When the Darkness Broke In

Chapter ~ XIV: Part One

So See the Survivor in Control

"You won't know how well you've played until you've won..." Embrace

Sirius blinked his eyes open on Boxing Day morning and found, for a change, that a sandy-haired someone was still curled up asleep beside him in the bed. He blearily smiled and raised a hand to smooth the collar of his pyjama shirt. Remus was facing away from him, nuzzled down into the pillow, but he was still very much asleep. He looked serene when he slept.

Despite his wry projection of cheerfulness when he was awake, Remus always seemed faintly troubled. There wasn't much that was enigmatic about Remus when you could read him the way Sirius could - when you'd known him since he was a boy and watched him carefully construct tidy little barriers until some people thought of him as an exhibit at a museum, hidden behind plate glass. To those who didn't understand, the safe distance he kept between himself and the rest of the world was simply reserve and respectful detachment.

There was still nothing happening between them. He was growing used to it, now. Slowly. It was frustrating, of course, but it was considerably more appealing than the prospect of being stuck all alone every night again. He smiled again at the thought, because no, Remus was here and by hook or by crook, that was where he was going to stay. Sirius pushed himself up on his elbow and brushed the hair back from his face before it promptly fell back into his eyes again as he leaned over the other man about to kiss the side of his mouth. But he stopped sharply when he looked down at the hand pressed half underneath Remus's face. The too-long sleeves he liked were pushed back and on the pale plane of his wrist was a mark. Several marks. A great, distorted mess of marks. They were pits of twisted pink; and covered almost the whole area.

Sirius froze, feeling as though someone had just walked over his grave. He swallowed. Transformation scars; worse than he had seen in the past. They were jagged and looked as though the skin had been torn, the work of claws and teeth, and had never seen the healing work of Poppy Pomfrey or anyone of her skill.

Remus jolted awake as if someone had pinched him, and reflexively pulled his hand under the covers; it was obvious, though, that it was too late. And he knew so. The slumber blush on his cheeks vanished instantaneously. He looked stunned; horrified. He'd had no intention of Sirius seeing them, evidently. Sirius stared at him for a moment before grasping at his hand; Remus pulled back, looking away. He looked embarrassed and rather ashamed.

"Is this what you've been hiding from me? Are there more?"

"I would have told you..."

"When? You said the same thing about everything else you've been keeping from me..."

"This is mine - this is not something you needed to know."

"There you go again, deciding what I need to know and what you can keep hidden from me like I'm a fucking kid... Moony... why? And when? Fuck when - how? Why did no one ever --? What made you think you needed to hide them? After the past few weeks...I mean, Christ..."

Remus hesitated for a moment, not looking at the scars, or anywhere near them, then said, "I hide them from myself. Why should you be any different?"

Sirius dropped his hand and instead cupped Remus's face so he couldn't move away, "You didn't have to hide this from me, Moo. What do I have to do to prove to you I'm not a kid? It's not even that you kept it from me, it's that you're acting like I need protecting, that gets me! It's as if you're ashamed -"

"I am ashamed of them!"

Sirius gave a small smirk and stroked his face, "You would be. Always too bothered about what's on the outside for people to see, aren't you?"

"I have to be..."

"Not with me. What do you think I'm going to do, leave? I've seen this all before, Moo."

Remus gave a deep sigh and pushed Sirius's hand away gently, before pushing back the covers and sitting up on the edge of the bed. For a minute, Sirius didn't think he was going to say anything, and that he would just get up and go downstairs; but then he spoke, quietly.

He wouldn't even look at him, fixing his gaze instead on the carved wooden foot of the bed, "After a certain amount of time you almost forget what it is you're hiding."

"You forget what you're hiding every morning as you put on your shirts with sleeves that come down over your fingers, and then your sodding jumpers and then your robes and at bed time your pyjamas, just the same - sleeves so long your second knuckles are half covered? Fifteen year olds do that, Remus. Remember Juniper Green? I do. I remember how everyone used to take the piss about her long sleeves and then we found out why - because she had arms that looked like yours when the Moon's waning. See? I remember the bad stuff - the stuff that gave Wormtail nightmares for weeks, the snivelling little shit - I'm not that stupid I can't remember so - "

"Stop it, Sirius!"

"Moo..." Sirius whispered, crawling nearer and reaching out to wrap his arms around him. He tried to pull him close and pull the sandy head to his chest, but the other man gently pulled back.

"There's no need. I have no intention of crying."

"No, of course not. Silly me." He paused, giving up and allowing his hands to fall in to his lap, instead. "Is there anything else?"

"Pardon?"

"Is there anything else I should know? Any other nasty surprises I should expect over the next twenty years? Because I want to be able to move on from what happened to us, even if you don't. I've had enough, Moony. I'm not in prison any more, so I want to stop feeling like... like I'm being deprived of an actual life. It's like doing this million-piece jigsaw and only getting one or two of the last bits when someone else says I can. It's just fucking unbearable! Really. Please. Let's just stop playing games and get over it, for God's sake!" Remus looked at him side-long and opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius cut in, "Mention the word 'sex', Remus, and it will be the last thing you ever do..."

Remus gave a small, sharp exhalation of breath, somewhere between a sigh and a huff, and pushed his fingers through his uncombed hair. His eyes wandered across the carpet, dismally, as if looking for some sort of prompt. "I didn't want to upset you again. It's just so worrying, the idea of losing you into yourself - or to anything else - purely because of the traumas I've already managed to deal with."

"And waking up to that on Boxing Day isn't even a bit disturbing, obviously."

Remus looked at him coolly for a moment, before continuing. "Siri, I've tried to explain to you so many times, what happened while you were in Azkaban - "

"Changed you. Yeah, yeah - I know that. I can see that. I just want to know what the fuck actually did happen so that I can have some idea of how that changed you. Don't you understand that?"

"Well, yes - up to a point - "

"The thing is, right, you don't want to accept that maybe I'm not the one with all the problems to worry about. Maybe it's not me, maybe you're just blaming me for being screwed up just so you don't have to face up to the fact that you are the one no good at being an adult."

"I'm putting on a perfectly good performance of managing so far."

"There's a difference between an adult and an authority figure, Remus. And there's a difference between acting like you're managing alright and really managing alright. You're a bloody control freak - that bit hasn't changed at all, has it? And now you want me to fit into this little box of 'Poor, Vulnerable Sirius, All Fucked Up by Prison' so you can use that excuse not to let yourself get close to me again. And Harry's not your kid, so you still treat him like someone you hardly know, even though you and I both know that if something bad actually happened, and we lost him - "

"Sirius, don't!" the other man cut in sharply, looking as though he had a vile taste in his mouth. "Don't."

And then, Sirius really began to see the light. And it had been there all the time, if he'd just looked. "You really are scared of losing everything again, aren't you? That's what this is all about. And you bloody said so, and everything, but I thought that was just you being bloody neurotic! You reckon that if you let people close to you and drop your barriers for a second we're all going to get right back under your skin and then we're all going to leave you again, don't you?"

"Siri..."

"Don't you? Answer me."

Remus closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders slightly, swallowing.

"Moony..."

"Once was lesson enough, Sirius."

"So what, you're going to just keep pushing us away all the time, and that's it? What are you saying?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I know I fucking don't."

"Look - "

"You have got to get over this! If not for our fucking sake, for Harry's! He needs you, as well."

"I know! But you just don't understand - "

"Of course I don't understand, you won't bloody talk to me!"

"Sirius, when I say I've changed I don't mean solely in deep and mysterious ways, I mean - "

"You're now mid-thirties, going grey and have crows feet. We've had the conversation about this before, seventeen years ago: 'Oh but you're such a stud who all the girls fancy, Sirius' - I'm not in it for looks, Moo, I love you anyway! That doesn't matter to me! I mean... I'm not saying I don't fancy you or anything... I just...Oh crap...you know what I mean."

