When the Darkness Broke In

Chapter ~ IV

This Cult of Positivity

"Hope lies in the proles." George Orwell

Harry had a real struggle with sleep that night. He'd spent hours with Ron and Hermione, explaining everything Draco had told him, quelling Ron's conspiracy theories with vehement descriptions of the state the other boy had got himself into and how it couldn't have been faked. Hermione, being her ever practical self, had seemed more concerned with what Draco had taken and their potential effects. Although she had teased him slightly at the time, it seemed that when she had thought about it, the feminine pills may have contained things that were harmful in large quantities - especially when mixed with alcohol - and was all for going to tell their teachers everything. Harry had refused to let her, reminding her that Draco had probably flushed most of them out of his system when he was sick, which pacified her slightly but didn't seem to make her any more comfortable. Ron still seemed a little dubious and as though he was actually quite annoyed with himself for being so anxious about Draco's well being. That was the thing about Ron, he had a terrible habit of trying to be something he wasn't.

When Harry finally escaped his friends' questioning and gone to bed, he lay awake for hours, staring at his canopy and pondering the other things he had been told. He had kept the part about Draco's 'feelings' for him very much a secret. He didn't have the heart to give Ron the ammunition he knew he would love to get his hands on to pay Draco back for the years of taunting. He couldn't blame Ron for it, but after witnessing the way Draco had spoken about his mother, and hearing his conviction that he would finish himself off if it became necessary, Harry simply didn't feel that he could take a further push without falling over the edge. The way things stood at the moment, it was a long drop that would cause serious damage. And that would help no one.

It was deeply flattering, when he thought about it, that he meant enough to someone that they would give up so much to look out for him. It gave him warm shivers and brought an involuntary smile to his face when he dwelt upon it; but he simply could not escape the fact that the person was Malfoy. Draco Malfoy - the spiteful, vindictive, smarmy little brat that Harry and the others had spent years loathing. Blindly, without actually bothering to find out why he was so hostile towards you, remember? But no matter how many times he reminded himself that really Draco didn't seem so bad anymore - and that, after all, he now knew his motives - he simply couldn't be appeased by the fact. He would think about the peculiar feeling it gave him deep in his stomach - almost like the nervous feeling he had had before the Triwizard events, but much, much nicer, then he would scold himself for trying to justify it, annoyed that he was quailing to what he considered to be the other boy's whims. And besides, he really wasn't Harry's type at all, so it didn't even matter, because he wasn't attracted to him. He wasn't. He thought Draco was kind of pretty in a girlish sort of way, but he wasn't attracted to him physically any more than he thought the Slytherin was worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize.

Harry had spent a considerable amount of time deciding what his 'type' actually was, realising that he'd never actually considered the matter in detail until now. He had concluded, after much deliberation, that his type certainly consisted of Quidditch players - which Draco was indeed - but that he seemed to like the darker ones; the bright, amicable ones who you could hold a comfortable conversation with and who didn't think they were better than anyone else. He liked people like Simon Wood, Oliver's younger cousin, who was a Ravenclaw Chaser, and Gavin Cross, too, now he thought about it, the same House's captain. In the past he'd had a fleeting 'thing' for Roger Davies at the same time as The Cho Episode, but that had been quashed rather sharply when he saw whom Roger took to the Yule ball the previous year. Harry obviously didn't have a chance and gave up while he was ahead. But the thing that linked all those boys was that they were pleasant, intelligent, friendly and warm - easily likeable and not prone to conflict (and, oddly, all Ravenclaws). If there was a side of Draco Malfoy that fitted that description, Harry was yet to see it.

Harry did feel quite guilty about the way things stood. He couldn't force himself to like anyone, but if Draco really did feel the way he claimed to it must be absolutely horrible for him to know that Harry couldn't stand him. Well, for all that, Harry was growing more able to stand him as he considered the matter, but he was still entirely opposed to any prospective... thing with him. It seemed such a terrible waste of feelings when Draco obviously had something to offer, and Harry would have been deeply grateful of it - if only it had come from someone else. But it couldn't be helped. The most Harry could offer him was friendship.

By four o'clock in the morning he had been through everything full circle innumerable times, and gone through everyone close to him, trying to decide whom to talk to about it. He came to the conclusion that the only person he could seriously consider talking to was Remus, and quickly decided that he would wait until things became suitably complicated before he did. He couldn't just run up to him and say "Help! Malfoy thinks he's in love with me!" because the poor man would probably have a heart attack. Which, at least, was better than Sirius, who would probably laugh until he passed out. He decided, as he rolled over and pummelled his pillow into a more comfortable position, that this was one storm he was going to have to weather on his own. Sirius and Remus would have enough to deal with when they heard the news of Voldemort.

Harry arrived in the Entrance Hall a quarter of an hour earlier than he had agreed to meet Draco, feeling incredibly grouchy and sincerely debating the wisdom of trusting Slytherins. Oh, fantastic. I'm here quarter of an hour early and I'd bet my Firebolt the git doesn't turn up, so I'll be standing here like a prat for nothing, miss breakfast and then have not only Ron and Herm on at me for trusting him, but his stupid, smirking little face all through Potions, too. Great. So much for not being such a push-over any more.

To his immense surprise, however, the Slytherin was not late but actually precisely on time and wearing an expression of quiet determination. "Let's get outside before anyone sees me talking to you," he hissed, striding straight past Harry and towards the large front doors. For a moment Harry stared at his departing form in indignation. 'Morning, Draco', 'Good morning, Harry. Did you sleep well?' 'No, you stroppy git, I spent half of it awake worrying about you, but don't mind me, I'm happy to help!'. He had to jog to keep up with the other boy's purposeful strides as they headed for the cottage surrounded by its low wooden fence, not too far from Hagrid's hut. Hagrid himself hadn't arrived back at the school until the day before the start of term, having been on "A top secret mission fer Dumbledore" (which he always seemed to need to tap the side of his nose when he spoke of) and Harry made a mental note that he must go and visit at some point.

Draco stopped abruptly when he reached the boundary of the cottage garden and almost appeared to be steeling himself to go in. Harry, having finally caught up, moved to open the gate, but decided to issue him with a warning first, just in case. "Listen, Draco, this is really important - whatever you think of Sirius and Remus, be polite to them. Please. If you start being stroppy Sirius will be, too, and neither me or Remus can face that first thing in the morning, okay?"

Draco scowled and gave what could almost have been described as a pout, "I do not 'strop'."

"Alright, whatever you say - just don't make today a first then, okay?" Harry cautioned, turning to open the gate and mentally crossing his fingers. He strode up to the low, black-painted front door and led the blonde boy straight into the living room. The sound of a kettle whistling could be heard from the kitchen and Harry headed through to the large, flagstoned room where all meals at the cottage were taken.

Remus was standing by the sink making a cup of tea when they entered and he bid Harry good morning just as Harry opened his mouth to do the same. Remus had an unnerving habit of knowing when someone was behind him or about to knock at the door - and usually knew whom it was pre-emptively. Harry assumed it was something to do with his lycanthropy, but it wasn't a matter that was easily discussed at the cottage.

"Good morning, Harry," Remus said cheerfully, picking up his tea and toast and turning to place them on the table; apparently he hadn't also been aware of the second boy standing in his kitchen, or if he had he wasn't expecting it to be Draco Malfoy. He faltered, glancing from Harry to Draco and carefully placing his breakfast on the wooden tabletop, "Well, what brings you both here at this time of the morning?" he asked with a smile that was evidently intended to hide his surprise, "Have you eaten? I can make you breakfast, if you like...?"

