission he was so desperate for. Draco whipped Harry's belt out from his jeans in a quick flick.

The sound signalled an immediate and sharp increase in their pace. Within seconds they were tearing at each other's remaining clothes, wriggling frantically out of jeans, kicking off shoes, peeling off socks, shucking boxer shorts like they were nothing more than an inconvenience. As their naked bodies met for the first time, the level of arousal so obviously high in both of them, Draco felt like he wouldn't be able to breathe unless he had maximum possible bodily contact with Harry, and even then, that might not be enough... They pitched into each other, their legs furiously shifting and entwining, their crotches grinding into each other creating an intense heat that radiated through them in delicious waves, their arms gripping their bodies so close to each other, their breath so ragged that kissing became fuelled by something deep within both of them. Draco felt tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn't know if they were his or Harry's.

'Harry,' he wept. 'I love you so, so, so much. Never leave me. Never stop this. Never.'

Harry didn't answer with words. His reply rang through Draco's head like cathedral bells. 'I'm never going to stop loving you, Draco. You are my life.'

And then their climax was upon them, engulfing them, spinning their heads, wracking their bodies. They bucked together and clung to each other desperately, as a force stronger than either of them had ever known swept them off together somewhere way beyond the Hospital Wing. The power of it was awesome, beautiful, natural. They collapsed onto each other, sated. Harry, unable to see straight, reached for Draco's hand and linked their fingers. But the physical contact of their hands was nothing to what they both felt in their heads: it was like they were inside each other's thoughts. After years of denial and oceans of hate, the sense of union was as vital and warming as the physical pleasures had been ecstatic. Relief, love, joy, happiness all flooded the room.

It was a long time before either of them moved.

'I could lie here for ever,' Harry whispered eventually.

'Tempting,' said Draco. 'But I can think of at least two reasons why we shouldn't.'

'Really? What?'

'Well, first, McGonagall and Granger are going to be arriving soon to do Transfiguration. And second... well, we're kind of erm...sticky.'

Harry sniggered. 'OK. But only the first one of those is a good reason. The second is just you being picky.'

'Picky?'

They both laughed.

'OK, it was a bit picky. But I really only said that to try to get you into the shower.'

Harry smiled at him. 'OK, Draco. You're going to get to wash my hair after all...'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

~

BATMAN & ROBIN

'They must be in there, knock again,' instructed Ron impatiently. He was carefully trying to balance a tray of food while Hermione tapped at the door.

'Ron,' she replied calmly, 'there is no answer. Believe me.' She opened the door and peered round the edge.

'Oh my God!'

Ron desperately tried to see past Hermione and in the process the tray tilted slightly and one of the four plates slipped off the edge.

'Oh NO!' wailed Ron, as he watched helplessly at it slid off the tray in slow- motion. 'Hermione!'

Hermione spun round and caught the plate with a neat twist of her wrist and hips. Ron felt a sudden stab of fire in the pit of his stomach at this lithe movement, but was then overcome with curiosity as to what Hermione had seen in the room. He followed her past the door.

The air in the room was red. Crimson.

'Good Lord,' he whispered. 'Why exactly...?'

'Best not to ask, I reckon,' answered Hermione, glancing round the room. Clothes were strewn everywhere. 'Open the window, would you, Ron? Let's try to clear the air a bit.'

He set the food down on the table and tried to wave the air clear. 'What on earth have we walked in on?' he pondered. 'Ron, I would have thought that was rather obvious,' said Hermione, instinctively wandering round the room, picking up clothes and folding them. 'We've just walked into the Crimson Cloud.'

'Yeah, but why has it suddenly become visible?'

Hermione looked at Ron with an air of genuine fondness. 'I really don't know,' she answered delicately. Your naivety is rather charming, she thought. Just like Harry's. And as she reached the bed on her brief tidy-up she hastily threw the covers over it so that Ron couldn't see the state of the sheets.

'I wonder where they are?' muttered Ron. 'Pomfrey didn't say that they had left the room. I suppose they must have sneak--'

'Shhh!' Hermione held up her hand.

'What?'

'They're in the shower!' she whispered. 'Listen!'

The soft drumming of the water was now audible from the next room, as was a laugh Ron recognised as Harry's.

'Oh my God!' moaned Ron. 'First they sleep in the same bed, now they shower together. Where on earth will it all end?'

Hermione smiled to herself, glad that the sheets were covered.

'Who can say?' she mused, lips pursed in delight at Ron's innocence. 'Just pretend we haven't noticed anything. Supper!' she called brightly.

The sound of the water stopped, and there was some hasty whispering from behind the door to the bathroom.

Presently Harry emerged dripping wet with a small towel round his waist, and Draco followed him, similarly clad. 'Ah,' beamed Harry, his shyness at having Hermione see him undressed easily outweighed by the joy he was feeling on the back of the previous hour. 'Supper guests! Hello, you two!'

'Better than that,' smiled Draco. 'Supper guests who bring supper!'

'Hiya Harry!' began Ron, 'McGonagall said we could have supper with you before she comes in later. But what's been going on in here? Why is the air red?'

Hermione shot him a warning look.

'Is it?' Harry asked, surprised. 'Looks normal to me.'

'And me,' added Draco.

'I wonder why you two can't see it?' Hermione thought aloud. 'Still, it's more or less gone now anyway. Perhaps the er, heat of the moment is passed.'

Draco sniggered. 'Maybe, Granger, maybe. But it's sure to be back...'

'The heat of what moment?' asked Ron.

'Never mind about that, Weasley. It's enough for you to know that tonight you will be dining with two very happy, hungry bunnies. Now, turn your backs for a moment would you?'

Ron and Hermione looked out of the window at dusk falling over the castle grounds for a few moments as they heard some more giggling behind them. Hermione was smiling too.

'What?' hissed Ron.

'This is becoming something of a habit,' Hermione giggled.

'And rather an odd one, too,' he agreed. 'Come on you two or the food will get cold.'

'OK!' called Draco. 'Now Harry, sit there.' Ron and Hermione turned to see Harry seated in a chair with Draco standing behind him, roughly towelling Harry's sopping hair. Both were in their pyjamas.

'Look, Harry!' smiled Draco. 'It's chicken-and-ham pie. That's your favourite.'

'How can I look when you're doing that?' moaned Harry from under the towel.

'Oh yeah,' remembered Ron. 'When we went to pick up the food, the House Elves said that Dumbledore had changed tonight's menu about an hour ago. Because of you. Hence, chicken-and-ham pie again. So come on, what's been going on today?'

The four of them sat round the small table and attacked the food while Harry said, 'Well. It could be any number of things. Today has been rather a remarkable day. But I'm pretty certain there's one event that Dumbledore won't be celebrating. So that probably limits the choice to two.'

He and Draco laughed, while Ron had his mouth full.

'Could be the perfect Perceptivity Potion,' said Draco.

'Perceptivity Potion?' echoed Hermione.

'Yes. A perfect one, according to Snape,' added Harry.

'Perceptivity Potion?' repeated Hermione in disbelief.

'What's that?' asked Ron.

'An immensely difficult Potion,' said Hermione. 'I simply do not believe you. You're crap at Potions, Harry. You can't have made one. You have to Summon--'

'Summon Willow sap particles from the active mixture, yeah, we know,' interrupted Draco. 'You should have seen Harry do it. He was brilliant.' 'You were wonderful too,' smiled Harry, looking into Draco's eyes, nearly kissing him.

'Oh pur-leeze,' moaned Ron through a mouthful of pie.

'I just don't believe it,' insisted Hermione. 'There can't be half a dozen wizards in England who can brew one successfully. It's just too improbable to--'

'Actually Snape says there are only five,' Draco corrected. 'And he says that Harry and I are two of them, and he is another.'

'Wow,' Ron choked.

'Believe it, Herm,' confirmed Harry. 'And for proof, check the notice board in the Gryffindor Common Room tonight. Snape gave me ten house points for it.'

'Snape gave you house points?' goggled Hermione.

'Yes,' confirmed Draco, 'although thinking about it now, ten points does seem a bit mean considering the enormity of the achievement. Still, I didn't get any at all, did I, Harry?'

'No. Perhaps that was because you expected to get them.'

There was more private laughter between them.

'Well,' said Hermione after a while. 'A Perceptivity Potion. Who would have thought it! You must really be getting good, Harry!'

'What was the other thing?' Ron wondered.

'What other thing?' mumbled Harry through a mouthful of chicken.

'Harry! Don't talk with your mouth full. It's disgusting,' said Draco with mock disapproval.

They looked at each other lovingly. 'Eurghh,' squirmed Ron. 'Stop doing that, it's really off-putting.'

But Hermione nodded approvingly. 'Thank you, Malfoy!' she crowed. 'I'm always having to tell them about their table manners. You should see them at breakfast some mornings. It's like being at a circus.'

'A what?' asked Draco, bewildered.

'Never mind,' Hermione replied. 'Anyway, what was the other thing?'

'What other thing?' repeated Harry.

'Here we go again,' Ron sighed, as he attacked some potatoes.

'The other possible reason for the change of menu,' Hermione despaired.

'Ah!' beamed Harry. 'Yes. That would be the Dance of the Seven Charms.'

'The what?' Ron goggled, thinking it sounded rather risqué.

'Seven charms,' smiled Draco. 'This afternoon we used seven charms to set the furniture spinning round the room. Dumbledore seemed to think it was quite exceptional.'

'How many? Seven?' said Hermione in disbelief. 'You learned seven new charms in a single afternoon? That seems highly improbable, Harry. It took you weeks to learn the Summoning charm.'

'Not seven new charms, Herm, pay attention. Although some of them were new to us. Seven charms at the same time.'

'Seven charms at the same time?' repeated Hermione in complete amazement.

'The echo in this room is becoming more pronounced, don't you think?' Draco mocked lightly.

'Seven? Is that good?' asked Ron. 'Don't be silly, Harry,' said Hermione dismissively. 'I bet even Dumbledore can't do more than one charm at once. Seven simultaneously would be truly astonishing.'

'Actually he can do three spells, or four charms, and McGonagall and Snape can do two each,' Draco stated. 'And we did seven, which, as you say, is truly astonishing.'

'Seven?'

'I take it that's good then,' said Ron to nobody in particular.

'How...?' Hermione was having trouble speaking.

'Something to do with the power of the combined pool of magic,' commented Harry in a deliberately casual manner. 'Crimson Cloud, etc etc. Apparently we can both tap into it, and when we both tap into it at the same time, we can do astonishing things. Hence, seven charms.'

Harry couldn't keep up his offhand air and started laughing.

'Oh my God!' spluttered Hermione, laughing too. 'You're Superman!'

'What?' goggled Ron.

'Superman!' cried Hermione.

'Who?' Draco, too, was utterly mystified.

'Superman!' cried Harry. 'Runs faster than a speeding train! Leaps tall buildings in a single bound!'

'Superman!' yelled Hermione. 'Brews complex Potions! Performs seven charms simultaneously!'

'What on earth are they talking about?' Draco asked Ron.

'Must be a Muggle thing,' answered Ron, eyeing the food left on Hermione's plate. 'Just get me a blue satin catsuit and a pair of red pants, with a big H on the front!' cried Harry.

'Ooh, that sounds intriguing...' pondered Draco.

Ron looked at him and clicked his tongue loudly, rolling his eyes.

'By day, Harry Potter, an unremarkable schoolboy with dark hair and glasses, but in times of crisis...Superman!' cried Hermione.

'Does the big H go on the front of the catsuit, or on the pants?' asked Draco innocently.

Harry and Hermione collapsed into hysterical laughter.

'Fair question,' chipped in Ron, who still had no idea what they were talking about.

'Superman, save me, save me!' squealed Hermione in mock distress as she fell out of her chair laughing.

Harry jumped up and, kissing Draco quickly on the crown of his head, he adopted a Superman-In-Flight pose and charged over to where Hermione was laughing uncontrollably on the floor.

'They're absolutely bloody bonkers,' Ron stated.

'Well, you've no argument from me there,' Draco smiled. 'Pass the water would you, Ron? Shit, sorry...I mean Weasley.'

Ron looked at him, then smiled back shyly. '"Ron" is fine,' he said. 'That is, if...?'

'Of course,' replied Draco simply.

'Blimey!' cried Hermione from over by the window where she and Harry were picking themselves up of the floor.

'What?' Ron asked, alarmed. 'Look!' she was pointing out of the window. 'Talk about Superheroes! It's bloody Batman and Robin!'

The others gathered round the window and looked out on an extraordinary scene. In front of his hut Hagrid was standing next to the motorbike dressed in full biking leathers and goggles. Beside him on the ground was Dobby, wearing his own flying jacket and matching miniature goggles with a Biggles-style white scarf. Hagrid was obviously pleading with him to get on the bike and, after a couple of minutes, he impatiently grabbed Dobby and shoved him roughly into one of the panniers at the rear. A moment later the odd couple were speeding out over the lake, Dobby's scarf billowing behind them.

'Well,' said Harry, quietly. 'Curiouser and curiouser.'

'Where on earth do you think they're going?' pondered Hermione.

'Who can say? Come on, let's get back to supper.'

'Good idea, Ron,' said Draco. 'Harry, please come and eat something more.'

'"Ron?" Did you just call him "Ron?"' demanded Hermione, astonished.

'When did that happen?' Harry asked, pleased.

'When you two were playing satin-blue-catsuit-man,' replied Draco casually.

'I feel left out now,' Hermione pouted. 'Am I the only one left to call you Malfoy?'

Draco laughed. 'That depends on you...Hermione.'

There was a little coy smiling from all of them.

'Shit, I'm going to have to go soon,' moaned Ron. 'I've got a blasted star- chart due first thing in the morning and I've not even started it yet.' Harry smiled. Ron was obviously not working any differently to usual.

'You haven't even started it yet?' Hermione despaired.

'There's that echo back again,' observed Draco.

'Remember that if you miss any more deadlines this term you're on detention, and you won't get any sympathy from me.'

'Shit,' said Draco.

'What?' the others all asked together.

'You said "this term". I'd forgotten all about terms. How much longer is it till the end of term?'

'Three, three and a half weeks, something like that,' answered Hermione. 'Why do you ask?'

Draco looked desperate, like he was facing a deep trauma. 'Three or three and a half weeks? Oh my God.'

'That echo really is busy tonight,' smiled Ron, but Harry kicked him.

'And how long is the Christmas holiday?' Draco asked quietly, even though deep down he already knew the answer. His face was even paler than normal.

'Same as usual,' Hermione said delicately. 'About three weeks.'

Hermione thought Draco looked like he was about to faint.

'Hey, Draco,' soothed Harry. 'Come here.'

Draco looked warily at Ron and Hermione, but Harry shook his head as if he weren't to worry about them, and pulled Draco into a hug, gently kissing his hair.

'Don't worry about it, it'll be alright, I promise. We'll find a way,' he whispered into Draco's neck. This was the first time Ron and Hermione had ever seen any real intimacy between the pair of them, and they felt rather awkward. Or rather Ron felt rather awkward while Hermione felt all gooey inside.

'Don't worry about what?' she asked gently. 'Anything we can do?'

'No, not really,' answered Harry quietly. 'It's just the Crimson Cloud; it binds us together so strongly, Draco becomes anxious if we are more than a couple of feet apart. The thought of weeks of forced separation seems about as difficult as it could ever get, to be honest.'

Hermione looked thoughtful. She rather thought Harry had understated the nature of this problem for Draco's sake.

'What about you?' asked Ron. 'Doesn't it make you feel like that too?'

'Well, sort of. The Crimson Cloud affects us both in different ways. For Draco, well for both of us actually, there is this need for constant physical proximity. But for me there is also...well, this is difficult to explain; for Draco the problems are generally when we are apart, but for me, well I feel them more when we're together, because...I sort of feel, that sometimes there is a...'

'Oh for Heavens sake spit it out, Harry,' interrupted Hermione.

'OK. I'm constantly aware that by bringing us together the Crimson Cloud has placed Draco in great danger. And while he gets upset if we are apart, I sometimes feel as if it's better for him that way.'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'It's that noble thing that all you Gryffindors have,' Draco said after a while. 'He can't get it into his head that I don't care about the danger.'

Hermione regarded them both, smiling slightly.

'So let me get this straight,' she began. 'You are unbearably happy together, except for Harry's worry about danger?' 'Er, yes, I guess so...' Harry agreed.

'Well, Harry, that's what it's been like for Ron and me being friends of yours. Tons of danger, most of the time. But you don't deny us the right to be your friends, and we wouldn't have it any other way. Same with Draco. It's typical of you to care about others more than yourself, but if Draco doesn't mind it, then you shouldn't let it get in the way.'

'Bravo, Hermione,' cheered Draco. 'It took me ages to try and say that the other night.'

'Well, you're not as clever as Hermione, obviously,' smirked Ron, although without malice.

'Oh yes he is,' Hermione declared. 'Because he also knows that he can't just ignore the danger, however much he pretends it's not important. That's why he gets edgy when you're apart, Harry, because unless he's right there next to you he can't actually protect you against any such danger. It's kind of cute really. Both of you are more worried about the other. An interesting but totally predictable effect of the Crimson Cloud, I should say.'

Harry looked at Draco. 'I told you she was like this,' he smiled. 'She just looks at something and sees all angles of it.'

'It can be rather unnerving,' Ron agreed.

'I'm beginning to see why,' Draco laughed. 'But simply understanding our feelings won't make them go away.'

'No,' smiled Hermione. 'That will probably take years, just like it would for anyone else.'

'What a little ray of sunshine you can be, Herm,' Harry stated. 'Years of insecurity about being both apart and together. How wonderful to look forward to that.'

'I think you'll find that's called life, boys.' They all laughed.

'And talking of real life,' she added, 'star-charts don't grow on trees, Ron. Not to my knowledge, anyway. So get started.'

Ron sighed deeply. 'At least you two won't ever have to put up with nagging like that,' he moaned.

'I wouldn't be so sure,' Harry smiled. 'Draco can nag like you and your mother put together, Ron. Have a shower, wash your hair, eat more food, blah blah blah,' he mocked, glancing sideways at Draco.

'Really?' asked Hermione in mild wonder. 'Ron and his mother combined? Curiously I find myself rather impressed by that, to say nothing of surprised.'

'Absolutely not!' cried Draco. 'I just want you to eat a bit more! It's a wonder you don't fade away.'

'Well done, Ron,' Harry mused.

'What do you mean?'

'You've successfully managed to change the subject from your star-chart to my eating. A cheapish trick, but not one I blame you for particularly.'

'Oh, was it that transparent?' asked Ron, half-smiling.

'Yes,' the other three chorused.

Just at that moment the door opened and Madam Pomfrey entered and instinctively surveyed the table.

'Is that all you've eaten?' she despaired at Harry.

Madam Pomfrey, always the true professional, took the outburst of laughter that followed her question completely in her stride.

'Talk about nagging!' laughed Ron. 'OK, OK, I'm off. Astronomy here we come...' He left the room, and Madam Pomfrey started fussing.

'Now, clear these dishes, Professor McGonagall will be here any minute. You're hardly invalids and the House Elves are busy enough as it is. This room is a disgrace, and I want this bed changed.'

They noticed she was carrying a bundle of clean bed linen.

'Don't worry about that,' said Hermione, quickly. 'I'll help them change the bed.'

'Thank you, Miss Granger. That will be a help. This pair will be hopeless.'

'Did you really mean that?' asked Harry after she had left the room. 'Will you really change the bed linen?'

'Absolutely not,' declared Hermione. 'I just didn't want her doing it, knowing the state of the sheets currently. And anyway, I fancy a laugh watching you two trying to do it.'

'Do you really think we'll be that useless?' asked Draco, slightly shocked. 'There can't be that much to it.'

'Oh yes, you'll be totally crap. I'm quite sure of that.'

'Hermione,' said Harry, remembering years of enforced domestic chores living with the Dursleys, ' I'll have you know I've changed more beds than--'

Harry was cut off by Draco flinging a pillow at him, and Hermione squealed with laughter.

When Professor McGonagall entered a few minutes later, she was pleased to see a great deal of hilarity in the room. Harry and Draco were, it appeared, trying to make up the bed they slept in, but they seemed to have had more success at wearing the sheets than anything else.

'Enough,' she declared after a few minutes more. 'We have work to do.' One wave of her wand set the bed immediately straight and put her without doubt in charge.

'Let's begin, gentlemen. Transfiguration is a complex area of magic. I want complete concentration.'

***

They had started small, but very quickly it was evident that there had been just as significant an improvement in Transfiguration as there had been in Potions and Charms. After about half an hour, the room was filled with a completely random selection of objects which had once been the furniture and the room's other contents. Hermione looked around. It was like being in a junk shop.

Next to the window were a pair of Chinese vases that had once been chairs, and between them a large stuffed tiger that Draco had transfigured from one of the beds. Harry and Draco were both wearing leather jackets that had shortly before been pyjamas, and Harry was sitting on a small raft complete with a mast and sail which he had created from the other bed. Strung from the lamps was a row of small lanterns which had once been socks, and Harry was still pleased at having changed the table into a large pile of cushions.

'Enough cushions,' said McGonagall firmly. 'I think we can do better than that. Let's start with something more complicated. Hermione, hold this pillow up over there and Harry, see if you can transfigure it into an owl.'

Harry stood up and aimed his wand but Hermione tripped over the tiger and the pillow became a one-legged dove which fluttered out of the window while Hermione was left sprawled on the floor with feathers sprouting from her hair.

'Oh dear,' said McGonagall, waving her wand to amend Hermione's hair, 'you're going to need another pillow.'

'No we won't,' Draco replied instantly. 'We only use one bed.' McGonagall sniffed slightly at this reference to their sleeping arrangements, but was concentrating too hard to care much. 'OK, forget owls. Try working together, like you did with the Charms. Just see what happens.'

Harry and Draco stood facing each other and Hermione threw the remaining pillow into the air between them. Draco transfigured it immediately into a pigeon and it flew to Harry's shoulder. Harry turned it into a small toad, set it on the ground and watched it hop slowly towards Draco, who changed it into a large wispy fern in an elaborate porcelain pot. Then Harry changed the colour of the pot. And then Draco changed the fern into a cat, then the cat became a balloon with the words Harry and Draco which drifted towards the ceiling and in turn became a pair of lively Bludgers.

The speed of Transfiguration became faster and faster. Hermione and McGonagall couldn't keep up with the succession of objects in front of them. The whole room seemed to spin as all the objects were becoming new things so quickly that it was impossible to note all the changes. Hermione stopped concentrating on the room and turned her attention to Harry and Draco, who were totally silent, obviously communicating in a way that didn't involve speech. She instinctively knew that they had long stopped working separately and now couldn't tell who was transfiguring what. It was breathtaking, like being caught in a film that was running at twenty times its normal speed.

Magic started to leak out of their Transfiguration spells and began randomly affecting other things, as if the spells were no longer affecting just single objects but were beginning to animate the entire room. The temperature dropped considerably, as did the light levels. Hermione was alarmed to notice that the stuffed tiger was definitely beginning to purr. She looked instinctively at McGonagall.

'Stop!' commanded McGonagall. The room was still. The array of clutter around them was astonishing. Hermione gingerly picked her way past a cauldron filled with about two hundred tennis balls. She had no idea where it had come from.

'Wow!' she whispered. ''I've never seen anything like that before!'

'Neither have I,' added McGonagall.

Harry and Draco were silent. They were still communicating in a way Hermione couldn't understand. McGonagall was still muttering about how wonderfully they had done, but Hermione noticed that they were not listening. At all.

'What are they doing?' Hermione asked.

They stood as still as statues, eyes glazed.

'I don't know,' replied McGonagall slowly. 'Harry, Draco, why are you looking like that?'

It was as if they couldn't hear her.

Far removed from the hyper-real speed at which the previous transfigurations had taken place, events now seemed to be trapped in ice.

Harry and Draco each raised their wands, oblivious to the presence of Hermione and McGonagall. Should they do it? Why on earth not? They had been advised to work together after all. A faint smile passed between them. They hadn't discussed it, not at all, but...

They activated the spell at precisely the same time. A cool silvery breeze blew briefly through the room. And then all was the same. Harry and Draco stood staring at each other amid the clutter.

Except they had changed places.

