Adventures in Babysitting

December 1

Harry shook his head in dismay. "Oh no. No, Kingsley, please don't."

"You know I can't let him go alone," said Kingsley. "This has to happen now, and you're one of the only available Aurors. And you two have worked well together in the past."

"That's just sheer luck. I nearly killed him last time."

"Yes, and some day you'll have to explain to me exactly what happened. That banshee was nowhere near him."

"Like I said, sheer luck. Although right now I'm thinking it was bad luck." Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "We've gone along on how many of his contracts now? Why can't he go alone?"

"You know very well why. I'm not going to argue this with you."

"Why can't you send somebody else, then?" Harry said, wincing at his own plaintive tone. "Anybody else. He's worked with other Aurors."

Kingsley sat back and sighed. "All right, fine. I'll tell Weasley to pack; he's the only other member of your section not currently--"

Harry's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh my God you haven't asked him, have you?"

"Not yet, but--"

"Bugger, Kingsley, don't. Hermione would..." he shuddered.

"Hermione would what?"

"She's expecting," Harry said flatly.

Kingsley's brow furrowed. "In three months."

"You don't understand. She's expecting." Kingsley clearly wasn't getting it. Harry gestured helplessly with his hands. "You know how Ron's been wearing those odd robes to work?"

"The ones with the Celtic knotwork and dangly bits of fruit? I assumed they were from his brother's shop."

"They're to promote peace and holistic magical development in the baby. She's - you know how she went a bit odd during her first pregnancy?" Kingsley nodded. "It didn't get much better after the baby was born. No magic or potions during the birth, no nappy-change or colic spells--"

"Why on earth not?" Kingsley said, perplexed.

"Supposedly some magic can interfere with the baby's soul development, or maybe it's the unintentional aural spillover or I don't know, it doesn't matter, Ron going away right now would just be not on." He ran a hand through his hair. "She'd kill both of us. And she wouldn't use her wand, either."

"I'm afraid it's you or him. I'm not about to let a civilian handle this alone. Particularly not this civilian."

Harry sighed and took the parchment. Kingsley looked at him curiously. "You're willing to go to Iceland with Draco Malfoy, just to avoid Hermione Weasley's insanity?"

"Story of my life," Harry said glumly.

ooo000ooo

Ron trudged in, sank into his chair, lay his head on his desk, and let out a heartfelt sigh.

"Bad night?" Harry asked sympathetically, because it would have been insensitive to point and laugh.

"Wha? Oh. Right. Yeah, Hermione put a spell around the bedroom. Said something about Pluto and Mars. Or... Plato and Marge. Something. Anyway, I think it was buzzing through the night. Or maybe that was the enchanted fireflies in the nursery. I don't know." He yawned.

"Seventy-nine days till the due date," said Harry comfortingly.

Ron's head hit the desk again. "And the godparent ritual? Please tell me that's soon. She'll settle a bit after that. And if she doesn't, at least we'll get a chance to get very very drunk on the ritual mead."

"Twenty-one days." Harry ran a hand through his hair nervously. "And. Erm. About that. Kingsley called me in this morning. Talked to me about Iceland."

"Iceland?" Ron yawned.

"They've got this problem; apparently it's been getting more and more difficult to do magic there, over the last few years. And a week ago some Seer said magic was going to disappear for good from the whole island at the Solstice."

"What are their Aurors doing about it?"

"There's not a big wizarding population; they don't really have a proper Auror corps." He fiddled with his quill. "They hired Malfoy Cursebreakers. He's done the preliminary work here, but now, what with this prophecy..." Ron was nodding absently, yawning again. Harry braced himself. "You know how much I want to be there for the ceremony, but he has to go to Iceland, and..."

Ron's mid-yawn turned into a gape of horror. "Oh no. Please. Please don't tell me you're going to miss the ceremony."

"I have to." Ron groaned and covered his eyes. "Can't you, you know, ask her to move--"

"Are you insane? Mercury's going to cross over Venus right at Solstice and it's perfect for godparent spells! She's going to murder me!"

"Why you? I'll be the one skiving off."

"But you won't be here." Ron dropped his head to the table. "Merlin. Fleur actually glowed when she was pregnant; you could almost read by her light at night. Tonks built an addition to the house and a dozen mobiles out of Butterbeer corks. My wife goes right round the bloody twist."

Harry nodded sympathetically, since it would have been unkind to remind Ron that he'd been through this before and should've known better than to get Hermione up the duff ever again. Besides, Ginny and George were pretty good about making that particular point, repeatedly. And laughing, unkindly.

Ron gave a world-weary sigh and then tilted his head to the side, a small glimmer of amusement appearing in his eyes. "So... would this be a bad time to ask if you've still got a bit of a thing for Malfoy?"

Harry swiftly looked down at the parchment Kingsley had given him. "Yes," he muttered, regretting not laughing at Ron when he had the chance.

Ron utterly failed to suppress a snicker. "So, Iceland. Cold, dark... you'll probably end up traveling all over the island... staying in tents..."

"Shut up."

"Ooh, and no heating spells, I suppose. Whatever will you do to keep warm?"

Harry supposed it was only natural that, since his own glare was unaccompanied by a gleam of hysteria and an enormous belly, Ron appeared unmoved by it.

"Have fun, mate," Ron smirked.

"You are never going to let me live this down, are you?"

Ron grinned widely at him. "Never. It's not every day your best mate admits that the reason he broke up with your sister is that he had a yen for blokes. And that he really only accepted it when he realized he had a yen for Draco Malfoy." He laughed. "Honestly, Harry, would you ever let me forget it?"

"I am never going to drink again. At least Hermione's been decent about it. With friends like you and Ginny--"

"We are your friends. If we weren't, we'd've told George. He'd be marketing live action Potter and Malfoy dolls for his adult line faster than you could say Buggery."

"Point."

December 2

"Ah, my Auror babysitter," was the first thing Malfoy said to Harry, his nose crinkling in distaste, as they met at the Muggle-Wizard Travel Connection Agency the next morning. "Just what did you fuck up to rate this posh assignment again, Potter?"

And this was exactly why it drove Harry crazy to have this... adolescent crush on Malfoy. He was so fit, so sure of himself, so attractive in an understated way, so brilliant at what he did, and it all worked so very well together, until he opened his mouth.

"I volunteered," Harry said evenly, and headed for the desk.

Malfoy's eyebrows went up. "Good God. Why?"

"Because the alternative was that they were going to send in Ron." He handed his Auror identification to the Welcome Witch. "Picking up two MLE tickets to Reykjavik, out of Heathrow, please."

"And sending Weasley was a problem because..."

"Hermione's expecting again."

Malfoy made a small moue of distaste. "More bushy-headed buckteeth ginger rodents. Charming." He sniffed. "Oh God, she's not doing that demented brooding mother dragon thing again, is she?"

Harry racked his brain to think of a way to agree with the truth behind the description without agreeing with the description itself.

"And she's got Weasley so pathetically beaten, too. The man always smells like tabouli."

Harry's forehead creased. "Tabouli?"

"You know, that Muggle thing that smells like smoke. Meant to promote joy or tranquility or some such rot."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Patchouli."

"Patchouli. Ugh. Remind me never to procreate."

"Sirs, here are your tickets." The witch handed them small pieces of parchment with an odd mixture of runes and Muggle air travel numbers jumbled across them. "At your flight time, step into the Floo, call out your flight number, and you will appear on the correct airplane. Don't worry, the Muggles on board won't be concerned by your sudden appearance."

"I trust you received my earlier request?" said Malfoy, and she nodded.

"Yes, sir; I've removed all small children from the vicinity of your seats."

Malfoy nodded and they headed towards the Floo.

"Speaking of procreating, didn't I hear you were supposed to get married this summer?" Harry asked Malfoy as they waited. Malfoy gave him an impatient glance. "I take it you didn't."

"Obviously."

"Why not?"

"I was supposed to marry Astoria Greengrass."

"Yeah..."

"You've met her?"

"Queenie Greengrass's younger sister, isn't she?"

Malfoy blinked in surprise.

"Queenie's an Apprentice Healer. Aurors get hurt a lot. What's wrong with her sister?"

"What wasn't wrong with her. Starting with her name. I refuse to get married to a bloody Muggle hotel." He checked his watch. "Finally," he said, and stepped into the Floo, calling out, "Iceland Express 156!" and disappearing in a flash of smoke. Harry heaved a sigh and followed.

"This stays up in the air, does it?" Malfoy said suspiciously, looking around the interior of the plane as Harry settled himself in. "And how long will we be in here?"

"About four hours. You've never flown before?"

"Why would I?" Malfoy glanced around the cabin again in distaste. "I've no idea what my fee is going to be for this," he muttered. "It won't be enough, though."

Maybe it was a good thing Harry was accompanying him after all; skilled though he was, Malfoy knew next to nothing about Muggles, and seemed to have no desire to learn. Which, considering the fact that they were going to a place where magic wasn't working, might prove problematic.

"Kingsley said you know our contact," Harry said, buckling his seatbelt. "Raschida..."

"Hamidsdóttir," Malfoy said, nodding. He opened his briefcase and made an impatient face as Harry motioned his wand hand down. "Met her briefly. Seems competent enough. Some type of nun, I think."

"A nun?" Harry asked, as Malfoy searched his briefcase. Harry briefly wondered if he used the same spell Hermione used on her purses; the briefcase seemed to contain a small library of dusty books, scrolls, and bizarre glowing objects.

"Yes. She had... you know, one of those wrap-things on her head." Malfoy handed him a photograph.

He looked at it and rolled his eyes. "God, Malfoy, don't call it a wrap-thing, it's a--"

"Jihad! That's what they're called, aren't they?"

"Hijab, you--" he bit back the rest of the sentence. "On second thought please do call it a wrap thing. Better yet, let me talk to our contacts, all right?"

"Because you're eloquent and persuasive?"

"Because you're likely to mistake our Muslim contact for a nun, and compliment her on wearing a lovely jihad on her head."

"What does the type of cloth have to do with anything?"