"Um... Draco?" Harry asked, turning to the other boy, who was looking around the kitchen with a vague look of bemusement. He looked back at Harry and gave an obviously forced gracious smile.

"No, thank you," he said, in a tone that implied he had silently continued: 'I'd rather be smeared with cat food and dropped naked into a tank of piranhas with nothing to protect my modesty but a smoked ham.'

"Moony, I've brought Draco here because we've got something we need to tell you," Harry began, sitting down opposite him and shoving a chair towards the other boy to encourage him to sit down, too. Remus's butter knife clattered onto his plate at Harry's words and he looked at him with wide, amber-green eyes. He quickly cleared his throat and returned his attention to the toast.

"Really?" he asked, as nonchalantly as he could, "What sort of 'something' would that be?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but at the same moment there was a thud, an infuriated yelp, an imaginative string of expletives and Sirius appeared, half dressed and towel-drying his hair. He still hadn't got used to the low doors in the cottage and, being considerably taller than both Harry and Remus, regularly managed to thwack his head on the doorframes. He'd stood no chance with a towel over his face.

"Sirius-" Remus said loudly, as he continued to mutter, still towelling his hair roughly, "Sirius."

"WHAT?" Sirius demanded, yanking the towel from his face and glowering darkly at the other man; Sirius was not a morning person. When he caught sight of the two boys sitting at the table his mouth fell open in astonishment and he looked to Harry before demanding, quite incredulously: "Why is there a Malfoy in my kitchen at twenty to eight in the morning?"

"Draco's here because there's something you need to know..." Harry began, only to stop and watch impatiently as Sirius gave Remus a confused look and silently mouthed 'Draco?' at him. Oh no, here we go...

Remus gave the other man a timorous look and told him carefully that Harry had brought the boy and that Sirius should listen carefully and not judge at all while the boys explained because they were young once, too (but ignoring the small matter of whose kitchen it actually was). All three of the others in the kitchen fixed him with puzzled stares. Harry suddenly turned pink as he twigged what Remus thought they were there to tell them. He looked at the man and shook his head almost imperceptibly when he managed to catch his eye. He was given a tiny confused frown in return, followed by a small sigh of relief.

"Voldemort's planning an attack," Harry explained, "and he's going to use some of his supporters' children to make himself immortal."

"He's what?" Sirius demanded, pulling out a chair and slumping down beside Harry, looking to Remus for confirmation.

"He's going to sap the Life out of..?" Harry glanced at Draco, who sighed and muttered:

"Seven."

"-Seven boys and he's going to feed off them to make himself stronger."

"How?" Remus asked, gazing intently at him.

"We don't know exactly, Draco told me what he knows last night - he's on our side. He doesn't want Voldemort to have our Life, do you Draco?"

"It's not high on my Yule list, no."

"He's afraid of what's going to happen-" Draco shot him an extremely displeased look, "-it was planned for him before he was born and that means he'll be one of the first now. And Voldemort's planning on taking my Life, too."

Remus looked at Sirius, who stared back at him unflinchingly for a few moments, then nodded slowly, as if in agreement. "We knew it," Remus said resignedly, "we knew he had something like this planned."

Sirius nodded, before turning his eyes to Draco. "How do you know what he's planning?"

"His father told him," Harry explained, "he thinks it's something Draco should be proud of."

"Harry, let him answer his own questions for a minute," Sirius told him, raising a hand to stop him talking. "Malfoy, how much do you know?"

Draco stared up at him reticently, "As much as I've told Harry."

The look that passed between them made Harry and Remus glance at each other uneasily and Remus quickly cleared his throat to break the tension. "Alright, Draco, so would you tell us, too?"

"Will it help?"

"Yes, Draco, that's why we're asking."

Harry nudged him with his elbow. "Come on, Drac, I told you that if you want help you have to do this-"

"Your way. Yes, I do remember."

"Well try acting like it, then."

"Try remembering my name ends in an 'o'."

"Sorry - Malfo," Harry smirked back, enjoying having the upper-hand for a change.

"Do not set out to annoy me first thing in the morning, Potter, it makes for one very bad-tempered Slytherin."

"You're always a bad-tempered Slytherin!"

Draco gave him a disgruntled look and folded his arms. Sirius muttered something to himself and stood up, heading towards the living room.

"Where are you going?" Remus called after him.

"To get Dumbledore. I'm not in the mood for bolshie kids at this time in the morning." A moment later there was a loud 'Whoomph' as Sirius lit a fire in the grate. They clearly heard him speaking to Dumbledore with careful respect and then to someone else, with irreverent contempt. It may have been the way he referred to the other person as "You rhinoplastic nightmare" or the tone in which he suggested he flap his "little Batfink wings down here now", but none of those who remained in the kitchen were remotely surprised when he declared: "I've asked your House Master to come down, too, Malfoy."

When Dumbledore and Snape appeared a few minutes later Draco explained everything (with several wisely chosen omissions and some help from Harry) and the professors listened intently. Snape paced before the window, blocking out the light, and Dumbledore sat beside Draco, studying him carefully. The young Slytherin relayed the situation to them in a clear, concise voice, wasting no time on trivialities or how he felt about the situation, saying only "I hate him and I want nothing to do with him" on that matter.

"This is quite understandable," Dumbledore agreed seriously, "and I must express my admiration for you in both your honesty and your bravery." Draco gazed at him in loosely veiled disbelief (and, Harry couldn't help feeling, slight indignation at the implication of Gryffindor tendencies). "However, I must ask you to carry on as you would had none of this come to light. You will continue your everyday life as normal, and, for obvious reasons, you will avoid disclosing your connections with Harry. It would, I am sure you understand, raise very many eyebrows for your well documented feud to be suddenly resolved."

Draco stared at the headmaster with shuttered silver eyes. "You want me to pretend to like my father and hate Harry?"

"Fundamentally, yes," Dumbledore explained, "although 'hate' may prove a little strong a term. I feel it would be unwise to tilt the carpet before we understand the situation to the fullest extent."

Harry saw - and understood - the look of near indifference on the other boy's face. It was far from what it implied; part fear, part anger and part disappointment. Harry wondered when he had suddenly become fluent in Draco's body language and forcibly shoved all answers into a dark recess of his mind for later contemplation. Clearly, Draco had hoped that he and Harry would be encouraged to spend time together now that the truth (in part) was out. Harry suspected, however, that if the rest of what Draco had revealed were made known to the adults they'd never even allow him in the same room as Harry.

Dumbledore raised himself and made for the door, "If the situation changes, Draco, we will re-evaluate the arrangements. For the time being, please comply with our wishes. Severus, Sirius, I believe we have a staff meeting to arrange..."

For the merest moment, Draco appeared to be battling some inner conflict, then he announced: "There's something else you should know."

Sirius and Remus exchanged interested looks and Snape paused in his pacing. Harry gawked at him. Surely he wasn't going to tell them, all? Not that!

"What is it, Draco?" Dumbledore asked softly.

What happened next caused Harry to let out a cry of shock and Sirius to utter a sharp "Fuck".

"This," Draco said simply, then raised his right hand with a small flourish. Instantaneously and inexplicably it had erupted into flames. Not the blue, purple or green of magical fire, but the plain orange glow of true inferno. Even Dumbledore seemed alarmed, because it took him a moment to speak.