"We had this conversation seventeen years ago, too."

"Shut up."

"Sirius, the simple fact is, we have not just left school after seven years of living together. We - "

"Have only spent the past seven or eight months in the same house, but who's counting?"

"What if you realise that I'm just not close enough to the person you think you remember for this to work?"

"I dunno, you'll have to ask the person I was back then."

"Don't - "

"I'm not taking the piss, I'm making a point. I - love - you. I love you now. Alright? I don't want to go anywhere or do anything or be with anyone else. At all. Now, I'm saying this slowly so you'll understand, I. Love. You. Je t'aime. Ti amo. Ich... something. Can't remember the German one..."

Remus gave him a small, lop-sided smile and said, "Ol fleignog."

"No, it wasn't that."

"Trollop."

"If I didn't know that was a language - which I didn't know you spoke, by the way - I'd be quite put out by that."

"Terribly sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Well, to be honest, no, I'm not, particularly. And I don't speak it, really, I just picked it up."

"When was the last time a Lowland Troll told you they loved you?"

"About thirty seconds ago."

"I walked into that."

"You did."

"Come here."

"I am here."

"No, here." Sirius held out his arms, and half dragged a semi-reluctant Remus on to the pillow beside him, where he slipped an arm around him and placed a pair of scratchy kisses on his cheek. "I love you. Seriously."

Remus gave a soft smile and murmured, "I know you do."

"So are you going to learn to trust me?"

"I trust you, Padfoot, of course I trust you..."

"Then be honest with me. If you've got more stuff you're trying to pretend never happened, just bloody tell me now so we can get past it."

Remus sighed and rested his head against Sirius' shoulder, settling down slightly and slipping his fingers between the ones rested on his waist. "I suppose I just forget they're there, all the things that matter. I had to survive, whatever it took. I just blocked them out."

"What would I have done without you?" Sirius asked softly, a sardonic smile creeping across his lips.

"Knowing you, you would have come out of Azkaban and spent all your money on drink, women and motorcycle parts."

"Nah... I out-grew women ages ago."

"You mean they out-grew you."

"Oi! I thought you were meant to be taking care of my terribly-fragile-handle-with-care-this-way-up self-identity! Shut up."

Remus laughed, and for a moment his eyes shined. It was a beautiful thing to behold, something James had once jokily immortalised in poetic mockery, declaring it to be "A vision of the Sun whence unveiled from his shrine of cloud and gifting warmth upon the humble land." In fact, the result had been Peter gifting James with pumpkin juice all over his jumper.

"I really want to sort this out, Moo," Sirius persisted, slipping a hand up to his neck and stroking his cheek with his thumb. He watched as Remus sighed and his eyes softened to a slightly sorrowful green, with mere flecks of amber creeping towards the edges.

"So do I."

"So what do I do?"

"You're doing fine."

"Not that fine, obviously."

"I do love you, Padfoot, even if I'm a little..."

"Cold?"

"Distant, was the word I was looking for. I learned not to need anyone, which you should realise was quite a feat... I'm having to re-learn skills greater than not eating rats in public."

"Yours is not to eat small children in public."

Remus raised an eyebrow and surveyed him with unamused interest.

"Sorry."

"I'll believe it when Hell freezes over."

"You could eat me, I wouldn't complain."

"Any excuse to get bits of your anatomy in my mouth with you, isn't it?" Remus said drily, catching Sirius's wrist before he could reach out and grope him.

"Now who's the one with sex on the brain?"

"You, Sirius. It's invariably you."

"Liar. I may not remember everything, but what I do remember..." he gave a salacious grin and licked his bottom lip, looking more like wolf studying its prey than Remus ever had.

"Is a figment of your perverse imagination," Remus laughed and allowed himself to be kissed before gently pushing Sirius back on to the bed. He rolled on to his side to face him and said nothing for a moment. "Are you getting bored yet?" he asked, eventually, pulling at a strand of Sirius's dark hair.

"Bored of what?"

"I'm working on it, I promise."

"What?"

Remus blushed slightly and didn't hold his gaze. "Part of that is this," he said, and they both glanced at the scars on his wrist where the material was no longer self-consciously pulled over his hands. "I was sure that you would see and I didn't want to face this, yet, but I was working on it. Honestly."

Sirius leaned nearer and kissed him on the forehead, whispering, "Okay."

"I'm covered in scars, you know. Covered in them." He gave a faint smile and explained, "Once I left school... once it all happened, there was no one to heal them. By the time I'd come round from the transformation back they would have healed themselves because of the process of transforming..."

"The healing?"

Remus nodded. "Not as neat as Poppy's by a long way, I'm afraid."

"That's alright; that's what I assumed. I've seen you stark naked with what looked like chunks of skin hanging of you, remember? Developed a strong enough stomach to cope. I think."

"I can't say that having you throw up at the sight of me naked would do much good for the old self-esteem." Remus said with a soft chuckle.

"What about in the dark?"

Remus hesitated for a moment before taking Sirius' hand and commanding him to close his eyes. Sirius did so, and then found his hand guided to a patch of warm, uneven flesh. He stroked with his finger tips like a blind man feeling out an image for a few moments before stopping and placing his hand flat over the ribbed skin.

"Tell me you wouldn't have noticed," Remus challenged softly.

Sirius opened his eyes and looked down at the lattice of scars on the other man's chest, just visible between the few undone buttons. "I can't," he admitted, "but it wouldn't have mattered, Moo."

"It would to me. I think I really thought that you would see the state of me and be repulsed, and after that it would only be a matter of time before you lots interest altogether... I would never have blamed you. These are a reminder of what I am, every day, regardless of the state of the Moon. They're also a reminder of what I could do to another if I came across them in that state..."

"But you've always known, Re, it's not as if this is something new..."

"No, that's very true. But once upon a time it was almost fun. For the past decade and a half it has kept me from being an actual person as far as most people are concerned. That's what I remember."

Sighing, Sirius moved himself closer and pulled Remus into his arms; Remus wrapped an arm around him and for a few minutes they lay curled together in silence. Experimentally, Sirius slipped his hand beneath Remus' pyjama shirt, seeking out the marks he had left upon himself. There seemed to be many. Some tiny enough that they could have been mistaken for creases left by the folds of bedclothes he had laid upon, others great, thick ridges where skin had been gashed by claws. Softly, he rubbed them with his fingers, almost as though subconsciously trying to smooth them away.

He was surprised by the feel of lips on his neck; just gently pressing a kiss to the skin, but definitely there. And then again. And again. The tiniest, most hesitant kisses. He pulled back a little to look down at the other man, who responded by nuzzling nearer and squeezing him tight.

"Don't quote me on it," Remus said, languidly, "but I think the working on it is working." He proceeded to let out a small chuckle and took a playful nip at Sirius' shoulder. "Slowly."

"Slowly," Sirius echoed, nodding and pinching him where his fingers had been exploring. "As if I expected anything else."

"I appreciate your patience. Or I would if I thought you thought you had any choice in the matter."
"Do I have any choice in the matter?"

"None."

"Right." There was a pause, then Sirius said, "You know what I think?"

"Nothing if it doesn't involve sexual gratification."

"Shut up, smart arse. Do you want me to tell you or not?"

Remus rolled his eyes, "Go on, Casanova."

"I think that you and I need to go away."

Remus looked up at him in surprise. "I'm sorry?"

"I think we should go away. Anywhere. The boys will be safe enough if we send them up to the castle for the night."

"I don't think we can really abandon the boys here for a dirty weekend, Siri. Not now."