"What?"

"The muslin. Is that what the wrap-thing's made of?"

Harry rubbed his forehead. "Muslin is a fabric," he said patiently. "Muslim is a follower of Islam. That's a religion."

"If you say so," Malfoy said distractedly, still searching his briefcase, and Harry wondered again if it would really be so wrong to just letting him do this assignment alone. "Ah, here's the prophecy." He handed it to Harry.

This island is losing its magic
Which surely is so very tragic
But fear not the danger
A handsome young Stranger
May save this fair island pelagic.

For old ways here have been amended
You may not know you have offended
But as of midwinter
All magic shall splinter
Unless what is broken is mended

Harry peered at it. "The prophecy was in limerick form?"

"Apparently not in the original Icelandic. Raschida says the translation Charm they use does that sometimes."

"What's 'pelagic'?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "It means 'on the open sea'," he said. "I assume it's referring to Iceland. Because it's in the middle of the Atlantic, you see."

Harry sighed and turned to the window. How bad would it be, really, to have Malfoy doing this alone? Sure, MLE didn't trust Malfoy, or they wouldn't insist on always having an Auror 'assist' him on his international assignments, but so far, in four years, there had been no hint that he was anything other than what he appeared to be: a skilled and competent private anti-Dark Magic Practitioner. And he'd been paired with more than one Auror who would've loved to report anything remotely suspicious about him, had there been anything at all to report. Harry often contemplated formally requesting that MLE justify their continued practice of accompanying him, though of course, there were plenty of unspoken reasons. It was good for the Auror corps to have him accompanied: made the public feel MLE was doing its job, and got certain problems handled in ways that sometimes the Auror department couldn't, restricted as they were in some of their methods. The arrangement was even good for Malfoy, in a way, despite his disdainful attitude about it: he got prestige, and good business contacts, and with every accompanied contract, fewer people mistrusted him.

The only one it wasn't very good for was Harry. And he couldn't even protest openly and honestly as to what exactly was the problem. Having Ron and Ginny humiliate him every time the topic came up was quite enough, thanks.

Harry laid his head back on his seat, wistfully wished he were anywhere but here, and tried to push out of his mind the last three assignments he'd had with Malfoy. Especially the one where he'd realized that his feelings, despite remaining firmly in the 'annoying prat' category with regards to Malfoy's personality, had somehow flown from 'pointy poncy git' to 'rather fit bloke who makes my heart flutter like Lavender Brown's before a squadron of professional Keepers wearing nothing but jock straps, unless he talks' with regards to his physique.

He closed his eyes. A nap was probably his best option right now. He murmured a sleeping spell and sank into oblivion.

ooo000ooo

"It's dark," said Malfoy.

"It's near the winter solstice, you see," said Harry helpfully, and felt a glimmer of satisfaction at Malfoy's impatient eye-roll. "It's always dark. What's the local time again?"

"Around nine," said Malfoy, pointing at a clock lit up on the snow-blown tarmac.

Harry frowned. "Didn't - wait, which way does the time change work here? I thought it would still be daytime when we landed."

An older woman in a bulky blue parka approached them on the tarmac, squinting at them in the dark. "Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Potter?"

"Yes?" Malfoy said cautiously.

"Good." She held out her hand. "I'm Raschida." Harry and Malfoy blinked at her, and Malfoy started to shake his head. "Polyjuice," she said, her blue eyes amused. "I use it a lot among Muggles. I'd suggest you do the same while you're here." Very good English, Harry noted. Slight Scandinavian-sounding accent.

"Polyjuice?" asked Malfoy. "Is it necessary for security?"

"A bit," she said. "We don't have enough official Obliviators. We Polyjuice so that Muggles don't always see the same people having odd things happen around them. But mostly it's just fun."

Malfoy looked at her askance.

"We're in Iceland, in winter, Mr. Malfoy. Amusements are few and far between. Besides, our Polyjuice is quite tasty mixed with Brennivin or Ethervodka. Now, come with me. We'll go to the nearest Floo, and take you to your hotel."

"I thought magical things weren't working here," Harry said.

Raschida shrugged. "Precious few of them are, and what's left is getting temperamental. We're now mostly using cars and airplanes to travel. Rather inconvenient, having to pay Muggle strangers to help us around the island."

"I thought Iceland was small enough that everybody knew each other."

Raschida laughed. "There's over 300,000 people here. You can't know everybody, you know. Now the wizarding population, yes, that's small enough. But not the Muggle."

"Do the wizard and Muggle communities intermix here?"

"More than most places, I think." She stopped in front of the tarmac fence and muttered a long series of spells. Harry noted how slowly a hole appeared in the fence, and how quickly it sprang back to its natural shape once they had passed through. "There's a lot of intermarriage, a huge half-blood population, and there's still many Muggles here who believe in elves, things like that. More than back home, anyway."

"Back home?"

"I grew up in Denmark. I'm Icelandic now, though. Married an islander fifteen years ago. Even changed my name; it was Al-Rassour, but most Icelanders use patronyms, so I'm Hamidsdóttir." She led them to a small white-roofed shed-like building next to the taxi stands, sporting signs Harry assumed were the Icelandic equivalent of 'keep out' or 'closed for repairs.' "We've set you up at the Hilton Reykjavik Nordica, so that will be our first stop. And I realize you're probably tired from your trip, but would you mind meeting with a few of our people as soon as you're settled in?"

Harry and Malfoy exchanged a glance. "Erm, we're not that tired but... isn't it nine o'clock?" Harry asked.

Raschida nodded.

"Wouldn't your people be off work by now?"

Raschida laughed. "It's nine in the morning, Mr. Potter. What kind of hours do British civil servants keep?" She laughed again at their expressions. "Don't worry, the meeting shouldn't be too long. It's just to make sure you aren't missing any of the information they've sent you." She stepped up to the Floo. "Now, please be careful; this Floo has always been temperamental, and the current magic situation hasn't helped. Please say 'Hilton Nordica' very clearly. The other day a German wizard stepped through and landed right in Paris Hilton's lap. She didn't seem to notice, but the local Obliviators had a hell of a time dealing with the score of paparazzi who were with her at the time." Raschida stepped in and disappeared in a flash of green.

Malfoy peered distrustfully at the Floo. "Sending people all the way to France. That's not just temperamental, it's downright unsafe. Maybe we'd be better off taking a Muggle taxi."

Harry frowned. "France?"

Malfoy gave him a pained glance. "Paris. That's in France."

"Oh!" Harry chuckled. "I think she meant the Paris with the sex videos on the internet."

"They take videos of you at the Paris Hilton? And put them on the... internet?"

Harry hesitated only briefly before responding. "Yes. Yes, they do," he said. "It's quite upsetting, actually. Millions of people have seen them. Be told. Don't have sex at the Paris Hilton. The Reykjavik Hilton is all right though."

December 3

"This is the garden spot of Iceland, is it?" Malfoy said the next morning, glancing out the Hilton's restaurant window at the cold, dark street, flurries whipping about and pedestrians scurrying back and forth braced against the cold. "And Muggles decided this was a brilliant place to settle?"

Raschida shrugged. "It's usually fairly warm, considering its latitude. We're warmed by the Atlantic current and by seismic activity from below. And there's good land, on the outer edges of the island. It is a good place to settle. At least, it's no worse than anyplace else in Scandinavia, where most of them came from."

"When did wizards decide to follow the Muggles here?" asked Harry. "Or did they get here first?"

"The first wizards are believed to have arrived about fifty years after the first Muggles," said Raschida. "It's difficult to be sure, though, because the wizarding and Muggle populations intermixed a great deal."

"And you said people still believe in elves here?"

"Many do, yes."

"One city even has a law giving elves the right to veto municipal decisions regarding new buildings," said Malfoy absently, squinting at his map.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Very funny."

Raschida laughed. "Believe it or not, he's right. Hafnarfjordur. I'm not sure how many people actually believe it's necessary, but it's kept on the books. Mostly I think the Muggles keep it because it adds flavour to the city."

"Hafnarfjordur," said Malfoy. "That's our second stop."

"Oh, you've decided where you're going, then?" said Harry. And about bloody time, too; Malfoy had told him almost nothing other than that he had some ideas and wanted to talk to local wizards and magical creatures.

"Yes." Malfoy took out two scrolls, handing one copy to Raschida and one to Harry. There, neatly drawn, was a map of Iceland, and an accompanying list of who Malfoy wanted to talk to, what he needed to see, what types of readings he wanted to do and spells he needed to cast... everything.

"You couldn't have shown me this last night?" he asked Malfoy irately. "Or on the plane?"

"I wasn't sure of our itinerary on the plane," Malfoy said. "Or what types of transportation were available to us. I did this last night."

"This won't be much trouble," Raschida said, scanning the list. "I'm assuming you can drive a Muggle car?" Malfoy looked blank, but Harry nodded. "Good. I'll provide you with road maps, Polyjuice for whenever you're in contact with Muggles, and some translation Charms. Hopefully you won't need those; they're unreliable. Although some of the magical creatures that live far away from Reykjavik only speak Icelandic, or their own tongues... hm, you'll also need some camping equipment..."

"You won't be coming with us, then?" Malfoy asked.

"Not unless you need me to. I do have a fairly busy schedule; dealing with the practical aspects of the loss of magic is my full-time job."

Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or dismayed that he and Malfoy were apparently going to spend most of this assignment alone together. That was probably a bad sign.

"First we need to go to the University," said Malfoy.

"What for?"

"I'm going to take readings of magical activity in the library. Potter will be speaking to the students." He turned to Raschida. "For some reason, Potter's under the impression that I don't deal well with people."

"And then you're going to Hafnarfjordur?" said Raschida.

"Yes, to talk to the local elves. See if their magic is being affected too."

"All right," said Raschida. "I'll get you a bus schedule too. Buses leave every fifteen or twenty minutes."

"You have a Knight Bus here?" Raschida shook her head. Malfoy looked rather appalled. "Not a Muggle bus?"