"You are pyroclastic."

"It's partly why I'm so important to them. They believe the power will be passed on to him."

"What's going on?" Harry demanded in dark astonishment as Draco lowered his hand and the flames were extinguished, leaving his pale skin entirely untouched. "Why didn't you tell me this last night?"

"It was irrelevant."

"I'd say the fact you spontaneously combust is quite relevant, personally!"

"Well, you know now, don't you?" Draco replied haughtily.

"That's not the point!"

"Boys..." Dumbledore said quietly to quell their arguing. "Draco, how long ago did you discover your gift?"

"I don't know. I was small... I set light to my cot while I was in it," he explained, shrugging indifferently.

"Do you know how many people are aware of it?"

"My parents, the house elves at the Manor... yourselves. Very few."

"That is good news," Dumbledore nodded, thoughtfully. "Are you trained?"

"No, my father didn't see the point."

Dumbledore gave a small frown and declared: "Then you must be. I will arrange for lessons to begin as soon as is feasible. Pyroclasty is not a matter to be taken lightly, nor ignored. It mystifies me that in all your years at the school it has never come to my attention."

"I didn't advertise the fact," Draco told him touchily, "I was told not to. I am, I would like you to understand, very much in control of the situation. I can assure you that if it had been down to me I would have found it a great source of entertainment."

"You'd probably have had my Firebolt up in flames long before now, wouldn't you?" Harry muttered, still slightly offended that Draco hadn't told him straight away.

"It would have been more that just your Firebolt," Draco said with a smirk, thankfully missing the expression on Sirius' face and the pacifying hand Remus laid on his arm.

Dumbledore gave a small sigh and looked at him gravely. "You must appreciate, Draco, that your gift is a double-edged sword and without the relevant training you pose a great threat to yourself and others. You are, it is beyond refute, a very powerful young man and the consequences should you lose control would be catastrophic." Draco gazed back at him, but his usual defiance was barely traceable. "I will make arrangements immediately." He turned to leave the cottage, glancing at Snape as he did so. "Severus?"

Snape nodded for Draco to follow him and he left with the slightest glance in Harry's direction and nothing more. The three of them quickly departed while Sirius grabbed his over-robes and followed close behind.

"Harry?" Remus called, leaning against the door as he watched the others stride up the stone steps of the castle. Harry had straggled behind, pondering what had been said. He turned and called back:

"Yeah?"

"You know the drill - anything happens, you tell us, alright?"

"Yep."

"And Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Make sure you get around to telling Sirius about... well, you know what I mean."

Harry knew, alright. Ever since he'd told Remus about coming out to Ron and Hermione he'd been dropping hints that he should tell Sirius. It wasn't that Harry thought Sirius would react badly, Moony had been making subtle insinuations that Harry didn't even want to consider with regard to his godfather, but it was just about finding the right time. With Remus the issue had been raised by the situation; forcing the situation in order to raise the issue was going to be considerably more complicated. Harry sighed and promised: "I'll try..."Eventually.

Harry walked into the Hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table, opposite Ron and Hermione (who had sat next to each other at practically every meal since they'd been back at school) and began to load his plate with large quantities of everything.

"Well?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows to a ridiculous degree, "How did it go?"

Harry reluctantly put down his fork, cleared his throat and beckoned Ron and Hermione toward him. Glancing around, they leaned in slightly, eager to hear whatever he was planning to say before the table was too crowded not to be over heard. Harry glanced over his shoulder at the Slytherin table and frowned as he noticed Draco wasn't there yet.

"Well?" Hermione urged, looking down towards the doors as a group of second years walked in and headed for the far end of the table.

"I don't know how to explain it - it was really weird - I mean, I just never realised it was possible," he began.

"What?"

"Well - he just raised his hand like that-" Harry clumsily imitated the gesture Draco had made at the cottage, "- well, something like that - and his whole hand just burst into flames! It was amazing!" Hermione stared at him, a puzzled look on her face, as though she wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if she should. "It's supposed to be a gift of some sort. Dumbledore's going to have him taught to use it properly."

Ron looked something like a surprised haddock for a moment before whispering, "Malfoy can do wandless magic?"

"Well, I didn't think of it like that, but I suppose so... It scared me half to death, whatever it is..." Harry shrugged.

"You've got a book on the subject, Harry!" Hermione cried in exasperation. "If I'd have found out something like that I'd have checked the book immediately!"

Ron tutted and rolled his eyes, "And we never expected that or anything..."

"I haven't had time! It only happened ten minutes ago! Can I at least have breakfast, first?"

"Well, 'Mione would've had the whole book memorised by the time she got it home, wouldn't you, Hermione?" Ron reminded him, patting her shoulder.

"Well, at least I'd already know what it means!" Hermione said, flicking her hair over her shoulder and folding her arms, just as Neville sat down beside her and began to enthuse about the Isis Vines they'd been working on in Herbology.

"You'd better eat that quick, you know - we have class detention today, remember."

"How could we forget?" Ron groaned, "Snape's a miserable old sadist. He hasn't got a heart, you know. He can't have. No one gives class detentions at half nine on a Saturday!"

"Well, if you and Goyle hadn't started the whole thing none of us would have detention!" Hermione replied indignantly. "I could be studying, but no, we all have to take the lesson again because you couldn't keep your hands to yourself."

"Don't you blame me, Hermione! I only did it because-"

"Because you let the great idiot annoy you so much. Really, Ron, you're going to have to learn to grow up or you'll spend most of this year in detention and you really can't afford to. It's only a matter of months until the exams and unless you plan to work miracles in all of them you'll only just scrape passes and then -"

"Hermione?"

"What?"

"Shut up. The day's depressing enough already."

~*~

Potions detention was not entirely comfortable for Draco. He was feeling decidedly cheated by Dumbledore's decision and hadn't slept particularly well thanks to a relentless stomach ache. First thing in the morning he had rushed to the bathrooms to throw up again and Blaise Zabini had suggested he was pregnant. Zabini had paid for his smart-arse comment with a collection of boils on an aptly chosen part of his anatomy, and now Draco was having to listen to him whinge about them as they prepared a Befuddlement Draft for the second time in three days.

Draco hacked at his holly root purposefully, attempting to block out the other boy's snivelling and trying to decide what to do about the ban that had been placed on any attempt to build bridges with Potter. He could, of course, flagrantly ignore the Headmaster's stipulations, but at the moment the last thing he needed was to get on the wrong side of the old codger. Besides, Snape would be watching his every move, now. He was fully aware that he'd be on the receiving end of a House loyalty lecture after class, which really wasn't promoting any sense of joy. And he felt sick.

He was brought out of his consuming self-pity by a commotion across the room. The potions master was leaning heavily on Potter and the Weasel's table, his face little more that three inches away from the bespectacled boy's, and he was hissing something about Harry being a superior little runt and that while everyone else could hold him in as much reverence as they chose, he, Severus Snape, could see him for the smug little deviant that he was. Oh for God's sake, Snape, change the record, will you? Draco thought, scowling and lashing into his roots with even more fervour. He scooped up the virtually pulped ingredient and tossed it apathetically into his cauldron. It hissed and turned dark greyish-purple, bubbling languidly like boggy mud. Ugh. He can think again if he believes I'll be drinking that!