"Now who's got sex on the brain? I just meant that I think we need a break. Once term starts again I'll be looking after a bunch of brats full-time, won't I? Come on..."

Remus tried to pull away and sit up, attempting to escape far enough that Sirius' proximity was less persuasive. But Sirius' hand followed and tugged gently on his pyjama shirt.

"We could go home," he offered, rolling on to his back and resting the other hand on his stomach, subtly adjusting the other to seek out more scars on Remus' side.

"What do you mean by that?"

"We could go back to Hastings."

The suggestion surprised Remus into complete silence. He wasn't sure whether that was in any way a good idea - and yet far from convinced that it wasn't. To return there would bring back memories for both of them, that was certain, but he did love the South Coast. It was just so quintessentially English and reminded him of the sophisticated Victorians with its tall, white seaside mansions in terraced rows, ludicrous palm trees that were clearly imported and clusters of old-age pensioners catching feeble rays of sun with overly-dark sunglasses and melting ice-cream cones while wearing thick, knitted cardigans and white, standard-issue sandals. Even in winter, when the tourists were mostly seeking warmer climes in Spain or the South of France, the chill and the sea-spray whipping through the air captured his imagination. The power of the sea - so changeable and so familiar - always beckoned to him. He smiled inwardly, and silently added, "And there would be no blasted snow..."

But still, there were memories. Memories of James - and Peter. Memories he didn't think Sirius would enjoy re-living. And there he went again, deciding for him what Sirius was fit to endure. He reprimanded himself; Sirius would have to face all this at some point. Perhaps it should be sooner, rather than later, even if the idea of returning not only to the South Coast, but to the very places that had meant so much to them in their youth, hurt - wrenching at his insides like a particularly violent portkey back to two decades ago. The dunes where they had first got themselves cataclysmically drunk, the beach where they had played games that summer in the 1970s and Sirius had been stupid enough to actually kiss him, the tiny cinema where they had tried to sneak in to films they were not old enough to see - and the triumph when they finally succeeded...

"Moony?"

Remus glanced down at him, offering a thoughtful smile.

"It'd be nice, wouldn't it? Just you and me? Fish and chips in one of the little restaurants on the sea front? Probably too cold to actually eat it on the beach, like we all used to, but still..." he paused. "I need to go there at some point, and you need to get away. I know you do. You're getting all wound up with the responsibility and this'd be a great chance to have a rest. I'll take care of everything, eh? Maybe we can go over New Year - fresh start and all that." He sat up and rested an unshaven chin on Remus's shoulder, hugging him lightly from behind. "Please?"

Remus took a deep breath and looked down at him for a moment. Finally, he sighed and gave in. "Alright," he said, reaching up to gently pat the other man's cheek, "but it doesn't mean I'll sleep with you."

December 31, 1995, dawned bright, crisp and utterly manic at the cottage. Draco had clearly not just fallen out of the wrong side of bed, that morning, but seemed to have missed his sleep entirely and was snappish and bad-tempered. It wasn't remotely helpful that Harry - filled with the joys of the imminent return of Gavin Cross - was feeling exuberantly... gay; in the classical sense of the word. It all culminated with a projectile scone hitting Sirius jam-side up on the side of the face and a boot-campish lecture on behaviour in the absence of parental guidance, which featured the latter forcing two well-reprimanded teenagers to stand by the sink while he marched back and forth listing his expectations.

Mid-way through, and despite it being barely half-past nine in the morning, George appeared and was immediately drafted into their ranks. The final demand, initially levied at Harry, that "This house is not a bleeding knocking-shop, alright? So no treating it like one!" was, after a suspicious look very similar to one often aimed at Gavin but in this instance directed at George, altered to assure them that it did, in fact, apply to everyone. The red-head responded by clicking his heels to attention, offering a Nazi salute and a loud and forceful, "JA, MEIN FUHRER!"

Remus walked into the room just in time to see him clipped lightly around the ear in retribution.

"Padfoot, stop brutalising the children," he said absently, before looking around, bemused, and wandering back out as if searching for something.

For a moment, Sirius looked torn between continuing to lambaste the three boys and following Remus to see what he was fretting about. He settled for a warning scowl and an ominous point at each of them, then trotted after him. George continued to stare into space for a few moments before muttering, wistfully, "The Great Marauders... blood domesticated. It's like the day the Beatles split."

"Well if the house isn't a 'knocking shop' as he so eloquently put it, at least we know why they're going away..." Draco replied, unfolding his arms and pushing his hair out of his face before walking towards the door and summoning the older boy with a sharp, "George."

Harry watched in disbelief as the older boy smirked to himself and followed obediently.

Half an hour later, all three were summoned back on to the landing where the grown ups were now waiting with a single bag, wearing Muggle clothes. "Now take care, tonight, boys," Remus said, pulling on his mittens and fixing each of them with a serious look. "We're only letting you stay here because - "

"- Because Hermione's coming," Sirius cut in.

"No, it's because we're giving you a chance to earn our trust. If you abuse that you will only make things harder for yourselves in future, is that understood?"

"Yes, mum."

"Good."

"And like I said downstairs," Sirius added, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Remus gave a heavy sigh and looked at him impatiently, "So essentially, just about anything except their own laundry?" He tutted while the boys suppressed sniggers and gave the other man a gentle shove towards the stairs. "We'll be back tomorrow evening."

"Happy New Year," Harry said, waving them off.

"Have one for me," George added, with a toothy grin.

"Remus doesn't drink."

"Who said anything about drink?"

Harry stared at him for a moment before walking into his bedroom, declaring, "I think I'm going to be sick."

Draco gave an impatient huff and made his way back into is own room, throwing himself across the bed so that his arms and head hung off the other side. George followed him in, shutting the door. "What's the matter, Snowflake?" he asked, climbing on to sit against the headboard.

Draco made an indistinguishable grumble.

"Oh, right, obviously."

Draco grumbled exactly the same way, but somewhat louder.

"I don't speak Girly Tantrum, mate, you'll have to do your own translating."

Reluctantly, Draco dragged himself back on to the bed and scowled at him. "He's going."

"Right," George nodded, "So, now you've told me the punch-line do I get the rest of the story or just that?"

"Gavin Cross, stupid. Gavin's going to be here, isn't he?"

"That's it?"

"Yes! Yes, that is it! I'm going to have to spend the first New Year of my life since... since it all happened at a party with Harry-bloody-Potter and his stupid bloody boyfriend!"

"We don't have to hang around with them all night, or anything, misery-guts," George said, prodding him with one foot. "They'll probably be off shagging under a pile of coats by quarter-past nine, anyway."

"Great. Thanks, George. That makes me feel so much better."

"Oh, stop whining."

"Pumpkiiiin," Draco pouted, folding his arms and giving him a distinctly child-like pleading look, "Can't you play some sort of prank on them? Something really, really mean? And debilitating?"

"Not when I'm staying in Harry's house afterward, I'm not, no."

"Not even for me?"

"Especially not for you!" George laughed. "You're a Slytherin! Think up your own evil deeds."

"I'm delegating."

"I'm not under your employ - thank fuck - so you can 'delegate' as much as you like, I'm not getting involved. I've already told you, anyway: leave them alone. They're obviously happy enough. Stop being a selfish little bastard."

Draco stared at him for a moment, looking as though he were about to either scream, attack or cry - or possibly all of the above - but instead slumped down further against the footboard and said, "Sorry."

George raised an eyebrow at him, not believing it for a minute.

"It's just that you're so good at these things... I don't suppose anything I came up with would be as good as a classic Weasley Wheeze..."

"No."

"Not even an engorgement charm or something?"

"Not one."

"Not even if- ?"

"I thought you wanted to make life hard for Harry, not make him think all his Christmases have come at once. No pun intended."

"I hate you."