'NO!!' cried McGonagall in genuine distress. She staggered slightly, her usual control knocked totally for six. 'What is it?' yelped Hermione. 'What is it? What have they done?'

'Oh my God!' McGonagall moaned, wringing her hands.

Hermione rushed up to Harry. 'They've transfigured themselves into each other?'

'Yes!' McGonagall was as white as a sheet. 'Although, Merlin alone knows how - the spell is supposed to be unworkable!'

'Harry!' cried Hermione.

'It's not Harry,' said Draco/Harry calmly.

'I'm Harry,' said Harry/Draco.

'Reverse the Transfiguration immediately,' ordered McGonagall. The tone of her voice brooked no argument.

The silver wind whooshed past them again, and Harry and Draco stood in their original positions.

'Look at me, you two.' The professor's voice was calm and controlled but with a noticeable edge. 'Never in all my years at Hogwarts... You will promise me one thing. You will never ever attempt that double transfiguration again. I am not saying this just as your teacher. I am saying it because it is a highly, highly dangerous spell. One tiny error in the magic and you could have been left damaged forever. Forever. The consequences could have been unthinkable. Do you understand?'

Harry and Draco considered themselves well and truly chastened, and muttered their agreement with her order.

'Good.'

McGonagall slowly regained her demeanour and eventually said, 'Now. I have to ask. How did you do it? Which incantation did you use? How did you ensure you both used the spell at the same time?' They both looked at her blankly.

'Oh,' she sighed. 'You haven't any idea, have you?'

'No,' said Draco. 'We just did it. Sorry. We just willed it to happen and it did.'

She looked at them both closely, thinking; then one wave of her wand restored the contents of the room to its previous condition, albeit minus one pillow.

'Oh,' Draco muttered sadly.

'What?' asked McGonagall.

'I was hoping we could hang on to the leather jackets,' said Draco.

McGonagall rolled her eyes. 'Right. Enough. Miss Granger will you please go and ask Madam Pomfrey if she could join us?'

Once Hermione had left the room, McGonagall spoke quickly. 'OK. You are talented, extraordinarily so. And that is exciting. But I meant what I said about that double transfiguration. Never again, no matter what the circumstances. However. I cannot ignore that regular Transfiguration offers little challenge to you now, and so you'll need something more exciting to work on. So as soon as the time becomes available I have decided that it would be unfair if I did not try to teach you the Animagus transformation. But, we will go at my pace. And you will not practice it without my being present. And not one word to anybody about it. Is that clear?'

They affirmed that it was.

'Good. Now when your potion arrives you will sleep for the next few hours, and then you will be taken into the village for your first lesson in Apparating. You of course both know that it is not possible to Apparate within the castle and its grounds, and as you are both underage, we will naturally need the cover of darkness. I will see you again sometime after 1am. Goodnight, gentlemen.'

Madam Pomfrey entered carrying two goblets of sleeping draught just as McGonagall was leaving. Hermione did not reappear, and the pair drank the potion and got slowly ready for bed.

'Professor Dumbledore has indicated that this is to be the last night you should rely on the potion to sleep,' Madam Pomfrey informed them. 'So make the most of it: it will be back to normal sleep after tonight.'

She left the room after bidding them goodnight.

'Did we really do that?' asked Harry quietly as they were changing into their pyjamas.

'So it seems,' Draco sighed. 'And she was pretty clear about never doing it again.'

'You can say that again,' agreed Harry.

'And she was prett--'

Harry thumped Draco and they fell into bed, snuggling into each other's arms.

'It was nice being you for a few seconds,' smiled Harry. 'I liked the feel of silk against my skin.'

'Really? I don't know how on earth you cope with your hair,' Draco said smoothly. 'I felt a distinct need to brush it.'

Harry sniggered. 'Well if you hadn't been so rough with that towel, it might not have been so bad. Anyway, that's the last time you'll ever have to feel it, so you can forget it now.'

'How can I forget it? You're forgetting that I'm the one who has to look at it all day long. Still, we're going to be Animagi, that's exciting,' yawned Draco. 'I hope I get to be a tiger.' 'A tiger? Don't be stupid, that will hardly be very useful. You won't be able to sneak around the countryside if you're a flippin' tiger.'

'Who says I want to sneak around unnoticed?'

Harry laughed, which turned into a big gaping yawn. 'Anyway, I don't think you get to choose. I think it's something in your character that determines it for you.'

'Oh God, really?' Draco murmured sleepily.

But Harry didn't answer, and, for the last time, the potion pressed them both into enchanted sleep.

***

Apparating was easy. And good fun.

Dumbledore instructed them at first. In principle, the magic concerned was simple; and the spell was learned in a matter of minutes. Then it was just a case of seeing the place in your head you were going to, triggering the magic with the spell and thinking yourself there. Applying it was more difficult though. There was the danger of being splinched, which was apparently quite nasty, sort of ending up in two places at once. Harry was a bit daunted by it at first, and also slightly irritated that Draco seemed to be a complete natural. After half an hour, Draco could move a couple of hundred yards before Harry could even manage a few feet. But when they split up, Harry began to make much better progress.

Draco went off with Dumbledore and Snape while Harry Apparated between Sirius and McGonagall over ever-increasing distances. Each adult checked there had been no mishaps before moving further apart and allowing Harry to Apparate back to the other. After a long session, both Harry and Draco were able to move over a distance of a couple of miles and the group met up at the Shrieking Shack just before dawn. Dumbledore seemed pleased. 'Excellent. We'll do some more tomorrow night, but I think you're both well on the way. Now we will all Apparate to the castle gates and take an early breakfast. Minerva, Severus, I think you must then get some sleep; it has been a long night. I shall arrange for your classes to be supervised until this afternoon. Harry, Draco, you two will also sleep, and without the aid of potion. Progress, boys, progress.'

It was a strange group that trooped its way back up to the castle early that morning. Snape and Dumbledore were at the front, talking in low voices about the Perceptivity Potion and the next direction of Harry and Draco's education. Sirius and McGonagall followed, discussing how exactly the double transfiguration might have been achieved. Finally Harry and Draco brought up the rear, not really talking about anything, but lost in the wonder of what the previous day had brought.

Harry felt at ease enough to grasp Draco's hand, and the two walked closely side by side so the others couldn't see.

At the castle steps, the group assembled again in the half-light of dawn, but just as Dumbledore was about to speak, there was the sound of a distant roar and all eyes looked skywards. After a little while Harry recognised the shape of the motorbike looming into view above the lake, and then it was right above them, circling over the group assembled on the steps to the castle. Dobby was waving frantically, obviously hugely pleased with something.

'Oh look,' cried Draco. 'It's Robin and the bat.'

'Batman and Robin, you tit', corrected Harry lovingly.

Dumbledore immediately left them and hurried over to Hagrid's hut, calling back over his shoulder that they should breakfast without him.

'I wonder where on earth they've been?' Draco pondered.

***

'Draco's alright, when it comes down to it,' Ron mused. 'Changed our tune, haven't we?' teased Hermione, as they sat in the common room after breakfast.

'I mean,' continued Ron, ignoring her, 'he loves Harry. It's written all over his face. I don't have any sense that he's going to do anything evil. Don't you get the feeling that Harry is totally safe with him?'

'Yes, I do. In fact, safer than he has been for ages. Funny.'

'What's funny?'

'How we ended up here. Just a few weeks ago, before that lesson with the fauns, life was as we have always known it. Now, it's as we shall know it forever more. We'll never be able to think of Harry without thinking of Draco.'

'I think I can live with that. Wonder what mum and dad will think though.'

'At least your mum and dad will understand the Crimson Cloud. What's the rest of the world going to think?'

Ron's eyes glinted. 'Oh...!'

'What?'

'The Crimson Cloud! That's why the air in the room was red last night. Oh God, they'd been shagging hadn't they?'

'Ron! You could have put it a bit less yobbishly.'

'Sorry! But you're not denying it, are you? Bloody hell! Harry and Draco at it like dogs on heat, and we walk in with chicken and ham pie. Yick. And talk about bad timing...'

'Dogs on heat? We've no idea how, er, enthusiastic they were. And anyway, I think they'd, er...finished, if it's any consolation.'

'It's not a consolation. Absolutely not. Oh my God, I can't believe it.'

'Oh get over it, Ron. It was bound to happen sooner or later.' 'That's not what I mean! It's just...'

'Just what?'

'I can't believe Harry lost his virginity before I did! I honestly, truly, believed that would be the one thing I beat him in!'

Hermione's face cracked into an irrepressible smile. 'Oh Ron!' she laughed.

'What?'

'Nothing.'

'No, go on, what's so flippin' funny?'

'Well, it's just comforting, I suppose.'

'Eh?'

'It's great that the only issue you have with Harry and Draco er...being enthusiastic with each other, is that you didn't get to do it first!'

'Herm! I certainly don't want to do whatever they got up to!'

'That's not what I meant, and you know it,' laughed Hermione. 'And anyway, it's not a race!'

'That's easy for you to say. You're not the only Weasley brother left to cross that bridge.'

'What?' goggled Hermione. 'Fred? George? When did that happen? Who with?'

'Sorry, family secrets,' smirked Ron.

'And...PERCY?'

Ron laughed for a long time, smiling at Hermione. 'There's certainly a story to tell you there!' 'When? When do I get to hear it?'

'Oh, I don't know. I can't betray the secrets of the Weasleys.'

'It's this bloody Boys' Code of Ethics again, isn't it? Oh well, I shall just have to ask Ginny.'

'Ha! You don't think Ginny knows do you? She'd be horrified if she knew what we talk about.'

'Well, then I'll have to ask Harry to get it out of you.'

'Harry already knows. He's an honorary Weasley, remember? And no way will he tell you.'

'I bet he will.'

'I bet he won't. He's still bound by the terms of the Code, whatever he gets up to in bed.'

Hermione smiled. 'OK, I give in. Gracefully. Keep your secrets. For now.'

'What do you mean, for now?'

'I'm sure I can get you to tell me somehow.' She leaned across and kissed him gently on his forehead.

Ron blushed a fierce red, and the bell rang for the start of lessons.

***

On reaching their room in the hospital wing, there was a distinct feeling of anticlimax for both Harry and Draco.

'Well,' said Harry flatly.

'Yeah, I know,' Draco nodded.

'What is there to do now?'

'Exactly. Just bed, I guess.' 'I mean, we're Potions geniuses.'

'You bet. Willow Sap? Easy.'

'And we set a world record for Charms.'

'Seven? Nothing. I expect we'll do eight next time. And Harry, total Transfiguration wunderkinds, don't forget.'

'Yes indeed. I'm used to being a wunderkind, mind. It must be nice for you though,' grinned Harry.

'Blimey. Where did that attitude suddenly come from?'

'Er...perhaps from the ability to Apparate underage?'

'Oh yes. That'll be it. And...' added Draco slyly.

'And what?'

'Well, even better than all of those put together...'

'What?'

Draco smiled warmly. 'We're not virgins anymore.'

Harry sniggered. 'What makes you think I was one before?' he asked, kissing Draco's neck lightly as they undressed for bed.

'Oh please,' yawned Draco. 'Don't tell me you're the Casanova of Gryffindor tower, because I simply refuse to believe it. You were as innocent as a young puppy. Never even been kissed, let alone...'

'Neither had you, you git. You couldn't even get my shirt off without a right fuss.'

'Well, sure. There's some work to be done on the basics, I agree. Shirts can be tricky, especially baggy old things like you wear.'

'Silk shirts aren't any easier, you know. They can be all slippy. Remember that next time you put one on.' 'You mean you want me to start wearing items that are easily removable, just for your convenience?'

Harry giggled. 'Would you do that for me?'

'Oh yes. That and more. As long as they're stylish, and expensive, I'll wear whatever shirts you want.'

'I think I prefer you without a shirt, to be honest,' blushed Harry.

'What, you mean, like this?' Draco laughed, as he slipped his shirt off and tossed it onto the other bed.

'Yes. Exactly like that,' smiled Harry.

'Gosh, Harry. Demanding, aren't you?'

'I could demand a whole lot more, you know,' Harry whispered.

'Like what?'

'Like, maybe I prefer you without jeans as well.'

'What, without these jeans?' Draco looked Harry straight in the eye as he pointed downwards with both hands.

'Er, yes. They're definitely the offending ones.'

'Have you any idea how much they cost? And you just want me to cast them off, as if a mere nothing?'

'Pretty much, yes.'

'Well, I take your point,' said Draco, unbuckling his belt. 'But only if you get rid of those ghastly things you call jeans as well.'

'Right. They're pretty bad, I know. I can't help it if most of my clothes are hand-me-downs from my stupid obese cousin.'

'Sure you can. You've got a vault full of gold, remember? Why not buy yourself some gear that fits properly?' 'Er, well...'

'Well what?'

'I hate shopping.'

Draco staggered slightly. 'You hate shopping?'

'Got it in one, Sherlock.'

'Who?'

'No matter. Besides, my aunt would wonder where I'd got it all from. She thinks I'm penniless.'

'Penniless?'

'Not a Knut.'

'She doesn't know about your parents' cash?'

'Good God no. She'd claim it all in compensation for having to have me sleep in their understairs cupboard.'

'Weeping as I am for this image of the young Potter growing up in Muggle penury, I still can't get over the fact that you hate shopping.'

'It's true. Facing Unthinkable Danger, Shopping With Aunt Petunia, I know which I'd take every time.'

'Ah. How about shopping with someone else?'

'Like who?'

'Like someone who had a ton more taste than you?'

'Sounds intriguing. Can you think of someone?'

'Perhaps, although the sight of those clothes is stopping me considering the matter clearly.' 'Oh. Best get them off then.'

'Sounds good. Scrawny you may be, and a bit on the rumpled side, but I can't help thinking you're going to look streets better without them.'

'Blimey. Demanding, aren't you?'

'Oh yes, Harry. Yes, I am. And I could demand a whole lot more.'

'Such as?' Harry stepped out of his jeans so they both stood facing each other in just their boxers.

'New underwear. For you that is. You look ridiculous in those. There's room for two in there; it's a wonder they don't fall off.'

'Two?'

'Definitely.'

'Two? Are you sure?'

'Absolutely. I'd bet on it.'

'How much?'

'What?'

'How much money do you bet that there is room for two people in these boxers?'

'Oh. I wouldn't bet anything as vulgar as money.'

'What would you bet then?'

'Something far more interesting. Like, if I'm wrong, I'll buy you some new underwear. If I'm right, you have to pay for it. But, whichever, I get to choose it.'

'Oh. So you'll be my new shopping partner then?'

'Nobody else up to the task, I reckon.' 'Hmmm. You may be right. Hermione's good on books, and Ron's great on brooms, but...underwear? I think you just got yourself a job.'

'Good-oh.'

'Bet's off though.'

'Why?'

'You're absolutely right. I'm not betting against that. There's definitely room for two in here,' said Harry, stretching the waistband of the tatty grey boxers out about a foot away from his body.

Draco peered downwards. 'Oh yes. At least two. Although, there's a little bit less room in there than there would be ordinarily.'

'Only a little bit less?'

Draco laughed. 'Even I'm not rising to that one, Harry.'

'Rubbish. I can see you rising at this very moment.'

'Well, I can't help it. It's those boxers. They're strangely disquieting.'

'Oh. Perhaps I'd better remove them then. Pass me my pyjamas.'

'No point.'

'Why not?'

'Because I'm going to have you out of them in under five minutes.'

'Five? Make it two.'

'Crikey. Demanding, aren't you?'

***

They'd had an odd sort of day. After the mad events of the weekend, coming face to face with the mundane again had left them both a bit flat, even allowing for the increasingly physical nature of their relationship. Madam Pomfrey had woken them at lunchtime, thrown something of a small fit to find them sleeping without pyjamas, and then demanded that they start behaving like real students again.

'Lunch,' she fumed, 'will be served at lunchtime. And it will be consumed, not pushed around the plates to make it look less.'

Harry looked rather guilty.

'Sleep,' she continued fiercely, 'will be had at nighttime. Clad in suitable nightwear. I refuse to have you two lazing around like a pair of decadent playboys.'

Draco opened his mouth, but before whatever retort he had planned was even begun, Harry had nudged him and Pomfrey was off again.

'Supper,' she went on, really warming to her theme now, 'will be served in the evening, not at midnight or whenever you feel like it. And I am going to start limiting your constant stream of guests at meal times. The whole point of your being here is to rest and recover appetites and sleeping patterns. Having Weasley and Granger hang around is not doing any good.'

Harry looked a little upset. He loved having supper with the three people who meant more to him than anything.

'Breakfast', she crowed, 'will be--'

'Served in the morning?' supplied Draco, innocently. 'Good plan, I say. Don't you think, Harry?'

She looked at the pair of them. They were both struggling not to laugh, and suddenly she softened, sighing deeply.

'I cannot wait until you two are out of here,' she conceded good- naturedly. 'But until that glorious day arrives, I want you to try and instil some order back into your lives. If not, I am simply going to get Professors McGonagall and Snape to instil it for you.' 'Er, I think we'd rather do it your way,' Harry muttered.

'Good. You can start with getting up and dressed, eating lunch, and not considering returning to bed until at least 10pm tonight. You would have thought with all your abilities that you could manage at least that.'

In the afternoon, McGonagall had had them taking notes on the most boring stuff imaginable, which they supposed related to the Animagus transformation (although it was difficult to see how) and Snape had requested that they write out dozens and dozens of Potions procedures, with no aim whatsoever, it seemed, other than to keep them busy.

'This is worse that being in lessons,' groaned Harry as he scribbled messily on a piece of parchment.

'Your writing's awful,' said Draco matter-of-factly, admiring his own tidy script. 'Look how neat mine is.'

'That's not neat, that's anal,' said Harry, trying not to envy the easy grace of Draco's fast and elegant hand. 'Bloody Hell!'

'What?' asked Draco, alarmed.

'You're a Leftie! Why didn't I notice that before?'

Draco sniffed. 'Perhaps because you're not very perceptive. And anyway, my mother says that left handed people are individual and artistic, with huge flair and creativity, and that I should be pleased not to be the same as everyone else.'

'Bollocks,' stated Harry. 'That's just a myth perpetuated by parents of Lefties. All Righties know the truth: Lefties are misfits and loners, they quite often spend too long shopping and obsessing over their hair, and very often they over-compensate for their whole Leftiness by developing a script which they think of as individual, but which all Righties can see in a flash is just prissy, anal and a bit poncy.' Draco's eyes opened wide in astonishment, and then grinned as he saw Harry laughing silently at his outrage.

'Well, I'd rather have my style than yours. Look at it.'

They both stared at Harry's scroll.

'What, for example, does that word say?' enquired Draco.

'Er, passion,' said Harry. 'As in passion-flower. Obviously. Look, there's the P, and double S, quite clear.'

'What about that one, then?'

'Steam, of course,' replied Harry. 'Are you blind?'

'And this one?'

'Er, hot...'

'Ah. You sure that's Potions you're doing there? Sounds a bit seedy to me.'

Something changed in the air between them, as they caught each other's eyes. Harry realised Draco had been able to read his script all the time.

'Are you trying to make some sort of suggestion?'

'Yes,' said Draco, eyes glinting.

Potions were forgotten for a while.

As soon as Sirius stepped into their little kingdom, later that afternoon, Harry knew exactly what he was going to say. There was just something about the look in his eye that Harry recognised immediately.

'You're going away, aren't you?' Harry accused, before Sirius had even spoken.

'Harry,' said Sirius softly. 'Grab the Cloak. We're going out for a walk.' Draco was instantly distressed.

'Can I come too?' he asked in a tiny voice, cursing himself for such a pathetic whine even as he said it.

'Nothing personal, Draco, I assure you. I just want to talk to my godson before I have to leave. We won't be long, I promise.'

'But...if he's...I can't...'

'Sirius, he gets all...if, you know, if I'm...'

'Have you two suddenly lost the power of speech?'

Harry looked at Draco, and then went over to him, and hugged him tightly. There were so many things that now made him realise how much he loved Draco, and this aspect of their relationship was probably the one that made him ache inside more than any of the others. 'We won't be long, I promise,' he whispered into Draco's neck. 'Just hang on. And when I get back, we can have a snuggly ten minutes in bed, whatever Pomfrey thinks. And remember that for every second that I'm out of this room, I'll be thinking of you and looking forward to getting back. OK? OK, Draco, my love?' The phrase 'my love', sat unfamiliarly on Harry's lips, but he used it all the same, and Draco appreciated this gesture as much as any Harry had made over the previous days. Harry could feel that Draco was imperceptibly calmed by this, and offered another, bigger gesture to convince Draco that he meant what he said.

It had never been a secret of course, how could it have been? None of the Inner Circle were under any delusions about what exactly the nature of Harry and Draco's relationship was. Hell, this was the Crimson Cloud, after all. But aside from being seen to sleep next to each other, they had never allowed anything more personal to be witnessed by anyone else. And now Harry thought that it was time for that to change, and he moved to kiss Draco, deeply, fully, lovingly, with Sirius standing just feet away. The anxiety in Draco ebbed further as Harry put body and soul into that kiss, just to show, to try and prove, that he would be back, and that he wanted to be back as much as Draco didn't want him to leave.

Sirius was not fazed, rather, he looked on unembarrassed. There was so much of James in Harry that it was nearly heart-breaking to watch, but watch he did, knowing instinctively that this kiss was important actually because of his own presence. His mind ventured back years, probing memories that he preferred not to explore, but the grief he felt at the loss of James and Lily was always so much more acute when he was with Harry.

How proud they would have been for him. How much they would have rejoiced in his happiness. Sirius recalled watching James kiss Lily like this, many, many times, regardless of where they were or who they were with, because they too had experienced a love that had overflowed into all that surrounded them. The painful feelings triggered in him by the symmetry of this couple in front of him and the friends he could never have back were almost overpowering. He would be proud for Harry now; he would rejoice in Harry and Draco's happiness. Harry couldn't know those things from his own parents. Sirius knew that he would have to supply them himself, and that he wanted to, and that he couldn't not give them if he tried.

Harry and Draco separated eventually, and Harry rocked back on his heels.

Just a tiny movement, but one which sent another aching stab through Sirius. James used to do that. It was something he would never have remembered, never. Perhaps he had never even consciously noticed it when James and Lily were alive. But seeing it there and then, seeing Harry being so overwhelmed by the emotions of a kiss that he tilted slightly away as if knocked by a breeze, Sirius had to turn away to blink back tears. Years and years worth of tears, that nearly ripped him open right then; all because the son of his closest friends had so obviously found the same love that his parents had known, the same love that had caused Harry to exist at all. He composed himself and beamed at the pair, who were eyeing him as nervously as couple of naughty boys caught scrumping apples.

Harry thought that Sirius's smile was more than a smile. It was his permission. It was his approval. It was...his blessing. And Harry knew at that moment how he could soothe Draco further. It had to become official. And only one person could make it so.

'Sirius,' croaked Harry. 'Er...I have something to say.'

Sirius remained silent. He knew what was coming. Draco didn't though.

'I'd like you to meet Draco Malfoy. I love him, and...I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him.'

Draco was about to say, don't be silly - of course I know who he is - we've met before - we were talking while you were in a coma, and a dozen other things, but Sirius stepped forward and offered him his hand, and the true meaning of Harry's words became obvious.

He grasped Sirius's hand, firmly, masculinely, aware in that moment that he had to be true, that he mustn't seem the vain, arrogant, spoilt youth the world understood him to be, but that he had to be decent, and worthy. And he also knew, that because of Harry, he was indeed becoming those things, and that he rejoiced in those changes.

'Pleased to meet you, sir,' he responded, in a clear, uncomplicated voice; one that Harry had not heard before. 'Your godson means the world to me. I hope that you can be as happy for us as we are.'

Sirius nodded. 'I'm sure I shall be,' he smiled warmly.

Then the odd formality of the moment was over, and Sirius pulled them both towards him and hugged them both at once. Draco was hit with a thousand thoughts at once. How wonderful of Harry to have done this for him. How great Sirius was. How much he wanted to be truly worthy of Harry. How much he loved Harry, how miserable he would be without him. How much he had changed, life had changed, in the last few weeks. And. How much he dreaded the return to the Slytherin dormitories, whenever that would happen. How little he now had in common with his Slytherin "friends", and how impossible it would now be to go back to them, even if he should want to. How ridiculous it was to imagine that a twin scene to this one would ever be possible. How desperately unlikely it was that he would ever get the chance to say, proudly, Mother, this is Harry Potter, I love him and I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him.