"We are on a budget, Mr. Malfoy. For most of what you're doing, you can only use cars. To speak to the elves, you don't."

ooo000ooo

"I'm an accountant," said Malfoy to the pretty young British exchange student who had started chatting him up at the student pub within five minutes of their arrival. Her smile dimmed visibly.

"And how did you get to Iceland?" she asked politely.

"We came with The Iceland Experience," said Harry, glad he'd had a chance to look over some of the information Kingsley had provided for him yesterday.

"Ve don't often see tourists here in vinter," said a student who sounded a lot like Viktor Krum.

"I wonder why not?" Malfoy muttered.

"It's cold. It's dark," said another girl, who sounded American. "It's not a time for sight-seeing; it's mostly just a time to hunker down and survive."

"Actually, the darkness was the selling point at Iceland Experience," said Harry. "It's much cheaper, and we get to see the Aurora Borealis."

"There's also supposed to be more magical activity this time of year, if you're into that kind of thing," said Malfoy disinterestedly. "That's more his passion than mine, though," he said, motioning towards Harry, and Harry felt the curious gazes of the students settle on him.

Very nice, thought Harry as he continued the conversation with the students and Malfoy moved off. They looked like they thought he was some kind of loon, but at least they were talking to him. And supposedly he was doing something useful, asking them the questions Malfoy had written out for him. He glanced surreptitiously at his list, concealed among the entries of his Icelandic-English phrasebook.

This was one of the less annoying things about being assigned to be Malfoy's Ministry watchdog; Malfoy generally kept him relatively busy. No doubt he did it for practicality more than out of a desire to make Harry feel useful and needed; free Auror labour, after all. But it was still a welcome change from some of the other escort duties Harry had been stuck with over the years.

Of course, he never could be sure that Malfoy wasn't having him on with at least some parts of these little assignments. Like, for example, the next question on his list.

"So, erm... how often do people throw up around here?" he asked. Damn it, there was no way that was a legitimate question. And the cross-dressing one farther down the page had to be Malfoy taking the piss too. He hoped Malfoy got a good laugh out of it when he transcribed the interview Harry was taping on the tiny Muggle tape recorder Raschida had given them.

Faster than he'd expected, Malfoy appeared to be done with whatever "readings" he'd wanted to do at the pub and library, and they were saying goodbye to the students. Harry checked the tape recorder as they left the campus and headed for the bus stop to Hafnarfjordur.

"Will you be able to figure out how to get this to work?" he asked Malfoy.

"It can't be that difficult."

"Have you ever used one before?"

"Tape recorderers? No. If Muggles can use them, I'm sure they can't be that complex."

Harry rolled his eyes and flipped his collar up against the blowing snow. "How much do you know about Muggles, anyway?"

"I've read books about them."

"Like what, Marvin the Mad Muggle? You do know that's satire, right?"

"Is it?" Malfoy said, shivering and not terribly interested. "I suppose you're an expert, being raised by them."

"Not really; I pretty much left the Muggle world as a child. Although I've kept in touch with my Muggle cousin and his wife."

Malfoy looked blank for a moment. "Oh, that cousin of yours who was the size of an orca, but duller?" Harry nodded. "Do I even want to imagine what his wife must look like?"

"Probably not what you'd think. She's American. Skinny. Bit of a compulsive cleaner." He shrugged. "Men marry their mothers."

Malfoy nodded. "So I've been told. Your mother was a redhead, right?"

Harry looked at him. "Yes, why?"

"No reason," said Malfoy. They reached the bus stop and he took out the bus schedule Raschida had given them. "Good. The next bus should be here in a few minutes. I hope the elves got my request to see them. I'm not particularly keen on traveling this way again."

ooo000ooo

That had been an enormous amount of fun, thought Harry sourly as he got ready for bed that night. A long, cold trip, a pointless stop, an uncomfortable interview with elves who looked distressingly like Dobby and Kreacher, only ridiculously tall and with red or white-blond ear hair. Kreacher as a Viking. He was going to have nightmares.

And through it all, Malfoy doing his work, perfectly polite to the elves and Muggles, and perfectly unpleasant to Harry.

Harry lay back and wished he were back in London. Wondered what Ron and Hermione were up to right now. Wondered what Rose was doing, how Teddy was spending his last Christmas before he went to Hogwarts... and he tried not to think of how the snow and the darkness felt oppressive and dull, and how for some bizarre reason that just made Malfoy seem somehow more attractive and interesting and intriguing than ever. Tried not to think of how it felt, watching that brain work, watching Malfoy get the elves interested in what he was saying; catching himself wanting to see that intensity turned on him... and how resoundingly he was brought back to earth with a thump, attraction and intrigue dimming considerably, whenever they were alone.

He turned over in bed and firmly made himself go to sleep.

December 4

"I'm a poet," Malfoy said at the Gulfoss falls the next day, much to the delight of the Muggle tourist girls they'd stumbled across upon arrival. Which wasn't really what they wanted; Malfoy was trying to find the lair of the ice fairies, and Harry was trying very hard to provide cover for him, and it didn't help that they'd happened upon a group of Literature majors.

"You should probably talk to my publisher, though," said Malfoy, nodding at Harry, when it became clear that the Muggles were not going to be put off by his aloof manner. "He can tell you about my work." He walked off to do his readings.

"Erm, can't talk about the poems, sorry," said Harry, grasping for some kind of reasonable way to get rid of the tourists. Thank God he'd stayed in touch with Dudley; otherwise he'd probably be just as much at sea about this kind of thing as Malfoy. "We're... involved in a lawsuit right now; there's another poet who's trying to publish some of his poetry as her own. And I'm... I'm actually not supposed to talk about anything having to do with publishing either. Sorry."

And it was probably a good thing that he had decided to use the Polyjuice kindly provided for them by Raschida, because the paunchy, balding, crooked-teeth form he'd chosen for today seemed to make him not terribly interesting to the girls once they had no literature-related reason to talk to him. He glanced over at them, giggling and stealing looks at Malfoy and mostly ignoring the waterfall they'd supposedly come to see. It really was spectacular, half of it frozen in columns of ice, half still crashing down in a raging torrent. A vivid mix of whites and greys and blues, roaring and wreathed in mist, powerful and awe-inspiring. The Icelanders apparently called it the waterfall of the gods, and by god, it really was.

And Malfoy, eyes darting about it, searching for something within it, was paying its beauty and grandeur as much attention as the Muggle schoolgirls were. Pity.

He approached Malfoy. "Anything?"

"Nothing. I'm trying to see where they can be hiding. Ice fairies usually use the back of the waterfall for their meeting halls, but I can't find them..."

"Use fairydust, then."

"What a marvelous suggestion, Potter. That's very helpful. And if I had any fairydust, what a joyful moment this would be."

"You didn't get fairydust from Raschida?"

"No, Potter, I did not get fairydust from Raschida. You may have heard that Iceland has a bit of a problem with magic. The local Potion masters haven't been able to make decent fairydust for years."

"Well, then, a Search spell. It's not that hard to make that work, is it?" Harry surreptitiously drew his wand and started to aim it at the column of ice. And it was... sluggish was the best word to describe it. He had a sudden flashback to trying to use Hermione's wand. He quickly checked to make sure he was still holding his own in his hand.

"Much as I loathe interrupting genius at work," said Malfoy, "it might be useful to you to remember that we're here because magic isn't working in Iceland."

Harry blew out his breath. "Look, I got rid of the Muggles, I'm giving you suggestions - I'm just trying to be helpful, all right?"

"When you say helpful, do you mean that in the normal definition of the word, or is this from your personal dictionary?"

"What?"

"Oh, you know, the way you might use 'competent' as in 'Rubeus Hagrid was a competent teacher'. Or 'interesting', as in 'Hermione Granger's educational soliloquies are interesting.' That kind of thing."

"No. 'Helpful' as in 'I'd like to drop kick you into the waterfall but instead I am trying to make your work easier, because I'd like to get back home as soon as possible.'"

"Well, please stop. When and if I need your help, I'll ask for it." He paused and looked a little closer at one of the columns of ice. "Ah. There they are. Potter, make yourself useful and come up with a diversion, so I can get over there without these bloody students noticing."

"What kind of diversion?"

"I don't know, go chat them up or something," Malfoy said irately. "Like you did at the pub in Reykjavik."

"I chatted someone up?" Harry asked, baffled.

"It was on the tape recorderer." Malfoy stared at the waterfall fixedly. Harry pushed down his annoyance as Malfoy didn't even deign to make eye contact with him. "You know, your little American girlfriend."

"What American girlfriend?" Harry ran over the pub conversations in his head. "Oh d'you mean the girl from Toronto? I wasn't chatting her up."

"Well she found your questions fascinating. Oh and don't forget wanting to show you her Celtic rune tattoos, so you could compare it to Celtic imagery found in Iceland." He shook his head. "If you really fell for that one..."

"Fine, all right, maybe she was coming on to me." Harry flushed. "Not sure how well trying to chat anyone up will go over right now, though."

Malfoy looked back at him and grimaced in distaste. "No, on second thought, don't. Not looking like that. Genius, that, getting rid of one of your only assets."

"What asset?"

Malfoy cleared his throat and quickly turned back to the waterfall. "Pretend to hurt yourself," he said, annoyed. "Make something up. Aren't you an Auror, trained to think on your feet?"

Harry blew out his breath and headed back to the giggling schoolgirls, leaving Malfoy to his ice fairies.

ooo000ooo

"Musician," Malfoy said to the chatty young couple at Strokkur geyser. "I compose jungles for adverts."

"Jingles," murmured Harry.

"Jingles. 'Make her your own, with Wizard's Cologne?' That's one of mine."

The couple looked at him blankly and he wandered off, humming under his breath. Harry gritted his teeth and made nice with the other tourists, reflecting that watching the geyser was rather cathartic. It swelled for a while, and then it blew up. Would be nice to be able to do that.

Of course that was only if the 'blowing up' was temper-related. He had a sudden, wildly inappropriate image of just how much he'd like to do some swelling and... geysering of his own, preferably in a hotel room of his own and not while sharing a tent with Malfoy. He swiftly banished the mental image with a shudder.