The thought of putting the disgusting-looking muck anywhere near his mouth made his stomach clench and without virtually any warning, Draco knew that he was going to throw up. Blaise looked at his greening face and took a step back. "Sir!"

Snape looked across from where he was still belittling Harry and demanded, "What is it, boy? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I think Draco's going to be..."

Too late. Draco, in a brief moment of conscious thought as he turned to flee the room and realised it was too late for escape, bowed over Pansy's cauldron to avoid coating the floor and threw up.

Behind them a chorus of "Euuurgh!" spread throughout the class and Pansy wailed that she felt ill, now, too. Draco sat down heavily on his stool and rested his head on his hands as Snape stepped up to him. He peered at the cauldron, whose contents had now turned violently lime green with blue streaks, and then at Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, may I ask if you have been chewing a certain violent article of flora in the school grounds, recently?"

"No, I haven't, sir."

"Then perhaps one of its less ferocious relatives, beside the lake?"

"No, sir, not to my knowledge."

"Then I would have to ask why you may have consumed a large quantity of its extract?"

"I haven't, sir."

"Really? Well, the only other conclusion I can draw is that you may have consumed an inordinate quantity of a Muggle drug known as aspirin. Would that happen to ring any bells, at all?"

Draco cast a surreptitious glance at Harry before making to answer, only to realise that his foot felt wet. He looked down to find that the cauldron was leaking all over the floor. Only, it wasn't just leaking, it was melting.

Pansy suddenly began to squeal again. "Oh no! Sir! Sir, my cauldron's melting!"

Snape looked down at the disintegrating instrument and gave a tiny skip out of the way of the approaching puddle. "Class, outside the room immediately. Remain in the corridor, in silence. Move!"

The class raised from their desks and grabbed their bags, looking at the spreading green mess with morbid curiosity. "Not you, Potter," the professor said triumphantly, grabbing him by the back of his robes as he passed, "You can remain here and clean this mess up, while I take Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing. No magic - we wouldn't want your ineptitude further worsening matters, would we?"

Harry stared back at him, aghast, then at Draco, then the puddle, then back at Snape, but he didn't argue. He slammed his bag down on the nearest table and turned towards the broom cupboard at the back of the room with a loud huff. "Ten points from Gryffindor for surliness. Mr. Malfoy - the hospital wing, if you please."

The rest of the day didn't go quite as Harry would have liked, either. By lunchtime he'd managed to spill his ink all over his Potions notes, earning himself another ten points from Gryffindor (he suspected that Snape was rather miffed that his prize pupil had turned to Harry and not him for help); on the way to the Quidditch pitch he'd tripped down the front steps, causing a gaggle of Hufflepuff girls to fall about giggling hysterically and then, on his way back up to the Tower from the library his bag split - on a moving staircase. He could almost have wept with frustration as The Roots of Herblore and Most Vile Vials plunged down towards the ground floor.

"HEADS!" he called, in an attempt to warn any unsuspecting victim on the floors below, and smacked himself in the forehead with his palm.

"What's the matter with you, today?" Ron asked, as he leaned precariously over the unguarded end of the staircase and peered down, "You've been right bloody clumsy."

"Oh I dunno, I'm just distracted, I suppose... But I wasn't the one who chucked up in my cauldron, was I? I just had to clear it up thanks to that stupid miserable git!" Harry huffed, running a hand through his hair irritably, "You go on up, I'll go and get those."

"Can't you just summon 'em?" Ron suggested as the staircase reached the upper landing.

"And risk Filch catching me doing magic in the corridor?" Harry sighed, "I'm having a crap enough day already, thanks."

"Alright, see you in a bit..." The red haired boy stepped off the case as Harry turned to head back down.

Four floors later, Harry swung around the banister and collided with something very solid, but pleasantly soft. Whatever it was clamped a pair of arms around him and laughed, "Hey, watch it, mate! You'll come a proper cropper, you will!" in a deep Valleys lilt. Harry backed away, blushing, and straightened his glasses. He looked up into a pair of large, dark brown eyes and realised that no, his day wasn't going to get any better. Of all the people to crash into at full pelt while covered in irremovable splatters of gunk from Potions, he had to crash into -

"Erm, sorry, Gavin..." He made to step around the sixth year and hurry on down the stairs, but the bigger boy held out his arm to stop him.

"Wait a minute, Potter," he said, grinning, "If you're headin' down for these I saved you the bother..." He held out the text books Harry had lost.

"Oh - erm...thanks."

"Not a problem, matey," he laughed, his rosy face lighting up like a lamp, "Was just heading up this way, anyway."

"Um, right..." Harry felt his own face burn as Gavin wrapped an arm around his shoulders and began to lead him back up the stairs.

"You know, I' been meaning t' catch you," he began hesitantly.

"H-have you?" Oh my God, Oh my GOD!

"Yeah. See, it's about Quidditch, mainly," he explained, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, "You see, I were out in the grounds, and I couldn'elp noticin' that your practisin' 's goin' pretty well an' I were just wonderin' - an' I know it's really cheeky an' ev'rythin' - but could you gimme a few pointers, like? On breakin' in the new kids?"

Harry stared at him open-mouthed for a moment. Gavin Cross - GAVIN CROSS! - is asking me for help? What does he think I could possibly teach him that he doesn't already know?? "Er... Gavin, I'd love to help, honestly, but I've got no idea what makes us work so well... and, I mean, we're only just choosing our team, it's not as if -"

"Oh I know, but I saw you - you were brilliant!" Cross continued, "'Specially you... But then you always were good. I remember Cathbad Kibble - d'you remember 'im? - wishin' we'd got you in the Sortin'. It were no 'elp when he realised Ollie Wood'd got the best an' youngest seeker since, well... ever. Please, 'Arry, would you 'elp me just a bit? You always win the House Cup, an Slytherin always second - jus' once it'd be nice not for us t'have to console ourselves wi' beatin' 'Ufflepuff."

Harry took a moment to realise they'd stopped walking and Cross had moved so his hand was now resting on Harry's shoulder. A pair of large, hopeful eyes looked into his. Really nice chocolatey brown eyes with, sort of, really long, fluttery eyelashes that...Oh God. Harry, get a grip!

"Um...l-look, I'll ask the rest of the team if you can sort of...c-come and um, kind of watch a practise or something, some time... but I don't think you'll really... learn... anything."

"Oh, H, you're brilliant!" Gavin gushed, grabbing him in a rough hug. "Look, you get this sorted an' I'll be so grateful - 's Hogsmeade weekend nex' week... I don' suppose you'd lemme buy you a butterbeer in the 'Broomsticks or somethin'...? Say thank you, like?"

Harry's mouth fell open and he blinked a few times. "Um... well, yeah. Uhm... I'll, um..." Harry's face was burning, he could feel it. He ran a hand through his hair, just for something to do, then nervously flattened it back down again. "Um... I'd better - I'll be late for class..." He then turned and bolted down the corridor, already breathless with embarrassment. As he swung up a staircase towards the Tower he heard Gavin's voice call after him:

"But 'Arry, it's Saturd'y!"

Harry dashed into the common room and stopped, panting, just behind the portrait hole. Ron looked up from where he sat on one of the sofas with Hermione and frowned at him. "Blood hell, you look like you've just seen a ghost who's given you a really good present!"

Harry gave a nervous giggle.

"Harry? You alright?"