Could he ever have Harry to dine at his own home, to sleep with him in his own bed? Were parents going to be completely absent in both of their lives, for all time? Were Sirius and the Weasleys the closest he would ever get to an extended family? Was there even any guarantee that the rest of Weasleys would accept him at all?

Draco knew that he was going to cry, and he didn't care. But he just managed to delay his tears until Harry and Sirius had left the room.

Just.

***

The two of them sat back in the most comfortable armchairs in the office. The fire glimmered delicately in the hearth, sending a magical warmth right through to the bones of those lucky enough ever to get to relax in those chairs. They had reached a comfortable silence in their talk. It was approaching midnight.

'I can't tell you how much I have appreciated your being here over these last couple of weeks,' said Dumbledore eventually. 'I am sure the transition for Harry has been all the easier for your presence.'

'And I'm grateful for the terrible risks you have gone to in allowing me to be here, Albus. But as we both know, matters outside this magical place demand that I return as soon as possible.'

Sirius took a sip of his whiskey. 'Actually I think Harry has coped extremely well,' he offered after a while. 'It's Draco I am more concerned about. His dependence on Harry seems to be absolute. Harry and I went out for a walk this afternoon, just to say goodbye, and Draco was disturbingly distressed at the prospect of having to be apart from him, even for a short while.'

'How long were you out with Harry?'

'Not long, about an hour, maybe a little more.'

'And what was Draco's mood when you got back?'

'I don't know. I didn't go back with Harry; I thought it best not to be present when they were reunited.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'You are a fine godfather to that boy, Sirius. I only hope you don't end up having to be godfather to both of them.'

'What about Lucius, then?' asked Sirius after a while. 'And Narcissa? What do you honestly think their reaction will be?'

'Not one of joy, I am guessing,' mused the Headmaster. 'It will all depend on whether their love of their son is greater than their love of...other things. And I have no way of knowing. Perhaps only Draco himself knows. Perhaps not even him.'

The fire crackled unexpectedly and Fawkes ruffled his feathers in appreciation. Light shimmered briefly all around the room, and then was still again.

'Have you seen the book?' Sirius's voice was soft, yet concerned.

'No. It's in the school vault at Gringotts. But Hagrid has seen it. He looked through it before he left it there. He says that it's more or less exactly as you remember it, in fact most of the pages were full. But he only leafed through it; he said it was too painful to look at.'

'What do you think we should do with it?' 'To be honest, I had no plans for it beyond removing it from Malfoy Manor.' He paused. 'What do you think we should do with it?' he asked eventually.

'It belongs to Harry, and nobody else. It's his decision what happens to it. I think we should give it to him.'

'You're probably right. But I shall certainly want to examine it myself before exposing him to it. And I am concerned that Harry is still so emotionally vulnerable. Even if it is not a danger to him, such a strong reminder of James and Lily could be overwhelming. It could set him back weeks.'

'I've worried about that as well. But I think we'd be underestimating Harry if we thought that. I know we are all naturally protective of him, but think of what he has already faced and how he has left us stunned at his resilience. He has a right to that book, and I think he should have it.'

'How, though?' Dumbledore seemed as old as he had ever looked to Sirius, the lines on his face set in sharp relief by the flickering of the fire, the wisps of smoke from his pipe giving him a vague and hazy outline. 'How? At what time? With what explanation?' His questions were rhetorical, an old man thinking aloud.

But Sirius answered him.

'There's only one person this should come from, if the book is to be formally returned. Give it to Draco to decide the best way for Harry to receive it. He knows Harry better than anyone now.'

Dumbledore nodded silently, slowly. It was a nod of agreement, of sad reservation, of distant regret. But he knew Sirius was right.

'That would have to be handled very sensitively,' he added. 'It would be difficult for Draco, considering where the book has come from.'

They lapsed into silence again. 'I shall speak to Draco sometime before the end of term,' Dumbledore said. 'And I shall send Hagrid to fetch it after he has seen the students onto the Hogwarts Express. And then we shall see. And we shall have to hope that it does not distress Draco as much as it could upset Harry. But you are right, you are right. It is the only way.'

Sirius removed the old man's pipe from his hand when he realised he had drifted off to sleep.

He took one last look around, thinking of the events of the last few weeks. Harry was as secure as any of them had a right to expect, he was sure.

Other matters required his attention now. He drained his whiskey and reluctantly left the security of the chairs, and of the fire, and of the school.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

~

THE MOST DIFFICULT THING YET

Professor Albus Dumbledore, the Greatest Headmaster of Hogwarts Ever, sat and considered this latest matter. It was about a week after Sirius had left the castle - some time after lunch, but not, he suspected, late enough for tea.

He turned the news round and round in his head, studying hard the exact text of the latest message from Arthur Weasley, delivered by owl from the Ministry about an hour previously. Even so, it was difficult to interpret it as anything other than horrendous news, and feeling his age suddenly, he reached for his Pensieve, raised his wand to his forehead and extracted all the thoughts surrounding Arthur's letter, then set the silvery strands swimming together noiselessly in the simple stone bowl.

He wandered over to the window and glanced out over the grounds of the castle for a few moments. Hogwarts was such a peaceful place, so far removed from the troubles of the world outside. But how much longer could it remain so? Turning back to the desk, he caught sight of the Orbis Ardens, glowing fiercely as it always seemed to these days. He drew out a good number of thoughts about Harry and Draco, and added those to the Pensieve too.

Suddenly his mood felt a bit lighter.

I wonder whether Minerva fancies a cup of Earl Grey? he pondered.

Idly he prodded the stringy, fluid nothingness in the Pensieve. Then he picked up a quill and scratched a quick note to Sirius confirming their arrangement that Sirius would be back to see Harry at Christmas, a brief reply to that afternoon's message from Arthur Weasley saying that the latest matter had his fullest attention, and a longer, expertly worded letter to Lucius Malfoy. He sat back, still agitating his thoughts gently with his wand in the stone dish in front of him.

The Pensieve didn't seem to be working as it should. The whole point was that it cleared one's head of clutter, and enabled you to go back to it at your leisure without being niggled by it in the interim; but it seemed that he couldn't actually get everything relevant out of his head.

He clicked his tongue in irritation.

Then he raised his wand again and withdrew a vast wedge of silver thought concerning Lucius Malfoy and the book recently recovered from the library at Malfoy Manor. The Pensieve was rather full now. There wouldn't be room for much more, but...had he removed enough to be able to rest for a while?

No. There was something else. Something still troubling him. He stared at Fawkes for some minutes more, and then smiled.

Of course. When he'd first used a Pensieve, oh, hundreds of years ago it seemed, he'd thought that it was simply a case of removing the bric-à-brac of life from within one's mind until it made sense. But he had since realised that it was only possible to remove something from your head if you knew it. And that was what was bothering him now: not something that he knew, but something he didn't.

I'm going to have to take a look at that book.

He should have stopped there, but his mind went further. Dumbledore was not afraid to look anything in the eye, but he had a dreadful feeling about what might be trapped somewhere in the pages of that little memento.

That would certainly explain why Lucius had taken it.

Hastily he scribbled a short letter to Alastor Moody and then set off with his correspondence for the owlery. En route he changed direction and made for McGonagall's office, smiling. It was definitely time for tea now. ***

Correspondence was on a lot of minds that day.

Draco sat in one of their armchairs, watching Harry sleep peacefully. Since they'd had to do without sleeping draught, Draco had slipped right back into his former (pre-faun) sound sleep pattern, and had no real problems filling the majority of nocturnal hours with slumber. But Harry's insomnia was taking longer to fade, and he was often so tired in the afternoons that Madam Pomfrey had consented to let him nap for a couple of hours or so should he need to, but only on the condition that Draco didn't get into bed with him.

Spoil sport, thought Draco, smiling, then turned his attention back to the letter he was trying to write.

It was his fourth attempt; three other abandoned versions were currently scrunched up on the floor next to him. But it was just no good. He couldn't get past Dear Mother and Father...

After a while Attempt No. 4 was similarly discarded, and Draco turned to the other (slightly less serious) matter on his mind, grabbed a fresh piece of parchment and wrote quickly in his fast and elegant hand:

Dear Sirius,

Please please please help me - what on earth shall I get Harry for Christmas? It needs to be something that will prove how much I love him, but short of a complete new wardrobe everything I think of just seems extravagant or unnecessary. I just wondered if you had any ideas. Hope you are safe and well,

Affectionately, Draco

He wondered briefly whether affectionately was a bit too girly a sign-off for a letter to Sirius, but folded up the note and set it aside for whichever of their owls came to visit them next. Then he thought Sod Pomfrey, slipped his shoes off and snuggled down next to Harry. ***

'That,' stated Hermione with conviction, 'is an excellent idea. Needs refining a bit, and some of the details are yet to be worked out, but, essentially, excellent.'

'D'you really think so?' Ron asked, rather surprised.

'Yes. Did you think it up all on your own? Clever little bunny, aren't you?'

'No, he didn't,' laughed Ginny. 'And how on earth do words like little and bunny possibly relate to this lanky git? You two are becoming more fluffy by the day!'

'Steady on, Gin,' Seamus grinned, lazing with his arms around Ginny on one of the sofas in the Gryffindor common room, 'we don't want to put an embargo on fluffiness.'

'Oh please,' yawned Neville. 'Where did you learn a word like embargo? Find it poking around in Ginny's ear with your tongue, did you? Anyway, it is a good idea. Well done, Ron.'

'Why aren't I getting any of the credit?' cried Ginny, giggling as Seamus tickled her.

Neville rolled his eyes.

'Ahh! Wossa matter Nevvy, feeling left out?' crooned Dean. 'Wanna cuddle?'

They all hooted with laughter, and got up for supper.

***

Over the time following Sirius's departure, there hadn't been any more astonishing revelations of Harry and Draco's magical abilities.

Clairvoyance had not been present to any noticeable degree in either of them, according to Sybill Trelawney, who had made a rare excursion out of her eyrie to give Dumbledore her verdict. Dumbledore had nodded sagely and privately resolved to get in touch with an expert in the field, Arabella Figg, who would be able to confirm or deny this assertion. (Getting Arabella up to Hogwarts would be tricky, though; she didn't fly any more and hated Apparating.) Among the lesser areas of magical importance, Runes and Arithmancy and the like, neither Harry nor Draco had had much ability to begin with, so Dumbledore wasn't that surprised to find there was nothing to report. But still, harnessing their wand skills and controlling their awesome ability at Charms was proving to be a full time job for the Inner Circle, and Dumbledore found himself daring to be optimistic about...well, he could hardly even think of it himself, but optimistic about what Arthur Weasley was so worried about.

Dumbledore had not interfered with McGonagall's teaching the boys the Animagus transformation. He had agreed with her that it was madness not to pursue it, but had left it entirely to her; after all, she was the Animagus on the staff. She had kept him informed of any developments, but there hadn't been any so far, as McGonagall was going about it with a meticulousness that impressed even Dumbledore. I want no mishaps, she had declared. They are going to be thoroughly grounded in the theory before we attempt anything practical.

Harry and Draco themselves were in no hurry to complete the Animagus work; they suspected (correctly) that with both of them now much stronger it was only this bit of unresolved magic that was keeping them in the Hospital Wing. Their lives had fallen into an easy rhythm: meals and sleep and private lessons with either Snape or McGonagall. Harry still wasn't sleeping well, but he was a long way from wandering the grounds all night every night. His appetite had picked up though, and most evenings (although not all) he and Draco hosted Ron and Hermione to supper. A couple of times Seamus and Ginny had come as well, and Harry had been delighted to see them again. Ginny had been overwhelmed at the improvement in Harry; he seemed so well, and so happy - and to her delight she found Draco to be altered almost out of recognition. Ron and Hermione had told her of course, but she'd not really believed it. Draco had been surprisingly introspective after Ginny and Seamus had left that first time; he confessed to Harry that he had always particularly hated Seamus for reasons that he couldn't even explain then, let alone now, and he was sorry to think that his eyes had not only been closed against Harry, but all Harry's friends. This feeling of regret was made even sharper when, the following night, Madam Pomfrey informed them that they had another guest for supper.

'Good-oh,' yawned Draco, sitting in one of the armchairs with Harry sprawled across his lap, going over Animagus stuff for the umpteenth time, 'show them in. Aren't we popular, Harry my love?'

Madam Pomfrey looked warily at them, and left.

'Are you getting used to being popular, Draco?' smiled Harry. 'Blimey.'

Draco kissed him, and they laughed. And when they looked up, Pansy Parkinson was standing in the doorway.

The speed at which Harry and Draco shot apart was impressive, but, alas, totally in vain. The three of them stood there, Harry and Draco blushing, desperately unsure of what to expect, terrified that they had just entered a new scenario without the slightest preparation, and Pansy, glowering, stony-faced, incredulous, embarrassed, disgusted.

Draco recovered his cool nearly instantly, which was a great deal quicker than Harry.

'Ah. Pansy old girl. And what brings you up here? Slytherin House crumbling without me, is it? Need some tips for Quidditch training?' A grin flickered across his face.

'Slytherin House,' she choked eventually, 'is, it seems, all the better for your absence. Draco, how could you?!! He's...he's not even a Slytherin!'

'I'll thank you, Pansy, not to talk about Harry as though he isn't here,' snapped Draco, with a hard edge to his voice that Harry had not heard since the day of the fauns. '"Harry?"' echoed Pansy. 'Since when have we ever called him "Harry"? What is this, a love-in? Please tell me I imagined you kissing him.'

'You did not imagine it,' declared Draco. 'Although I understand you can't be that familiar with kissing as a concept, so well spotted. A kiss, and rather a good one, I thought. One of hundreds.'

Harry winced. There was no going back now.

'You kissed him? Why?'

'Because I love him, you stupid bitch. Why else would I kiss anyone?'

'Obliviate!' gurgled a desperate voice from behind Pansy. The boys looked up to see Ron frantically brandishing his wand, as if he had lost control of it. The spell bounced off the wall and out the window.

Pansy spun round and glared at him. 'You!' she fumed. 'Are you in on this as well? What is this, a conspiracy? What on earth do you think you're doing? Memory charms are forbidden for students--'

'Obliviate!' cried a determined voice from behind Ron. Hermione's spell hit its target and Pansy faltered for a moment.

'And you!' she yelled, quickly regaining her senses. Hermione examined her wand as if it were faulty.

'Spell not up to scratch, eh, Granger?' ranted Pansy. 'That's a first. Just wait till Professor Snape hears--'

'OBLIVIATE!' ordered a commanding voice from behind Hermione. Snape pocketed his wand instantly the spell hit home, and then ushered Ron and Hermione quickly out of the room.

Pansy looked around bewildered, and then cried, 'Draky! How we've missed you! When are you coming back, sweetie? The Quidditch team's in total disarray!' Draco glared. 'Well, to be honest, with you as Seeker, Pansy, I'm not surprised.'

'Mr Malfoy will be back in the dormitories before too long, Miss Parkinson,' oozed Snape. 'But he still tires easily, and visits such as yours have to be rather limited, I'm afraid.'

'Oh Draky, how dreadful! Stuck in this grotty room all this time with only him for company! It's just too awful! What shall I tell the others? That you're OK? Or that you're suffering terribly?'

'Tell them whatever you like, Pansy. Whatever it takes to ensure I have no more interruptions before I am released back into the school - you've no idea, how intense it's been in here, Pansy. I am quite weak from exhaustion sometimes...'

'Oh no! Oh how awful - I can just imagine what it's been like!'

'Actually, Pansy, I seriously doubt that you can. But thank you for your concern.'

'I think that had better be about enough for today, Miss Parkinson,' declared Snape gently. 'Mr Malfoy, I will be back to speak to you briefly once I have seen Miss Parkinson out of the Hospital Wing.'

The pair of them left and Harry and Draco stood looking at each other, neither quite able to take in what had just happened.

'Shit,' breathed Draco. 'I think I'm for it...'

Harry said nothing. It was strange for him to feel grateful towards Snape, but that was exactly what he felt now. It wasn't that he was embarrassed about being Draco's lover, far from it - at times, he wanted the world to know - but since the second he had laid eyes on Pansy he just knew it was the wrong time for the Slytherins to discover their secret. And so typical of Draco to rise to the occasion in that way...blast him. Why did Harry feel both proud that Draco should talk about him that way in front of others, yet curse his inability to avoid confrontation? Love, I guess, concluded Harry.

Thank goodness Snape had been there with the memory charm. Otherwise, even now, the news could be spreading round the castle like a stiff breeze, and, from there, it was only a matter of time before...

'That,' fumed Snape on returning to their room, 'was the most foolish thing you have ever done. Bar none.'

'Sir, I...I-eh...'

'It is extraordinarily lucky for you that I was here. You surely know how much of a gossip that girl is. And Mr Malfoy, ask yourself this: who are her parents' close friends? How long do you think it would have taken until your own parents found out what has been going on here? Two hours, maybe one? Do you think we have gone to such extraordinary lengths to protect you and Mr Potter from being exposed to danger just so that you can ruin it because you can't resist a little cheap theatre?'

'But, sir! It was too late! She had already seen us kiss--!'

'The Crimson Cloud may have given you ability beyond the understanding of many of our kind,' continued Snape, completely ignoring Draco's interruption, 'but it hasn't increased your intelligence. If you do so love Mr Potter - as you oh so charmingly informed Miss Parkinson - can you honestly say that the best thing for you two would be for your parents to discover our deception? In fact forget yourself for once, and put Harry's safety first: what do you imagine his immediate future would have held once your father knew of your situation? Yours were not the actions of a lover, Draco, but those of an immature show-off. Which is perhaps all you ever have been.'

Snape looked as if he had a nasty bout of indigestion as he glared at Draco and muttered, 'twenty points from Slytherin.'

Draco was crushed. He looked at Harry in desperation. 'And,' added Snape, the look of acute discomfort washing him over again, 'twenty points each to Weasley and Granger, who saw the real danger of the situation a lot quicker than you. Even if their wand skills were hopeless.'

'S-sir!' spluttered Harry, 'it wasn't his fault - we were both to blame!'

'Typically noble of you, Potter, but you were not the one fuelling the flames of Miss Parkinson's melodrama. There are issues here of which neither of you are aware, and it is now more critical than ever that news of the Crimson Cloud does not move beyond the small group already in the know. Especially in the direction of Miss Parkinson and her cronies. But more than any of that, you act as if the Crimson Cloud is a joke. Something you can boast about and make light of in front of others, others who don't know and won't understand the real circumstances. It pains me to think that you have been given this wonderful gift and yet you behave--'

'Excuse me, sir,' interrupted Draco, unable to listen any longer without responding, 'but I was not making light of it. I am truly sorry for saying that to Pansy, but honestly, sir, what can you possibly know of what this is like? Sometimes it gets so suffocating that I feel that--'

'I know a great deal more about the Crimson Cloud than you may think, Mr Malfoy,' countered Snape. 'You are by no means the first wizard to be so blessed. So start treating it with a little more respect, and stop mouthing off in front of outsiders. The time will come soon enough when this news will become public. Until then, enjoy what little peace you have together.'

Snape eyed them both oddly.

'Now get on with your Animagus preparation, both of you. Professor McGonagall will be in later.'

There was an over-theatrical swirl of black robes, and then he was gone.

*** Had Harry and Draco known, they would have spun out their progress towards a successful Animagus transformation even longer than they did, because the Inner Circle were rapidly becoming united in their opinion that no more could be achieved by leaving them in isolation. Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape were all decided that once this particular piece of magic had been mastered, the pair could only further their progress by learning how to be apart.

But. Our heroes did not know. They only guessed.

Even so. When McGonagall - who herself had insisted on a slow-and-sure approach - ranted at them that they were being so slow at perfecting this skill she could scarcely recognise the pair of wizards who had brewed a perfect Perceptivity Potion and supplied the energy behind the Dance of the Seven Charms, Harry and Draco knew the game was up. And that evening, yet another extraordinary series of events was to fix itself near the top of the All-Time List of Great Shared Memories of Mr HJ Potter and Mr DL Malfoy. Although only after McGonagall had reminded them of her authority.

'I think we might need another week or so,' pondered Draco. 'There are still some areas of the theory that neither of us understand fully. Aren't there, Harry?'

'Oh, at least a week, I'd have thought. I'm still completely lost on all that stuff about combining spells with life forces. It does sound awfully complicated.'

'Stop playing for time, you two,' the professor commanded. 'You are ready. We will proceed.'

Over the following half hour, she barked a hundred questions at them, concerning all aspects of the theory of Transfiguration and the nature of Animagi. They answered all of them correctly and began to sense her excitement. Harry was smiling, even though deep down there was something troubling him that he had not even confided in Draco. He knew he was about to become an Animagus, he could sense his body preparing for it, and he knew his mind had been ready for some time. And boy, had he looked forward to this moment. It was a way to get closer to Sirius, even to be closer to his own father. But, what if...?

McGonagall was pacing the room in anticipation, and realised that Harry was ready. He was looking at her oddly, as if the only thing stopping him from performing the spell was the final affirmation of her approval, as if he was waiting for her permission.

'Go on, Harry,' she encouraged gently, 'I'm sure you are ready.'

She stood stock still as she and Draco watched Harry prepare to undergo the Animagus transformation for the first time. Draco breathed in, unable to watch, unable not to. He felt slightly cowardly at letting Harry go first; if there was a mistake in the theory, they would both have the same mistake as they had worked so closely together. He closed his eyes to nearly-shut and concentrated only on Harry's face, praying that everything would be fine, that there would be no complications...

And then he triggered the spell in himself, quickly, efficiently, on the spur of the moment, and without time to get nervous. A breathtaking magical glow spread instantly through his whole body and, once the transformation was underway, he screwed his eyes fully shut and prayed. He could feel his body changing, could sense his centre of gravity moving closer to the floor, was aware that he was now a four-legged creature rather than a two-legged one. But he daren't open his eyes. Or could he? Maybe it was OK now? He didn't feel that small...

'Draco!' he heard McGonagall call in surprise from somewhere in the room. Blimey, his hearing appeared to be amazing. Suddenly he could hear voices from outside the room, even from outside the Hospital Wing; and his senses were instantly alive with things he had never noticed before. There was one smell in the room that drove him crazy; it was so wonderfully familiar and comforting. Before he even dared open his eyes, he started to snuffle round looking for the source of this fantastic smell.

'Oh Draco!' he heard McGonagall call again. 'Well done!' Well done, eh? She would hardly say that if... It might be safe to open his eyes. Just take a quick peek. Everything did feel OK, he was sure...

His limbs seemed to be working in a way that was new yet completely natural. They carried him closer to the smell that was pervading all of his senses, and, before he got to wherever his nose was leading him, he knew exactly what the smell was.

It was Harry. His very living, loving essence.

Still with his eyes screwed firmly closed, he felt Harry's hands around his face, mussing his fur. Yes, he had fur. And Harry was down on his haunches to speak to him, he could sense that. 'Draco', he heard Harry whisper into one of his ears, 'Draco, my love, is it safe?'

'Yes,' said Draco. Or at least, that's what he thought he'd said. But instead, all three of them heard a kind of gruff little bark, which was an odd sort of noise, but, thought Draco, definitely not a squeak.

Oh, thank the Lord.

He bounded away from Harry and into the bathroom, raised his front paws up onto the sink and stared in the mirror. Hey, Draco, not bad! The same soulful grey eyes looked back at him, but the face had the chestnut red colouring of a young fox. His fur was sleek and shiny, his body athletic and lithe, his demeanour clever and cute. Draco-the-fox felt he wanted to dart across fields and hide in woodlands, but his most overwhelming emotion was not animal but human: sheer relief.

Just as he was going to get down from the sink and pad serenely back into the room, a whirlwind of energetic black fur came bounding at him, half yapping half barking in a delighted frenzy, all skidding paws and wagging tail and sloppy tongue. It was a lean black sheepdog, some kind of border collie, with a white patch on his face and another on his flank, a mess of black hair over his bright green eyes, an ear that flopped forward that caused the dog to shake his head madly to try and get the ear to fall backwards, all wrapped up in a bundle of youthful exuberance. It bounced round Draco-the-fox who regarded it in wonder.