"That wasn't long," he said as Malfoy came back, looking disgruntled.

"They barely agreed to meet with me at all. And I think they sent the most demented member of their herd; didn't look like he knew his arse from his foreleg any more."

"Centaurs back home won't meet with humans at all," Harry pointed out.

"I think I would've preferred that."

"So did you get any useful information from them?"

"Not much. Their magic's unaffected. Same as the elves in Hafnarfjordur and the fairies at Gulfoss."

"That's all you're doing? Taking a survey of the state of magical creatures' magic? Couldn't you have asked the Icelandic authorities to do that for you?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "No, Potter, that's not all I'm doing. Give me a little credit. I'm also taking readings, and conducting experiments to see exactly how spells are affected. That sort of thing. I'm earning the exorbitant fee I'll be charging the Icelandic authorities."

"I do give you credit," Harry said, annoyed. "I was confused that you seemed to be doing pretty basic stuff here. Didn't seem up to your usual standard." He turned to go.

"Oh. Thanks," said Malfoy behind him, startling Harry a bit. Had Malfoy just thanked him?

No, couldn't have been. The geyser was making a lot of noise and Harry was hearing things, that was all.

"And are you getting the results you were hoping for?" he asked, as Malfoy caught up to him.

"Not exactly hoping for, but expecting. I'll have to see how things go in Laki."

December 5

"So how's it going so far?" Ron asked that night on the phone.

"Not bad," Harry said. "I think we'll be home before Solstice. He seems to know what he's doing."

"Does he?"

"Yeah. He usually does."

Ron's voice took on a slightly shaky quality. "Really. Firm and assertive, is he? Take-charge?"

"I suppose so."

"Forceful?"

"Ron."

"Manly?"

"Shut up."

"What about his hands, are they strong and--"

"How's Hermione, Ron?"

Silence.

Harry smirked. "Calm and peaceful? Serene, sensible--"

"That's low, mate. That's really, really low."

December 6

"I run a day care," Malfoy had told the Muggle girl who'd tried to chat with him at the hotel near Laki.

"Really? I love children!"

Malfoy smiled slightly. "Oh yes, so do I."

"The face of a child can say so much, don't you think?"

"Especially the part of it that screams when you tell it Mummy won't come back at the end of the day if it doesn't eat its peas."

Harry had suppressed a snicker as the girl gave Malfoy a horrified look and rejoined her companions. The three women whispered among themselves, shooting him and Malfoy suspicious looks.

Not a bad way to get rid of them. They'd been able to activate the distressingly slow Portkey taking them to the edge of the volcano crater Malfoy had decided he needed to see. Harry glanced around the crater; the snow a soft grey carpet beneath them, the still, sparkling dark all around them, and imagined what it looked like when it was spewing enough lava and smoke to disrupt the entire island. Reminded himself he wasn't a tourist, and began running the tests Malfoy had asked him to do. Apparate, Levitate, Transfigure, and Animate all felt lethargic, but not as much as they had been at the last place they'd stopped. He glanced over at Malfoy, who was busily taking notes and muttering into a Muggle recording device.

Competent. Professional. Dedicated. And rather good at this. He'd seen this kind of concentration in the Aurors he tried to emulate; the careful attention to detail, fitting new information in to a growing theory of what the problem was, and how to solve it.

This kind of impersonal problem-solving wasn't something Harry did terribly well; his main forte tended to be figuring out what Dark wizards were doing, and stopping them. He also worked fairly well with other Aurors, much to his surprise. He was up for a promotion sometime soon and, oddly, he was looking forward to it, despite the fact that it could very well take him right out of field work for good.

It was time to move on from endless tracking down of baddies. And he liked figuring out how to use MLE's resources well, trying to make people get along and do their jobs. He'd run his own squad for three years now, and enjoyed the challenge. It often reminded him of running the DA. The idea of running the whole department felt daunting, but exciting.

He gazed at the peaceful crater lake, wondering if Malfoy felt the same satisfaction in his own work. If he would feel better without an Auror around to escort him everywhere. If he got animated when he talked to his friends about his work. Did he even have friends to talk to about his work?

"Oh, no, don't stop daydreaming on my behalf," said a voice behind him, and he jumped. When had Malfoy finished in the crater?

"Sorry, I didn't realize you were out already."

"How MLE ever let you in is beyond me," muttered Malfoy. "Did you get anything useful done while I was in there?"

Harry handed him his parchment of observations, noting Malfoy's swiftly hidden look of surprise with pleasure.

"Did you get anything useful?" Harry asked as they sat down and started going through their backpacks.

"Not really. I was hoping to talk to an old volcano spirit here. It used to come out and accept offerings from the locals, but it's not answering my summons."

"Why not?"

"Well if I knew that, Potter, we either wouldn't be here, or I would've been able to talk to him, wouldn't I?" said Malfoy. He took out his meal, eyeing the smoked salmon with suspicion. "This isn't one of those rotten whale meat Icelandic delicacies, is it?"

"It's perfectly edible," said Harry. "And fish is good for your heart, Hermione says. Though she wouldn't eat any during her first pregnancy; something about possible contaminants harming the baby, I think."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "What's happened to Granger - sorry, Weasley - anyway? Did she start hanging about with Loony Lovegood when she got pregnant?"

Harry decided not to mention that, in fact, Luna had once commented that some of Hermione's theories were 'a little odd.' "No, she just wants to give her children perfect childhoods."

"Ugh."

"And actually the fish thing she got from Muggles. They've apparently done a lot of studies on it."

"Oh that makes it much more believable, then," Malfoy said, and they both looked up at a sound from behind them. A small group of fire-fairies was approaching them.

"Ah. All right, here we go." Malfoy put down his sandwich and stood up. "Hello."

"Wieree veruhlinee ertthuh?" asked the fairy at the front of the group, a small, delicate-looking, lightly flaming creature that somehow managed to look ancient despite a complete absence of wrinkles.

"Ég tala bara ensku," said Malfoy, and the fairies broke into a babble of voices. Malfoy and Harry glanced at each other worriedly.

"...eeslensku?" said one.

"Bother. I suppose it's time to use the translation Charm," said Harry glumly.

"I hate those things," muttered Malfoy. "They hardly ever work. May as well try, though." He took a fish-shaped Charm out of his backpack and grimaced at its lurid aqua hue.

"Hang on, let me work the back-up spell," said Harry, pointing his wand at a blank parchment and taking three tries to get it right. "This'll re-translate your words, so we can tell if the Charm is working right. Go ahead," he motioned to Malfoy, who turned back to the fairies.

Malfoy held the Charm up. "Greiða yðar hundur," he said.

The fairies, as one, blinked at him in bafflement.

"You just told them to comb their dogs," said Harry, frowning at his parchment.

"Greiða yðar hundur fjólublár,"¹ said Malfoy.

"Purple. Comb their dogs purple. Let me see that." He took the fish from Malfoy, shook it three times, rubbed it across his stomach, then tossed it back at Malfoy.

"What the hell was that?"

"The Charm goes a little wonky sometimes. You have to let it know you'll eat it if it misbehaves."

"What? How do you know that?"

"It's the same Charm the Aurors use sometimes."

"From where?"

Harry hesitated. "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Malfoy closed his eyes, obviously reaching for patience. "The Aurors. Use products from... there's a joke here, but I'm going to refrain from making it. No bloody wonder I've got so much business, if you people are the alternative."

December 8

"This is thrilling, Potter," Malfoy said, peering at their finally upright tent through the near-blizzard. "I'm ever so glad I accepted this contract."

"And I'm ever so glad you weren't sent to Azkaban," Harry snapped, "so I could be free to join you on these little romps."

Malfoy gave him a glare and ducked into the tent, and Harry ran a hand through his hair and fought the urge to scream. It was like living with a toddler.

In fact, it was worse than living with a toddler. Rose was nowhere near as annoying. Nowhere near. She was a lot quieter, too. And she liked him.

All of a sudden he felt a deep surge of longing. He didn't want to be here, with Malfoy, good-looking as he was. He wanted to be home, with Ron and Hermione, with little Rose hanging on to his every word. Swinging her up in the air and hearing her squeals of delight. Watching Ron and Hermione, who, despite Ron's tabouli scent and Hermione's wide-hipped wingy earth mother thing, were so fucking happy together.

He braced himself against the expected surge of longing for Ginny. Funny, bright, pretty, uncomplicated Ginny, and everything that came with her.

Why exactly had he broken up with her again? Told her he didn't like girls? So that he could be here, with Malfoy, instead of by her side, listening to her jokes and watching her smile and copping a feel in the hallway whenever her six - five, damn it - brothers weren't in sight? What the hell had he been thinking?

Honesty, he reminded himself. He'd wanted to be honest with her, honest with himself. Life with Ginny might have been many positive things, but it would've been, at heart, a lie. Because bright and pretty as she was, she didn't quite do it for him. No girl could.

He'd done the right thing.

Though it sure didn't feel like it right now. He wearily entered the tent, where Malfoy was looking at their Muggle sleeping bags and inflatable mattresses with disdain.

"Do you know what to do with this?" Malfoy asked, gesturing at their gear.

"Yes, I do," said Harry. "Part of Auror training."

"You mean it's actually good for something?"

"Yes." He shoved Malfoy out of the way and made himself useful.

Oh, this was going to be marvelous. Not only was he going to be spending an inordinate amount of time bumbling about in the icy dark, doing seismic readings and measuring magical levels, chasing down more magical creatures, visiting small Muggle villages and isolated wizarding settlements that probably hadn't changed since Viking times... he was going to be doing it all with Malfoy. In a tent, because most of the places they were going weren't even on the Muggle maps, let alone large enough to hold hotels. And most of it was going to be in the frozen, barren interior of the island, as opposed to the relatively welcoming coastlands. Not that Malfoy had been able to appreciate the coasts either, but this... this was going to inspire him to new heights of bratty whinging.