"I know, but let's face it, if you don't hang around with me tonight you're going to look like a total Billy No Mates, so I'd be nice, if I were you."

"That's blackmail."

"So you should have a pretty good grasp of the terms, really, shouldn't you?"

"Stop out-smarting me, you... Slythindor!"

"Wow, that one really cut to the quick, that did."

Draco gave an infuriated growl and threw the nearest thing to hand at him. Which would have been fine had it not been a pair of underpants from the pile of neatly-folded washing Remus had left next to his bed. George was too busy laughing to even make a jibe at his expense. Draco buried his face in his hands and declared, "I want to die. Again."

"At least they're not Super Ted ones."

"Shut up!"

"Well, I suppose at least now when Fred accuses me of trying to get into your pants he'll actually have a leg to stand on."

Draco found this concept shocking enough to raise his head from his hands and say, "He what?"

George laughed to himself, "You know Fred..."

The blond boy raised an eyebrow suspiciously and said, "Up to a point."

"Don't get too excited, Princess, he's a wind up merchant. He'll say anything to get a rise out of people."

"Oh and I could never have worked that out for myself...And don't you dare call me 'Princess'!"

George laughed at him unabashedly.

"Pumpkin, it's not funny," Draco protested self-pityingly, wrapping his arms around himself and preparing for a proper sulk. "I'm miserable."

The older boy sighed and resignedly moved nearer. "Snowflake, I've warned you already. Get over it - just, one way or another, get over it before you get completely out of your tree about it."

"Oh, right - easy for you to say," Draco retorted, "the most significant relationship you've had is best described as 'Friends with Benefits'. I don't think you're in much of a position to tell me about feelings, thank you."

George looked at him for a moment, chewing on his lip as if suppressing what he wanted to say. He finally settled on, "That genuinely did hurt, mate. Cheers."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Draco murmured, "I go out of my way to make people hate me, don't I?"

"I don't hate you."

"I think Harry does, sometimes."

"Harry hates everything, half the time. It doesn't make you special."

"Should I be pleased about that?"

"Well, let's face it, mate, you stand out enough already."

Draco looked at him, unamused, "I do, do I?"

"You're the proverbial Screaming Queen, and you're a Malfoy with Malfoy looks. Of course you do."

The blond boy stared up at him in alarm.

"Drac, everyone knows - or thinks they do. The kids in my house call you the 'Faerie Queen'... I think the Irish munchkin's responsible, for some reason, but I wouldn't take them seriously anyway..."

"As if losing my entire family wasn't enough I now have to wave goodbye to all credibility too, do I? Fantastic. Thank you for that, George."

"Look, it's okay - I mean, we can't be the only ones. I know there's Harry and Gavin, obviously, but statistically, in a school this big... it's meant to be about one in five of us, isn't it? That's what the gaydar's for."

"I don't care about everyone else. I care about me. I care that I can be a laughing stock without even realising it."

"You shouldn't - I mean, you're not. Not really. Ninety per cent of the jokes and rumours in this school come from me and Fred anyway, and we're not going to say anything."

"Maybe I should just get up on the teacher's table on the day everyone gets back from holiday and sing Copa Cabaña wearing nothing but a pink G-string, just to make sure everyone gets the message."

"Who cares what they think?"

"Me. I'm apparently a classic gay archetype, I have to. Remind me never to come to you when I'm depressed. You'd probably hand me the rope, wouldn't you?"

George gave a small sigh of laughter and moved nearer, dragging him into a rough hug. "No one else matters, Snowflake. Try being into blokes and ginger and see how you like it."

"I'll have that rope, now, please."

"No. We've got a party to go to. Shouldn't you start getting ready or something? We've only got another ten or eleven hours before we have to be there."

"Sod. Off. You're as much of a bitch as I am, you know."

"Oh yeah, of course, I just make it manly."

"I'm assuming that was irony."

"Not at all, not at all." George stood up and stretched.

"Well, whatever. Are you coming back?"

"Don't worry, I'll be here to make sure all the nasty Ravenclaws that are invading later don't eat you."

"Good." He watched as George ruffled his hair idly, then sauntered towards the door. "George," he said, and the other boy stopped and turned to look at him, one hand on the door, one on the doorframe, "You're tall, good looking and popular; it's never going to be difficult for you."

The older boy hesitated for a few seconds, staring at him intently, before chuckling and closing the door behind him.

Next door, Harry was looking around his bedroom with a vaguely irritable glare. If they thought he was having his boyfriend stay over and nothing happen they were sadly mistaken. He just hoped that Gavin had the foresight to bring the relevant supplies, because in the Muggle World going into a chemist was quite embarrassing enough; in their world... Harry didn't even want to consider the headlines. The question was, with Remus' gifts precisely how safe from being literally caught with their trousers down were they? What did he go on, anyway? If it was his sense of smell by God Harry was glad he wasn't a lycanthrope himself; if it was those things - those pheromone things - then... would a room freshening spell (courtesy of Hermione, and inevitably subject to suspicious looks and tiresome lectures) suffice? Debatable. But to be frank, Harry wasn't sure he cared if they knew, really. It wasn't as if it was just anyone. They knew how he felt about Gavin - it wasn't just some stupid fling! The rules were stupid to begin with.

He whiled away a couple of hours tidying up bits of his room or else lounging around uselessly, until a sharp knock came at his bedroom door. A short, sharp, self-important knock that could only have belonged to Draco even if the house had not been entirely empty, save for the two of them. He was lucky the other boy had knocked at all.

Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows and grunted, "What?" impatiently.

The door opened to reveal the Slytherin, leaning on the door frame and looking equally irritable. "I'm hungry," he declared, and looked at Harry expectantly.

"What do you want, a medal?"

"No, I want some lunch."

"Well you know where the kitchen is, don't you?"

Draco gave him a very false smile and said, "Thanks to your experimental groping with Captain Chubby and his Man Breasts, yes, I do. Right beneath your bedroom."

Harry scowled and resolutely flopped onto his back. Slagging off my boyfriend is obviously the way to a sandwich, isn't it, idiot?

"Would you prefer I attempted to cook myself? It could all end in... well, less tears than ashes, really. I've never been required to learn to cook and you know what I'm like with combustibles."

"Are you incapable of making a sandwich yourself?"

"How do I make a sandwich?"

"Yes."

"No, fool, how do I make a sandwich?"

Harry propped himself back up in his elbows and stared at him as through he was looking at the most incompetent person on the face of the Earth, and that the very act of realising this was rather a daunting one. He spoke very, very slowly; "You get two bits of bread, yeah? Y'know - that white fluffy stuff with the brown bit around the edge? You put something on one bit, like ham or cheese or a dead ferret - we call this 'The Filling', then put the spare bit on top. That is what we call A Sandwich."

"How do you cook it?"

"You are surely, surely taking the piss, now."

Draco raised his eyebrows, innocently, "You mean while it's cooking?"

"Not even a bit funny, you upper-class twat."

"You could always show me."

"Oh yeah, because we mustn't confuse the dumb blond or anything..."

"How rude!"

"Shut up," Harry said, reluctantly rolling off his bed, "You revel in it. Why don't you just go and get George to make you one?"

"I maybe a 'dumb blond', Harry, but I'm not entirely stupid. He's not above a Canary Cream."

Harry gave Draco a small shove as he passed him in the doorway, "So, basically I'm the safe option."

"Frankly, you're a last resort."

Harry tried so hard not to smile he ended up looking like he was chewing a wasp and was glad the other boy was following behind him or he'd be mocked incessantly for days. He led the way into the kitchen, taking some bread from the bread bin with one hand and laying out the chopping board with the other. "So what do you want in your sandwich, Your Lordship?"

"Caviar," Draco told him, with deliberate sarcasm.