WOW!

Was that his boyfriend? If I hadn't already been in love with him, thought Draco-the-fox, I surely would be now... Draco felt a helpless, smiling-too- wide-for-his-face sort of affection. This was the kind of dog that would be your partner for life; open-faced honest, totally loyal, utterly trusting, endlessly giving. Harry-the-dog chased Draco-the-fox around the room briefly, and then cornered him against the bath tub, where they snuffled together for a little while in innocent animal inquisitiveness.

Hey, don't mess my fur! thought Draco-the-fox, laugh-yelping in a sort of foxy way. Communication - in the regular manner - was impossible, but each knew that the other's happiness was accompanied by a flood of relief.

Presently a sleek tabby cat, tail high, strolled into the bathroom and stood watching them in distant feline indifference. Dog and fox stopped their cavorting and faced her meekly; only one animal was in charge here. Suddenly McGonagall stood before them, human again, and spoke clearly, but with obvious enjoyment at what she had seen.

'Change back now, please, both of you, but I warn you that this stage is just as difficult as the first. Please take care.'

'Oh, thank God!' cried Harry as he grabbed Draco's arm once they were both in human form again. 'I never told you! I was so scared of doing that! Scared of what I might end up as!'

Draco had realised in the bathroom that Harry had been as troubled about this very issue as he had himself, but he hadn't noticed it in all the time they had actually been preparing for this moment. He felt a sudden pang of concern.

'What, Harry? What were you worried about?' 'I thought...' he looked straight at Draco. 'I thought I was going to be a snake.'

'Why on earth did you think that?'

'Well, you're forgetting,' said Harry, now looking away. 'I'm a Parselmouth.'

'Oh Harry! You could never have been a snake, you tit! Am I right, Professor, with his dad, and being a Gryffindor and everything?'

McGonagall smiled. 'I certainly never imagined a snake for him. In fact it was you I was more unsure of.'

'Now I feel really stupid,' laughed Draco.

'Why?' asked Harry.

'I thought I was going to be a ferret!'

McGonagall laughed with them. 'Right, you two,' she snapped, 'look sharp. We're all going out for a run.'

***

'I think this chapter is nearly closed,' declared Dumbledore a few days later. 'We may not know what the next one will bring, but, whatever, I want Harry and Draco back in the school before the end of term.'

The end of term was less than a week away now. The castle had been decorated in magic icicles and frosted Christmas trees, and the school was buzzing with people laughing and packing trunks and making plans for the holidays. Dumbledore and Snape were wandering through the entrance hall on their way to supper, and stopped to continue their conversation before entering the Great Hall.

'Will you tell them of your plans yourself?' enquired Snape. 'Yes. In a day or two. I'm going to London tomorrow, to the Ministry, ostensibly to see Fudge, but really to see Arthur Weasley. I just want to know exactly what the situation is before we bring Harry and Draco out of hiding. I know we can't keep this a secret for much longer, especially after that scare with Pansy Parkinson. But, if we can just buy a few more days, or even better, until the beginning of the new term, I think they will thank us for it.'

'Longbottom!' growled Snape, temporarily distracted as a crowd of Gryffindors swept past into the hall. 'Don't you owe me an essay?'

Neville cowered slightly and began to stutter excuses at the Potions master, and Hermione took the chance to have a word in Dumbledore's ear.

'Professor,' she spoke softly while the pair of them watched the almost comically predictable interaction between Neville and Snape, 'could I have a word? It's just I - sorry, we, I mean Ron and the others and me - have had an idea. It's about Harry and Draco.'

'You've beaten me to it, Miss Granger,' smiled Dumbledore. 'I wanted to speak to you, actually. Shall we meet in my office after supper?'

***

When Dumbledore entered their small kingdom in the early evening a few days later, both Harry and Draco knew instinctively what he was going to say. They sat closely together on their bed, holding hands. Dumbledore eased himself into one of the armchairs, and looked at them both.

'My boys,' he began. 'You've achieved more than I ever dreamt possible. You can Apparate. You're Animagi. You've marvellous abilities at Charms and Transfiguration, and excellent wand skills to back them up. If I'd imagined that we would achieve one tenth of this, I would have been fooling myself. I'm hugely proud of you both. But now I have to ask you to do the most difficult thing yet.'

Harry and Draco looked at him intently, breath held. 'I want you to return to your dormitories and to regular school life tomorrow. Tonight will be your last night in this room.'

However much they had anticipated this moment, the actual chill in the air as the words clunked around the room was not something they could have been prepared for. Draco gritted his teeth and stared at Harry, determined not to let the Headmaster see how much the prospect was unwelcome. Hell, it was more than unwelcome. It was unthinkable.

Draco held his tongue, determined to show his strength.

Harry couldn't though.

'Sir! Only one night's notice? Can't we have a little longer, just to get used to the idea? This is going to be really difficult for Draco, for both of us, can't we wait until the end of term? What's the point of making us go back just before--'

'Harry! Calm down; you're gabbling! It's a most unattractive habit.'

'Well said, Draco,' smiled the Headmaster. 'Now both of you, listen to me.'

Dumbledore took a deep breath and stared idly out of the window for a short while. When he did begin to speak, Harry and Draco weren't sure whether he wasn't actually speaking to himself.

'Of course, you see, Minerva had said to me all along, we really shouldn't meddle in this, and I knew she was right. She is nearly always right, you know. But I tried not to think of it as meddling, I preferred the concept of just 'steering' a little...'

Harry and Draco exchanged slightly odd glances and decided to keep quiet. Who could imagine what the stresses on his mind were? Maybe he was usually like this, just saving his twinkly grandfather act for in front of the regular students? Harry found himself slightly saddened by the melancholy pervading Dumbledore's whole demeanour. 'Dear old Alastor, you remember Alastor, Harry? - you met him very briefly of course...what a desperate shame that whole affair was - anyway Alastor sent me a box of his little toys earlier this term, just because we were worried about the security of the castle, and well frankly - one can't be too careful.'

'No, indeed,' said Draco encouragingly.

Dumbledore looked at them both as if surprised to find them there.

'Rowena Ravenclaw made this one herself, Alastor says,' the Headmaster continued enigmatically. 'And on the day the fauns came to the Hogwarts grounds, it was glowing and buzzing and burning like a forest fire. Hasn't stopped, to be honest. And when I saw it first, I knew what Minerva called meddling would be unavoidable. So much was at stake, you see, and still is; perhaps even more so now.'

He reached into his robes and pulled out a small glass sphere. He passed it to Draco. The boys regarded it in wonder.

'It's an Orbis Ardens,' he explained. 'A singularly beautiful piece of ancient magic. And all those tiny little fireflies inside...they're normally lazy and pale, still and lifeless. Run them past a couple hiding in the grounds, or expose them to the Astronomy Tower on a Saturday night, and they wouldn't alter, you know. Because the Orbis isn't fooled by things like that. Maybe those little flies haven't had anything to do for years...'

Close attention seemed the best course of action to this strange direction of the Headmaster's conversation, so Harry and Draco said nothing, staring intently at the Orbis.

'But. With you two in the castle, the Orbis has been reminded of its true purpose, and it burst into life. Which on one level was a joy of course, because it meant that the Crimson Cloud was again at Hogwarts. But on another level it was difficult, because of the blasted meddling...'

'Er, professor...?' ventured Harry. 'It can detect things. Love, mainly. The strong, powerful, magical kind; not the usual teenage sort. A visual indicator of the Crimson Cloud. What you're looking at, my boys, is the strength of what ties you together. And I've looked at it most days, and wondered about how we should go forward. And I confess, that many of the reasons Minerva and I decided to encourage the growing closeness between you, rather than let it develop at its own pace, were selfish. We simply couldn't risk it destroying both of you, you see, we needed to ensure that it made you stronger. And so, we meddled. We locked you both in here, and hoped and hoped, and watched, and hoped some more.'

He paused slightly, reddening.

'And for that, I must apologise.'

'What's to apologise for, professor?' asked Draco slowly. 'Neither Harry nor I would do these last few weeks differently even if we were offered an infinite number of attempts at them.'

'No, of course you wouldn't,' smiled the Headmaster sadly. 'But that's only because our gamble paid off; paid off beyond what any of us dared hope for. But had it gone wrong, had you been too young to cope with the intensity of it, had you not been able to overcome your differences, had the news leaked out and placed unbearable pressure on you, it could all have been so different. We decided never to tell you of the risks and of the dangers, because, I say again, we were selfish. We needed you, Harry, to be fitter and stronger than you have ever been. And we needed you, Draco, to be even stronger than Harry. Because one day, Harry is going to be called on to play a major role in a terrifying drama. And he'll need someone to inspire him and hold him, and someone to pick him up if he falls. And neither Sirius nor I, nor Minerva, nor even Ron and Hermione could ever be strong enough for that. But now, you can. But only because I locked you away in here and took a gamble. So again, I apologise.'

Dumbledore shifted in his chair and looked straight at Harry. His tone became, if anything, sadder. 'Harry, my dear boy,' he said softly. 'It seems all your life I've been meddling. I placed you with your dreadful Muggle relations. Despite their natural objections, I engineered your being educated here. I stopped you from spending the summers with Ron and his family, and I allowed you to step into all sorts of danger, hoping, knowing, that you'd come through it each time. All of which makes it even more difficult for me to sit here and interfere once more by asking you to leave this small sanctuary you have built. But I must do it. And I hope you will listen to the reasons why, and understand them.'

'Sir - bringing me to Hogwarts was hardly interfering!' began Harry, but Dumbledore held up his hand and spoke again.

'As I outlined before, you both now have many new strengths, of which you should be justly proud. But you also have a terrible, critical weakness: you can't exist separately. We know how difficult it is for you to be parted, how the Crimson Cloud binds you so strongly that you both feel pain. But that unfortunately is now a chink in your armour, and we must rectify it as soon as possible. I feel personally responsible for this, for without my interference - yes, Harry, that is the right word - without my interference, you would have come to terms with its implications over a longer period of time, and within the boundaries of a regular life. You would have got to know one another in smaller bursts, with time in between spent apart so that this current concern would never have been an issue. But in keeping you in here for these weeks, I never allowed you that time apart, and so it will now seem much more painful than it would otherwise have been. So, I propose that you spend the last three days of this term getting used to the idea.'

'But sir!' cried Draco. 'It won't be just three days! There's the--'

Dumbledore appeared not to have heard Draco. 'You have to understand,' he continued, his thoughts drifting like they had when he had first sat down, 'that I would never have taken these actions with any other couple here at Hogwarts. Think of your future; you may both have different jobs, different responsibilities. Time spent apart will be inevitable. I have done you a disservice by leaving you unable to cope with this aspect of the Cloud, so these last three days will be as vital to you as any number of charms and spells. It is, I hope, a small and manageable period of time. I promise it won't kill you.'

'But sir,' Harry said urgently, continuing Draco's previous thought, 'Draco is right. It's not just three days. There's the holiday after that, and that's about three weeks!'

'Ah,' said Dumbledore, the twinkle reappearing in his eye. 'It will be just three days. Certain, um, arrangements have been made. You will both spend the holidays here at Hogwarts, where you will be able to be much freer than you would during term time.'

'But...?' began Harry.

'How...?' wondered Draco.

'Draco, I wrote to your father a few days ago. I have just received his reply. He is absolutely delighted at your news.'

'Er, sir...what is my news?'

'That you came top in your year's academic standings this term. Your father was, as you can imagine, rather pleased, as this is the first time you have ever beaten Miss Granger.'

'Crikey. Did I really come top?'

'Quite so. The list on the notice board says exactly that. Position number one, top of the year: DL Malfoy, Slytherin. I wrote it myself.'

'But I've not been to lessons for weeks!'

'True. But you have learnt more than you ever could have in class.'

Draco paused, a pang of Slytherin pride rising in his chest. 'I smell a rat. Did I come top on my own merits, or did you fix the standings? Where did Hermione come?' 'Ah. I placed Miss Granger second in the year, which is, I admit, slightly below her usual standard.'

'Blimey,' laughed Harry. 'I bet she's gutted!'

'On the contrary,' smiled Dumbledore. 'She seems highly satisfied with her own position, and sends her congratulations. And no, I did not fix the standings, Draco. Your first place is merited. It has been difficult to compare you two with Hermione this term, with you not being in class, but one recent crucial spell of Miss Granger's was not successful, not entirely anyway, and the same cannot be said of you.'

Harry laughed again. 'That memory charm! Wasn't it?!! She looked so shocked when it didn't work on Pansy!'

'It did work actually,' corrected Dumbledore. 'But Miss Granger, being a fine student, had never practised an illegal charm before, and she miscalculated the force required. She did indeed remove some of Miss Parkinson's memory, but only one or two seconds' worth. Professor Snape has since helped her fill this gap in her knowledge.'

Draco looked pensive, still not entirely convinced. 'Where did Harry come? Harry's achievements have been as good as mine, if not more so.'

'Ah. I placed Mr Potter third, and here I must admit some tweaking of the facts. Technically I should have placed you joint first, Harry, but I thought, under the circumstances that you would not mind this arrangement; you'll have to excuse my meddling again. I'm aware that you've learnt just as much as Draco, but, the order needed to be er...just so, to produce the desired effect.'

'I don't mind at all, Professor. Third is far higher than I've ever come before. And I certainly don't mind being third to Draco and Hermione.'

'Are you sure?' asked Draco, marvelling again at the Gryffindor spirit. 'I don't want you to be denied something because of me.' 'Oh Draco, of course I'm sure! I haven't been denied anything here! And anyway remember how much more difficult than you I found Apparating? Your first place is completely deserved, and I'm well pleased with third!'

They looked at each other in silent mutual affection; Harry delighted with Draco's achievement, Draco admiring Harry's effortless nobility. Dumbledore coughed.

Draco looked hopeful. 'And exactly what was the desired effect you mentioned?'

'Ah. Well, with your great academic achievements this term, your father acceded to my request that you remain at Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday for some advanced tuition. He seemed pleased that I was taking this special interest in your education, and wholly approved of the schedule I have outlined for such extra magical training.'

'You mean...?' Draco was daring to hope that this might work out a great deal better than he had feared.

'Yes. Advanced Potions, some extra Charm and Transfiguration work, plus some more useful wand skills. Although there is not, perhaps, the need for your father to know that these extra lessons have technically already taken place.'

He smiled at both of them. 'And, it seems, that for one odd reason or another, I can't quite work out why, not many people are staying here for the holiday this year. In fact, I think it's only you two and a number of your Gryffindor friends, Harry.'

'So it will be only three days!' celebrated Draco, looking excitedly at Harry.

Harry's smile was so wide he thought his face might split. 'Sir, how can we ever thank you for this?'

'Thank me, Harry? There is no need to thank me. It is I who should be thanking you, considering my meddling.' 'But sir, there is every need,' persisted Draco. 'We're both immensely grateful for this time you've given us together. It's been wonderful. Are you sure there isn't anything we can do?'

'Well,' smiled the headmaster, 'if you feel like that, yes. Easy. Have the best Christmas together that either of you has ever had. Spend some time outdoors and get some colour back in your cheeks. Catch up with some of the lessons you have missed, if you find a spare half hour. Be good to your friends, who have suffered more than you may imagine during this whole episode. And...'

Harry and Draco waited expectantly.

'...for Merlin's sake get back on your brooms.'

'Oh!' cried Harry. 'My Firebolt! I'm not even sure I know where it is!'

'I think you'll find the youngest Mr Weasley has been zealously guarding it these last few weeks,' beamed Dumbledore. 'Hoping that one day you'll need it again.'

'God only knows,' despaired Draco, 'what those thugs in my dormitory have been doing with my stuff. I expect they'll have managed to trash my Nimbus somehow.'

Instantly Harry smiled to himself. He knew exactly what he was going to buy Draco for Christmas.

'So,' concluded Dumbledore. 'The Last Supper beckons. Would you like to eat alone tonight, or are you open to guests?'

'We can be alone later,' replied Draco, knowing instinctively that he spoke for Harry as well. 'Anyone who wants to eat with us, they are welcome. Within limits, of course,' he added, remembering the Parkinson Debacle.

'Quite so,' nodded Dumbledore. 'And what would you like to eat? You may have whatever you want, but the school will tonight be dining on chicken-and-ham pie. Isn't it odd how it keeps coming round on the menu?'

Harry and Draco laughed and laughed, and Dumbledore could still hear them laughing as he left the Hospital Wing, hoping, praying, that he had done the right thing.

***

When Draco had a moment to think later that night, he sat back from the table and regarded the three of them.

They had an almost telepathic means of communication. Not like he himself had with Harry, intermittent magical surges of emotions and feelings and certainties; theirs was far more specific, rooted in shared experiences, shared interests, shared loves. A single word would produce the same reaction from all three of them, triggering the same thoughts.

'Do you remember...?' Hermione might say. They all remembered, and all remembered whatever it was in the same order. The act of remembering was taken unconsciously for granted between them, and frequently the next comment to follow would be three or four steps down the line, leaving Draco wondering what they were talking about it. 'Do you think...?' Ron might suggest. Of course they all thought it, so much so that nothing ever needed explaining. They weren't defined by what they said, they were defined by what they didn't need to say. 'Couldn't we...?' Harry might wonder. Yes they could, they could do anything. Anything they wanted to. They had rewritten the school rules for their own benefit, they had gained the confidence and respect of all those around them, they had forged their own way of existing, empowering by its strength and rock-like in its reliability. They were a unit. They were a family. And they had no idea they were special.

But Draco didn't feel left out. Because whereas this Holy Trinity were united by their pasts, their presents and futures included Draco, as one of them, as an equal, as a link in their chain. And as so often as when he was with the three of them, he felt a warming sense of privilege, of joy, of genuineness. He'd never felt like this before. And he loved it.

Harry caught his eye. They were talking about something, it didn't matter what. Sometimes quiet and thoughtful, sometimes serious, sometimes overflowing with hilarity, but Harry caught his eye. And he mouthed 'I love you' silently to Draco, and then grinned and nodded his head as if Draco needed convincing on this point, and again, 'I love you, I love you, I really do...I love you'. Draco blushed, and again felt that overwhelming sense of belonging, and of security. Hermione noticed this little interaction, and absently placed her hand on his forearm while she was talking to Ron about it didn't matter what. That little touch, it said as much as Harry's endearingly over-the-top silent whispers. That little touch, it left a mark, it branded him; it made him one of them.

He felt that he could easily get used to happiness.

Maybe it was this telepathy that caused Ron and Hermione to leave shortly after that, but more likely it was Hermione seeing the secret glances between Draco and Harry and deciding it was time to leave them alone. But whichever it was, moments after the door had closed, and Harry and Draco were left together in their kingdom for one final night, they pulled off their clothes and fell into their bed, cuddled in each other's arms. No talking, no kissing, no moving. Just holding.

Draco was increasingly in awe of the magic of their relationship. Sure, there was the physical side, which had been - and continued to be - a complete and joyous revelation. As their inhibition had faded and their confidence had grown, they had explored each other's bodies and delighted in the other's reactions, as happy as two puppies snuffling around in a garden. And sometimes it was more than playful discovery; sometimes there was a do-or-die feel to their love-making, as if their very lives depended on the closest possible physical contact, as if the walls of their castle might crumble if they didn't constantly prove to the other, in bouts of anguished, profane pleasure, that nothing else mattered in the world. And it wasn't any one particular touch or kiss or intimacy that caused Draco to tremble with desire; for him, the high was Harry himself.

Which made the other side, the emotional, non-physical side to their togetherness, all the more tender. At moments like this one, when they lay together perfectly content to think the same thoughts and breathe the same air, Draco felt as much ecstatic happiness and closeness as he did in any number of their creative and uninhibited games. The peace of these moments allowed them both to bask in a glow of belonging, and for Draco, just looking - for whole minutes at a time - at the crown of Harry's head, or the line of his cheek, or the curve of his neck, filled him with so much wonder that he often could scarcely dare to believe that he hadn't spent the last few weeks daydreaming in delicious fantasy.

It was Harry who gently broke their reverie.

'Three days, Draco,' he murmured. 'That's all. Three days.'

Draco kissed Harry lightly on his neck. 'I can manage three days. Can you?'

'Knowing that when they are up, I will get to hold you again like this, yes; three days seems just about do-able. I'm not so sure about the three nights though...'

There seemed no more to say, and curled up together they drifted into a peaceful sleep

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

~

HEART OF DARKNESS

The entrance of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning made quite a stir for a number of people. At the Gryffindor table a crowd of students rose and cheered and Harry was immediately welcomed back into the bosom of his family. Those seated at the Slytherin table shuffled along the benches respectfully to make room for their returned leader. At the staff table, nervous looks among the Inner Circle betrayed an awareness that a new, unpredictable stage had been reached.

Everything felt different, almost unimaginably. They ate separately, on opposite sides of a vast room. They slept apart; the familiarity of the return to their own beds no consolation for the lack of the other's warm body. They conversed with others, constantly thinking of how they would have phrased things differently or answered more honestly had they been back on their own in the hospital wing. When they were not in the same room, they felt the other's distress, the other's need, eating away inside of both of them.

But being in the same room was scarcely any easier. Lessons were a strange novelty for both Harry and Draco, none more so than Potions, where they sat within feet of each other, not even catching the other's eye, but spending the entire time trying to resist the aching pull they both felt to reach out for the other. Harry was also experiencing the strangeness of pretending to be rubbish at Potions again, and oddly this itself seemed to bind them together a little. When Snape administered an end of term quiz, which he perversely thought of as something of a treat, Harry felt the answers leap into his head almost before Snape had finished reading each question. Even with the distress of not being able to talk to, or touch, or even just smell Draco, Harry felt himself able to laugh a little inside: thinking of the magical afternoon of the Perceptivity Potion, he went through his paper and changed some of his answers to ones which were incorrect. After all, he didn't want the rest of the class thinking he had cheated. He watched as, two rows in front of him, Draco's shoulders shook slightly in silent sympathetic laughter, his body and hair moving in ways which reminded Harry of situations far more intimate than a Potions quiz. Oh my God, thought Harry, he knows exactly what I'm doing! Then, kind of in honour of Draco himself, hoping Snape would forgive him under these unusual circumstances, Harry made one answer so inept that it was likely to risk a double-figure point deduction. Hermione noticed what Harry was up to, and regarded him in complete disbelief; Ron glanced at Harry's paper too and thought nothing amiss as he filled in a couple of his own blanks with some of Harry's wilder suggestions. Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation.

But Dumbledore had been right. Either in the same room or not, it hadn't killed them.

One day became two, and two became three. On the last afternoon of the Christmas term, Harry, Ron and Hermione were walking together in the grounds as most of the rest of the school were preparing for the journey home the following morning. The cold snows of the previous month were gone, and had been replaced by some bracing grey drizzle. It was the kind of winter weather that can sap the life out of many caught in England in December, but for Harry, no air had ever felt fresher. He hadn't realised how much he had missed being outside (during daylight at least) and was only regretful that Draco, for the sake of maintaining what they both thought of as an increasingly stupid charade, wasn't there to share it with him.

Not that there was any lack of affection in evidence that afternoon. As the three walked round the Quidditch pitch and back towards the lake, Ron and Hermione, holding hands, would frequently stop and kiss, gently and with a little embarrassment. Harry felt delighted for his friends, but couldn't help thinking it would be better if he weren't there. On the fourth time their walk was interrupted in this way, Ron and Hermione giggled and looked at each other.

'Harry,' Ron beamed, 'we've got something to tell you. And I bet you ten Galleons you'll like it.'

'What?' asked Harry. 'Are you going to have babies?'

'Ooh, Harry, don't be silly,' Hermione smiled. 'Missing him?'

Harry rolled his eyes. Missing him? If only it was as easy as missing him.

'You don't want to put an embargo on affection, you know,' grinned Ron. 'Not the way you and Draco carry on.'

'Learn that word from Seamus, did we?' giggled Hermione. 'But you're quite right, Ron. They don't have a monopoly.'

'We're not that bad!' cried Harry, thinking how fortunate it was that 95% of his and Draco's affection was kept behind closed doors.

They moved off towards the lake again.

'So if it's not babies, what is it?' asked Harry, intrigued.

'Ah,' began Ron. 'Yes. We've had an idea. A plan, you might call it. We thought...'