And they still probably wouldn't solve this in time. So when he got back to civilization, Hermione was going to kill him.

December 13

"It's not that bad here, you know," said Brynja Lárusdóttir, the witch in charge of a mixed Muggle-wizarding motel in Laugarbakki. "My ancestors came here a thousand years ago, and they were hardly idiots. They stayed because it's a beautiful place. It's not exactly a centre of excitement, but there are deep roots and there's history here. There's being at one with the island. We're not always terribly friendly to new folks, but that's all right. Not every place has to welcome outsiders."

"It's pitch-black for four months straight," said Malfoy. "I feel as though I've been dropped into a dismal well of darkness."

Brynja laughed. "Well, yes, there is that too." She paused. "But there's even beauty in that. We sit. We hibernate. Not so much the Muggles these days, but wizards definitely do. There's a certain beauty to living in the moment, following the rhythms of the land and the sea."

"I suppose there could be," said Malfoy skeptically.

"No, I could see that," said Harry.

"That friend of yours, whose ritual you are hoping to attend..." Brynja said, and Harry looked up at her in surprise. "She's lucky."

"What?"

She smiled. "It's not very steady or reliable, but sometimes the island lets us have bits of our former magic. I used to be very good at sensing personal Charms. I sensed the one your friend put on you for her first child. And you're going to be a godfather again. It's a wonderful honour."

"I know," said Harry. "I'm already a godfather. To two children."

"And father of none?"

"No."

"Do you want to be?"

Harry thought for a minute. "I don't know," he finally said slowly.

Malfoy blinked, surprised, and Brynja smiled. "You don't have to, you know. Fatherhood is an honour and an adventure, but it doesn't have to be for everybody."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose not."

"It's expected of you, though."

"Not by anyone who's close to me," said Harry. "Not any more."

Brynja nodded. "You expect it of yourself, though."

"I suppose so." Harry put down his cup. "Speaking of people close to me, I need to make a phone call."

"Go right ahead," said Brynja. "Just make sure to follow the instructions next to the phone, for long distance calls."

ooo000ooo

"He thinks Laki's where the problem's originating. There's an old spirit of a volcano or something. Who knows why, but Malfoy thinks it's drawing magic to itself."

"A volcano spirit?"

"The fairies told us it thinks of itself as a god. Ancient one, too."

"An ancient volcano god." Ron paused. "So why were you incommunicado for so long? Hermione was getting worried."

"Nothing dangerous, only there weren't any telephones. We were in the interior of the island. And then up north, looking for giants."

"Really."

"Yeah, pretty bleak, most of it, actually."

"No hotels, either, I suppose?"

"Muggle hotels have phones, so no," said Harry patiently.

"Really? All Muggle hotels do?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause. "So if you weren't staying in hotels..."

Harry rubbed the spot between his brows that started to twitch whenever Ron got that particular tone to his voice. "Ron."

"So. Tense? Erm, I mean, did you sleep in tents?"

"Ron."

"One or two?"

"One."

"And was it? Tense, I mean."

Was it tense. No, not tense at all, sharing a very small space with a very good looking man for five days in a row, seeing him in nothing but a white t-shirt and distressingly close-fitting thermal underwear. Hoping he wouldn't have any interesting dreams out loud. Having to clean up manually after said interesting dreams, because you couldn't rely on cleaning charms to work properly and the last thing he wanted was a big gob of eew flying out of his sleeping bag and plopping onto Malfoy's hair. Although it might have been amusing, especially if he did it during one of Malfoy's snark-filled morning grousings.

"Yes," said Harry evenly. "It was tense. I am very happy to be in a hotel room of my own. Now could we possibly talk about something else? Or do I have to start making fun of you for being able to sleep in the same bed as the person you're attracted to, but not being able to have a fully sane conversation with her? Probably until your youngest child goes off to Hogwarts?"

Ron laughed. "Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I know, I'm being an ungrateful prat. It's fun taking the mickey out of you over this, but I know you only went babysitting Malfoy because of me."

"What? How--"

"Kingsley told me. I appreciate it, I really do. I'm sorry, mate."

"Yeah, all right," said Harry. "Apology accepted." He cleared his throat. "And don't call it babysitting," he muttered.

"Providing an official escort, then." There was a very brief silence. "Harry, can we call you Malfoy's escort?"

"Apology unaccepted, you berk," Harry said, starting to laugh despite himself. "All right, I have to go. Give Rosie a hug for me. And Hermione. And tell her if she wants to hex me for not making it back in time, she can hex you instead."

"Not a chance. She doesn't need more reasons to do that. I tossed out a pot of moldy petunias yesterday and she nearly went mental... er."

"Why?"

"Turns out she was breeding baby-breath-bugs. You know, to promote proper respiration in newborn infants. I've been banished to the sofa."

"Better you than me, mate. Self-inflicted wound and all that."

"Don't remind me," groaned Ron. "Anyway, good luck with the volcano god."

"Thanks, Ron."

He lay back, stretching in the bed and grateful to no longer be sharing a small, cramped tent with Malfoy. Looked down ruefully at the erection that had begun before he'd even hung up on Ron, just from the knowledge that tonight he could go to sleep without feeling nervous about any dreams he might have. And that if he woke up as he had a few times while camping, hot and hard and inches away from coming, he wouldn't have to clamp one hand over his mouth as the other took care of things. Wouldn't have to hope that he wasn't making any noise, that Malfoy wasn't lying there a foot away from him listening to Harry finishing himself off.

Though that thought had been fairly hot all by itself, as long as he didn't let himself imagine the kinds of things Malfoy would no doubt say if he did catch on to what Harry was doing.

He touched himself now, lying back on the bed and letting the images of the last several days wash over him. Waking up and feeling Malfoy's presence, warm and asleep, across the tent. Hearing him turn over in his sleep. Dreaming about him, wishing he could reach out and touch him. Dreaming of Malfoy waking him up by going down on him. Fantasizing about touching him and not being met with an incredulous look, or hostile sarcasm, but with heat equal to his own, and feeling Malfoy return his advances, pull him close, run his hands all over Harry, grasp him firmly and--

Oh, fuck, yeah. He let himself cry out loud as he came, reveling in the freedom and the solitude.

December 16

There had been three more old Viking shrines and an ancient Celtic outhouse, visited in frosty grey darkness. Two more giants, a very lonely tree-spirit, a pod of selkies, an elf Harry had immediately labeled the Valkyrie Winkie, and a disturbingly perky group of centaurs whose physique seemed more pony- than horse-like. They'd downed copious amounts of Polyjuice (unfortunately, Brennivin and Ethervodka were acquired tastes; Harry almost preferred the Polyjuice straight). Malfoy had introduced himself as a playwright in Patreksfjörður, an exotic dancer in Egilsstadir, and a grammarian in Grenivik, and generally driven Harry crazy with his combination of professionalism and sarcasm.

And through it all, the magic of the island was dying.

Harry let himself sink down further in the silky water of the Blue Lagoon in Grindavik, and imagined all of it floating away from him, imagined the steaming aqua water bubbling up from the inside of the earth, washing this entire trip from him. Malfoy had taken a dip - mostly to humour Raschida, who'd made some comment about not allowing foreign wizards to leave their country without visiting the famous Blue Lagoon - but he'd come out fairly quickly and was now sitting at a table near the water, reading through some of his scrolls. Harry much preferred to admire the gorgeous lagoon, let it warm and soothe him, and take a break from responsibilities and Malfoy for as long as his conscience would let him.

Which... was not that long after all. Harry took a deep breath and got out, picking up his towel and joining Malfoy at his table.

"This is the last stab, isn't it?" Harry asked, drying his hair.

"I certainly hope so," said Malfoy, glancing up at him and then immediately looking back down at his scroll again.

"How likely do you think it is that it's this volcano bloke?"

"Volcano god. Njörður."

"Volcano god, whatever."

"The fairies thought it likely. So did the Gláma Giant. A lot of the magical energies and shifts seem to centre on Laki. If it's not him, I have no idea who else it might be."

"I've never even heard of him. He's not in the Viking sagas that Raschida gave us."

"You read the condensed Muggle version," Malfoy said, still reading a scroll and stirring a cup of tea. "I read the old Norse, the pre-Elgfrothi the Expurgator version."

"The who?"

"Expurgator. Worked for the equivalent of the Ministry for Magic in the fourteenth century. Went and removed most of the more accurate references to magic from the sagas."

"It better be him. Or Hermione will track me down and part of the godfather ritual will involve my balls in a vice."

"Doesn't she get to do that enough with poor Weasley?" Malfoy said snidely.

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "He's not 'poor Weasley', you know."

"What?"

"Ron." He pulled his shirt back on. "She doesn't rule over him with fear, or whatever you think she does. He loves her. He's all right with going along with all the rubbish she spouts. She could spout out a lot worse and he'd still go along, no problem." He glared at Malfoy. "And she'd do the same for him. She has done the same for him - followed him to Cannons games and tested Wheezes products and..."

Malfoy had finally put down his scroll, and was staring at him curiously.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I've obviously made a grievous social error. You seem to be under the impression that I want to hear this. I really don't care about their marriage. Or anybody's marriage, for that matter." He made a notation on one of his scrolls, frowned at it, scratched it out, then wrote it again.

Harry sat down to his own paperwork. Might as well start on those reports the Ministry would no doubt want him to hand in once they were done here. "So... why did I hear you were going to marry Astoria Greengrass?" he asked.

"That was my mother's fault," Malfoy said sourly. "She got tired of waiting for me to decide, and thought she'd help along."

"What's the big hurry to marry you off?"

"You wouldn't understand," he said dismissively. "It's a pureblood thing."

Harry thought about that for a minute. Yeah, he could see that. "Molly Weasley can't get her children to settle down and give her grandkids fast enough. Wouldn't have thought your mother would be the same about it."

"It's not the grandchildren thing. Though I suppose that was part of it. It's making political alliances with other pureblood families. She hasn't clued in yet that it's not the same world she grew up in."

"No?"