"That's gross!" Harry said, grimacing, "You actually want to eat fish eggs? Can't you just have salami or something?"

"Mmm, slices of scab."

"Cheese?"

"Calf stomach filled with mould?"

"What about cucumber? Surely you can't complain about cucumber, you posh git?"

"Cucumber is fine. Provided it's not the one that man claims he landed on after he fell off his ladder..."

"Landed on..." Harry muttered, smirking. "I bet he did. Repeatedly."

"Good God, you sound like Pumpkin-head."

"You mean 'George'."

"Yes, him."

"Lucky me. Does that mean I get to speak to you again, now? Or only when I'm making your sandwiches?"

Draco sighed and slouched into a chair. "You act as if you never see me."

"That's because I don't, probably."

"Harry, we live in the same house...For the moment."

"Not that you'd know it. Except when I am called upon to make your sandwiches."

Draco shrugged, but Harry wasn't watching. "I thought you'd be pleased to get rid of the burden."

Harry put down his knife and stared at him, nibbling a piece of cucumber. "If I wanted to get rid of you, Drac, I would have told you to bugger off up to the castle."

"Drac-o. And Remus would never have allowed that - banishing one of his lost causes."

"Wouldn't have stopped me saying it, though. And what's your problem, anyway - why is George allowed to call you 'Drac' and I get bollocked every time I do?"

"It's because it annoys you," Draco told him, with a matter-of-fact smirk.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Harry asked, turning back to his chopping board.

"Because you're a stupid Gryffindor."

"So's he."

"No, he's not stupid..."

"Neither am I, and I tell you something, for him to be over here all the time - all the time - he must have a pretty big crush on you."

Draco rolled his eyes and settled down for another raging debate, "So what if he does?" he said, wearily.

"So you're admitting you think he does?"

"No, I'm saying that it makes no difference to me. I also don't believe it for an instant."

"I don't believe that for an instant, either...Look, I've known George since he was thirteen - "

"But you don't seem to know him that well at all. In fact, you can't even tell him apart from Fred, so I think we can safely assume that you can't know him any better than me. The person you think you know may be some awful amalgamation of both of them."

"I know my friends, Draco!" Harry insisted with an incredulous laugh, turning back to face him and skidding a plate across the table at him.

"Well, if that's what you like to think..." Draco replied, pulling the plate towards him. He prodded one before giving Harry an accusing look, "You didn't even cut the crusts off! Cucumber sandwiches do not have crusts, you uncultured, plebeian slob!"

"So eat around them, you fussy, pretentious ponce." Harry pulled out a chair and leaned across the table as if trying desperately to make him comprehend, be reasonable, and just accept that his way was right and Draco would agree if only he understood what Harry was saying. "You really don't understand, Draco. He's not all the noble side of Gryffindor. Neither of them are! These are guys who turn people into budgies - "

"Canaries."

"-canaries... just for a laugh. They're alright in small doses, but seriously, the Twins are bad news. They're sly, they can be really bloody cruel sometimes, and they never take anything seriously. Ever."

"Well, it's good to know you've met Fred."

Harry slumped back into his own chair and gave a somewhat condescending huff, shaking his head.

"You don't seem to appreciate, Harry, that they are not The Twins, they are George Weasley and Fred Weasley. Individual people with individual personalities. They may look the same, and they may be immensely close, but they're actually real people."

"They're just the same..."

"Don't be so ridiculous! I know George well enough that I can safely say he is a decent person... loosely speaking... but then so is your godfather, loosely speaking, and I don't see you complaining."

"I reckon you fancy him."

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter."

"I do."

"Whatever would Cross say? And you didn't cut this cucumber thinly enough."

"You know what I meant."

"The simple fact is, George and I get on very well. There are no strings, no complexes and no pressure. I like it that way."

"And what about George?"

"George can do what he likes."

Draco was standing in front of the tiny mirror when George walked in, not even bothering to knock. He was trying to do something with his hair that was in some way different from usual. Parting it slightly to the right instead of slightly to the left seemed rather pathetic and sweeping it across his forehead like the man on the cover of George's Muggle music magazine made him look like he should be given a mug of warm milk and sent to bed with his teddy. Eventually, he shook his head irritably and watched in annoyance as the hair fell back into its usual style.

"You nearly ready, or do I have to wait for your nail varnish to dry?"

"Oh, go away."

"You look fine."

"I haven't even changed, yet!"

"What, always wander around in designer jeans, do you?"

"Well it's not as if I bought them! My mother has a tailor attend us; he just brings some things, measures us up and ..." he trailed off. And his eyes dropped from the mirror despondently, "Or, he used to. I don't know what happens, now..."

George clamped a hand on to his shoulder and guided him backwards to sit on the bed, then settled down beside him. "Speak," he ordered, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and gaze down at the carpet.

"I forgot...for a moment."

George nodded and muttered, "Understandable."

"I think it will be easier to remember when school starts again..."

"It's not been much more than a week, it's hardly surprising."

"Considering I dream about it so often I - " Draco stopped and rubbed his hands over his face. "It doesn't matter."

"I think it does," George told him deliberately. "No one loses their parents without it mattering, mate."

"Well, it isn't as if I've never spent Christmas at school... Does it make sense that I can miss her so much when I remember, and yet the rest of the time it feels like nothing has changed?"

Silently, George nodded his head.

"I do miss her, even if I never saw her during term-time. She may not have been particularly affectionate but when she was living in the real world she was such a wonderful woman. She was stunning, intelligent. They can keep their stupid newspapers with their obituaries and their speculation! They'll never know her anyway. And they can take stick their stupid headlines, too! She wasn't just another story for them to sell, she was my mum."

George took a breath and sat up straighter, resting a hand on his shoulder again and rubbing gently. "Someone's been bottling again..."

Draco rubbed at his face and shook his head, annoyed with himself for the slight waver in his voice. "What's the point in bringing it up?"

The older boy shrugged. "It's up to you, but I think you need to talk. It might help you come to terms with it a bit. It's never easy."

"Not tonight, George," Draco told him, quietly. He forced a smile, "I'll have enough to be miserable about being stuck in a room with Cross, Granger and your fat-headed little brother."

"So what are you wearing if you're not wearing that?" George asked, immediately changing the subject.

Draco grimaced and shrugged.

"Maybe you should borrow one of Harry's t-shirts or something," the red-head suggested, sprawling across the bed as Draco stood up. His flared, faded jeans trailed strands of cotton from frayed hems and were still damp from dragging in the snow. It made Draco want to tell him to get off his bed or dry his trousers, but he didn't. The other boy's coat seemed to have been discarded on the way in; he was still wearing his hand-knitted Gryffindor scarf and a t-shirt that may once have been blue and red, but was now a shade of washed-out lilac with cracked and peeling rose-coloured letters declaring the greatness of some eating establishment Draco didn't like the sound of at all.

Idly, the older boy drummed his hands against his stomach as Draco rifled through the trunk at the end of the bed. Draco did not dignify his suggestion with an answer; not the first time. When he repeated it, Draco threw a jumper into the other boy's face. Hard.

"Look, Snowflake," George said, pulling the jumper off his face and bundling it up against his tummy instead, "the thing is, you're going to stick out enough already. Dressing like you own most of the West Country is not going to do you any favours. Especially seeing as you do."

Draco stood up slowly and wrapped his arms around himself. George stared up at him pensively for a moment before rolling himself into a sitting position.

"Do you think I should go?"

"Yes."

"You don't expect a lynch mob?"

"You kidding?" George laughed. "The last thing everyone at the party saw of you was your sitting in the middle of the pitch all mangled and bloody after catching my 'fat-headed little brother' and basically saving his life. They'll be much more sympathetic, now."

"People in the Three Broomsticks - "

"Probably had no idea what happened."