"Um... fine... s'cuse me." He rushed up the stairs and flung himself down onto his bed. His pulse was racing - he knew because the edge of his vision was bright with an odd flashing pink and he could hear the blood rushing in his head. It's nothing. He's just really pleased that I agreed to help him. Really, really pleased. And just because he asked me out, doesn't mean he asked me 'out', does it? He's probably straight, anyway. And... well, look at yourself, Harry! You'd make a really ugly girl...

"Harry?"

Harry sat up to see Ron standing by his bed, fumbling with the edge of a curtain. "What's the matter?"

"Well, that's sort of what I'm here for..."

"What is?"

"We... Hermione said I have to come and talk to you..."

"Talk to me?" Harry blinked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, she thinks we need to have a - y'know - a blokes' talk..."

Harry shifted on his bed so Ron could sit down, which he did, awkwardly (although Ron was apparently studying for an extra O.W.L. in awkwardness, lately). "We've never had a 'blokes' talk' before..." Harry said uneasily.

"I know, but she thinks we should."

"Can't argue with Hermione..."

Ron gave a nervous laugh, "No. Not if you want to keep your teeth where they started, anyway..."

"So, what do you think she meant?"

Ron grimaced, "I know what she meant..."

"Do you?"

"Well... yeah. She told me what I'm supposed to talk to you about."

"Right," Harry nodded, "So, um...?"

Ron really didn't look as though he wanted to say anything. His ears were vivid pink and his eyes were alarmingly wide. He stumbled to get the words out, and when they finally came out it was in a barely audible rush. "Her-Hermionewantsmetofindoutifyoufancyanybodyandtellyouit'salright..." He garbled the whole thing with his eyes closed and once he'd finished he opened first one, and then the other. Before him, Harry was sitting cross-legged, biting his fingernails and concentrating far too hard on the process. He was also very deep pink around the cheeks.

Ron sucked in his bottom lip and goggled at him. "Bloody hell - you do, don't you?" Harry said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched when he glanced at his friend. "Don't you, Harry?"

"I don't think it's really that big a deal, Ron..."

"Who is it?" the red haired boy asked in amazement.

"It's no-one, honestly."

"It's got to be someone, Harry!" Ron argued. "I won't laugh. Promise. As... well, as long as it's not sort of Justin Finch-Fletchley... or - or Snape or someone..."

"Urgh! RON!"

"Well, I don't know what sort of... of...person you like, do I?" Ron asked defensively.

Harry looked as though he might be sick, "But Snape! God, Ron, that's just... urgh!"

"Sounds like you're protesting a bit too much, to me!" he laughed, giving Harry a little teasing shove.

"I'm not protesting enough after that!" Both boys started laughing and it took them a very long time to stop, but by the time they did the tension was completely dissolved.

"So... um... you gonna tell me, or are you gonna let Hermione choke me with my own scarf?" Ron demanded eventually.

"It's not really a crush..."

"But, do you fancy him - whoever he is?"

"Well... sort of, I suppose..."

"And who is he? Is it a Gryffindor?"

Harry shook his head.

"In our year?"

"Um... no."

"He's older?"

"A bit..."

"Blimey, Harry! You don't do things by halves, do you?" Ron gasped.

"Well, I don't suppose it matters, because he's only asked me because he needs a hand and I said I'll try and help..."

Ron looked at him in bewilderment for a moment. "What? This bloke's asked you... what exactly? What sort of hand, Harry?"

Harry shrugged and played with his nails. "He's hoping I'll sort out a way for him to see one of our practises so that the Ravenclaw team will kind of get an idea how we settled down-"

"RAVENCLAW?" Ron half yelled in amazement, "It's never Gavin Cross?!"

Harry blushed even redder and looked up at his friend coyly. "Yeah... Do you think the team'll mind if he comes to watch one of our practises? We don't have to do strategy, or anything..."

Ron didn't look sure. "Well... I s'pose you'd have to ask the others - we've never done it before..."

"I know," Harry said, "but he's only interested in finding out how we sort of gel together... And he's a really nice guy, Ron - I wouldn't like to say no."

Ron quirked an eyebrow in a fashion similar to Draco, although, as Harry noted to himself, somewhat less elegantly. "Well, we both know what you think of Gavin, now, don't we?" he teased.

"Shut up!" Harry muttered, giving him a playful shove.

"Just telling it like it is, Tinkerbell!" Ron laughed.

Harry found himself reduced to a sniggering pink mess. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with Ron. Ever since he'd told Remus about his 'secret' he'd been worrying what his friends would think. Until the moment Hermione had been flung her arms around him in the prefects' office he had almost believed that they would call him a pervert and abandon him. For a long time he'd wanted to pretend it wasn't real. If he ignored it maybe it would go away... But not even his Thing for Cho had been enough to convince him. What he felt for Cho was actually very different to what he felt for the boys he liked. He couldn't place it, but it was there. Very much so. It was like he was drawn to her; it was like they shared some kind of bond - which was ridiculous and infuriating. He hardly knew Cho, really.

But he knew Ron. He knew Ron better than anyone else, but he hadn't known what Ron would think. And to make matters worse, Ron was much less predictable than Hermione. He could quite easily have flown off the handle and gone mad about it. He was growing into a bit of a lad and something like that would intimidate most boys their age. Harry couldn't pretend he hadn't noticed that Ron was a bit awkward around him in the mornings and evenings when they were changing, or in the changing rooms after Quidditch practises. There was the fact that he always showered furthest away from Harry, to a point where Harry had begun to shower at strange times, just so he didn't make the other boy uncomfortable. Not to mention the unfortunate occasions when they might accidentally knock hands as they walked down a corridor and Ron would immediately shove both his hands under his arms or deep into his pockets and walk half a pace further away from him. And Harry knew the events weren't over-emphasised by a paranoid or hyper-sensitive mind, because Hermione had noticed it, too. She had heard Harry give a disheartened sigh as Ron flinched and ducked into the boys' toilets on the way to Charms, after he had made a silly (and, he now concluded, ill advised) gesture of affection, and said:

"Oh Harry, don't let it bother you! Ron'll be alright, but he needs some time to get used to the idea. He's still your best friend, even if he is behaving a little moronically at the moment. It'll be alright."

Harry had wanted to reply that she couldn't be sure of that. That she didn't realise just how uncomfortable he seemed to make Ron at times... But he kept quiet. He didn't want to muddy the waters any further. Ron's behaviour had been bothering him, but he hadn't turned his back on him, so Harry was grateful for what he got.

Sirius was an altogether different matter. Sirius, in a funny (rather impractical) sort of way, was like a parent. Your love life didn't appear to be something you shared with your parents; at least, not when you'd only just turned fifteen. Maybe when you were quite old, like twenty-five or something, but not yet. He didn't want to tell Sirius until he was ready, and he didn't think he was ready yet, no matter how right Remus was.

= = = = = = = =

11 July, 1995.

= = = = = = = =

Harry sat on the deep window sill of his bedroom. He watched the moon slowly sail across the dark blue of the summer night sky. It wasn't quite full, yet, but as the calendar in the kitchen carefully counted down - each day crossed off in Remus' neat hand - it was only three days away.