"No."

"She seems pretty bright, though. Why wouldn't she?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "All right, not that it's any of your business, but she was also hoping to settle me down so there wouldn't be any rumours flying around about me."

"What rumours?"

"The same rumours flying around about you, since you broke up with your ginger girlfriend," Malfoy said evenly.

Harry stared at him. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Malfoy looked back at his work. "She also hasn't clued in that that's not such a big deal either."

"You've heard rumours about me?" Harry asked.

"Who hasn't. You're the Boy Who Lived. You were supposed to marry your childhood sweetheart and provide 2.5 adorable children for the masses to coo over. Of course they want to know why that's not happening. Rita Skeeter would be frothing at the mouth to think of catching you slipping some bloke out of your house at indecent times of morning."

"She would be. I'll worry about that when she gets out of Azkaban."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean there's something to worry about?"

Harry briefly contemplated letting him know in no uncertain terms that it was none of his business.

He took a deep breath, and said instead, "Worry about? No. Write about? Probably, to people who care about that sort of thing."

Malfoy regarded him seriously. "All right. You're gay?"

"Mostly, yeah," said Harry, and went back to his own report. "I've been discreet about it, but only because I don't like it when the press talks about my personal life no matter what's going on in it. If they ever get 'proof,' it'll go to the papers and the big secret will be out." He shrugged. "C'est la vie."

Malfoy nodded, and took a sip of his tea. Harry went back to his work. "And what about you?" he asked, still writing. "Is there anything for your mother to worry about?"

There was a long silence. Harry could almost feel the tension humming between them. Why had he asked that? What did it matter? Would Malfoy think Harry was trying to come on to him? Would it make working together more difficult?

And what was the point of knowing anyway? To let Harry know with even greater certainty that there was not a chance anything would ever develop between himself and Malfoy?

"Yes."

Harry met Malfoy's eyes, startled. "Really?" he asked after a moment. His heart was beating faster and he felt hot and cold with the knowledge and why had he asked and why had Malfoy told him and--

"In my case, the need for discretion is a little more pronounced," Malfoy said quietly. "My parents do not want this to be public knowledge."

"Why not?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You don't think the Malfoy name has suffered enough in the last few decades? We're trying to build up respectability. Hence my chosen profession, and all the charitable donations my family makes, and... well, everything about us, essentially. The one and only heir, a bloody shift-lifter? Not exactly fitting, is it?"

Harry put his quill down. "So you're going to live your life according to what your parents want? Have a sham marriage, if your mother can find a girl who doesn't revolt you too much?"

"No. I just don't think there's any need to rub their noses in my choices. They wouldn't understand."

"Why not?"

"Why do you think I was an only child, Potter? My father was able to lie to himself, and he expects me to do the same. I don't particularly want to."

Harry's mouth fell open. Lucius Malfoy was gay. Wow. And also, ew.

"Not that I need to say this, but I do expect you to keep that little tidbit to yourself as well." Malfoy stood up. "I'll go give Raschida a call. Tell her we're going back to Laki."

He walked off, leaving Harry staring after him.

All right, what the hell had that been all about?

Why had he snapped at Malfoy over Ron and Hermione? Why the hell had he told Malfoy he was gay? Why had he asked about Malfoy's love life? Why the entire bloody conversation?

Maybe because he missed Ron and Hermione. Maybe because lately he'd been asking himself on an almost daily basis what the fuck he'd been thinking of when he broke off with Ginny. Because he'd been happy with Ginny, and she'd been happy with him, and instead of just Rose and Teddy, he could have had a child of his own by now.

A child of his own. A son or two, or maybe a daughter, named after the people he'd lost: James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, Albus. Or maybe some of the people Ginny had lost. Not Fred; they'd agreed that that would be George's honour, if he ever had a son. But he could've had that, he could've been happy, and instead he'd...

Instead he'd decided to listen when his hormones told him it was no accident that although he loved Ginny, she didn't light him up the way Ron did. The way Malfoy did. The way bloody Seamus Finnigan had during Auror training.

How completely fucking stupid of him.

December 18

"The only way to speak to him is for him to possess one of us?" Malfoy said, his voice rising with incredulity as they walked into the crater at Laki, the Portkey having deposited them a full mile away from their intended destination, through silver snowflakes swirling about them through the darkness of late afternoon.

"This is the only way I know that anyone has ever been able to do it," said Sigmund Magnússon, an elderly Alchemist Raschida had found who seemed to be the only person still alive who remembered the worship of Njörður the volcano spirit.

"We have to let an unknown spirit, who's not terribly friendly, take over our bodies."

"He is not normally... how do you say, hættulegur?" said Sigmund, looking to Raschida for help.

"Dangerous?" said Raschida skeptically. "Maybe not, but... you don't think that curse he inflicted on Símon Pálmasson was dangerous?"

"That was more than one hundred years ago."

"I read that he had cow ears for the rest of his life."

"He would have been fine if he had been more kurteis - respectful," Sigmund pointed out.

"No," said Malfoy. "Sorry, but I'm not quite as daft as I look. Let Potter do it."

Harry shook his head. "If anyone's going to, it should be you."

"Scared, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.

"Scared has nothing to do with it," said Harry impatiently. "You're the expert here. I'm only with you because the Ministry sent me."

"This is ridiculous."

Harry sighed. "Malfoy, if it's the only way to--"

"Stop it," snapped Malfoy. "I am not Weasley, and you are not Granger, and you are not going to convince me to agree to this."

ooo000ooo

"I cannot believe I'm agreeing to this," Malfoy said a while later, as he settled back on a comfortable chair that they'd set up in a relatively sheltered spot just inside the crater, the silvery-white ground gently sloping down before them. Harry shivered in his parka, huddling close to the small fire they'd built and wistfully wishing for heating charms. Sigmund waved an incense stick over Malfoy. "Is that incense or sheep dung?"

"Sheep dung incense," said Sigmund.

"What?!"

"Perhaps cow dung," he said seriously.

Raschida chuckled. "Oh yes, we're low on aromatic woods and spices in Iceland."

Malfoy blew out his breath. "That's very funny." He sighed. "I cannot believe I agreed to this..."

"Neither can I," Harry said worriedly, looking over the ancient sheepskin from which Sigmund would read the incantations. "You'll be perfectly safe, though, don't worry."

"What if he doesn't want to relinquish my body once he's got it?" Malfoy asked.

"I don't know, Malfoy, I'll think of something, all right?" Harry said distractedly.

Malfoy gaped at him. "That's your idea of 'perfectly safe'? 'I'll think of something'?"

Harry blew out his breath. "No. No, of course not. I'm a trained Auror, I know how to do this, we do get training on possession, you know. I just forgot you don't have the same training--"

"I spent some time with Death Eaters, Potter," Malfoy said curtly. "Possession isn't a completely foreign idea to me either. It was never particularly nice to look at, and those possessed didn't have a wonderful time, as far as I could tell."

"Look." Harry tried to make his voice and manner as reassuring as possible. "Relax. When I say I'll think of something, I don't mean I'll try to pull something out of a hat and hope like hell it works. I mean that I will review my extensive knowledge on the subject of breaking possession, and I will choose something likely to work, and keep throwing everything I know - and there's a lot of it - at you until something bloody well does work." He paused. "Look, I've assisted on two cases that involved a senior agent removing a possession. You are as safe as I can make you."

"That makes my whole day just that much brighter. Considering we're in Iceland, that's not saying a great deal."

Sigmund gave a short nod and Raschida cleared her throat, and this was it. They were going to do this. Harry swallowed.

Sigmund peered at the sheepskin closely in the candlelight, softly and slowly speaking words Harry couldn't even begin to understand, and suspected he didn't want to understand, calling upon this Njörður being, whatever he was, to come and take over the body of the one holding the fire jewel pendant. He held the pendant out to Malfoy, and Malfoy let out his breath, picked up the pendant, and closed his eyes, laying his head against the back of the chair. He took a deep breath and relaxed, and Harry stared at him intently. And waited.

And waited.

Waited.

All right, getting uncomfortable waiting now.

Then again, at least Malfoy wasn't talking. Considering the kinds of things that sometimes came out of his mouth, that should be worth savouring. Raschida and Sigmund didn't seem to mind the wait, but Harry was beginning to feel a little antsy.

He opened his mouth to say something, subsiding as Sigmund gave him a small glare.

Right. No talking. He looked wistfully over at the Prophet Malfoy had left sitting out, and gave a small start as Sigmund picked it up and handed it to him, along with a pencil. So apparently talking was right out, but crossword puzzles were not. He idly glanced through the clues; four-letter synonym for prat, and 'arse' didn't fit the rest of the clues...

"This is interesting," Malfoy said slowly, and Harry looked up from the puzzle to answer, and his response died in his throat.

There was no way he could have described what was different about Malfoy. Other than the fact that he wasn't Malfoy. Every feature was the same, the voice was the same, and he was still in exactly the same pose, but he wasn't Malfoy. Harry had a disorienting recollection of encountering the same feeling around the Weasley twins, the few times he'd realized that whoever he thought he'd been talking to wasn't who he'd thought. Something would give it away - a slightly wider smile, a slightly different tilt to the eyes, something, would tip him off.

There was nothing like that here. But the man sitting in front of Harry bore little more resemblance to Malfoy than he did to Harry himself.

The man smiled. "By the way, he is still here, you know. He can see and hear everything we say. He can see your rather witless dumbfounded expression right now, and he is quite amused."

Harry swallowed hard.

"Who are you?"

"Njörður," said Malfoy. "Your colleague tells me that you are here to explore the loss of magic in the island."

"Do you know about it?"

"Yes, of course."

"How do you know?"

"I am causing it."

Harry exchanged a startled glance with Raschida. Just like that? 'I am causing it?' "Why is that?"

"You are not from here."

"What? Oh. No, I'm not."

"I can tell who my people are." He tilted his head towards Raschida and Sigmund.

"Can you."

"Yes."

Harry cleared his throat. "All right, then. How about you tell us why you're doing what you're doing."