"I do want to go..."

"So go. You're going to be with me - and Harry - and I'm not being funny, but even if people think Harry's nuts half the time, they trust me and Fred."

"Of course they do, you're inner circle."

"Huh?"

"You're The Boy Who Lived's inner circle. Of course they respect you. They probably want to be you. Despite the hair."

There was a knock at the door, just then, and Fred walked in, trailing a red-haired girl with short tufts of bunches sticking out of the top of her head. Draco couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. She wasn't wearing any make-up, in particular, but looked as though she had failed to remove what she had been wearing the day before. Her jeans were frayed, like George's (and Fred's) and she had on what looked like a floral second-hand t-shirt she had stolen from a fashion-blind middle aged woman, and a black cardigan buttoned up incorrectly.

It took great restraint for Draco not to ask, "What've you come as?" but instead settled for, "You're right, George, she does look like you in drag."

George stuck out a leg and kicked him on the backside, causing Draco to give an indignant squawk and hit him back, on the shin.

"Aw, yeh poor thing," the girl said in a thick, Northern Irish accent, "Still, get enough drink down him and ah'm sure he'll kiss it all better, won't yeh, Georgie?"

"Fuck off."

"Now that's no way to talk to a lady," Fred told him, grinning and flinging and arm around the girl's neck roughly.

"That's no lady," George replied, climbing off the bed. "What're you doing here so early, anyway?"

"Plans have changed, haven't they? We're all meeting here since 'Harry's Two Dads' are off on their dirty weekend."

George looked surprised and shook his head, "No one told me."

Draco scowled and immediately walked to the door. Harry's bedroom door was wide open and his room empty. This was largely due to the fact that Harry was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, trapping his hand eagerly on his knee. Draco was just about to open his mouth and demand to know exactly what the other boy thought he was doing when a tuneful knock came from the front door and approximately three quarters of a nanosecond later, Harry had opened the front door and flung himself upon one of the two boys standing outside; who promptly fell backwards into the snow. The other stood precisely where he had been at the moment the door was opened and blinked a few times before allowing an eyebrow to arch slowly, and his gaze to turn to the slobbering, giggling bundle at his feet.

"Good God," he groaned. "Gentlemen, please."

On the ground, Harry grinned and pushed himself back on to his knees and shoved his fringe out of his face, and said, "Sorry, Simon, two-player game."

"Jes' get up, fer God's sakes, man!"

Gavin pushed himself into a sitting position and laughed, giving Harry a brief kiss on the lips, and helping him up before climbing on to his feet himself. Harry immediately grabbed the other boy's hand and led him inside, pushing past the four others now collected in the tiny hallway, and dragged him up the stairs, leaving the bewildered Scot in the garden.

"Are they...? Are they always that bad?" he asked hesitantly.

Together, the three other boys nodded with resigned expressions. Gina was too busy staring up the stairs at the closed door, with completely brazen interest.

Behind the door, Harry was busily pinning Gavin against the woodwork and saying a very warm hello. Blushing awkwardly, the older boy grinned and said, "Missed me, then?"

"God, yes!" Harry told him sincerely, "I haven't been able to get rid of George all sodding holiday! He's here morning 'til night every day and those two lock themselves in Draco's room half the time...I never see anyone."

Gavin gave a small laugh and replied, "Well, I c'n keep you comp'ny fer a day or two, if y' want..."

"Good! It's been crap not even being able to write to you or anything...How are you, anyway?"

"Um...cold an' damp, now, really."

"Sorry..."

The Welsh boy laughed and clumsy tangled his fingers in Harry's hair. "No, you're not."

"I know, but it's the thought that counts..."

For a few moments they stood in silence, regarding each other slightly hesitantly. The last time they had been in such close proximity it had been not long after crawling out of bed. Naked. It was actually dimly embarrassing.

Gavin finally broke the silence by running his index finger over the bridge of Harry's nose and saying, "Where're y' glasses?"

"Broken... I've got new ones. And contact lenses," Harry explained with a shrug. He paused and pushed Gavin's hair out of his face artlessly, "Your hair's got really long..."

"' Know," Gavin replied, smiling bashfully, running his own hand through the sizeable portion that had fallen out of the short pony-tail at the nape of his neck. "D'you think I should cut it?"

Harry tilted his head and looked at it for a moment. "Dunno," he said finally. "It's your hair,"

"Well, I know, b' I dunno neither an' I thought you might..."

"As long as there's something to hold on to I don't mind," Harry told him, grinning and shrugging mischievously.

"When?!" Gavin demanded, with a look of shock that was probably only partly pretend.

Harry didn't respond, just laughed and wrapped him in a hug. "I've missed you so much," he said, closing his eyes and breathing in. It felt like he was re-orientating himself. It seemed stupid, because it had only been a couple of weeks, but still... he felt like he needed it. Just a moment to re-familiarise himself with the other boy. It wasn't as if he had any photos and the Ravenclaw t-shirt had more or less lost its scent. He'd have to make the other boy sleep in it or something.

Gavin gave a contented sigh and wrapped his arms around Harry tightly, murmuring, "You too..." He nuzzled down and kissed him... and instantly Harry returned it with twice the intent. A tug-of-war ensued as Harry tried to laughingly pull Gavin over to the bed and Gavin tried to pull in the other direction, reminding him that everyone else was downstairs and to remember what had happened last time. The older boy finally won out by picking Harry up and making him promise to behave. They stood in the middle of the bedroom for a minute, Harry's ankles locked behind Gavin's back, his arms around his neck and Gavin's arms trying to help support his weight.

Harry gave him another short kiss and declared, resolutely, "I love you."

The Welsh boy smiled wistfully and said, "Do you, now?"

Harry blinked at him a moment and said, very firmly, "Yes."

"Jus' checkin' you hadn' forgotten or nothin'..."

Laughing, Harry asked, "What do you mean, 'forget'? Of course I didn't."

"Well, y'know...outta sight, outta mind an' everythin'..."

Harry stopped laughing and looked at him. "Tell me that's a joke."

Gavin gave a chastised half-smile and nodded feebly.

"It wasn't, was it?"

"Well... sort of."

"Sort of?"

The older boy seemed to cling to him slightly tighter and confessed, "Well... it was... but... oh, y'know wha' I'm like..."

"Neurotic?"

"Oi!"

"You are, you're completely paranoid and neurotic."

Gavin didn't say anything, just allowed Harry to slide down and stand for himself, keeping him close.

"I know girls who are less insecure than you. Ugly girls who aren't captain of the house Quidditch team..."

The other boy sighed and mumbled, "Sorry..." unconsciously smoothing the creases from the back of Harry's t-shirt.

"If this is because of Draco, Gavin - "

"Harry," Gavin cut in firmly, eyebrows dipped in a half-frown, "don' talk t' me like I'm daft. I love you t' death, an' I'm afraid of losin' you, bu' I'm not stupid. All I' seen past weeks is stuff 'bout you an' Malfoy. All stuff 'bout you an' 'is dad an everythin'... I were worried sick somethin' 'ad 'appened t' you an' the only thing I knew was what were put in th' Prophet. I nearly 'ad Si write t' you, just in case... An' all this time all I could think were that maybe seein' 'im like tha' might make you think or something'... An' I mean, 's not like I'd blame you, y' know tha'... I jus'..."

"I'm not going to break up with you for Draco," Harry told him flatly.

Gavin looked away guiltily.

"Do you really think I would?"

"Sometimes I c'n see why you migh'..."

Harry gave a slight laugh and said, "Do you fancy him or something?"

Gavin cast him a look that said a thousand words; most of them were 'Fuck, No'.

"You'd better not do," Harry teased.

"I don't."

"Good, because you'd have to fight George for him."

The older boy stared at him. "George?"