Harry sighed and rested his cheek on the cool pane of glass. He was angry with himself; angry enough to have kicked the foot of the bed, hard, and bruised three of his toes - which hadn't made him feel any better. He had been at the cottage just a few weeks, but it was his home, the best home he'd ever had, and he was with people who truly cared for him and didn't treat him as slave labour. So why did he have to make things difficult for himself? He'd known Moony had only been teasing him - and seeing the man he'd always known as a sober and responsible professor laughing and joking and at last with a real smile lighting up and lifting years from his face was deeply heart-warming. But Harry had made that smile fade to nothing. He'd seen how his words had taken the light from the man's eyes and extinguished it. And, as he sat there on the window sill, he could still see the moment Remus had reached for the door handle, and with one last glance at Sirius, left the cottage.

"Maybe there's something in history repeating after all. Head boy and girl - both Gryffindors; Quidditch captain and star pupil... You know, I think someone should warn the Grangers to start saving for the wedding - don't you think, Padfoot?"

"Don't..."

"Mid-summer's day on the banks of a river-"

"I said don't..."

"Oh come on, it'll be smashing-"

"JUST SHUT UP! You don't know anything about it! What would you know about marriage, anyway? I don't see you booking your own church, so stop trying to plan out my life, alright? Just leave me alone!"

Sirius had been quite upset, too. Harry had cowered away from him when he had yelled at him for being rude. Uncle Vernon had used his belt on Harry's bare legs more than once for being 'impolite'. Punishment was often physical at the Dursleys' and Harry expected at least a cuff around the ear from Sirius for his out burst. Instead, Sirius was absolutely aghast at Harry's reaction. He swore that he would never lay a malicious hand on him and seemed deeply shaken by Harry's fear of him. Harry had responded by running up to his room and locking the door. He'd stayed there for the rest of the evening.

Harry checked the clock; it was after midnight. He clambered off the window sill and opened the bedroom door a fraction. At the bottom of the stairs the light was on. Sirius was still up. Harry picked up his Invisibility Cloak and crept along the landing. Remus' bedroom door was open and his light off, but he could make out the smooth blankets on his bed; Remus wasn't back. Draping himself in the garment, Harry snuck down the stairs, careful to tread on the part nearest the wall so they didn't creak, and past Sirius in the living room. He lay sprawled on the sofa, gazing at the beamed ceiling as if it held all the answers to the Great Questions and Harry knew, somehow, that the questions Sirius was asking involved him.

He made his way through the kitchen and out the backdoor. The air was warm but licked his face with a cool breeze. Somewhere far away in the Forbidden Forest an unnameable beast wailed into the night and the school owls were hunting, attacking in silent swoops and disappearing off into the night with victorious screeches. Harry loved being outside in summer, even at night. He walked towards the lake, it being the focal point of the school grounds, and when he reached its banks he lay back on the sloping lawn and gazed at the network of constellations, wishing - not for the first time - that he was someone entirely different. He didn't know how long he sat there, but he didn't hear Remus approaching until he sat down beside him and lay against the slope, just as Harry was.

"Did you know that the Amerindians believe that all the stars in the sky are the souls of their loved ones?" he said wistfully.

"My primary school teacher mentioned it once, I think..."

They lay in silence for a few minutes before Remus confessed: "I come out and look at them, sometimes. I always liked that theory - it lets you believe that they're still watching us. I remember the day we buried my mother; I went outside and I spoke to her, and I really think she heard me. It was so tranquil... I was glad, almost, that she went when she did, because we could all see it coming -- the war, I mean -- and she didn't have to suffer the way the rest of us did... Then it was Lily and James... I still find it hard to believe they're gone, at times. I know what it's like, being all alone - I was alone, too, after they died and Sirius and Peter were both gone. All you, Sirius and I have got, now, is each other - and I know we're not your first-choice parents, but let's not spoil it..."

"Remus, look, I'm really, really sorry I yelled at you. I didn't mean it. I'll understand if you want to send me back to Privet Drive..."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Remus said, stretching out an arm for Harry to lean his head on his shoulder. Harry shuffled closer and made himself comfortable. "I'm sorry I upset you earlier, I honestly never intended to..." He paused and Harry turned to look at him. "Sirius and I were talking about it the other night - you're so much like James, Harry... It's so easy to see him sitting there and not you... He was used to our teasing about Lily - if anything he encouraged it, because it detracted from our teasing about... well, about other things... The truth is that more than anything else Sirius and I wish the past fourteen years had never happened. It feels like we failed the three people who meant more to us than anyone. And I include Peter in that because we can't help wondering what we could have done to stop him turning to Voldemort; maybe it could have been different..." He gazed up at the stars for a moment before continuing; "But the fact of the matter is, we can't change the past, so we just want to make the best of the future. If I joke about history repeating it's because I wish it could; maybe this time we could get it right...

"You're family to us, Harry, just like your parents were, and there's nothing you could possibly say or do that is ever going to change that; nothing is ever going to make us want to send you back to those miserable Muggles. Everybody argues - James and Lily spent years at each others' throats before they got together, but they were one of the happiest couples I've ever known. And maybe Sirius and I aren't quite ideal parents - after all, we haven't had the fifteen years practise James and Lily would have had by now - but if there's anything you want or think we're doing wrong just tell us. We'll never know if you don't say so, will we?" Harry shook his head against Remus' shoulder. "And if there's anything you'd like to talk about we're both here for that, too. Goodness knows I needed all the help I could get when I was your age..."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses and realising they were damp.

Remus cleared his throat quietly, "Nothing much, really, but it all seems so much worse at the time, doesn't it? What's on your mind? Is there anything?"

"It's okay - really - I'm just being over-sensitive about it..." Harry sighed.

"Well, why don't you tell me and we can both decide if you're being over-sensitive or not, hm?" Remus suggested, giving him a gentle squeeze, "Is it about Hermione? Was I a bit near the mark?"

Harry laughed at the irony of the question and caused Remus to look at him in surprise. "I almost wish I did..."

"Sorry?"

"I wish it was that simple..." Harry told him wearily.

"So you haven't got a crush on Hermione?"

"Not at all."

"Is it something along those lines, though?"

"Well, vaguely..."

"Harry, trust me on this, I was a Marauder, there is absolutely nothing you can tell me that I haven't seen already. You name it, Sirius or James - or Peter on a good day - did it and left me to plan the cover up. Not that I didn't have a few 'moments' of my own, admittedly, but I had enough fun watching them all getting into scrapes and sharing in the excitement at someone else's expense... But we were talking about you, weren't we?"

"You can talk about them if you like - I like hearing about my dad when he was at school."

"No, really, I can tell you tales about that any time. What's the matter, Harry? If there's anything Sirius or I can do, I swear we'll do it."

Harry stared up into the vastness; the stars glittered so white they looked like petrified snowflakes, frozen in mid-fall. He felt insignificant and detached, as though watching himself from one of the stars billions of miles away. As if he were on a world inside a snow-dome and were looking in on himself. "I'm tired of pretending, Moony," he said at last.

"Pretending what, Harry?" Remus prompted softly.

"That I'm the same as everyone else..."

"Aren't you? You seemed keen to prove that you were just the same as everyone else until now..."

Harry gave a small, deep-throated gurgle and shook his head against the man's shoulder again.

"How do you differ?" he asked in a gentle whisper.

"Because..." Harry paused and closed his eyes tightly, screwing up all his nerve to tell him. Remus wouldn't be upset, he couldn't be; he was too sensible and kind. The worst he could do was... Tell Sirius... "No. I can't, Remus..." he sat up and made to climb to his feet.