"I am merely insisting upon ancestral rights that I should not have to insist upon."

"What rights?"

"I was worshipped here, did you know? Muggles thought of me as the god of seafarers. Wizards knew better; I was the spirit of adventure, fire and water, both of which they had a surfeit of on this island. They prayed to me, sacrificed to me, honoured my power over the fire that gave this island warmth, and in return I gave them magic."

Harry kept his expression neutral, squashing the part of him that wanted to respond, "Gave them magic, my arse," and deciding to treat this spirit the same way he would treat a slightly psychotic but magically powerful suspect: don't rile them up by challenging them yet, just get information from them. "And you no longer give them magic?"

"Worship of me has ceased," Malfoy said calmly. "It had become more and more infrequent and dissatisfactory, and now it has stopped. Nobody has come to me in over forty years."

"Forty years?" Raschida asked. "Why stop... giving us magic now?"

"I have been on this island for a thousand years, Mr. Potter," Malfoy said, ignoring Raschida. "I did not insist on regular worship. Every decade or so, that was all. I have no need for more. It was only when the service was missed four times that I began to search for my people and found that they had forgotten me. They did not even know to look for me. It took two foreigners to even think to come and speak to me." He finally acknowledged Sigmund and Raschida with a scathing, contemptuous glance.

Harry suppressed the urge to ask What are you, two years old? and kept his tone neutral. "What needs to be done to appease you, then?"

"A ritual," Malfoy said simply. "Re-teaching of the old ways. Simply show me respect, and I will return magic to the island."

All of a sudden Malfoy's face started to drain of colour, and Harry felt a pang of alarm. "Are you all right?"

Malfoy blinked slowly, his gaze turning inward for a moment. "Your colleague is not used to this," he said faintly. "He needs to take a rest."

"But we're not done with--"

"I will need to take your body, then."

Harry blanched.

"Oh, come now. You persuaded him to let me take his."

"Could you not take one of us?" asked Raschida.

Again, Malfoy did not bother to look at her. "Scared, Potter?" he smirked at Harry.

Harry blinked. It should have sounded just like Malfoy. Should have. The same words, the same expression that Malfoy wore every time he said it, and it was obvious that somehow this spirit knew that, and was doing it deliberately. But it sounded nothing like Malfoy at all. It sounded rather creepy.

And suddenly Malfoy was back.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shivered slightly. "Fine. All right. He - I didn't think I was getting weak." He blinked a few times. "May as well switch over to you, then."

ooo000ooo

Malfoy was gazing at him in confusion, and Harry vividly remembered what it had looked like, seeing a stranger wearing Malfoy's face.

"Yes, that is what it looks like," Harry's voice said, and it had to be one of the most uncomfortable experiences Harry had ever had, because his own will had nothing to do with it.

Suddenly he felt intensely nauseated. This was just like the times he'd been inside Voldemort's mind - seeing and speaking and feeling with no control over what he saw and spoke and felt - except this time, he wasn't in the body of another person, or a snake, but in his own.

"What's the matter?" Malfoy asked brusquely.

Njörður cleared Harry's throat. "Your colleague has a few issues with someone else taking his body. I did not know." He smiled at Malfoy. "Not to worry. I have no intention of doing anything sinister while inhabiting this body, any more than I did while inhabiting yours."

Malfoy nodded. "All right. Could you please explain to us how your people can show you respect once more?"

"They must recreate the ancient Winter Solstice ritual."

"And what does that entail?"

"Surely there are still those who remember what was to be done."

"If there aren't? Solstice is only a few days away."

"It's rather sad; when I first decided to give you only until Solstice to find me, I honestly thought that would be more than enough time."

"Apparently it wasn't," said Malfoy. "But we're here now. If we can't find anybody to tell us the ritual, what will happen?"

Njörður chuckled. "You do not believe you can find the answer in the next few days?"

This was completely ridiculous, Harry thought, and would've yelped if he'd been able to as he felt Njörður's mind brush against his.

"What is it?" Malfoy asked.

Njörður smiled grimly. "Your friend is feeling impatient. Thinks I am... a bit of a pill, I think is what he is saying. For... needing to have my ego stroked? I may be wrong; I am not terribly accustomed to thinking in English." He chuckled and glanced around, then waved a hand at the candles, bringing them closer.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, his voice registering slight alarm.

"Making Mr. Potter's position clear to him," Njörður said, and reached out to hold Harry's hand over a candle. The candle warmed him slightly.

"What?" Malfoy sat up.

"I am not going to damage him permanently," Njörður said, his voice amused. "He simply needs to show a bit more respect, that is all."

Harry's palm was growing hotter. Merely uncomfortable at first, it was gradually becoming painful.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Malfoy said, and started to stand up. Njörður's eyebrows went up and Malfoy sat back down.

"You need to learn manners too."

"Stop that!" Malfoy said, and Harry's palm was burning. He tried to blank out his sense of smell, not wanting to know whether it was actually burning or only--

"You said you weren't going to do anything sinister!" Malfoy shouted, and Njörður laughed.

"I am not. I am simply waiting for Mr. Potter to apologize."

"How is he supposed to apologize when you've got control of his voice, you idiot?" Malfoy snarled, and Harry felt his own laughter abruptly cease. He waved his other hand at Malfoy and suddenly Malfoy was knocked to the ground.

"Both of you will apologize," Njörður said, his voice steely. "Now."

Malfoy gathered himself up, furious, opened his mouth to shout back - and then his eyes flicked from the candle to Harry's face.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "We're both sorry. We didn't mean any disrespect."

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy," said Njörður, and Malfoy slowly got up. "But I have not heard from Mr. Potter. And you know perfectly well that he can speak to me in his mind," Njörður said, his voice bored. "You realized that quickly enough."

"He's in too much pain to figure out anything right now," said Malfoy. "Potter, say you're sorry."

I'm sorry! Harry thought as loudly as he could, and wished he could breathe a sigh of relief as his hand finally was taken away from the flame. Wished he could close his eyes in horror as Njörður turned his hand over and he saw a blackened patch, still smoking a bit. Instead, he chuckled again and whispered something, and the hand was as good as new.

"There. All better?" Njörður asked Malfoy, who nodded guardedly. "Where were we?"

"You were about to explain the ritual," Malfoy said quietly.

Njörður smiled. "You know, it is quite endearing to see you so protective of him."

"Why?"

"Because he feels the same way about you as you feel about him."

Malfoy went completely still. "What?" he said after a pause.

"He does," Njörður said. "It is quite amusing. Both of you have an enormous amount of respect for one another, and an odd desire to hide that respect. And an enormous amount of sexual interest in one another."

Harry felt frozen, horrified.

"And he does not wish you to know that. Any more than you wished him to know how you felt."

Raschida's mouth had fallen open and Sigmund's eyes had widened almost comically. Malfoy's face had gone extremely pale.

"You do not want him to know how much you value the way he treats you fairly, and gives you the respect you deserve as a fellow professional. How you respect his professionalism as well. And he does not mind you knowing that he appreciates you in that way, but he very much does not want you to know that he touched himself sometimes in the night, thinking of you, while you were sharing a tent. That he fantasized about waking up to you pleasuring him with your mouth." He gave a small laugh. "He does not know you did the same things; even had the same fantasy."

"Stop," said Malfoy quietly.

"There is no need for this pretense, you know." Njörður's voice was almost maliciously amused now. "You believe he will never look at you with anything other than professional courtesy, because of your past. That is why do you do not allow yourself to enjoy his presence, why you are so deliberately obnoxious around him. He notices that; he notices that you are perfectly polite to everybody but him. It annoys him, but it also intrigues him."

No. No no no no no.

Malfoy looked away. "Please stop," he said, his voice low.

Njörður laughed. "Oh, all right. I have been alive for over a thousand years, seen this dance danced too many times for it to hold much interest for me. All I will say is that should you make any advances in his direction, he may very well reciprocate. Or not. But the mutual interest is there."

"I..." Malfoy's Adam's apple bobbed; he looked away from Harry, and Harry wished he could do the same.

"Very well. I will leave you to your pathetic excuse for a courtship dance." Njörður sighed. "Now, where were we?"

ooo000ooo

"Well, that was... entertaining," said Njörður. "I shall expect my people here at Solstice, then." And without a word of warning or goodbye, Harry felt as though something was rising under his skin; there was too much inside, his heart beating too fast, breath catching, he was going to split apart - and then with a sharp shock, he was alone in his body once more.

He looked up. Malfoy was staring at him, his expression guarded.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry said hollowly. "Fine."

Raschida and Sigmund exchanged a glance. "We will gather the people," said Raschida, sounding awkward. "And come back here at the Solstice."

"And I... I am sorry," said Sigmund, "but it seems that the Portkey... it can only reliably transport two, and we need to get back to Reykjavik to begin organizing everybody..."

"No, that's all right," said Harry quietly. "We'll stay here. We've got enough paperwork to keep busy anyway."

"Thank you. For everything," said Raschida.

"You're welcome."

Raschida and Sigmund gave them both a hesitant glance, then touched the Portkey and were whisked away.

The candles in the slight shelter of the rock flickered in the gentle wind, their shadows dancing along the snow-covered ground. Harry got up, moving closer to the small campfire and realizing that somehow, despite having been sitting motionless for some time, he was quite warm. Maybe being possessed by a volcano god helped protect against the cold. Not worth it, though.

Malfoy moved a bit closer as well, holding his hands out to warm them near the fire. "I don't think Njörður needed to leave me at all," he said out of the blue. "I think he just got bored and wanted to read your thoughts too. Probably hasn't read the thoughts of anyone who wasn't an Icelander in centuries."

Harry nodded briefly. "Probably."

"We'd better get the tent set up."

"Right."

Harry moved to their packs and started automatically building the tent, wondering how he and Malfoy could both act like nothing had happened, nothing was different...

But then, really, what else could they do?

ooo000ooo

This was unreal. Harry looked up at the darkness, imagining the tent ceiling over him. Imagining Malfoy on the other bed. Malfoy, who had apparently been thinking of Harry the same way he'd been thinking of Malfoy, this whole time.