"George's all over him but Drac's too stupid to see it. Or maybe he's pretending not to see it. I dunno..."

"So, I' missed a few things, then?"

"Just a bit. I don't know why George doesn't just get on with it and drag him into bed. It's obvious he wants to."

"Really."

"Yeah! And Draco thinks the Sun shines out of George's arse. Mind you, I reckon the Twins are half Slyth anyway. They'd probably be perfect for each other. Heh. Not."

"Well... maybe they would," Gavin offered, shrugging. "An' if it makes Draco feel better - I mean, 'specially now, then - "

"It might help Draco had at least picked someone decent."

"Tha's a nice way t' talk 'bout your frien's..."

Harry cast him a dark look.

"So I missed something' else, as well, then?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

Gavin opened his mouth to speak again, looking concerned, but was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door as it opened. Instinctively, and slightly abashed, they stepped away from each other and turned to see Hermione looking a little flushed and mildly suspicious. Her hair was mostly pulled back into two French plaits, although two crinkly strands hung down each side of her face, and she looked a bit like she might have make-up on.

"Hey, Hermione!" Harry said, grinning and going over to her, "How are you?"

"Fine," she said, flatly. "I hope you were behaving yourselves."

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked, carefully side-stepping her question.

"Downstairs. Harry, what has been going on? Your letter was just alarming - Ron and I have been going through every conceivable idea, but - "

"I think we'd best wait until everyone can hear. Come on - come downstairs," he pushed her to the door, nodding at Gavin to follow.

"Has your scar been hurting?"

"Nope."

"What about - "

"Herm, stop. You're panicking before you even really know what's going on. It's alright, honest."

Ron was standing in the living room, talking to the Twins, Gina and Simon. Draco sat in the armchair, studying the book the 'prophecy' had fallen from, and looking rather bitter.

"Alright?" Harry said, patting Ron on the shoulder.

Ron turned to look at him with an expression that suggested he was about to echo Hermione's torrent of concern, so Harry raised a finger and declared, "Scar: not hurting. Wormtail: not seen. Godparents: not here. You: no panic."

Ron hesitated for a moment, before grinning and saying, "Wicked. So where's this 'prophecy' thing, then?"

"Where's this what?" Simon asked, looking around in surprise.

"Er..." Ron turned red and cringed. "Sorry." Hermione gave him a death glare and back-handed him on the arm.

Gavin looked a bit awkward and glanced at his best friend before leaning down to whisper to Harry that he hadn't told Simon why, exactly, they were at the cottage, other than to meet the others.

"It's alright," Harry decided, shrugging and gesturing for everyone to find somewhere to sit. "We all know Simon. Simon, you don't have to stay, but being a Ravenclaw you might actually be able to help us with this..."

"Wi' what?" the other boy asked carefully.

"Shouldn't we start from the beginning or something?" George asked, sitting down on the arm of Draco's chair, much to his apparent displeasure.

Harry suppressed a smirk. "Probably better... Drac?"

Draco looked up at him without any trace of willing, before sighing heavily and droning, "You Know Who wants to attain immortality through stealing the Life source we all exist on. There is a smattering of loathsome juveniles in this school - and probably Durmstrang - intended for this purpose. There is also me.

"Father took me home for 'Christmas', tried to kill me, I stole some books for bicycle-face to see if anything could be found out, got rescued, killed my father and then we found this scrap of paper which appears to predict the downfall of the Dark Lord."

The others stared a him for a few moments.

"What? That's what happened, isn't it?" he scanned a few faces, briefly, before tutting and twirling his hand into a pall of flame and muttering, "Oh yes, and that. George, get up."

George, so taken by surprise at the proximity of the fire that he had started and fallen off the arm of the chair, scowled and him and heaved himself back on to his feet.

"Bloody show-off."

Immediately, Hermione held out her hand for the prophecy and said, "Let me see."

"No, push off," Draco retorted, folding it up and tucking it down the side of the armchair.

"Harry, how are we to learn from this if Malfoy won't show it to us?"

"Learn to say 'please' if you want me to give you something," Draco snapped, irritably.

George shook his head and snatched the piece of paper from the side of the chair, then handed it to her. "You'll have to excuse Snowflake, he got out of bed the wrong side this morning."

"Whose bed and how do you know?" Gina asked, immediately.

"Piss off."

Gavin, sitting on the hearth rug, tried to hide a grin behind his hand, but turned it into a cough when Harry glared at him.

Ron was still staring at the his brother and Draco with the sort of expression normally reserved those witnessing surgery. He seemed somewhat dazed when he raised a hand to point at them and said, "What?"

"'What' what?"

"Why - ? You...! I mean! Why did you call him 'Snowflake'?"

"Because that's what they call each other," Harry told him wearily, "Snowflake and Pumpkin. Sadcases."

"It's Pumpkin-head, actually."

"Except for all those times it's just 'Pumpkin', obviously."

"Shut up, Potter."

"But - but... petnames!"

"Nicknames. They are nicknames, fathead."

"BOYS DON'T CALL EACH OTHER SNOWFLAKE!"

"Those ones do."

"What's your problem?" Gina demanded. "Yeh'r bes' friend's got blood pinker than a posy o' fuschias. Let 'em be."

Draco looked alarmed, "He's not my -"

"Drac, Snowflake," George interrupted, solemnly, "You know it's true, I know it's true - let the peons have their fun. We'll just draw on their faces in indelible ink when they pass out drunk."

"Really," Ron said, still looking rather alarmed, "Am I the only person in this school who's really straight?"

"Oh, no, no," Simon assured him, and apparently glad to have a heterosexual ally himself, "No, really yeh're not."

"Me either," Fred said, grinning, "Or Gina."

Ron looked expectantly at Hermione who merely smoothed down her red tartan pinafore and said, "I choose not to label myself according to social stereotypes."

Ron started to look like he might faint.

There was an awkward pause, before Simon tactfully cleared his throat and suggested, in his thick Glaswegian tones, that they take a look at the prophecy sooner rather than later, because he wasn't sure how to explain to Annabel where he had been without drawing his own sexuality into question.

Hermione unfolded the piece of parchment and spread it out flat on the coffee table; one by one, the others made their way nearer and pored over it. The page was yellowing and slightly battered, the lower portion ripped away where the page had been folded in half. In a neat, but somehow urgent-looking hand, someone had written out a poem, virtually in iambic pentameter.

When Emerald Earth and smoke-grey Fire

With flamed Air and Rain conspire

So then shall the Power be raised

To end the Terror of the Second Phase.

Encompass'd by the single mass

And borne unto divided class

A dozen plus their sum hence squar'd

Shall unite to destroy a blacken'd heir.

They knelt in silence for a few minutes, each reading and re-reading the piece; except for Draco, who had read through it so many times, looking for answers, it was etched very firmly into his mind.

"So," Ron said eventually, "what do you reckon it means?"

"It means the Kidderminster Kestrels are going to win the Cup, obviously," Draco muttered acerbically.

Hermione ignored him and concluded, "It's obviously a prophecy stating that You Know Who will need to be defeated by a group of people, not just one."

"Not just 'Arry," Gavin said quietly, slipping his fingers through the other boy's.

Harry squeezed his hand absently and offered, "Do you think it's the elements?"

"Earth, Fire, Air and Rain... I suppose that's water. Whoever wrote this wasn't very good at it," Hermione mused.

"Didn't think - "

" - you believed in Divination - "

" - anyway."

"I think 'Ermione's righ'..." Gavin said thoughtfully, prodding at the first two lines, "It's talkin' 'bout Elements or Elementals and - "

"Yes, yes, we know that," Draco cut in dismissively, pulling the paper towards him. "But the question is who and how and what the hell has rain got to do with defeating the Dark Lord? What are we supposed to do? Drizzle him to death?"