'...that seeing as we are to be a small and select group this Christmas,' continued Hermione, 'with one new addition, of course...'

'...that we'd try and make it the best Christmas any of us has ever had, you know, just to try and put all the crappiness from earlier in the term behind us all, and because obviously there's also a lot to celebrate...'

'...so we've got permission from Dumbledore to do something new. He's going to let us have a special meal in the Gryffindor Common Room on Christmas Eve!' beamed Hermione. 'And after that,' smiled Ron, 'you and Draco can sleep in our dormitory, you know, for a bit of privacy...'

'...while the rest of us are going to have a sort of sleepover in the girls' dorm, and then in the morning...'

'...we can do private presents in bed, then group presents in the Common Room. Then a lazy morning and ...'

'...lunch with the staff. What do you think?' finished Hermione, happily.

'What do I think?' laughed Harry. 'I think... how long have you two been completing each other's sentences?'

They all laughed.

'I think it sounds marvellous,' Harry smiled. 'Just one thing. It sounds like you've got everything planned, so I won't interfere, but is there any way we can do something special to make Draco feel welcome in Gryffindor House? It will be quite odd for him...'

'Don't worry about that,' Hermione smiled enigmatically.

'It's all been thought out,' added Ron, and the two of them laughed a private laugh.

'I won't ask then,' Harry said, slightly confused.

At that moment, they heard a loud roaring sound from behind Hagrid's hut.

'What on earth...?' wondered Ron.

They went round the back of the hut to find Hagrid tinkering with the motorbike, holding an oily rag and a huge mug of tea, wearing a vast shapeless yellow garment that might at one time have been a pair of giant dungarees. 'Hello you lot!' he said cheerily. 'Merlin's beard, Harry, it's good teh see yeh out an' about at last! Jus' fixin' up the bike for a wee trip tomorrow.'

'Where are you going?' asked Hermione.

'Off teh London, on a bit o' school business fer Dumbledore,' he said, looking rather shifty. 'Once I've seen everyone off on the Hogwarts Express.' A guilty expression crept over his face, and he added, quietly, 'but p'raps I shouldn't o' said that.'

'Ooh, secret mission?' grinned Ron.

'Summat like that, maybe,' agreed Hagrid, looking uncomfortably like he wanted the subject changed.

'Really?' asked Harry suddenly, his mind working along other lines. 'London? Will you have any free time? If I give you a list and my key, could you get some money out of Gringotts for me and buy some stuff?'

'Sure, Harry. No problems. Jus' mek sure yeh get the list teh me tonight. Ah'm off very early in the morning.'

'Oh, Harry, what an excellent idea!' agreed Hermione. 'Hagrid, can you do the same for me?'

'Of course. What about you, Ron? Want anything from London?'

There was an awkward pause in which Ron said nothing and Harry felt his friend's acute discomfort where the matter of money was concerned.

'Yes,' said Harry determinedly. 'Ron will have a list too. I owe you ten Galleons, remember, Ron? You were right, I love your Grand Christmas Plan.'

Ron looked at Harry oddly, and after only a couple of seconds' hesitation, the pair of them grinned warmly at each other.

Hermione looked pleased at this moment of understanding between them. 'And don't spend it on me,' Harry whispered into Ron's ear. 'Spend it on Hermione.'

As they strolled back to the castle in the half-hearted rain, all were happy. Hermione knew that their Christmas Plan was going to work, Ron was grateful for the seamless way in which Harry had stepped round what was still Ron's biggest insecurity, and Harry knew that it was only a few hours before he could be with Draco again. None of them noticed the rain.

***

Having Harry back in the dormitory had been a good thing for all of them, but especially for Ron. There had been just one night when they had all five been there on good terms since the day of the Great Clear Up, and on that night, the night of Harry and Ron's reconciliation, Harry had been shepherded to bed by Ron just after supper. Not since the Boys' Book of Spells (Special Edition) was brought into existence, about two and half months before, had there been any real hilarity involving all of them, and in those three days of separation, despite the permanent ache of absence in Harry's heart, the five found it easy to drift back into carefree tomfoolery as if the break in festivities had been just ten minutes rather than ten weeks.

Ron was their captain. There were games and contests, late night chats, dormitory Olympics, corridor Quidditch, long talks and quick jokes, races, special Hogwarts-rules wrestling matches, high-spirited debates and near- the-knuckle teasing. Harry couldn't believe that he had pushed it all away before. And he knew that much of what Ron was doing went far deeper than his wanting to be master of ceremonies. It took Harry a while to realise it, but he knew that on some (probably subconscious) level Ron was trying to compete with Draco for the number one place in Harry's life. And to be fair to Ron, much of what he offered Harry in those three days was way beyond anything Draco could ever have thought of. But there were other more obvious reasons Ron was playing court jester, which both Harry and Hermione had seen straight away and been pleased by, as they all boiled down to one thing: Ron was madly happy at having Harry back, even given it was only to be for three days, and even given Ron would still rather look back than forward.

The night before the Hogwarts Express was to take the main body of the school back to London, Harry and Ron stayed up talking on Ron's bed well into the small hours, having a conversation both of them knew to be long overdue. With a silencing charm in place, Harry finally found the time and place and privacy he needed to apologise whole-heartedly to Ron for how he had treated him earlier in the term, and to explain what he'd been going through, what he'd been thinking, and how he had never meant any of his behaviour to be deliberately insensitive to Ron and the others. Ron found himself able to accept and understand everything Harry had told him, but wanted Harry to realize a few things too: that there had never been any need for Harry to cut himself off, and that both he and Hermione had felt desperately hurt that Harry had ever doubted their support. Interestingly enough it was Harry who saw the real truth of this conversation: that it was necessary for these old wounds to be re-opened before they could heal properly. But, over a course of several hours and the odd tearful moment, heal they did.

Ron brought the matter to an end.

'Well, I guess we can finally close this dreadful chapter,' he half-smiled. 'You'll be reunited with Draco in a few hours, and I'm glad we've been able to sort things out before then. I doubt we'll get another chance to talk like this for some time.'

'Oh Ron,' sighed Harry. 'Is that what this is all about? You think that as soon as I can see Draco again I'm just going to ignore you like I did before?'

'Well, not really. But you can't deny that after tomorrow morning you're not going to want to sit around talking to me for hours.'

'Ron! This isn't a case of either/or. I will still always be your best friend, even if I live with Draco for the rest of my life. Did you think I only had room for one of you? Don't be so stupid, you silly tit. Of course I'm going to spend time with Draco, as much as possible. But that doesn't mean I like you any less. Moron.'

'Yeah, Harry, you say that now. And I wish you all the best, I really do, I love thinking of you being happy at last. But just remember: if you ever get bored from time to time, I'll still be here--'

'Ron!' Harry laughed, punching him on the arm. 'Stop yourself right now before you begin to sound like a total prick! Think about Hermione. If you went off and married her and had twenty kids, would you think any differently about me? This is the same thing! As long as you can accept Draco, and be happy for us, and as long as we've drawn a line under how badly I've behaved this term, there's no reason why anything should change between you and me!'

It was odd for Ron to find that Harry was right about matters other than bravery and nobility and sheer nerve; that was more typically Hermione's territory. But that was indeed the case, and sometime after 2am they reached a point where, to the immense satisfaction of both, there was nothing more to say. Smiling properly at last, they both turned in.

The next morning, none of the members of the fifth year Gryffindor boys' dormitory had to get up to leave on the train, but the day began as early as any other. For one reason, the House was alive with the sound of shouts and cries and people dragging trunks and cases across floors and down stairs. Ron especially, usually one to favour a long sleep-in in preference to almost anything else, seemed to be affected the excitement buzzing in the rest of the House as he fumbled his way towards Harry's bed to wake his friend. He'd set his alarm for just after 7am, only a few hours after he had eventually got to sleep. He knew how much Harry was longing to be with Draco again, and wanted to make sure that his friend was up and dressed in good time. As he drew back the curtains early that December morning, there was just enough light to see that Harry was already sitting quietly on the end of his bed, fully dressed. He had obviously also showered, and had a pretty good stab at taming his hair. 'Blimey, Harry!' laughed Ron. 'How long have you been up? I thought you were sleeping properly again!'

'He's been sitting there since at least half past five. I saw him when Hedwig's scrabbling woke me up,' yawned Seamus. 'And it looks like he's spent over an hour in the bathroom. So God alone knows what time he got up!'

'Harry! Harry? Are you OK?' Ron turned to Seamus. 'Can he hear me?' he asked.

'Of course I can hear you, you git.' Harry rolled his eyes. 'What time is it?' he demanded, although he was actually holding his Snitch-clock in his hand.

'Ten past seven,' said Dean.

'The train leaves after breakfast, which starts at eight today,' supplied Neville.

'So! Not much longer to wait then!' Ron smiled.

Harry tried not to laugh.

'Now, Harry...' Seamus affected the voice of his oft-imitated Irish mother. 'Have you cleaned your teeth?'

They all laughed, including Harry.

'Ha! Has he cleaned his teeth?' Neville sighed. 'Only about six times in the last hour. Harry, do you think that will be enough?'

'It has not been six times!' cried Harry.

'Well, tell us it wasn't more than once though,' Dean laughed.

Harry blushed. 'Well, OK. I just wanted to look nice this morning. Don't mock.' 'Oooh, and you do, Harry! You look gorgeous!' teased Seamus in an accent even more Irish than that of his mother. 'I don't know how he's going to resist you during breakfast!'

'I refuse to get embarrassed,' shouted Harry above the din of the others laughing, but sniggering to himself at the same time. 'One day, all you little boys, if you're very lucky, will know how I feel right now. Until that time, don't take the piss. You've no idea. None at all.'

'Er...?' queried Ron, smirking and theatrically rolling up his pyjama sleeves. '"Little boys"...?'

'Uh-oh,' said Neville to nobody in particular, watching the other three launch themselves on Harry in a bout of energetic Hogwarts-rules wrestling. 'Just nobody mess his hair up!'

***

Having served the tea, Dumbledore looked across the desk at McGonagall and Snape. They both regarded the book - recently delivered by Hagrid - which sat in front of the Headmaster.

'It's as bad as we feared,' Dumbledore stated slowly. 'Perhaps worse. But I suppose at least some questions have been answered. Although more may have been posed.'

The Headmaster's colleagues sat and waited patiently for his thoughts to be explained.

'The memories contained within this book are almost exclusively happy, just the sort we imagined. But the last page is, I'm afraid, not something I shall want to see too many times. But you must see it. And then we will have to talk.'

Dumbledore carefully turned the book around to face McGonagall and Snape, opened it at the first page and pushed it towards them. He sat back and watched them turn the pages cautiously. Each page was like a small scene, like a clip of film or a collage of wizard pictures, some just silent laughing figures, some with voices ringing out. McGonagall caught her breath at a page containing James flying his broom, and at another with Lily sitting with the infant Harry under a tree. Snape stayed silent throughout, until McGonagall turned onto the last page.

They both gasped at the unfolding images. But the pictures were nothing to the sounds that rang from the book and filled the circular office. It was no more than a couple of minutes that they sat there both watching in revulsion and disbelief, but the memory would stay with them for much longer. McGonagall sat back, horror-struck, sniffing into a lace handkerchief. Snape, stony-faced, gently closed the book and pushed it back toward Dumbledore.

There was silence.

'Well, now we know why Lucius took this book,' grimaced Snape, eventually.

McGonagall choked. 'We absolutely cannot give that to Harry.'

Dumbledore said nothing, but looked to Snape for an opinion.

'I am inclined to agree,' he concurred.

There was more silence.

'If we don't give it to Harry, what do we do with it?' prompted the Headmaster.

'Destroy it,' said McGonagall immediately.

'Destroy it?' Dumbledore echoed. 'Are you sure? All that happiness; the kind he has craved and never known?'

'He's happy now, though,' offered Snape, gruffly. 'Isn't that what all this has been about? So what's to be gained from letting him see this?' 'Nothing,' persisted McGonagall. 'Not that I can see. If you don't want to destroy it, why not just hide it away? It can go back to Gringotts tomorrow and stay there till he is older.'

Snape looked doubtful. 'How much older though? Eighteen? Twenty-one? Thirty? Who's to say when he'd ever be ready, if it all?'

'Let it stay there forever then.'

Dumbledore stayed quiet.

McGonagall looked hopeful. 'Could we let him have it with the last page removed?'

'But what would we do with the last page?' sighed Snape. 'Destroy it, hide it, keep it for him? It's the same issue.'

They had lapsed into silence again, but McGonagall suddenly burst out, 'I can't even believe we're having this discussion! Why on earth should we wish to put him through this? Don't we all want the best for him?'

After another little while, Snape said to Dumbledore, 'well, what do you think?'

The Headmaster drew a long breath and began to speak tentatively.

'I understand totally how you feel, Minerva. We all feel protective of him; we've felt that all his life. And we've gone to great lengths to look out for him, keep an eye on him, protect him where we can. In short, we've meddled.'

'Of course we have!' McGonagall cried. 'He's got no parents!'

Dumbledore took a long sip of tea from the delicate china.

'Another thing we're guilty of is underestimating him. Hasn't he always surprised us with his resilience? With his bravery, and determination? So much so, in fact, that we have sometimes actually begun to bank on his qualities. He's much more buoyant than we think, and even stronger since his attachment to Draco. But apart from his physical and mental strength, isn't there another issue here? Doesn't he have a right to see this?'

McGonagall coughed slightly but said nothing.

'But these are, I grant you, all inconclusive things. He might be strong enough. He might benefit from some closure in this appalling matter. On the other hand, he might be crushed. For all I've learned about him, I still don't feel I know him well enough to be sure. Short of asking him myself, I cannot decide what to do.'

'So we do nothing?' wondered Snape.

'No. I think this is too important to ignore. But I think you hit on it, Minerva, when you said we cannot give this to Harry. I agree. We cannot. But maybe someone else could, someone who knows him better than anyone, someone who could judge precisely how it could be done with the least harm. I'm going to give this book, complete, to Draco.'

McGonagall gasped. 'Are you sure that's wise? Draco is not just a bystander in this affair. He is bound to have issues of his own to deal with. In giving the book to Draco, aren't you just going to give a different boy a different sort of pain?'

'Maybe, Minerva, maybe; you are often right in these matters. But what is the alternative? Think of this: Draco is as strong as Harry, and is himself very mature; he knows Harry better than we do, so his gut reactions will more likely be the right ones. And considering what's in that book, this is a matter that concerns both of them more than it does any of us.'

McGonagall sighed heavily and Snape nodded. It was the closest they would get to agreement.

'However much anxiety Draco is going to feel over this,' concluded Dumbledore, 'I suspect he himself would not want it any other way. I will call him in to speak to him this evening.'

*** With only a handful of students left in the castle, and those that were all being part of the Grand Christmas Plan, Harry and Draco had been free to behave however they wanted from the moment the last carriage had left for Hogsmeade station. And they had lost no time.

The second Harry had found Draco idling around the main steps at the front of the castle, a breathlessness overcame him which wasn't relieved until the two of them, hearts racing, had fallen into an urgent snog, and tried to maintain this connection as they proceeded clumsily in the general direction of the rose garden. Shortly afterwards, anyone looking out of one of the castle's windows might have seen a border collie and a fox scampering madly to the furthest part of the grounds well beyond Hagrid's hut and the Quidditch pitch. Human again, they created a nest of heavy cloaks and jumpers under a tree where, oblivious to the cold wind and intermittent downpours, they spent the greater part of the day talking and kissing and enjoying other intimacies.

About four o'clock that afternoon it began to feel as if they might just be getting on top of making up for three days of separation, when they suddenly realised it was dark and they were starving. Just as they noticed the appalling weather for the first time and were standing up to go back to the castle, a silent brown barn owl swooped down and perched on Draco's shoulder, proffering its right foot. He took the message and tore it open quickly.

'Bugger and blast,' moaned Draco. 'Dumbledore wants to see me this evening. Will you be able to cope for a little while without me later, Harry?'

'Perhaps,' smiled Harry. 'Will you?'

***

The first of Draco's reactions on leaving Dumbledore's office was one of gut-wrenching nausea. After that, in turn, he went through shame, disgust and disbelief. He walked, staggering, not knowing where he was going, his eyes stinging. As he reached the main door to the castle grounds he ran blindly, in an uncontainable fury, as if by running he could actually distance himself from this terrible situation. By the time he was half way to the lake he had arrived at despair; sitting in the spot where he and Harry had both smoked a cigarette some weeks before, all the emotions of the previous half hour now assaulted him together, churning his stomach and heart in a sickening, hopeless chaos.

That cigarette. It had only been a few weeks before, but it now seemed like another lifetime. In a way it was another lifetime: none of what Draco had held dear before that day seemed even remotely attractive now. But even considering the joy of being with Harry, he felt, were it possible, that it might still be better to return to his pre-faun ignorance and arrogance than deal with what now faced him. He held his head in his hands as he dared to let his mind consider what Dumbledore had just told him, had just shown him. This place by the lake, this was where it had all started. And it might also be where it all ended.

He sobbed. For Harry, for himself, for injustice, for love.

Draco could recall every thought, every word, every image of his exchange with Dumbledore with frightening clarity, and it was impossible to tell which was the most shocking aspect of what he had seen.

At first, coming face to face with such an extraordinary book was certainly an eye-opener. Realising what the book contained - that was fantastic. He suspected instantly why Dumbledore was talking to him rather than to Harry himself - here was something very special to be returned to someone very special, and who better to make the presentation than that special person's special person? He loved some of the images he saw. A picnic. A walk in the country. A family tea by the fire. James and Lily and Harry, Dumbledore had pointed out sadly. How staggeringly like his father Harry looks, Draco smiled to himself. He was delighted when he thought his Christmas present problem might be solved.

But when he began to wonder where on earth the book had come from, and why Harry hadn't possessed it all his life, he realised there was something unpleasantly familiar about it, and he was hit by a ghastly thought. It was triggered by one particular page; one on which there was someone he recognised. It was almost unreal to think it was him, but there, staring back out of the page, was a young Sirius Black astride a large motorbike, smiling and waving. Dumbledore said that this book contained pages from Harry's past, but of course Draco had no way of knowing for sure who he was actually looking at until he saw that image of Sirius. Suddenly this book was linked in his mind with Harry's godfather, not just with Harry himself, and within seconds he remembered the conversation they had had while Harry had been in a coma. Draco knew right in the core of his bones that the book he was looking at was the same book that he had seen once before: sitting on his father's knee in the library at Malfoy Manor.

He looked at Dumbledore, who stared back at him impassively.

'How did you get this?' Draco asked eventually.

'I admit some skulduggery,' said Dumbledore gently. 'When we realised what the book you remembered might be, we set about recovering it. We were concerned that, in the wrong hands, it could be a threat to Harry's safety.'

'The wrong hands in question being my father's?' Draco asked without emotion.

Dumbledore said nothing. And in the Headmaster's silence, Draco had his answer.

'I'm assuming my father did not just hand it over without question?' Draco said, as if thinking aloud.

'No,' replied the Headmaster without embarrassment. 'He didn't hand it over it all. If he has missed it, I doubt he knows where it is.'

Draco was incredulous. 'You stole it?' Quite apart from wondering how it had been done, Draco couldn't believe that Dumbledore would resort to such underhand tactics. 'We... reclaimed it,' rephrased Dumbledore. 'It had already been stolen.'

'But... how did you know what it was? Even I didn't know what it was! Sirius couldn't have known either, just from the conversation we had!'

Dumbledore retreated into his thinking-aloud, staring-into-the-distance kind of conversation. 'Funny how these things work out,' he mused. 'You're not the only one to have seen this book before, Draco. Close it and look at the front cover.'

Draco did so, and read:

For James and Lily, on this happiest of days, from Albus Dumbledore

'Oh my God,' Draco cried, staring in astonishment at Dumbledore. 'It was a wedding present from you!'

'Yes, although I had forgotten about it. A small gift in its way, just a scrap book, enhanced with a charm of my own. But Sirius sensed the importance of the memory you had, and the circumstances in which you recalled it. And I guessed what the book was from what he said to me at the time, although I wasn't totally convinced it was the same book until it was delivered to me earlier today. But there is no doubt. There it is.'

'It was delivered to you? How exactly... no, don't say. I don't want to know. Except I must say that whoever ran this recovery mission for you was in great danger. The wards covering the Library alone are designed to be lethal. To say nothing of those on the rest of the house, and the grounds.'

Draco leafed through the book again, smiling at the happiness caught in the pages.

'So, is it a threat to Harry's safety, in the wrong hands?' Draco asked.

'Alastor Moody thinks probably not. However, in the right hands... those issues disappear.'

'Well,' sighed Draco after a while, not quite understanding what Dumbledore had said. 'Harry will love it. I'll give it to him for Christmas. My father had no right to this book, and it will be my pleasure to return it from my family's illegal keeping to Harry's rightful ownership. But I'm left wondering why on earth my father took it.'

'Ah. Yes. Indeed.' Dumbledore seemed to lose coherence for a while, then looked Draco sharply in the eye. 'I had been wondering that too. But now I know. This will be difficult for you, Draco, very difficult. But I ask you to look at the last page.'

Draco sensed the reluctance in Dumbledore's voice, and he felt a chill as he slowly picked up a wedge of pages and let them fall down, revealing the final page of the scrap book.

Draco guessed the scene was James and Lily's house in Godric's Hollow. Harry was with Lily in an armchair; she was singing softly to him. James entered the room, smiling broadly, with news of a Quidditch triumph. The scene glowed with familial love, Harry at its centre. But then there was a blinding flash, and the intrigue and wonder of the book were obliterated in a single moment as the room was suddenly streaming with Death Eaters. Draco knew instinctively what he was about to witness, and recoiled in horror, unable to stop staring at the page. At this moment of realisation, he found himself inexplicably wondering whether the flash was caused by the Dark Magic necessary to Apparate through protective wards, or the magical destruction of those same wards. As a way of trying to black out - at any cost - the awfulness of what was unfolding before him, he tried frantically to remember what Sirius had told him about the Fidelius charm, and work out how it might affect the hiding place itself, but he was hurled back to hideous reality as the crowd of Death Eaters parted and the gruesome image of a disfigured and twisted man was revealed in their midst. Under a thick black cowl there was a pocked skeletal face with cruel glinting eyes, an angular nose and an evil, narrow mouth: Voldemort. The sweat ran cold over Draco's body and he pulled his robe closer to him. He watched in repulsion as the thin lips parted slowly and a demonic high- pitched cackle filled the room. The Death Eaters were chanting, as if in some kind of religious trance; Lily was screaming; James was shouting manically, incensed, outraged, blinded by fury, brandishing his wand in all directions, ordering Lily two, three, four times to take Harry and run.

'Run, Lily! For God's sake, run!' cried Draco in desperation.

Lily was rooted to the spot by the horror surrounding her, maddened by the futility of trying to hide Harry under her robes. There was the crash of furniture overturning as the Death Eaters overpowered James, and he was restrained by some kind of stasis charm. It didn't stop his voice though, and he bellowed one final enraged cry, one final desperate plea to Lily to try to get away. They were the last words he spoke, as Voldemort closed in, his cackling now closer to ecstasy as he extinguished James's life with the death curse. As James fell heavily to the floor, Lily screamed and her scream ran through Draco's blood like ice; he wanted to slam the book shut and burn it, but some inner grit forced him to keep watching. The monotonous chanting of the Death Eaters was rising in volume like a thronging, maddened mob and Voldemort's possessed cackling was now intolerable, but Draco thought he would rather listen to that for a hundred years than have to hear Lily's heart-rending cries. Her voice wracked in a desperation Draco couldn't begin to comprehend, she pleaded with every ounce of her soul, not for her own life, but for Harry's.

'Not my son! Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!'

Tears streamed down Draco's face. 'Oh God, no!'

'Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead--'

Shielding Harry with her body, Lily stood up defiantly to Voldemort, the certainty of death etched across her beautiful face, at once both terrified and brave beyond imagination.

Draco struggled in his seat, overwhelmed by feelings of fury and helplessness. He needed to help her... she was going to die... she was going to be murdered...

'Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy...' Draco was falling, falling through an icy mist. He heard Voldemort screech the words Avada Kedavra in a blaze of vivid green light. A long dying wail filled the room as she struggled in her final seconds to conceal Harry under her robes, until she slumped to the floor next to James, Harry still cradled in her arms. The Death Eaters closed around the couple in excited, morbid anticipation of the final kill, and Draco saw Harry's face, open, trusting, miraculously yet tragically oblivious to the unimaginable danger he was in. As the death curse was cast for the third time, the images on the page descended further into chaos as Voldemort's spell rebounded from Harry and back towards the Dark Lord. His cackle metamorphosed into manic, disbelieving shrieks of agony. The Death Eaters swarmed again, this time in panic, and Harry was forgotten. As if caught in slow motion, Voldemort's body vaporised to nothing, the black robe drifting silently to the floor. The uproar among the Death Eaters reached fever pitch and then there was one final image: one of them, standing away from the rest of the group, came closer to the book, regarding it intently. His face appeared on the page, cold, calm, unemotional, then he reached out his hand and the images faded abruptly from the page; he had evidently closed the book. But the face of the Death Eater crushed Draco as much as any of the other appalling things he had just witnessed.

That face was still with him now as he sat beside the lake in the rain. It was the face of his father.

***

'Er... Ron, what exactly are you doing?' mused Hermione, watching Ron concentrating very hard with a scrappy piece of parchment, chewing on an old quill. 'Don't tell me it's homework, because I will simply refuse to believe you. And you've got ink on your lip, by the way.'

They were sitting in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione and Harry playing cards with Ginny and Seamus, Neville and Dean playing chess. Ron sat apart, scribbling occasionally.

'Errrrmmm...' came Ron's meaningless reply. 'Steady on, Herm, don't disturb him,' laughed Ginny. 'He's trying to do the seating plan for our meal on Christmas Eve. So far he's managed to get the number of chairs right, but beyond that...'

'Oh,' giggled Hermione. 'You mean, this seating plan?' she said as she fumbled in her bag.

An elaborate and carefully drawn chart was produced from within the depths of Hermione's voluminous book-bag and Ginny gazed at it. 'Oooh,' she cooed. 'That's good!'

Harry glanced over, intrigued.

Hermione moved the chart out of Harry's view and passed it to Ron. 'Not yet, Harry,' she said firmly. 'The arrangements for that night are a surprise. Wait and see.'

'Oh, Herm, this is good,' said Ron, looking it over in appreciation.

Suddenly Harry felt gruesomely sick and light-headed, clutched his stomach like he'd been kicked hard and slumped in his chair with a groan.

'What is it?' asked Ron instantly, and all eyes turned to Harry.

'I don't know,' he said slowly. 'I think Draco is upset. Really upset. I'm going to go and try and find him.'

Ron got up to go with him, but Hermione pulled him back as they watched Harry exit the portrait hole. 'Let him go,' she said. 'If something is wrong, they'll need to be alone.'

***

Still his father's face haunted him, as he sat with his eyes screwed shut, trying to block out the image, sobbing, terrified, lost.

He was simply overwhelmed by the book's implications. As his crying began to subside, he was bombarded by a cascade of terrible thoughts, each suffocatingly worse than the previous one. It was dark and cold, well after 8pm, and he wore only the light robe he had been wearing in Dumbledore's office. An insistent and dreary drizzle soaked and chilled him to his very bones, but he didn't notice. There was only room for one thing in his mind. And he couldn't bear to look at it.

But, as so often in the way of something too awful to consider, avoiding the issue only makes the awfulness worse. The thoughts wouldn't go away, they just wouldn't. Draco stared into the dark water of the lake as the thoughts besieged him, forcing him to look them in the eye, one by one, leading him, pulling him on a journey whose inevitable destination was... unthinkable.

The book had been a wedding present from Dumbledore. Naturally, Dumbledore had only ever envisaged the happiness the book might offer, and what happiness it was, for the most part. But Draco couldn't now see anything positive in the pure, innocent happiness of the rest of the book; it only served as a hideous contrast to the last page. The last bloody page.

If only the book had been made with one page fewer! If only it hadn't been open on that day! If only... if only...

If only I didn't have to deal with this myself! This was Ron's territory - he was Harry's best friend; or Hermione's - she always knew how to deal with something difficult; or Dumbledore's - he always saw the full picture, he would know for sure; or McGonagall's - she was Harry's head of House, it was her responsibility surely; or perhaps Hagrid's - he had known James and Lily, he would surely resent Draco interfering in this matter; or maybe Mr and Mrs Weasley's - they had after all practically adopted Harry, they would have a parent's wisdom; or Sirius's. Yes! Certainly it was Harry's godfather's duty to sort this out.

I could owl him in the morning, thought Draco desperately. Dumbledore could give the book to him. After all, Sirius was James and Lily's best friend; I never even knew them. It's got nothing to do with me. God knows why Dumbledore thinks I can deal with this book... This book... an outrageous and appalling violation of an object that should only have been for joy. The kind of joy Harry had yearned for all his life. How Draco longed to see Harry's face when he saw the book. He would be ecstatic! Delirious! Right up until the moment when he would see... when he would see... NO! Please no! Damn this book... this book...

This book had been made possible by Dumbledore himself; that should only have made its magic even more special. But it had been desecrated so horrifically that it now included a tableau of the deaths of Harry's parents. No! Not even a tableau! The actual images, the actual experiences, the actual agonies and sufferings!

The real thing. Complete and unabridged.

Oh Jesus, the death of Harry's parents! Parents! Harry's parents! Their deaths!

All his life Draco had known the story of the Boy Who Lived, which was - with each passing year, as Harry grew and the time between him and that awful night increased - essentially a happy story: Harry was a hero to most of the Wizarding world, he was Triwizard champion, he was the youngest and best Seeker in a century, he was the pride and joy of a nation and he embodied the hope of a new era. But because of this bloody book Draco had been slammed up against the truth so hard that it had left him winded. Sure, Harry was the Boy Who Lived; but he was also the Orphan Son of Murdered Parents. Draco had known this all his life too, but few people ever dwelt on that aspect of the story. Harry did of course, and Sirius, and Dumbledore, and a few others; but for most people the truth about Harry Potter was simpler, sanitised, with the pain removed.

Tonight Draco had seen the pain.

James and Lily's deaths, and the attempted murder of Harry himself, were recorded in the pages of a magical book. Was there anything on earth that was worse than your parents being murdered? Yes: having those murders captured in living image for all time. Forever. In a family album. To look at again. To torture yourself with. To tie yourself into knots with. To taint every future scrap of happiness with a permanent reminder of a grisly truth. Oh Harry! How you don't deserve this! It will sit on your shelf forever, taunt you, haunt you, a macabre keepsake of the parents you never knew, a heart of darkness in a life dogged by tragedy. It will fester inside you for years, it will never heal. You will never let it heal. You are too proud, too stubborn, too noble. And I won't be able to help you with it, because you will look at me, and all you will see is my father...

My father, who was present that terrible night...

My father, whose presence makes him complicit in their deaths...

My father, who is a murderer.

In this book was incontrovertible evidence of his guilt. Whatever anybody had ever said, whatever anybody had ever thought, despite Draco's knowledge of his father's acute interest in the Dark Arts, despite circumstances, and rumour, and evidence, Draco had never been completely certain of his father's involvement with the Dark Lord's disciples. Perhaps he had known it and blanked it out. Perhaps he had known it and chosen not to believe. Perhaps he had known it and dared to be proud of the exalted position his father occupied without comprehending the atrocities that inevitably accompanied it. He had admitted it to Crabbe and Goyle. He had admitted it to Pansy. He had even more or less admitted it to Harry. But he had never admitted it to himself.

But now, here it was. Proof. His father was a murderer. His father was a liar, a thief, a plotter, a schemer, a killer, a torturer, a blackmailer, a fraud. A façade of a man. The great Lucius Malfoy. Indecently wealthy, ruthlessly clever, absurdly handsome. But all his gifts and talents and privileges were exploited to hide the truth: Muggle-killer, wizard-murderer. And what more did this book imply about his father? How many more unspeakable crimes did it point to? Blast my father! Damn him! Why?

Why? When he already had everything a man could want, when there was nothing in the world he couldn't buy? Why? Draco wept in frustration, in shame, in uncovered denial. The rain, heavier now, lashed at him out of the darkness, freezing him, drenching him, but coming nowhere near removing the stain of his father's actions. Oh Harry... oh Harry... how will we ever get over this book, that night, your parents, my father...?

My father stole this book. And he did NOT destroy it. He kept it. Draco's despair was mounting to unsustainable levels. He was shaking, trembling, unable to stop the cascade of thought that bombarded him almost faster than he could follow. He must have been keeping this book as some kind of chilling memento. A trophy. A sickening souvenir of a day-trip to Godric's Hollow. Draco imagined the scene, he couldn't help it; his mind was racing in random directions. Hello Narcissa darling, I went to Godric's Hollow today and I picked up this little book. Charming, isn't it? Look at the happy little people enjoying their picnic! And then it was stashed away in a special place in his father's prized library: in the glass-fronted cabinet with the elaborate lock, along with his books of particular value or rarity. Draco didn't suppose his father was bothered much by Voldemort's demise; perhaps he was growing bored with it all. He doesn't care about anything. Not me, not my mother, so why should Voldemort have been any different?

His father certainly hadn't looked mad with grief like the other Death Eaters. Draco pictured him, flicking through the book, later in life, idly recalling that day in Godric's Hollow, the day he was an accomplice to murder, the day the Potter baby proved so tiresome, the day the Dark Lord was unfortunately vanquished and condemned to an indefinite period of existence without the convenience of a body. And on one such subsequent perusal of this dreadful token, young Draco was summoned to the library: Hello, Draco my son. Come and sit on my knee. Today's book is a special book, because some books can hold more than words. They can hold memories...

Memories that belonged, without doubt, to Harry. Memories that would form his entire knowledge of his own parents. Despite what it contained, Draco felt in deep in his stomach that this book was crucial to Harry. And he was crushed to think that he had seen the book more times than Harry himself, who wasn't even aware of its existence. Oh Harry! Can any love, Crimson Cloud or otherwise, be strong enough to cope? If I love you for eternity, will it mean I never have to confess? Can any act of contrition of mine absolve the sins of my father? Draco was caught in an impossible trap, and he knew it. His father pulled one way, Harry the other. Abruptly, out of the uncontrollable racing of his frantic mind, a thought crystallised itself so clearly in his head that it blotted all the others out. A choice. A dilemma. An impasse, beyond which he couldn't see. A decision, the most important he would ever make.

Destroy the book: live with the shame of his decision for the rest of his life, maintain the fake reputation of his murderous father, deny Harry his terrible inheritance.

Present the book: risk losing Harry forever, ruin his father, put Harry through hell.

Suddenly Draco was aware of the cold and the rain, and he stared into the intense blackness of the lake, shivering wildly. There was another way out. Just one moment of mad bravery and he would be released from this quandary for all time. It seemed logical. Scarily so. And he couldn't actually be any wetter or colder than he was at that moment. He stood up shakily and moved in the heavy rain towards the edge of the rock, his robe sopping and heavy, his fair hair plastered to his face. He stood teetering on the brink, the icy water just feet below him. The rain continued teeming, oblivious to Draco's actions and intentions.

Time stopped.

COWARD! screamed his father's voice in his head. WHAT ARE YOU? YOU WOULD CHOOSE HIS HAPPINESS OVER MINE? OVER YOUR OWN?

Draco whimpered. Please, leave me alone, please!

COWARD! IS HE WORTH DYING FOR? DO IT, THEN! DO IT! 'SCREW YOU!' shouted Draco fiercely into the wind and rain. 'SCREW YOU, FATHER! I CAN'T DECIDE! SCREW THE FUCKING CRIMSON CLOUD! AND YOU, HARRY!'

Fuck, what am I doing?

He was a Malfoy. Malfoys don't cry. Malfoys don't throw themselves in lakes. Malfoys don't have ethical dilemmas. Malfoys don't put other people first. Nobody is worth dying for. He didn't need Harry; he didn't need his father. Why should my own life suffer because of this? The Crimson Cloud can be beaten. I can walk away from this. Screw that book. Who cares who has it? I bloody don't.

'Draco!'

Gaining a trace of strength, he glanced again into the water and tried to sneer in contempt at his own foolishness. Would he really have done it?

'Draco!'

Nobody could mean that much to anyone. Enough to die for. It was only the Crimson Cloud that made him feel like that. It wasn't really him. Surely.

'Draco! Draco, please! Answer me!'

But if anyone in the world meant enough to him, it was Harry. Harry. Harry. His brief burst of defiance ebbed away as he thought of Harry.

'Draco!'

Harry. Harry who knew what he felt. Harry who he loved. Harry who he would die for.

'DRACO!'

Harry. Harry who was even now gathering his limp, exhausted, freezing body into his arms, who was begging him to talk, whose very presence bathed him in a love he had never known from his father. 'Draco, please talk to me! What's the matter? What on earth's happened?'

Harry. Harry whom he didn't deserve. Harry who removed his own cloak in the pouring rain to try to warm him. Harry who somehow found the strength to lift Draco into his arms and struggle under his weight on the long trek back to the castle.

'Draco!'

Harry. Harry whose warmth flooded through him so that the rain seemed to stop falling. Harry who held him. Harry who would always hold him.

Harry.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

~

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

Dumbledore's office was decorated in a way that was both enthusiastic and refined, but none of those gathered there on the morning of Christmas Eve were particularly concerned with the hundreds of twinkling lanterns that were festively suspended from practically every point possible.

The faces were sombre as the Headmaster began his summing up.

'Things have reached crisis point,' he started. 'And so to preserve the status quo in the castle, I have stopped all owls delivering messages from outside these walls to any of the students remaining here. I have let presents through, and will give them their missing correspondence tomorrow afternoon. Thank goodness I have stopped the Daily Prophet being delivered here since the end of term. I think only Miss Granger has noticed its absence.'

He glanced at that day's headline, the last before the newspaper's two-day Christmas break:

FUDGE DEPOSED AS ATTACKS INCREASE

Dumbledore scanned the columns, and quickly summarised the details for Snape and McGonagall.

Lucius Malfoy has had Fudge removed as Minister on grounds of incompetence, and has "reluctantly accepted" the post of Acting Minister while a replacement is sought.

McGonagall snorted.

Dumbledore approached for Minister's position. McGonagall and Snape both looked up.

'First I've heard of it,' mused the Headmaster.

Another attack by a group of Death Eaters on Muggles in central London, near the building Voldemort is presumed to have commandeered as his new HQ.

'Eliminating witnesses?' thought McGonagall.

Three members of the Muggle cabinet reported missing for six hours yesterday. Back at work last night.

'Presumably Death Eater replacements using Polyjuice Potion?' pondered Snape.

'I think we must assume so,' said Dumbledore.

Vast migration of giants in central Europe. Increased numbers of veelas arriving in London yesterday and the day before. Record numbers of street brawls in all Wizarding settlements. Six werewolf attacks in the last three days, and we're a week from a full moon. Three break-outs from Azkaban. Igor Karkaroff thought to be hiding in Ireland.

'Let's hope he's doesn't decide to hide here,' sighed McGonagall deeply.

Dumbledore flicked through a few more pages. 'There's more,' he said, 'but it all amounts to the same thing. Look through it at some point today if you have the stomach for it.'

He shuffled some papers on his desk and continued.

'It gets worse. An owl two days ago from Arthur Weasley: the increased threat of Voldemort rising to power has caused total chaos at the Ministry. People missing, behaving irrationally, all office procedures broken down, not enough man power available to administer Muggle memory charms, Hit Squad wizards dead, Aurors overstretched. Morale low and falling.'

His colleagues were silent. 'Another owl from Arthur this morning. Lucius has sacked him. He's out of London and at the Burrow with Molly, awaiting instructions from me. An owl three days ago from Lucius Malfoy demanding that Draco be returned to him by what was, when he wrote, last night. He accuses me of withholding Draco's mail. He is right of course. Owls from Brigid Finnigan and Edna Longbottom expressing worry and support. An owl yesterday from Arabella Figg detailing a ransacking of the Dursleys' home in Surrey. Presumably that security has now been broken.'

Snape looked impassive, deep in thought. McGonagall fiddled nervously with her teacup and saucer.

'But these two are the most immediately problematic,' continued Dumbledore without emotion. 'An owl from Quentin Parkinson first thing this morning. He is furious, claiming that what he calls "routine magical security spells" have revealed that a memory charm was performed on Pansy some time this term. He doesn't say if he has managed to recover the memory, but we all know he has the Dark Arts know-how to do so. And I am guessing he has, from a further owl which arrived half an hour ago, this one from Lucius Malfoy again.'

Dumbledore held up the paper and read it to his colleagues.

Headmaster. From a frantic correspondence this morning from Quentin Parkinson and from Draco's failure to arrive at Malfoy Manor last night, I assume that I have been deceived as to the real reason for Draco's detainment at Hogwarts this Christmas break. Despite increased weighty duties pertaining to my new responsibilities as Acting Minister of Magic I will be arriving at Hogwarts tomorrow morning to remove Draco from the school, where I can only assume he is being held against his will. He will not be returning in the New Year, or at any other time. I would remind you that the post of Headmaster of Hogwarts School is within the gift of the board of governors of which the Minister of Magic is chairman, and any failure to comply with my wishes in this matter may result in your replacement in this role. Sincerely, Lucius, Baron Malfoy, Minister of Magic, Order of Merlin (First Class). 'When was he awarded the Order of Merlin?' choked McGonagall.

'Second act of his new administration yesterday, I would imagine,' grimaced Snape. 'Straight after making himself a baron.'

'Yes, indeed,' pondered Dumbledore. 'He always did have delusions of grandeur.'

There was a moment of quiet as McGonagall and Snape adjusted themselves to these developments.

'I have taken a number of preliminary decisions.' The Headmaster's voice was calm and controlled. 'The news embargo in the castle is to remain in place until after Christmas Lunch tomorrow, which gives us the chance to put other arrangements in place before we ruin the students' Christmas. By the end of today we will have been joined here by Arabella Figg, Alastor Moody, the entire Weasley family, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Together with all the staff that remain on the premises and all the students that are still here tomorrow afternoon we will form the very beginnings of a group that will ultimately defend the castle against all comers. The castle will become the headquarters of all those in opposition to Lucius Malfoy's administration, which we must assume is merely a political front for Voldemort's intentions. When all are assembled this evening I will resign as Headmaster of Hogwarts with witnesses so that Lucius cannot have me removed. You, Minerva, will become Acting Headmistress, and you, Severus, will be her Deputy, although the posts will be nominal as I doubt we will be able to reopen the school in the New Year.'

The pair nodded solemnly.

'Between tonight and the arrival of Lucius Malfoy tomorrow we will work to make the castle impregnable with new wards and security devices. Alastor has been working on a way to make the castle and grounds invisible to everyone except those that are within it, which should mean that Lucius or any others won't even be able to locate us unless we desire it. We will not be able to hold off the world forever but we should gain ourselves some time for thought and provide a haven for others sympathetic to our cause. After lunch tomorrow I will give all the students the mail I have been withholding and offer them the chance to leave, although I have already received confirmation from their families that Longbottom and Finnigan will be staying. The Weasleys will be here anyway, and Harry will obviously stay as he has nowhere else safe to go now that the Dursley house has been compromised. That leaves Hermione Granger, who will almost certainly choose to remain, Dean Thomas, about whom I have no idea, and of course Draco. We will give him all the facts and let him choose, with the assurance that if he decides to stay we will protect him from his father for as long as we are able. If he chooses to go, we will have to hope that this does not destroy Harry completely. They managed the three-day trial separation without too many problems but I have no way of knowing how that blasted book will have affected things. If Draco goes, he goes. We will have to forget him and make our plans without him, and hope that the presence of all those that are close to Harry make the loss less difficult to bear.'

The strength and command of Dumbledore's tone filled Snape and McGonagall with hope.

'Meanwhile, Christmas, such as it is, will run from now until lunch tomorrow. I do not know what will happen afterwards. But I want Harry and Draco to have just one year when they can be together. We will not mention anything to the students until tomorrow afternoon, and any guests arriving tonight will be concealed from them. That is all we can do at the moment. Merry Christmas. We must enjoy it while we are able.'

***

It was grey and blustery in the afternoon when the students remaining in the castle went out for some fresh air. Christmas spirit abounded in the Gryffindors, except in Harry, who had not been able to get to the bottom of what Draco had been so terrorised by out at the lake on the day the school had departed for the holidays. Harry had carried him into the castle and up to the Gryffindor common room, stripped off his wet clothes and wrapped him in blankets from his own bed. Then he had sat with him in his arms in a deep chair pulled right up close to the fire while the other Gryffindors tiptoed round them not really knowing what had happened. Harry didn't know what had happened either, and he still didn't, because Draco had said exactly nothing. Not for the whole of that evening, after which Harry refused to let him sleep alone in Slytherin House, instead sleeping with him in the chair by the fire. Nor had he uttered even a single word until about lunchtime the following day. And although he had eventually begun to talk again that afternoon, he hadn't once referred to why he had been out at the lake, or what had upset him to the point of crisis, or even what Dumbledore had wanted to see him about. He was no less loving to Harry. He was not bad-tempered, or unfriendly, or unappreciative of the concern for him. But there was a wall up, and Harry sensed there was nothing he could do to get Draco to lower it until he was ready and, as frustrated as Harry was, he had had to try to let it go.

As they lagged behind the others on their winter amble around the grounds, Harry stopped and turned to Draco.

'There's not one minute passes when I don't rack my brains for some way to help you with this burden,' he said, before turning away, embarrassed that he should have said something so silly even to Draco.

Draco's hand pulled Harry's face back to look at him, his own eyes and face betraying nothing, his mind racing behind the façade. Then he slowly kissed Harry on the forehead, saying nothing, but thinking how desperately sad it was that within a day he was going to knock all the happiness out of Harry without knowing whether he could ever put it back.

As they carried on walking after the laughing group, Draco held Harry's hand noticeably tighter.

'Quidditch!' yelled Ron, the captain of games. 'Game played on brooms, Ron,' clarified Dean. 'You know, Bludgers and a Snitch, four hours of rain and so forth.'

'No, I mean, Quidditch!' repeated Ron in irritation. 'Let's play! There are eight of us, we can play four-a-side!'

It should have been an impromptu bit of fun, but by the time they actually got around to playing it had become something far more serious. Brooms were fetched from the castle, owned and loaned alike; and the set of practice balls was acquired from Madam Hooch. Hermione insisted that the Bludgers be enchanted so there were no injuries. Instead of playing on the full-sized school pitch beyond Hagrid's hut, Ginny and Neville marked out a smaller area nearer the castle with a boundary charm, and Draco took a pair of fallen branches and transfigured them into a single goalpost for each end. But these preparations were nothing compared to how the eight would divide into teams.

'One Beater, Chaser, Seeker and Keeper per team,' offered Neville. There seemed no arguing with this. But there were plenty of other things to argue about.

'So do we play with one Bludger, or two?' asked Ginny.

'One,' decided Ron.

'Two,' countered Hermione. 'They're going to be a bit lazy, remember. We should cope with both.'

'But we'll have fewer players,' said Dean.

'And it will depend on how well each team functions,' thought Seamus.

'That will be down to the two captains,' stated Draco.

'Who will they be?' wondered Harry.

'Not you and Draco,' said Ginny.

'Why not?' asked Neville. 'Too obvious,' said Hermione. 'We're all going to play, not just be bystanders to the two fastest brooms.'

'No arguments from me,' said Draco.

'You don't want to be a captain?' Ron wondered, bemused.

'No. I just want to be on Harry's team.'

Hermione giggled. 'Really? I challenge you to say that again and not sound quite so endearing.'

Draco gathered himself up and deepened his voice. 'I'm going to play on the same side as Harry.'

They laughed and Harry looked pleased. 'I'd like that very much too,' he beamed.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'That's simply not on,' he declared. 'You two are the best players here, it's fairer if you're split up.'

'You think I'm a good player, Ron?' smirked Draco casually, causing a surge of hope to ebb through Harry. This was more like it; Draco had actually sort of smiled. He almost wished Draco had called Ron "Weasley".

'Well,' back-pedalled Ron, flushing a bit, 'that's the general feeling in the school, for some unknown reason...'

'Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph!' cried Seamus. 'We'll never get started! Let them play together if they want; it's only a game. How about Harry and Draco play on the same side but neither is captain and neither is Seeker?'

'That should offset the advantage,' thought Neville.

'So couples can play together if they want,' continued Dean. 'Hermione. Do you want to play on the same side as Ron?'

Hermione laughed. 'Good Lord no. Not if it means being seen to be as sickeningly lovey as this pair,' she choked, indicating Harry and Draco. Ron looked surprised. 'Well, obviously I seem to be playing on the team opposing Hermione's.'

'Got it!' laughed Seamus. 'Ron will captain a side consisting of himself, me, Dean and Nev. Herm will lead the other side with Ginny, Harry and Draco. Captains will decide positions within the teams. Tis very fitting.'

'Why is it fitting?' asked Ginny.

Seamus grinned mischievously. 'Boys v Girls, of course!' he crowed, and the others collapsed into laughter.

'Right, Finnigan, fetch me a skirt,' Draco snorted. 'We'll see who the bloody girls are!'

Six brooms circled around as Ron and Hermione stood in the centre of their make-shift pitch, unloading and enchanting the balls. The Snitch was released, flitting immediately out of sight. The Bludgers loped off at an easy pace. Ron held the Quaffle in his hands.

'Fair game?' he asked Hermione, going through the etiquette.

'Not bloody likely,' she smiled, as Ron tossed the Quaffle in the air.

Within minutes there was mayhem in the sky in front of the castle that Christmas Eve. Any positions that had been decided on were soon forgotten as all eight players concentrated on the Quaffle and dodged the drunk Bludgers. The sides traded three goals each, and with the score at 30-30, the competitiveness of the match raised sharply.

'Dean! What are you doing?' cried Ron. 'We're basically playing with three men, with you messing about over there!'

'I'm setting an offside trap!' called Dean, looking pleased with himself.

'You great Muggle eejit!' bellowed Seamus. 'This is Quidditch, not football! There is no offside rule!'

'Exploit their weaknesses!' ordered Hermione to her team. 'That won't be difficult,' drawled Draco, deftly catching the Quaffle from Ginny and speeding under Ron's broom. 'Harry!'

Harry caught the Quaffle, dived expertly to avoid a Bludger, and tossed the ball back to Hermione straight past Dean's left ear.

'Ooh, nice play!' cried Ginny.

Hermione bolted above the crowd of arguing boys with the Quaffle under her arm and Ginny swiftly followed in support.

'Watch out!' screeched Ron. 'Our goal is undefended!'

Neville, nominally the Keeper, tried to swing round 180 degrees and pursue Ginny. In the process he knocked Harry's Firebolt and Harry swung temporarily off balance.

A ninth broom swooped down into their midst.

'This match is appalling!' yelled Madam Hooch. 'You need a ref! Longbottom, that was either atrocious play or a deliberate foul. Either way, it's a penalty to the "Girls"!'

'WE ARE NOT GIRLS!' shouted Harry and Draco together, laughing, sharing a connection that they hadn't for some days.

At the other end of the pitch, Hermione scored unopposed and she and Ginny hooted in delight.

'HERMIONE SCORES!' bellowed the magically amplified voice of Hagrid, who was standing on the touchline with a number of other staff. '40-30 TO THE "GIRLS"!'

'HOW MANY TIMES DO I----' Draco began at full blast, laughing so much he was having to hug Harry to stay upright. But a sharp blast from Madam Hooch's whistle cut him short.

'Stay up that end, Miss Granger!' shouted Madam Hooch. 'Penalty to be taken! Which of one you is supposed to be your Keeper?' 'I'm the Keeper!' cried Ron, Dean and Seamus in unison, all glaring at Neville.

'Three Keepers? That is rather unusual; but then this is by far the silliest game ever played on Hogwarts grounds,' said Madam Hooch. 'Very well, line up!'

Hermione, as captain, took the Quaffle and faced the three Keepers. Draco casually batted both Bludgers away to prevent them interfering.

'Go for it, Herm!' cried Ginny.

Hermione charged at the three boys and loosed the Quaffle underneath them. They all three pounced on it, colliding heads and limbs in the joint effort, but just managing to prevent Hermione's shot from slipping through.

'Good shot, Herm!' cheered Harry. 'Notice it took three of them to stop you!'

'PENALTY SAVED!' came Hagrid's voice. 'AND IT WOULD HAVE BEEN A BLOODY EMBARRASSMENT IF YOU HADN'T!'

'Hagrid, please!' reprimanded McGonagall. 'And I thought Jordan was bad!'

There was no stopping them now. For a further twenty minutes the battle heated until the score stood at 90-70 to the "Boys", most of the goals coming from penalties rather than effective play.

'Come on!' screamed Hermione, urging her troops on. She intercepted a pass between Seamus and Dean, flung a Bludger at Neville and tossed the ball to Ginny. Ginny, in her excitement, launched it way beyond the main crowd of players. Harry and Draco immediately chased after it.

'Think you're fast enough, on that Firebolt, eh, Harry?' smirked Draco as they raced side-by-side.

'A Firebolt outstrips a Nimbus by some way, Draco,' stated Harry matter- of-factly, jostling knees with Draco as they pursued the Quaffle. Harry thought of another Firebolt, the one wrapped up and waiting in the Tower to be given to Draco the next day. 'Today at least I shall beat you to the ball. As usual.'

They both sensed a rising tide of competition between them, as if it was the Snitch they were chasing in a real match, as if it mattered. Grinning to each other, they suddenly both pushed their brooms to top speed.

This will be the last time we ever play on mismatched brooms, thought Harry. After tomorrow we really will know who is the better player. He spurred his Firebolt past Draco, buzzing on the sudden burst of adrenaline from the competition.

This will be the last time I ever have a chance of beating him, thought Draco. After tomorrow... after tomorrow, Quidditch is going to become a complete irrelevance. He urged his Nimbus faster. Just once, just once, I am going to beat Harry Potter...

Suddenly Harry slowed and dropped behind Draco, leaving the way forward for him to catch the Quaffle. What on earth am I doing, competing with Draco? Does this matter? Draco's had something awful on his mind for days, and all I can think of is beating him in a silly race?

Blast him! thought Draco. What's he doing, behaving like a gentleman? My one and only chance of some tiny sense of achievement on the Quidditch field, and he takes it away from me by waving me past him? Draco dropped back too.

'S'okay, you get it,' said Harry. What kind of victory would it be if I'd only beaten him because Draco was too preoccupied with something awful to be able to concentrate?

'No, it's alright, you get it,' said Draco. What kind of victory would it be if I'd only beaten him because of Harry's integrity, especially the day before I'm going to... the day before I'm going to... Draco didn't finish the thought, because suddenly the Quaffle changed direction in mid-air and was suddenly bolting back in the opposite direction beneath them.

Draco and Harry looked at each other in surprise, then both recalled Ginny and Neville's boundary charm. They laughed.

'What the bloody hell are you two doing?' exasperated Hermione as she caught the Quaffle, which had effectively leapt into her hands. 'You're supposed to be on the same side!'

Both aware of the competition between them somehow receding, they laughed at themselves warmly.

'YOU TWO, CONCENTRATE ON WINNING THIS MATCH, OR ELSE!' bellowed Hermione. 'CAPTAIN'S ORDERS!'

Draco and Harry grinned and headed back into the action.

'Nice flying,' said Draco, sideways.

'Not bad yourself,' conceded Harry.

'Need to work on your turns a bit, mind.'

'Your braking needs a bit of attention, too.'

'GINNY!' screamed Hermione suddenly.

It was the Snitch. It was zooming up the pitch between Hermione and the others. Ginny saw it immediately and went after it at full pelt. All four of the boys charged after Ginny. Hermione flew with astonishing doggedness straight at Ginny with the Snitch midway between them. Harry and Draco, out of the area, sat on their brooms and watched, amused.

'Well, one of them is going to get it,' observed Draco.

'Imagine. A Quidditch match with you and me both playing, and neither of us gets the Snitch,' mused Harry. Ginny was having trouble staying ahead of the boys. They were interfering with her broom, trying to hold her back.

'FINNIGAN!' warned Madam Hooch.

'Seamus!' shouted Ron in surprise. 'I though she was your girlfriend?'

Ginny, oblivious to the boys' squabbling, reached forward at full stretch, her hand within inches of the lightning-fast ball. She was nearly there... But suddenly her broom was knocked away from her, and she was sent reeling out of the mob.

'NOT FAIR!' she screamed in frustration.

'PENALTY!' yelled Madam Hooch.

But at that very second there was the sound of a hand swiping the Snitch out of the air, and Hermione went wheeling over the boys, with a huge 'YES!' of victory.

'"GIRLS" WIN, 220 POINTS TO 90!' bellowed Hagrid's commentary.

'WE ARE NOT GIRLS!'

***

Molly and Arthur Weasley sat in Dumbledore's office and took in the enormity and gravity of the situation facing them. The news was not good, not at all; but it was not all bad either. Among the group assembled there was a feeling that lessons learned from Voldemort's previous attempt to seize control of the wizarding world were going to be of great value now; furthermore, Arthur had a list of about fifty names, Ministry workers and others, who he deemed to be incorruptible and obvious allies. A plan of sorts had emerged, and all were buoyed by its possibilities.

They would set up a Ministry in exile. Out of London. At Hogwarts in fact.

Arthur's thoughts of recent days had become the kicking-off point for their discussion. Get the upper hand this time. Instead of waiting until our friends and colleagues disappear or are turned against us or even killed, simply remove them from Voldemort's grasp first. Establish a rock-solid core of opposition, base the Aurors' activities where they cannot be subverted, garrison the Hit Squad wizards at the very hub of the operation. Hogwarts is impregnable, the safest place in England. This time, it will be different. We will be ready. Voldemort won't be able to pick us off one by one; he'll be forced to deal with a united force. A force with Dumbledore at its head. That would convince the magical world that there is hope. That there really is hope.

The circular office buzzed with conversation and plans. It was evening, a cold rainy grey Christmas Eve, but guests had begun to arrive shortly after the students' Quidditch match, and there was now, despite the black news from outside the castle, a real sense of hope. And a sense of Christmas too.

Fred and George Weasley looked around them. Tricks, jokes, pranks, they all seemed out of place now. They were aware that they were sitting in on a meeting of possible historic importance, only present themselves because their parents, on the morning of Christmas Eve, had inexplicably told them the family were travelling to Hogwarts, and the twins were to come along and keep-bloody-quiet-or-there'll-be-hell-to-pay. And for the most part Fred and George had sat quietly, not saying anything, which was unusual enough for some of the staff to wonder if they were sickening for something. Percy and Bill were more at home; both had valuable insights and observations to bring. Charlie, they were told, was on his way, currently making progress through the vast network of fireplaces across Europe. Arabella Figg, she was an odd old sort; the twins hadn't really known what to make of her. Finicky about some things, like the half-dozen cats she had arrived with, worldly-wise about others. Alastor Moody skulked in a corner with Snape, discussing security. And Black! Yes indeed, Sirius Black himself, mass murderer and escaped convict, he was there, with the entire trust of all assembled. There he was now, talking to their mother and McGonagall. Their father was talking to Remus Lupin. Hooch, Pomfrey, Sprout, Flitwick, Hagrid, they all knew as well. There was a whole secret movement being born in front of the twins' very eyes. More of their father's colleagues would be arriving over the next couple of days, more trusted friends of Dumbledore's too. It was exciting. There was an air of expectancy. There was hope. And, after all, it was Christmas Eve.

Sirius moved away from their mother and towards Dumbledore. The twins caught a snippet of what passed between them.

'Yes,' said Sirius under his breath. 'Draco wrote to me. He's going to give it to him for Christmas, tomorrow morning.'

'So be it. We shall have to wait,' replied Dumbledore.

Fred and George looked at each other, mystified. But they didn't think about it long, as at that moment another body entered the room.

'Charlie!' called their mother in joy. The twins looked pleased. Weasley Boys all back together! This could be a good few days, despite the awful circumstances.

Dumbledore was pleased too, and he also was aware it was Christmas Eve. As the crowd had expanded to the total he had expected, he had surreptitiously introduced drinks to the group. The twins watched him watching them help themselves to some punch. And he had smiled, and gone off to talk to their parents again, huddling them into a corner. Fred and George couldn't hear what was said, but they didn't mind especially. It wasn't as if they hadn't already heard about ten years' worth of interesting information.

'Molly, Arthur, there's just one more thing you ought to know,' began Dumbledore. 'It's about Harry.'

'Is he alright?' asked Molly nervously. 'Ron wrote repeatedly about him being ill this term; I have been terribly worried.'

'He's fine, truly, he is fine. He is well, and getting stronger each day. But...' The Weasleys regarded the Headmaster with concern. Dumbledore was fiddling with a small glass sphere.

'Is that...?' wondered Arthur.

'Yes, it is,' said Dumbledore. 'An Orbis Ardens. Molly, Arthur, the Crimson Cloud has been hovering above Hogwarts for most of this term.'

'Oh how lovely!' Molly cried. 'And who has been blessed?'

'Harry.'

'And...?' Arthur asked, slowly.

Dumbledore coughed. 'Draco Malfoy.'

Molly stumbled. 'Lucius Malfoy's son?'

'Yes. I am afraid it made both of them rather ill, as they both refused to accept the implications. They had a lot of trouble understanding that the Cloud is not the cause in its own right, but springs from something that already exists. Harry in particular was dangerously ill. But he has recovered, and they have both faced up to their feelings. For a while now they have been as hopelessly enamoured as you two were when you were here at school.'

Arthur looked thunderstruck, and Molly's face was nearly scarlet. 'Lucius Malfoy's son?' she repeated. 'A MALFOY? And Harry is... happy with this?'

'Molly, Arthur, I assure you that Draco Malfoy is not cast in the same mould as his father. Try not to judge him until you have met him.'

'But...' continued Molly, 'you're sure? Is he really worthy of Harry?'

'Possibly he is the only one who is.'

'And you are sure that this is not a trick, and Harry is genuinely happy?' stressed Arthur. 'Very much so. But it has taken a long while for him to feel that, and this been a difficult term for him.'

Molly let out a deep sigh, shaking her head, still stunned.

'Has there been any increase in magical ability?' asked Arthur, more calmly.

'My word, yes. Quite extraordinary in some instances.'

Molly and Arthur shuffled their feet, looking sideways at each other.

'You will both realise of course that this adds an unforeseen complication to our plans,' said Dumbledore softly.

'I'll say it does,' said Arthur. 'Lucius must be fuming.'

'Lucius doesn't know. Furthermore, Draco doesn't know his father is Acting Minister, nor does he know that his father is coming here to fetch him tomorrow. That meeting, if it goes ahead, is likely to be problematic on both sides.'

'Lucius Malfoy is coming here, tomorrow?' gasped Arthur.

'Yes. Hence the need to keep this meeting utterly secret. I only hope that when he does leave, Draco does not leave with him.'

'If Harry and this boy are bound by the Crimson Cloud, they won't be able to be separated,' said Molly. 'We know that.'

'Indeed. But Lucius is a strong force; yet, I do not know exactly how strong his hold over Draco is. However, Draco's decision, such as it is, is likely to be taken before Lucius even arrives. There is one last piece of undiscussed business between Draco and Harry, one last critical complication. It should be resolved, one way or the other, by lunchtime tomorrow. Before he even knows his father intends to remove him from the school, Draco will know where his future lies.' 'But...' began Arthur, '...if the Cloud has been accurately confirmed, there is nothing that can ordinarily come between them.'

'Ordinarily.'

'So, are you saying that this last "complication" is actually serious enough for them to consider even trying to live apart?'

'It may be, I don't know. But I know how crucial it is. If they get over it, Draco is likely to be turned against his father forever. If they don't, Draco may well think the rift between him and Harry is so great as to be unbridgeable, and that he can't be any worse off by leaving with Lucius tomorrow. Considering whose son he is, Draco's staying would be of considerable advantage to us, as you can imagine. It all comes down to this, I'm afraid: Harry is fast becoming more of a match for Voldemort with the strength he has gained from Draco, but as to what happens to Harry if Draco leaves, and the Cloud is fought, and Harry becomes low and magically unstable...well, I really couldn't say.'

'But this is frightful! This affects all of us!' cried Molly. 'Isn't there anything we can do to tip the balance?'

'No. There are eight students in the castle who have no idea what is going on outside these walls. They are going to have a trouble-free Christmas, a happy one, so that when Harry and Draco come to address this issue, the only factors in play will be their own feelings; I don't want this complicated by news from outside, or by pressures from third parties. I have meddled in these boys' lives enough; I have already taken gambles that would appal you. Quite apart from the Cloud, this is either going to bind them together or fling them apart, and therefore it has to be down to them alone. We will wait, and we will hope. Now, Molly, do please have some more egg-nog.'

***

There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Draco's pain had eased slightly during the course of the afternoon. The Quidditch victory, which, Draco pointed out, had been very little to do with either him or Harry, had given the whole group something to talk and laugh about for several hours after they had come in from the cold, and the sense of sad withdrawal that had surrounded Draco since the first day of the holidays did seem to be partially lifted. Perhaps because Draco was amused by Ron's poorly disguised irritation at being beaten by the 'Girls', or perhaps because there was a genuine air of excitement about the special meal they were all to share in Gryffindor Tower that evening, or perhaps just because Draco had smiled at him a few times in the afternoon - smiles which had sent Harry's stomach fluttering with the memory of their time in the hospital wing - Harry felt, for whatever reason, that Draco might be getting closer to unloading whatever it was that had tormented him for some days.

The four or five days between Harry finding Draco by the lake and the Quidditch match on Christmas Eve had been a cheerless time. Draco had slept each night in one of the armchairs in the Gryffindor Common Room, not wanting to return to Slytherin House, not wanting to share a bed with Harry in any of the empty dormitories in Gryffindor Tower, but preferring to stare for long periods of time at the seductive dance of the flames in the grand fireplace - never wanting Harry out of touching distance, but rarely touching him with any meaning Harry could understand. Harry had not been physically capable of maintaining the level of distress he had felt when he had found Draco by the lake, but that didn't mean he was any less anxious. At frequent intervals in their deep silences in front of the fire, Harry would whisper, 'Please let me help you,' or 'Draco, my love, I'm so worried, there must be something I can do,' and each time Draco would look desperately grateful for this offer, but say nothing, his silvery-sad eyes meeting Harry's in a look of love but not of relief. Draco would reach for Harry, and stroke his arm or his hair, or kiss his hand, or his neck, or the crown of his head, but never his lips, never sensually, never in any way that might precipitate physical love. And then they would lapse into silence again, Draco staring unseeing into the fire, his outward demeanour never betraying his inner sorrow and despair and regret. Inches separated them. And a million miles. And there they sat now, after their victory in the Quidditch match. Draco's eyes smiled softly for the first time in days, Harry lay with his head in Draco's lap, the silence not quite so impenetrable as it had been before, and all around them the other Gryffindors were preparing for their meal in increasingly festive happiness. A table, set for eight in the centre of the Common Room, proudly and meticulously arranged by Dobby, glinted in gold and silver and glass, an air of muted magic from the gentle light of the fire and the candles and the lamps focussing the table in the familiarity of a much-loved memory of Christmas Past. On a second table to the side sat a number of bottles of butterbeer - a Christmas gift from Dumbledore - and other jugs and flagons of lemonade and pumpkin juice. Ron and Ginny had decorated a tree with magical icicles and twinkling lanterns, cutting themselves off from the rest for a while, talking of their parents and brothers and of family meals, both happy and sad. Seamus had appointed himself barman, and spent a while polishing glasses with a squeaky white cloth, and Dean and Neville had suspended strings of streamers from the ceiling, while Hermione offered opinions on the streamers' symmetry from her foreman's armchair.

Gradually the sense of festivity permeated even Draco, who leaned over and started to whisper in Harry's ear. It was nothing that any of the other Gryffindors could hear, but a small stifled giggle from Harry, so unexpected that Seamus nearly dropped a glass, uncorked the quiet anticipation and allowed it to bubble over. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other in relief. Within minutes, Seamus was handing round bottles of butterbeer, and the group were once more involved in recalling the principal events of the afternoon's Quidditch match, particularly one incident in which Hermione had dispossessed Ron of the Quaffle and scored easily past Seamus and Dean who were disputing whose tail-twigs were the twistiest. Harry and Draco listened with amusement, smiling to each other silently, Harry daring to hope that the crisis was past, Draco becoming increasingly determined that Harry and he should have at least one memorable night this holiday, at least one more memorable night in each other's company, at least one more memorable night to last them the rest of their lives. The chatter surrounding them mounted in volume, and Harry and Draco rose slowly from their chair and were painlessly enveloped in the group's bonhomie. Harry watched, delighted, as Draco's eyes began to show some spark of their former life, while Draco himself, whoever he was talking to, couldn't stop his gaze wandering back to Harry at the rate of several times a minute.

The butterbeer had warmed them right through, appetites, unacknowledged since lunchtime, were beginning to bite, and Draco found himself drifting towards the table to take a closer look. The place setting nearest him was adorned with a stiff parchment label, displaying the name DL Malfoy in a highly elaborate and painstakingly careful script Draco knew to be the one Ron used for ceremony and apology letters. His hand brushed the back of his chair as the large clock in the corner struck 8 o'clock.

'Stop!' screeched Hermione, causing Draco to snatch his hand from the chair as if it might be dangerous. He swung around.

All the Gryffindors save Harry were looking at Draco trying to suppress smiles and adopt a mood of intense seriousness. Harry looked completely nonplussed.

'Ahem,' began Ron.

There was a lot of sniggering.

'As clerk of this court, I, Ronald Weasley, do hereby call you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, to face the Tribunal of the Lion. Her Honour Judge Hermione Louisa Granger will preside. Positions please.'

As if it had been rehearsed - which, Harry later surmised, it almost certainly had - Ginny, Neville, Seamus and Dean drew four armchairs into a line and sat down on one side of the room. On the other side, one chair was placed by Ron for Harry to sit in. ('Visitor's gallery,' he grinned.) Draco was indicated to stand in the centre of the room facing Hermione, who was enthroned on a small sofa with a low table in front of her. Good Lord, thought Harry. She's even got one of those hammer things. Ron stood to her right. Ginny was giggling and Neville was whispering to Dean.

Hermione rapped the gavel sharply on the table. 'Silence in court!'

There was immediate attention. Draco snuck a secret sideways look at Harry with more than half a smile on his face. Harry shrugged, smiling back.

'Are you Draco Lucius Malfoy, of Slytherin House and of Malfoy Manor?' asked Hermione in a clear, slow voice.

'I am,' replied Draco, rather bewildered by the whole scene.

Ron coughed.

'I am, your Honour,' repeated Draco with gravity.

'Mr Malfoy, before you may dine in Gryffindor Tower you are required to face the Tribunal of the Lion. Three questions will be asked. The honesty of your answers will be determined by four Gryffindors here assembled as your jury. Do you understand the proceedings?'

'Yes, your Honour.'

'Clerk!' barked Hermione. She passed Ron a piece of paper and a book.

Ron stepped up to Draco. 'Mr Malfoy, please place your right hand on the book and read aloud the words on the card.'

Draco's palm rested on the top of Hermione's personal copy of Hogwarts: A History and he read:

'I do solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, however embarrassing.'

The jury burst out laughing, and Harry had the distinct impression that they had no idea of this change to the wording.

Hermione rapped the gavel noisily, and the jury were silent. 'QUESTION NUMBER ONE!' boomed Ron.

All eyes swivelled to Hermione.

'When did you first realise you loved Harry?'

All eyes swivelled to Draco.

Draco smiled. 'An easy question, m'Lud. The realisation came about two hours after the Care of Magical Creatures lesson during which the faun Dixter was privileged to speak with Harry and myself. I was in the shower. At the time it was not a happy recognition, but I have since had reason to alter considerably my perception of this matter. Harry was not so quick to work things out though.'

The jury laughed, as did the clerk and the judge. Harry tried to stop himself blushing.

Hermione looked at the jury, who all nodded once.

'He speaks the truth!' judged Hermione dramatically.

Harry applauded, but Hermione silenced him with a stare and a single gavel-rap as sharp as a pistol-shot.

'QUESTION NUMBER TWO!' came Ron's next announcement.