"Harry, I promise you, I won't be shocked or upset or tell anyone - I promise..." Remus assured him, grasping the back of Harry's t-shirt and tugging him back onto the grass with gentle ease.

"You promise?" People had made promises to Harry in the past, but keeping them often seemed rather beyond their power.

"I promise."

It may have been the lupine flicker in the man's eyes which was always there, so close to the full, but something so natural and earthy gazed back at him that Harry found himself spilling out everything to him. His fears, his nerves, his long-since-ended crushes on Bill Weasley and Oliver Wood, and some other fellow pupils, and how he didn't feel for Cho Chang and suspected he'd been wishing it so hard that he'd deluded himself into believing he fancied her. And finally, when he'd calmed down some, his greatest anxiety - what would his parents have thought?

Remus looked at him for a few moments before saying simply: "They accepted me, didn't they?" Then he pulled Harry back against his shoulder and spoke almost into his hair; "James and Lily were two of the kindest, most understanding people I knew in my entire life. It was James who finally wormed the truth about my condition out of me, Lily who comforted me when my mother died or when I had problems of my own. They were wonderful people and you're a wonderful kid - an asset to them. All they'd want is to know that you're happy. They wouldn't have cared if you were gay, straight, somewhere in between, purple with green spots, Martian... just as long as you were happy. Trust me, I knew your parents better than I knew myself."

"They wouldn't have been upset?" Harry asked, pulling away slightly and looking up at him.

"The only thing that would have upset them is seeing you so het up about it - no pun intended," Remus assured him. "Harry, you're still the same person - and I think Ron and Hermione..."

"You think I ought to...?"

"Yes, I do. Don't keep secrets from your friends, Harry, they only seem worse once they've had time to fester."

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Ron was laughing so much at the idea of Harry dating that he tilted backwards and nearly knocked himself out on the foot board.

"And you reckon I'm the clumsy one!" Harry laughed, holding out his hand to pull him back upright.

"It's not my fault that the idea of you going out with someone is the funniest thing to pass through my head since I thought of Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret again the other day..." Ron scowled, rubbing his bump and sitting up of his own accord.

"Thanks, Ron, that really inspires confidence."

"Sorry..." Ron muttered, stretching out his legs and folding them back under himself again. "I just... I can't really get my head around it."

"That I'm gay, you mean?"

Ron blushed and played with the hem of his robe. "Well...yeah. And seeing someone... I mean, I've known you since we were kids and I never realised... it feels... weird, that's all."

"Well, y'know, I didn't realise, either," Harry assured him. "I'm only really starting to get used to the idea. It's a bit scary..."

"But how can you not have realised, Harry? It's something so major..." Ron asked, frowning as though he was trying to fathom Hermione's Arithmancy homework.

"I know it is! It just all took a while to add up, that's all..."

"But how do you know? I mean, couldn't it just be a phase, or something?"

"Well, people do say that, sometimes, but I don't think it is..."

Ron looked distinctly worried, and Harry had a horrible feeling that this conversation was going to end very uncomfortably in the near future.

"Do you think I could be?"

Harry blinked and gazed at Ron with confusion for a moment, not entirely sure if he was asking what it sounded like he was asking. "Could be... what, gay?"

"Y-yeah. Do you think I could be?"

"Do you think you could be?" Harry asked, carefully.

"I... I dunno, because I don't really know what it feels like to be... that way," Ron told him, sounding even more worried than ever.

"Ron - it is patently obvious that you fancy-" Harry very nearly broke the unspoken rule of never mentioning Ron's unacknowledged soft spot for Hermione, and quickly recovered himself by finishing with a very awkward: "girls."

"Yeah - I mean, I do..."

"So what the hell are you so worried about?" Harry demanded, half laughing with disbelief.

"Well, you liked Cho..." Ron pointed out.

Harry grimaced slightly; the last thing Ron needed to hear if he was getting worried about his own sexuality was that Harry himself hadn't been sure who he liked even very recently. He took a deep breath. "Thing is, Ron - I think I just wanted to like girls so much I convinced myself I liked Cho..."

"So you never did, then?" Ron asked slowly.

"No. Not like that, anyway..." Harry admitted. "Look, Ron, unless something's happened that makes you think you are, there's no reason for you to start worrying that you might be."

"But..."

"You know what made me realise, I think?"

"What?"

"That you liked Fleur and I didn't. All the boys liked Fleur - even Draco admitted that, last night - and I wondered why she didn't turn me into a horrible, slobbering puddle at her feet like... well, like you," Harry explained, adding: "No offence..." with a wry grin.

"Oh cheers!"

"No problem. But you see what I mean? You're the same as all the other boys here."

Ron thought for a minute, before saying: "But at the Quidditch World Cup-"

"There was an army of them!" Harry cried, "No one stood a chance!"

"I s'pose not..." Ron nodded, leaning back against the foot board, carefully.

They sat in silence for a minute, before Harry asked: "Is that really what's been bothering you? That because I'm gay you assumed you must be, too?"

"I didn't assume anything!" Ron protested, his ears pinking slightly. "I just didn't think about it until you said, and then... well, I dunno about these things, do I?"

"Well, I think we can safely assume you're not," Harry assured him, patting his arm - and watching him flinch slightly. Oh this is ridiculous! "Ron, look - I need tell you something and I don't want you to be offended."

"Uhm-"

"I really want you to believe me on this, because it's very important to me, alright?"

Ron nodded warily.

"I don't - in any way, shape or form - fancy you. So you can stop getting all nervous about it."

"I'm n-"

"Oh come on, Ron! You jump away when I touch you, half the time - even if I do it by accident. You and the other three in here are my mates, I know you all too well for something like that. I know this is bound to be weird for you, but I don't want to make things awkward because of it!" He paused and lowered his voice, slightly, "Don't let who I am or am not interested in ruin things..."

"I'm not!"

"It makes me uncomfortable that you're uncomfortable..." Harry admitted quietly, "And don't pretend you're not."

"I - I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to upset you..."

"I'm not 'upset', I'm just... if I want to go out and see people and... well, and do stuff, like any normal fifteen year old, I don't want to have to worry that it's going to lose me my best friend."

"It wont!" Ron insisted.

"Well, it was... it was almost starting to feel like it."

Both boys sat in silence for a long time, before the red-haired boy finally pondered:

"What's it like, d'ya reckon?"

"What?"

"Well... y'know - kissing someone..." Ron said, blushing. "D'ya think boys are different?"

Harry blinked at him for a moment, taken aback by the question, then suggested: "I dunno - ask the twins, they probably know... Though maybe not about the 'boys' part..."

"Are you having a laugh? I'm not asking them! They'd never let me live it down! And anyway, I wouldn't trust them to tell us the truth anyway..." Ron replied indignantly.

"Yeah, I s'pose so... So what about Charlie? Or Bill? They'd tell you, wouldn't they?" Harry offered, not even bothering to mention Percy.

"Oh yeah, I can just imagine that!" Ron scoffed, miming writing a letter on his palm, "'Dear Bill, how are the curses going? I was just wondering what it's like to snog someone, please give as much detail as you can by return owl. Eagerly waiting for your reply (especially if you know about blokes), your little brother, Ron. P.S. Don't tell mum and dad I asked.' Yeah, good idea, Harry. And I really hope Bill doesn't know anything about blokes!"