Gavin looked like he wanted to say something else, but shrugged resignedly and seemed to sink further down on to his heels. Simon stared at him.

"Well we all know what you are," George told the blond boy beside him.

"An arse bandit?" Ron suggested from behind his fist, which he was propping his chin on. He then seemed to realise he'd said it out loud and turned red.

"Oh please, Weasley. Get your tiny, bigoted mind out of the gutter."

"Fire."

"Where? Quick! Evacuate!"

"Funny."

Harry shrugged and grinned, "I thought so."

"What's this 'dozen plus their sum hence squared' bit? What does that mean?" Ron asked. "'Mione, you do Arithmancy -"

"It's four," Simon declared nonchalantly.

"What?"

"Four."

Hermione stared at him in astonishment, "How can you possibly - ?"

"Four. Trust me."

"Let me see!" she grabbed the paper out of Draco's hand and stared at it, her eyes wide and slightly manic. "I don't see how you can have possibly worked it out so quickly, it really is - "

"Granger," Simon said slowly, "It's four. Honestly."

"How? How can you be so sure?"

"Because it is."

"But - !"

"Elements: four. A dozen plus four equals sixteen: square root equals four. Four equals number of Elements. Therefore, the answer is - "

"Let us guess - "

" - Three million - "

"- seven hundred - "

" - and six thousand - "

" - nine hundred - "

" - aaaaand two."

Simon slapped his hand down on the table and said, "Spot on! How do you guys manage it?"

Hermione put down the piece of paper as if it were about to self-destruct at any moment and said, "Well, I suppose you could be right."

Wood regarded her as if she may spontaneously combust herself, before muttering, "Ooookay."

"So we know there are four of us... er, them," Harry said, scrunching his hand in his fringe. "Who are they? How can we tell?"

"I've told you already," George sighed, "Snowflake's fire. How many people do you bloody know who can do what he does?"

Several pairs of eyes fixed themselves upon him with intrigue.

"Oh, you lot are obsessed!"

"Well," Hermione said, stiffly, "Just because he's pyroclastic - "

"'Smoke-grey fire'. Doesn't that ring any bells for anyone?" George demanded in exasperation.

Harry stared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment. "Yes, it does," he said, "Draco's eyes are grey."

Gavin cast them both side-long looks and chewed the side of his lip.

"You seem to be paying rather a lot of attention to details, George..."

"Look who's talking," the older boy returned, raising an eyebrow. The others seemed to take a collective breath before Hermione, Fred and Simon all tried to change the subject at the same time.

"Emerald Earth must be - "

"What's this 'class' stuff?"

"Where's your bathroom?"

Harry and George continued to glower at each other for a moment before Harry muttered, "Top of the stairs, second door on the left," and turned to cuddle up to Gavin.

"I think if we're talking about eyes, 'Emerald Earth' must be our Boy Who Lived to Be A Moody Arse," Gina said, leaning on the low table with both elbows and smirking.

"Don't hold back, will you? Say what's on your mind," Harry replied coldly.

"Nah," she said, her smirk turning into a wicked grin, "I'm far too polite fer that. But I do think you need to stop being such a miserable arse and stop leeching other people's happiness."

Fred slung an arm around her shoulders proudly. For a moment, George looked like he may just be suppressing a grin as well.

"So what we're saying," Ron said, thoughtfully, "Is that we have four people who are sort of Elements."

"More or less, Ron, yes," Hermione nodded briskly, taking up the page again and staring at it.

"Well, I mean, we did astrology - what if it's not like, proper Elements, but sort of - "

"Qualities?" Gavin finished, looking up and starting to frown pensively.

"Yeah, qualities. What if it's like, Harry's all - "

"Woman?" Draco suggested drily.

"Ha! Pot, kettle, Snowflake."

"Well... I dunno. But what if it's Elements like they have in astrology?"

"Passionate Fire, emotional water, all that?" George asked, tilting his head a bit.

"I mean, it's only an idea..."

"Well," George shrugged, scratching his face, "it's a good theory, I s'pose but it doesn't explain the smoke-grey bit? I'm convinced that's Princess, here..."

"Weasley, I've warned you..."

"Yeah, yeah, and I live in fear of being bitch-slapped to death."

"Does perpetually undermining my masculinity make you feel good about yourself? Does it?"

"It would if you had any to undermine."

"Just for once," Fred said, smirking, "Save it. It's five-star entertainment and everything, but there's a party and booze waiting for me in town and I'm not planning on wasting it."

Hermione scowled. "You aren't going anywhere until we're satisfied we've worked it out thoroughly. You're involved and now you're going to have to go the distance, just like the rest of us."

"Funny how you're so eager to liberate House Elves who want to be enslaved, and then turn into a complete slave driver yourself..."

George sniggered wickedly and patted Ron on the shoulder. Ron looked at him in mild alarm, as if the action drove something rather disconcerting home.

"Boys, really! You're acting like children. We have other things to consider. 'Single mass' - I think that must be the school... 'divided class'...divided class?"

"Well it's either classes or social groups..."

"Or both," Gavin said. "No offence, bu' if they are talkin' 'bout Draco, I think it's safe t' say 'e's in a differen' social class... Certainly t' me, anyway."

"And us," George agreed, glancing at the blond boy and nodding.

"An' wha' if th' class also meant school? Gryffindor an' Slytherin, an' ev'rythin'..."

They contemplated this for a several moments, glancing across at each other, trying to attain some kind of confirmation of what everyone else thought.

"Four people, then," Harry summarised, slowly, "with some connection to the Elements; possibly Draco, probably me - although I can't think of anything I can do that's all that Earthy, Windy or Watery...Ron, don't even think it. Probably from different houses - so, I suppose that could mean we're looking for a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff - "

"Hufflepuff? What use is a Hufflepuff?" Draco demanded indignantly.

"They're Earthy, shut up. So... I think people need to keep their eyes out for Hufflepuffs who seem like they might be one of us."

"One of what?"

"Us."

"Big raving queens?"

"If that was the case I'd've said 'QUICK, GET ME FINCH-FLETCHLEY!' wouldn't I?"

"True."

Harry stopped and gave a heavy sigh, scratching at his fringe, idly. "I suppose we'd better leave for the party soon, anyway... Simon, Gina - I don't really expect you to do much - not unless you want to - you either, really, Gav - " Gavin cast him a resignedly offended look, but said nothing. "The rest of you... Herm, can you look into the Elemental side for us?"

"Haven't we done enough research into that ourselves?" Draco asked. "We spent months on it!"

"Yeah, well, it's a start. Ron and I are going to scout around and see if we can work out who else it is we need..." Harry's speech faded out and he scrutinised his boyfriend for a moment, murmuring, "Ravenclaw... blue... water... rain... Wales...? Heh...as if..." before continuing, "Draco, you're going to look into this prophecy and where it came from. You can't get home, yet, obviously, but find out what you can."

"What about - "

"- us?"

"I dunno, yet... there's bound to be something... there usually is, one way or another...So. I think that's it, isn't it?"

"I should bloody hope so!"

"Taking all that time - "

" - waffling on - "

" - when there's beer to be had!"

"And ladies," Simon said, grinning as he stood up. He chuckled at the grimaces on several of the faces around him. "Shame I'm nae single... all the more fer me, seein' as how all you eligible bachelors are so loved up together..."

"In yer dreams," Gavin said, laughing.

"Ach, no... I've not been talkin' in m' sleep again?"

"Talking of bringing your sexuality into question...!"

"T' be fair, I don't think mine's ever been questioned ever. I win."

The look the Twins exchanged was enough to drive fear into anyone.

"We'll see - "

" - about that," they said. And the laugh was even more alarming.