All eyes were on Hermione again; Ginny was giggling.

'When did you first kiss Harry?'

'Ahhhh!' cooed all the jury together. Bastards! thought Harry, it's all been rehearsed!

'Your Honour,' spoke Draco. 'Sometime after 3am in the rose garden on the Saturday night of the day it started to snow, the day Harry had made his peace with the clerk of the court, the day I myself spoke with you, your Honour, and you, Mr Weasley, in the fourth floor classroom in the evening. It was--' 'You went out that night?' blurted Ron, amazed, staring at Harry. 'I thought I'd--'

Hermione shot Ron a harshly rebuking look and Ron blushed and fell quiet.

'It was my decision,' continued Draco. 'I leaned across to Harry, and he did not pull away. My lips touched his for the briefest time. The moment is quite vividly fixed in my mind.'

'Oh!' sniffed Ginny, and a delicate silence hung around the courtroom. Hermione looked at Draco for some moments, then turned to the jury.

They nodded, immediately, together, once.

'He speaks the truth!' Hermione declared.

An appreciative buzz went around the courtroom. The jury fell back into whispering and Hermione looked at Ron, both smiling. At length they nodded imperceptibly at each other and Hermione's face, flushing deeply, turned down to the paper in front of her.

'QUESTION NUMBER THREE!'

There was a long silence before Hermione could overcome her blush enough to intone slowly, 'when did you and Harry first have sex?'

'Oo-oo-ooooooh!' chanted the jury in perfect unison.

Harry couldn't believe it. He blushed furiously and stared at the floor as he heard Draco begin to speak.

'Another easy question, m'Lud.' Then he paused, and looked for a long while at the top of Harry's head. And Draco smiled, and continued:

'Shortly after the time we set the furniture floating and the clothes dancing in our room in the hospital wing, on the day we had brewed the Perceptivity Potion. We were both rather overwhelmed. Afterwards we went to shower together, when yourself, your Honour, and Mr Weasley came into our room for supper. We probably seemed particularly content at that time. Now you know why.'

There was a little pause, in which Harry was sure he saw Hermione mouth the words 'told you!' to Ron, then Draco added, 'it was a profoundly beautiful experience; my first, and Harry's. I shall never forget it.'

Harry's face was crimson. Despite his considerable embarrassment, Draco was smiling broadly, like he hadn't for days, like maybe he never had before. Hermione looked deeply and seriously into Draco' face, then turned her head to the jury.

They nodded, as one man.

Hermione stood up to make her final pronouncement. 'He speaks the truth!'

The jury cheered, and Ron went to shake Draco's hand.

'Draco Lucius Malfoy,' said Hermione gravely, 'you have faced the Tribunal of the Lion and been judged to have answered with honour.'

To the sound of applause, Draco inclined his head in a respectful bow. He reached for Harry's arm, and pulled him out of his chair

'Eurghh!' spluttered Ron, watching the pair embrace. 'Avert your eyes for a second, everyone!'

'Oh!' cried Ginny. 'Is it me, or is the air in here going red?'

They laughed, and Harry, his face burning, managed to look his friends in the eye.

Hermione smiled at all assembled. 'Draco,' she laughed, 'come and sit down. You will always be welcome at our table.'

***

The Fifth Year boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower was silent. Draco woke suddenly. His heart was thumping and he was uncomfortably hot, but his anxiety and discomfort were nothing to do with his being wrapped around Harry so tightly that Draco wondered briefly how Harry could actually breathe. Had he held on to Harry like this all night? He loosed his grip on Harry's slim naked body and Harry relaxed slightly in his arms, burrowing his back closer against Draco's chest and stomach. Draco kissed the back of Harry's neck and, needing the contact again, pulled Harry tightly towards him, so that they were spooned together on their sides, each following the contours of the other's body from head to toe.

'Oh Harry,' breathed Draco into the line where Harry's unruly hair finished and the back of his neck began.

The slow, warm rise-and-fall of Harry's body soothed Draco slightly as his mind came back yet again to the scrapbook, which was sitting at the end of Harry's bed, wrapped in green and silver paper. With the other boys all sleeping in the girls' dormitory, they had been alone; and after days of an abstinence determined by Draco, he had finally allowed them to be intimate the previous evening, after they had retired to Harry's own bed for the first time, the happiness of the Tribunal and the meal still smiling in their eyes. He had felt guilty at the bliss Harry had brought from his body while the ominous presence of the book had haunted him like his conscience looking on from the edge of the bed, but Harry had seemed to need it so much, to be convinced that Draco was still the one for whom Harry would do anything, that Draco's resolution had faded to nothing in the arms of his lover. And Harry had done so much for him, just a few hours earlier, that Draco was breathless to think of the lengths Harry had gone to; as if Harry thought by his own actions of love he could tear down the wall that separated them, as if Harry, although unaware of the book, could have cast it into oblivion by his adoration and his selflessness in this very bed.

Draco still felt guilty now, and desperately anxious, and on the brink of tears as he thought of what was to come that day, that Christmas Day. He was hot, but he couldn't conceive of letting go; he was sick with the nerves of inevitability, but leaving would achieve nothing. The proximity of Harry, as it always did, kept Draco almost constantly rigidly aroused, intimately crushed against Harry's lower body. He gently licked the back of Harry's ear, and whispered, utterly silently, so that the only sound was the faintest movement of his lips, 'Harry, whatever happens, I will love you forever,' then relaxed his head back onto the pillow, and snuggled closer to his sleeping lover. Or was Harry asleep? Harry imperceptibly altered the position of his body, angling himself slightly more at his hips, and shuffled himself almost unnoticeably backwards, closer into Draco's hardness. Was this the sleepy, self- comforting wriggling of a young man who had no more taboos left to challenge, whose firm body was even now subconsciously brimming with a new animal sensuality sprung from their latest explorations? Or was this Harry, awake and desirous to please, offering himself once more in a way that made Draco feel faint with thoughts of beauty, and rapture, and unworthiness?

'Harry,' came his whisper, as silently as before. 'You don't have anything more to prove to me. I couldn't love you any more. Just lying here with you is easily more than enough for me...'

Draco wasn't sure at first if Harry had answered; so quiet were Harry's words that they didn't register in his ears but in his heart and body. 'Shhhh. It's not just about you or me. It's about us.'

Draco wept silently, even as he kissed Harry's back and shoulders, even as their bodies moved so naturally as one on another heart-breaking journey to ecstasy.

***

Dumbledore hadn't slept at all.

He had seen his guests to their various quarters around the castle, and sat with the Orbis and his Pensieve at his desk for most of the night. The Orbis burned unbearably brightly, too hot to hold, and it kept catching Dumbledore's eye, forcing him to remind himself that however well- planned his strategies were, however many good and honest people he assembled at the castle, it might all count for nothing if the two boys currently sleeping in Gryffindor Tower couldn't somehow find a way to overcome the existence of his own blasted wedding present to Harry's dead parents.

An insipid dawn was just beginning to light the squalls of rain over the fields and forests to the east of the castle, and once more Dumbledore slumped into his chair after a brief wander to the windows and back. Dare he pray for just one more piece of luck in this most urgent of matters? Lucius Malfoy would be arriving sometime in the morning; he was expecting simply to remove Draco from the school. Draco would either go with him, heart-broken, or defiantly stay beside Harry. Dumbledore had plans for both contingencies, which allowed the security of the castle to be maintained whether Lucius left triumphant with his son in tow or had to be ejected, livid and furious at a turn of events he surely hadn't foreseen.

But Lucius was not his problem. It was Harry. What role Harry might have to play in any forthcoming drama with Voldemort was unclear. But the effect of the news on the rest of the wizarding world that their champion was weak and vulnerable would be catastrophic. They might simply think that all was lost and quick surrender was the easiest option. Or they might fight on half-heartedly and without conviction, drawing out any conflict before an inevitable capitulation.

Dumbledore knew that in reality Harry's strength may have very little to do with the outcome, whoever won. But his weakness could be decisive.

He sighed heavily and went through his papers and plans again. There was no point going to sleep now, it was nearly day. The students in Gryffindor Tower will be opening their presents soon. And then we shall know.

***

Harry looked at Draco inquisitively. 'What is it?' he asked, eyes alive with the excitement of a present, the intimacy of opening the present naked with Draco in his own bed, and the memory of the night they had shared.

'It's a present, you tit. From me, to you. Open it.'

Draco had not seen anything like it. Presents at Malfoy Manor were a duty of excess on Christmas morning. And he had never once got even remotely as excited as Harry was now, as they both sat up in bed each with one small parcel to give.

'You're sure?'

'Of course I'm sure! I didn't buy it so you could look at the wrapping paper!'

Harry looked at Draco with utter adoration as he slowly and carefully unwrapped the parcel, savouring every moment of it undress, as if the unwrapping itself was part of the present. Eventually the paper lay open with a neatly folded pile of black silk at its heart. Harry lifted up the garment, and swiftly found there were two.

'Pyjamas!' he yelled in delight, and jumped up to stand on the bed, slipping his arms into the jacket and trying to step into the loose trousers.

For the first time in his life Draco realised the joy of presents was in the giving and not the receiving. Despite the nagging horror of Draco's other present, still sitting innocently at the end of the bed, the sight of this childlike Harry overcome by a pair of pyjamas was better than any present Harry himself could ever give him. Filled him with a silly happiness, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he watched Harry showing him how they fastened up, and how they fit, and how much he loved them.

'Mind you,' said Harry, looking a little coy, 'not that we wear pyjamas that much...!' 'The joy of silk PJs, old boy,' laughed Draco, 'is that they are just as delightful to remove as they are to put on. Especially if someone helps with their removal.'

'Well, we'll have to put that to the test sometime soon,' mused Harry contentedly, getting back into bed beside Draco, and passing him a small parcel of his own.

It had been lovingly but amateurishly wrapped in shiny red paper and far too much ribbon.

'What is it?' asked Draco.

'Duh,' smiled Harry.

In one swift movement Draco tore the paper away and revealed another (less neat) pile of silk. Darkest green, that ran through his fingers like water. He lifted it up and saw that it was a shirt, beautifully cut, exquisitely stitched, that fit him - as he stood and donned it - like a glove. Enough room to move in, yet in no way baggy so that his skin ever lost contact with the fabric.

'Harry, I love it. I've never owned a shirt I love one tenth so much as this one,' said Draco, trying to prevent the tears from coming. 'How did you get it so that it fits so well?'

'Erm, well, Hermione swore that we are the same size. So I had it made with my measurements, then I thought, if it doesn't fit you, at least I could have it!'

'Well, I'm afraid for your sake that it does indeed fit me. So the only contact you're going to get with it is...'

'...when I get to remove it?' laughed Harry.

'Too right. A shirt like this one won't go with your baggy jeans and old jumpers. I refuse to allow you to wear it until you've got some proper clothes to go with it!' 'Well, Draco, you appointed yourself my personal shopper. After Christmas can we ask Dumbledore if we can have a day in London, so you can help me buy some clothes, like you said?'

Harry looked at Draco in earnest and with a smile so happy that Draco's heart broke in that moment. It was highly likely that Harry wouldn't ever want to go to London with him, wouldn't ever wear the pyjamas, and would look upon Draco's green shirt with a permanent sadness and a wonder that he had ever wasted that much money. Tears welled behind Draco's eyes, as he knew that whatever happened, the green shirt would be the most precious thing he ever possessed.

'Draco! What's the matter? What did I say?' gasped Harry, as he saw how upset Draco suddenly was.

But Draco didn't answer. With his heart in his mouth, and ignoring Harry, he reached down to the end of the bed and fetched his other present. The he sat in front of Harry, and, without looking at him, but, staring at the bedcovers in a hopeless despair, he began to shake, so uncertainly, so wretchedly, that the Draco of the Tribunal, and of the meal, and of their glorious night together, and of the pyjamas and the shirt, was utterly unrecognisable. This was the Draco he had found by the lake. Harry's breath caught. This was it. He was going to tell at last.

'Harry,' said Draco, soberly, repressing all the emotion he could, 'I'm going to tell you a story. And I ask only one thing of you. That you to listen more carefully than you have ever listened to anything before. And at the end, I am going to ask you a question. Just one. The Tribunal of the Snake, if you will. But the answer you give will be a thousand times more important than the answers I gave last night.'

'Draco, stop this, you're scaring me! What's the matter? Just tell me!'

'Hush, love,' breathed Draco, touching his finger to Harry's lips, wondering if that touch would be the last physical contact he would ever have with the one he loved. And he swallowed hard, and began. 'Once upon a time, there was a magical baby boy, whose parents loved him very much. And his parents were good people, and were very popular; so popular that at their wedding, which was the happiest day in many lives, they received many presents from their friends. And a great wizard was at their wedding, and he gave the young couple a book, which was a magic book, because it could record all the happiness and store it in its pages. And the young couple filled the book with images of themselves and their young son, and their friends, playing Quidditch, going on picnics, walking in parks and on trips to the coast.'

Draco fingered the book in its wrappings nervously, completely aware of what he was saying, but unable to stop the emotion rising in his voice.

'But an evil wizard disliked this young couple, as they stood in the way of his plans, and he decided that they must be killed. And on one awful night, the evil wizard came to the young couple's house with his band of followers, and he killed the young man, and he killed the young woman, and he tried to kill the magical baby boy. But the baby boy was a special baby, and the evil wizard couldn't kill him, and the evil wizard nearly died in his efforts to kill the baby.'

A single tear of anguish began a slow sad journey down Draco's left cheek, and he stared at the bed as he forced himself to continue.

'And the evil wizard's followers went mad at the demise of their master, and they destroyed the young couple's house, leaving the special baby boy in the rubble. Two brave men rushed to the house that night. One was a half-giant, the trusted servant of the great wizard who had given the young couple their magic book. The other was the baby's godfather on his flying motorbike, who was beside himself with grief at what had happened to his friends. And when the baby boy was sent safely away to his stay with his aunt, no more was remembered about the house, or what it had contained.'

Despite his previous thoughts, Draco's hands reached instinctively for Harry's, who held them tightly. 'But the evil wizard had one particular supporter who was cleverer than the others. And while the others destroyed, he observed. And one of the things he observed was the young couple's magic book, and he took it, and hid it away. Maybe he did this because he knew his master would rise again and the book might be a way to harm the magical baby. Maybe he took it out of self-protection. Or maybe he took it because it intrigued him. But he stole it nevertheless. And out of the awful tragedy in that house that night, only two precious things were saved. The baby, and the book.'

Draco, filling with shame, withdrew his hands from Harry's and gripped the book instead.

'Years passed, and the magical baby boy grew into a beautiful young man. And the supporter of the evil wizard still kept the magic book, taking it out from time to time, and wondering what use it might be. And this supporter also had a son, the same age as the magical baby boy, and they were at the same school at the same time, and then the two sons fell in love, not knowing that the father of one had been complicit in the deaths of the parents of the other. And one day the great wizard found out about the book, and that it was still in existence, and he sent his trusted servant to reclaim it. And the great wizard discovered that the book held a terrible secret, and he did not know what to do.'

Draco tried desperately to suppress a sob rising in his chest as he continued to speak.

'And Dumbledore came to me, and showed me the secret that the book held, asking my opinion on how much the secret of the book would hurt you, would hurt both of us. And I ran away from the problem, hating it, and ran all the way to the lake, and stayed there for hours, not knowing what to do, never wanting to hurt you, but not seeing any way that I could help you escape the pain. And you came to me, and found me soaked to the bone, and carried me to the fire, and loved me, and made me realise that I had to give you the book, that however much pain it would cause, it was yours by right, that my father had no claim to it, and now, Harry, I'm going to give you the book back, to return it to its rightful owner, properly, justly, the only honourable thing I've ever done in my life, with the prayer that whatever hurt the book causes, you will let me help you get over it. Because all I want to do for the whole of the rest of my life is stop you getting hurt, because you mean the world to me, the absolute bloody world, and that doesn't even begin to come close to what I feel, to how much I love you, Harry.'

Not daring to look at Harry's face, Draco passed the package into Harry's hands, then sank face down on the bed, and waited. The unwrapping of the paper around the book crinkled like the scratch of a quill on his own execution order.

He heard as Harry turned each page, terrifyingly slowly. Draco hoped perhaps that he might turn the pages so slowly that he might never get there... but no, that was stupid. Sometimes there was a sigh, a caught breath, a laugh, a stifled sob. Then another page turned, then another. How many pages were there? Draco couldn't remember. Oh God, it wouldn't be long now. Another laugh, and another sigh. 'Hello, dad,' whispered Harry. Another page turned. Oh God, any minute, he was going to see it... he was going to see the deaths of his parents...

The page turned one last time.

Draco tried hard to block out the sounds he had heard once before, in Dumbledore's office at the very beginning of the holidays, but some part of him told him he ought to try to live through it again, just so that Harry didn't have to go through it alone. Half forcing himself to listen to the James's shouts and Lily's cries and Voldemort's cackling, half forcing his mind elsewhere, Dumbledore came back to his thoughts once more. Dumbledore himself had given this book to me. Surely, surely he had meant me to pass the book on to Harry... if Dumbledore thought that, then I must have done the right thing... 'Not Harry! Not Harry!' rang Lily's voice from the page, straight into Draco's heart. Please, please let me have done the right thing... At last it was over. There was a long silence, in which he could hear nothing from Harry. Then to Draco's intense horror, he heard Harry close the book completely then open it once more.

The scene began once again. The same cries, the same pleas, the same outcome. How can he bear to watch it again? But he did. Still silent, still sending Draco into torture, Harry watched it again. I must have done the right thing, in principal, Draco prayed fervently. I really have... it wasn't mine to keep, still less my father's... I've made my choice... I've chosen Harry over the murderer who masquerades as a devoted family man... Harry will see that, he must, he's got to. Please don't let him hold my father's sins against me! He won't, he loves me, he gave himself to me last night, it must count for something, please, oh God, please...

It ended. And then, unbearably, Harry watched it a third time. Draco's mind knew nowhere more desperate to go. Trembling with his face flat against the pillow, Draco told himself that this was Harry's right, and if he wanted to see it a hundred times, he would still be there at the end. I'm trying to be selfless here, I really am, as selfless as Harry, I could have hidden it, burnt it, never told him about it, it would have meant I could have kept him for ever, but that would have been no better than my father, Harry needed to see it, it was his birthright, I've done the right thing, he loves me, and I pray that's going to count for something, I myself am innocent, it's my father who is the guilty one, a father I now loathe, a despicable, murderous father that I here and now push away forever, Harry will know that, he will understand the difference... Won't he?

The book closed once more, and this time it did not open again. So slowly it made his neck ache, he raised his head to look at Harry, hardly daring to, unable not to. Harry's face was ghostly white, drained, exhausted. He looked at Draco, unseeing, and Draco felt that the weight of the world was pushing him into the ground. And then, Harry spoke.

'What was your question?'

'Er...?' 'What was your question? You said you're going to tell me a story then ask me a question. What is it?'

Draco forced himself to sit up and face Harry, but he couldn't meet his eyes. Looking down in his lap, he summoned all his strength, and eventually voiced, 'can you still love me?'

'Sorry?'

Oh God, do I have to say it again? 'Er, Harry, however long it takes, do I have a chance? Do we still have a chance? Is there a prayer that, in years to come, you can love me again like you have done until today? Can you still love me?'

'Can I still love you?' echoed Harry, looking at Draco incredulously.

Oh no! This is it! thought Draco frantically. He can't believe I even have the audacity to ask! Me, the son of his parents' murderer, of course I don't have a chance! I should leave now. Take my memories, and leave him to his pain. I should--

'Draco, now you listen to me. I'm going to tell you a story, then I'm going to ask you a question. And you are going to listen carefully. Yes?'

Draco nodded dumbly, not comprehending this unexpected turn of events.

'Once upon a time there was baby boy named Harry, and he loved his parents very much, only he never knew them, because they were murdered when he was a year old. And for ten more years he still never knew them, because his aunt and uncle said not a single word about them that wasn't a lie. And then one day Harry found out he was a wizard, and that people knew his name, and that people knew his parents' names too. And these people said things like, 'doesn't he look just like his father,' and 'his mother loved him so much, you know, she died to save him,' and yet the boy Harry had no idea what they were talking about. And then one day some years later, Harry realised that he had fallen in love with his arch- enemy, and his world was turned upside-down, and during that whole time he kept wishing that he could ask his mother and father what to do, only they were dead, and nobody said anything about them except 'his father was a fine Quidditch player, you know,' and none of those things were ever going to help Harry with his awful dilemma. And gradually Harry began to realise that the love he had found with his enemy was as deep as the love he had missed from his parents, and that the boy wasn't his enemy any more, he was his family.

'And then Harry's former enemy came to Harry on Christmas morning, and he gave him a book with more detail and information and memory in it about his parents than Harry could ever have dreamt of. But the boy was terrified about this book, because it implicated his father in his parents' murders, and he despaired at the thought of Harry having to see anything this terrible. And he was sure that Harry would reject him, because it would seem like one more betrayal in the list of tragedies that popular folklore says is the sum of Harry's life. But what the boy didn't understand is that Harry already knew how his parents died, and he already knew that the boy's father was implicated, and he already knew that the deaths had been unpleasant. Harry had seen part of his parents' deaths in visions induced by the chill of Dementors, and now he had the chance to see, once and for all, what the whole truth was.

'And Harry saw that his parents had loved him right up until the point that they could no longer love. And Harry saw that his mother's love was so powerful that the evil wizard was no match for it, and he was near- mortally burned by something so pure. So Harry loved the boy even more than ever, for having the courage and the strength to prove to Harry that he was loyal, and honourable, by giving this book to Harry, and by letting him know his parents better than he had ever hoped would be possible. And truthfully, Harry was delighted, because he had dared to have such great expectations about the life he might live with his former enemy, and he now he knew for sure that the boy was surely true, and that he loved Harry, and that he was so determined to do the right thing, that even though he thought he might have to sacrifice his own happiness, he still went ahead and gave Harry the book, renouncing his father, and making his choice in a way that Harry couldn't mistake.' Harry grasped Draco's head and pulled it up so he could look into his eyes.

'And I know something else too. That we are not defined by the Crimson Cloud. Because the Cloud serves to pull people together who are magically in love, and makes it impossible for them to live apart, even if they wanted to try. But in giving me this book, Draco, you were prepared to risk all of that, you ignored the pain you would feel with a lifetime of separation, and acted against the Cloud in a way that neither of us has been able to do since we became aware of it. You were prepared to try and live without me for the sake of an honourable deed. And that says to me that your love for me is something way more powerful than that which is dictated by some silly Cloud neither of us has ever seen and neither of us understands. And so in answer to your question, 'can I still love you?' I say, you might just as well have asked, 'how can I not still love you?' because once and for all, Draco, you have shown me that you've got rare and wonderful qualities, that I hope you will let me cherish for ever.'

Harry smiled as tears coursed down Draco's cheeks.

'And now I've got a question for you. What on earth can I do in the whole world that can equal what you have done for me this morning? And if you can't give me an answer now, I'm going to spend the rest of my life working it out for myself.'

Draco couldn't answer. He couldn't even speak.

'No answer, eh?' smiled Harry. 'Stuck for words? No clever quips? My, my, Draco old boy. I guess I'll have to work out how to repay you myself then. And, I tell you what, I've got a bloody good idea of where to start.'

He kissed Draco briefly and then leaned down under the bed for something.

'You're not the only one with two presents to give, ferret boy. Now dry your eyes and have a look at this.'

Draco looked, staggered, at the parcel Harry fetched up from under the bed. 'Oh my God!'

There was absolutely no mistaking its shape, even though it was wrapped as elaborately as the shirt.

'Oh my God!'

'Go on, I didn't buy it so you could look at the wrapping paper!'

'Oh my God!'

Draco ripped madly at the paper.

'Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!'

Harry laughed and laughed.

'Harry! Oh my God, Harry, a FIREBOLT!'

'Worth every Knut for the look on your face, too.'

'Harry!'

'Yes?'

'Oh, Harry!'

'Yes?'

'Oh, Harry! Promise me one thing...'

'Name it.'

'That whatever happens, that however bad things get, that whatever battles we have to fight, or tragedies we have to face, promise me that we will always, always be together, because--'

'Draco! Of course. Anything else would be unthinkable.'

THE END