"Well, what's the use in having older brothers if they won't tell you something like that?" Harry asked, pushing his glasses back up his scrunched-up nose and carefully ignoring the last part.

"From experience, I'd say the main uses for older brothers are a) 'borrowing' their stuff, b) learning to fight, which is always useful when you start school c) 'borrowing' their stuff and d)... well, there isn't one, actually...Or if there is I can't think what it might be..."

There was a pensive silence.

"What we need is practise," Ron mused eventually, "And someone to practise on."

"Oh yeah? Well it's easier for you, isn't it? Now we've established you aren't gay..."

"No it's not!" Ron argued, "It's a shame you don't like girls - they'd be falling over themselves to help you."

"Well I don't, so there's no help in that, is there?" Harry said, shrugging.

"We could always... nah..." Ron began, before dismissing whatever idea he'd had.

"What?"

"It's... nothing, never mind."

"Look, if you've had an idea just sodding tell me, because any idea is better that it coming down to it and turning out crap and embarrassing myself!" Harry insisted.

"What? You reckon you'll get to snog him?" Ron asked, grimacing slightly.

"No! But... well, I mean, just in case..." Harry admitted.

"You can't go doing something like that on a first date, you big jezebel!" Ron cried, with a chuckle.

"It's not a date, mum. We're just going to meet up in Hogsmeade and he's going to buy me a drink to say thanks for letting him sit through a practise - and I haven't even made sure he can, yet."

Ron twisted his face into a thoughtful frown, then said: "Don't worry about that, I'll sort that out; now we've just got to sort about this whole kissing malarkey."

"So what do you propose, O Cupid?" Harry asked, privately pleased that far from wanting to abandon him or freaking out, Ron wanted to help. He reached over into one of the drawers in his bedside cabinet and pulled out a bag of sherbet lemons, taking one himself and offering Ron one.

"There's one thing - one extreme measure we could take..." Ron suggested slowly, sucking on his sweet.

"Yeah, and...?"

"Well, it's a bit... kind of weird."

"Weird?"

"Well, weird for us because... Oh look, you need to practise this, and I need to practise this... and....?" He gestured for Harry to contemplate that point and draw his own conclusions as to what he was saying.

Harry thought for a minute before choking on his sherbet lemon. "Oh! God, that's quite... Ron are you sure about this? A minute ago you were panicking because you thought-"

"Well, what other choice have we got? And at least... if I do this I'll know for certain, won't I? Because I'll have tried it..."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right..." Harry nodded. They each concentrated on their sweets for a minute before he asked, carefully, "So, when should we...um... practise, then?"

Ron took a deep breath and said: "Well, no time like the present, as Mum would say..."

"Now?"

"Well, yeah - I reckon we'll talk ourselves out of it, otherwise."

"Well if we'll end up talking ourselves out of it maybe we shouldn't do it at all..."

"Look, it's alright for you, you intend to snog blokes..."

"But not you! I don't intend to snog you... "

"Harry, you're getting all hysterical. Stop it and lets get this over with, alright?"

"Alright," Harry agreed, concentrating on not hyperventilating. I can't believe I'm even thinking of doing this! "Yes, you're right... I'm being stupid. Let's get this... right... So, how...?"

"Um..." Ron shifted a bit nearer and studied the way they were sitting. "Bloody hell, this isn't going to work unless one of us is practically sitting on each other's lap! I'm not doing that - that's far too much like being properly gay or something!"

"You really do have as much tact as Draco, don't you?" Harry muttered, shaking his head.

"Well, you know what I mean!"

"Yeah, yeah, if you say so... So, come on, what now?"

"Well," Ron said, shifting again and gripping Harry's shoulders to place him at what he deemed an appropriate angle, "now we've got to kiss."

"Just like that?"

"That's the theory."

"Right."

Neither of them looked the other in the face for several moments.

"Well, go on, then..."

"Oi, this was your idea!"

"Well, it's your 'forte', innit?" Ron argued.

"If it was my 'forte', Ron, I wouldn't be sitting here with you arguing about it!"

"Well... we'll go together, then, alright?"

"Fine."

"Good."

Each boy took a deep breath and looked determinedly at the other, slowly they leaned in, but suddenly Ron leaned back and asked: "Hang on - what was the last thing you ate?"

Harry gaped at him in exasperation. "A sherbet lemon, Ron, you saw me eat it! And choke on it!"

"Oh yeah. Well, okay then..."

For the second time, both boys leaned in, but after a moment's hesitation each scraped together the nerve to actually do it. The ensuing collision of lips, teeth and dribble was not the most graceful kiss in the history of snogs and both boys withdrew from it rather quickly. Ron looked rather like he'd been slipped one of the twins' Ton Tongue Toffees, the way his mouth hung open and he half dry-retched, half choked. Harry was too busy nursing two very painful front teeth to notice.

"That was crap."

Harry glared at him, still rubbing at his teeth. "Well at least I didn't try and knock your incisors out!"

"It hurt my teeth an' all, you know!"

"Well if you hadn't brought them into it in the first place...!"

"Oh shut up."

They slowly composed themselves and wiped slobber off their chins and agreed that, as the first time had been an unmitigated disaster, it was best to have a second attempt. Careful, this time, not to go into it like sharks in a feeding frenzy, they puckered up their lips and gently, very gently, pressed them together. It proved considerably less painful than going in teeth-first, at any rate. Cautious experimentation told them that the open-mouthed part only actually worked if they both tilted their heads to the side; only it seemed that they both preferred to tilt their heads in the same direction, which caused a few moments of squashed noses until Harry gave in and tilted awkwardly to the left. The use of tongues, it seemed, was a matter that required more effort. It was all too easy to create rivers of dribble that neither was willing to claim, but they agreed that they were now probably capable of holding their own with any prospective snog-ee and called it a day.

"Well, one thing I have to say," Ron said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "I can now say, beyond any shadow of doubt whatsoever, I'm sticking to girls."

Harry finished dabbing his bottom lip on the back of his hand and agreed. "Yeah, well, I'm glad you said that, because I can now say - beyond any shadow of doubt whatsoever - that I really don't fancy you, Ron. Sorry."

"S'alright."

They sat for a moment, both safe in the knowledge that whatever fleeting fears they might have had about their practising making things awkward between them, things were very much unchanged.

"Right, well, we never speak of that again, right?"

"Right."

"Is it time for dinner, yet?"

At that moment there was a gentle tap on the door and Hermione appeared, looking anxious. "Hello..." she ventured carefully, looking from one to the other.

"Hi, Herm."

"Is... um... is everything alright?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" Ron asked quickly, glancing at Harry.

"Well I was just wondering about... you know..."

"We're fine, aren't we, Harry?"

"Er... yeah, absolutely fine. Just spent the whole time chatting, didn't we?"

"Yeah! Yeah, just chatting. Not, like... doing anything else at all..."

"No."

Hermione looked between them again, this time concern replaced by vague suspicion. "Alright..." she said slowly, "Well, are you coming down for dinner? You've been up here absolutely ages..."

"Dinner? We were just talking about dinner, weren't we?"

"Yeah, that's right - dinner. Let's go."

"Yeah."

Both boys stood up and hastened past her, Ron patting Harry on the shoulder as they did so, leaving her staring after them in bemusement. "Well, at least Ron's stopped being so blinkered about one thing," Hermione thought to herself as she watched them go. "Shame he can't see what's right in front of him..." Sighing, she shook her head and followed them down.

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