When had it begun? How could he have hidden it so well? Where, under that obnoxious, impatient, sarcastic exterior, did other feelings reside? And how could those feelings exist along with the snark and displeasure that couldn't be faked?

Probably in the same uncomfortable way as Harry's own unwelcome feelings for Malfoy existed. Right alongside the feeling of "I'm an idiot" and "he's an idiot" and "I'm an even bigger idiot for wanting him."

He turned over, hearing Malfoy's even breaths, feeling the air slightly warmer from Malfoy's side of the tent, just from his body heat.

Right now Malfoy was sleeping, possibly having a dream about Harry. And what would a dream like that entail?

Touching. Holding. Kissing. Feeling that warmth come closer. Lips touching, another heartbeat under his fingertips.

Fuck, he was getting hard. Or rather... harder. He'd been uncomfortably tense ever since Njörður had left them, not wanting to think too closely about what he'd said, concentrating with all his will on not letting Malfoy catch Harry looking at him, trying so hard not to look or think or feel at all...

And the sleeping bag next to Harry moved, a movement so slight it could've been nothing, lost in the wind outside of their tent, but Harry's ears were hypersensitized and his entire being focused on the presence next to him. On the almost imperceptible rustle that he'd heard - and then heard again.

Harry went still and held his breath. What are you doing, he wanted to ask, but he couldn't. Because Malfoy's breathing was almost suspiciously steady. And either Harry was imagining things, or he wasn't and Malfoy was being incredibly quiet, but not quiet enough.

Quietly, as quietly as possible, he stole a hand down and touched himself.

He suppressed a gasp of relief. It was ridiculous, he had barely touched himself, but the steady breathing and the vague rustling sounds were setting him aflame. What was Malfoy doing, was he dreaming or was he imagining Harry's lips on his, Harry's hand stroking him up and down - and Harry bit his lip so hard he could almost taste blood. He couldn't breathe, the pleasure was growing, building, the suspicion that Malfoy was doing the same thing feeling incredibly... damn, the word in his mind should be "weird," but instead it was... not.

He didn't even know. If Malfoy was awake or asleep. If he'd heard Harry, or if he hadn't. And the totally fucked up thing was, every scenario Harry could imagine was getting him hotter than the last. Malfoy innocently dreaming what his conscious mind wouldn't let him fantasize about. Malfoy letting pictures and images build in his mind, of things the two of them could do together. Malfoy wanking while thinking Harry was peacefully asleep next to him. Malfoy wanking, knowing that Harry was doing the same...

Harry bit down hard, a trickle of blood warm on his tongue, his silent climax leaving him shaking with aftershocks.

December 19

Harry cleared scrolls and maps off his sleeping bag, handed Malfoy a cup of tea, and sat down with his coffee. They'd spent most of the day in semi-companionable peace doing paperwork, though he'd gone for a walk through the crater during the precious few hours of daylight. He checked his watch; six o'clock. Close enough to bedtime, in Iceland's near-eternal night. He briefly wondered what it might be like to visit in the summertime, when perpetual daylight apparently made many people unable to sleep.

He sipped his coffee. "Do you really think Raschida and Sigmund can gather all six hundred wizards and witches needed before the deadline?"

"It shouldn't be that difficult," said Malfoy. "Raschida has Muggle contact with at least that many wizards. And they'll mobilize. You know they've been hoping something will happen before Solstice. They're ready to do something about it."

"I suppose so."

Malfoy stirred more sugar into his tea. "Do you think it'll work?"

"Yeah."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Why?"

"I believe him."

"Njörður?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "A pissant little fire spirit with delusions of godhood, and you believe him. You're far too trusting."

"He seemed to be telling the truth."

"Did he?" Malfoy asked evenly.

Harry looked up. "You didn't believe him?"

Malfoy blew on his tea and drank it down before answering. "Some of what he said was difficult to believe."

"Which part?"

Malfoy's face coloured slightly, but he met Harry's gaze steadily. "I have always assumed you hated me."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "I did." He paused. "But I... I don't hate you now. Well, maybe a bit. Sometimes. When you talk. But..."

"Was he telling the truth?"

Harry swallowed hard. "He was."

Malfoy was still staring at him, his face expressionless, but Harry could no longer tell himself there was nothing but contempt for him in that gaze. Not after Njörður. Not after last night. Not after everything.

I want to pursue this, Harry wanted to tell him. I want to see if we can get along; I want to see if you taste and feel as good as you look. I want to see if I can spend more time in your presence without wanting to kill you. I want to see what you're like when you're not convinced that I hate you, and when you're not trying to convince yourself that you feel the same way about me.

Instead he put his cup down, shifted closer to Malfoy, then reached for Malfoy's shirtfront, pulled him forward and pressed their lips together, hard, all of his frustration and anger and uncertainty flowing out of him as Malfoy let out his breath and returned his kiss with bruising strength. Their lips seemed to do battle, tongues vying for dominance, teeth biting lips and grasping hands tugging at clothing, and there wasn't enough breath in the tent to sustain them.

Who knew what any of this meant to Malfoy? Who cared?

He pushed Malfoy and they fell back onto his sleeping bag, and he pulled at Malfoy's belt and fly. Dimly in the heady, headlong rush of sensation and need, Harry wondered at himself. This was so different from Ginny. So different from any of the blokes he'd discreetly dated since Ginny. But care and gentleness and going slowly, all the things he was used to... all of that was for couples, for people who cared about each other, for people who wanted a future together. All he wanted from Malfoy was a fuck, right now, to take away the frustration of having wanted him so stupidly for so long. Maybe have it mean something, but maybe just get over this ridiculous infatuation of his, get past it and move on with his life.

He gasped as Malfoy fiercely took his mouth and seemed to sweep away all of Harry's reservations. Of course Malfoy wouldn't care about slowing down, or being cautious, or not going all the way right away or anything. Why would he? He had a sudden image of Malfoy saying something like, "I don't kiss on the first date" and nearly laughed aloud.

He pulled Malfoy's trousers open and reached inside, wrapping his hand around Malfoy's heat and moaning at the firm silky feel, and at the way Malfoy's hips jerked in reaction and Malfoy caught his breath. He pushed the pants down, hardly noticing Malfoy's actions until suddenly hot fingers slipped into his own pants, and he bit back a curse.

God there was nothing like this in the world. He pushed up into Malfoy's hand, swearing and losing track of his own movements until Malfoy bit him sharply and nodded downwards.

Right. He concentrated on freeing Malfoy from excess clothing, shoving the tough material down, both of them momentarily breaking their kiss to kick off shoes and socks, ending up twined together, nude from the waist down and still wearing shirts, jerking each other off quickly.

"No. Stop, stop," Malfoy gasped, batting Harry's hand away. He brought his mouth back to Harry's ear, and Harry could barely hear him over the rush of heat and the confusion at the sudden halt. "I want to fuck you," Malfoy whispered.

Fuck yeah, he wanted to say, but... "I don't bottom," he ground out instead. Who the hell was Malfoy to call the shots?

"Neither do I," Malfoy said, and it was like every other disagreement they had - the frustration, the anger, but God, mixed with whatever this was...

"You'll have to, this time," said Harry, and bit his neck, hard.

"Fuck you," Malfoy hissed, and dug his fingers into Harry's arm, harder.

"Rather fuck you," Harry said, and wrenched his arm away. Malfoy was pinning him down, all of his weight on Harry, legs clamped around his, and damn, he was strong, but Harry had years of fighting Dudley and Auror training behind him. They wrestled together, both distracted by the amazing sensations, half groaning, half swearing, until Harry finally had Malfoy pinned under him.

He reached a hand down, and Malfoy bucked under him, eyes closing in pleasure. "Oh, fuck you!" Malfoy groaned, before reluctantly wrenching himself away.

"My way, or we'll just wank each other," said Harry firmly. "You have bottomed before, right?"

Malfoy glared at him, but nodded.

"Well then," Harry smirked at him. "Shall I?"

There was almost resentment in Malfoy's eyes, but he gave another tense nod. Harry took his lips in a bruising kiss, narrowly avoiding uttering a cry of triumph.

"If you're going to do it, get moving," said Malfoy, and he was probably trying to sound relatively casual and controlled but damn, the need in his voice went straight to Harry's groin.

And fuck, yes, god, yes, he was so hot, so burning hot, anger and frustration fuelling passion, as Malfoy spread himself wider for Harry, his gaze mocking and somehow making Harry feel like Malfoy had won again. Giving in to Harry because Harry wanted to win at this, and if Malfoy could've summoned the breath for a snarky comment about Harry's need to be dominant, he would have, but he was too breathless and eager and oh yes, Harry cried out as he sheathed himself inside Malfoy, and it didn't matter any more whether topping was winning or losing, this felt incredible. Cold and dark and discomfort and awkwardness and yearning, all of it swept away by the heat of their bodies joining together.

Yes, he was crying out, yes, Malfoy panting and straining beneath him, arching his back and grabbing Harry's shoulder so hard he was going to leave bruises, and Harry jerked him off in time to brutal thrusts, barely registering the exultation in Malfoy's voice as they finally emptied themselves, the pulse of Malfoy's climax hot and wet between them.

Fuck, yeah.

He let himself sink onto Malfoy as his shaking arms started to give out, and Malfoy slowly ran his hand from Harry's shoulder to his head, caressing the back of Harry's neck as they lay together, their panting breaths slowing down, heartbeats returning to normal.

ooo000ooo

There was nothing different between them. And yet there was.

Harry slowly raised himself again, his limbs feeling heavy and his emotions... wrung out. He carefully got off Malfoy and they each got into their separate sleeping bags, lying back down again facing each other.

"About Solstice," Harry found himself saying. "You know... you don't need me here."

"What?"

"The Icelanders know what to do. There's no reason either of us needs to be here."

"I'm paid to be. And it's your job."

"It's a stupid part of my job. As if you can't be trusted on your own."

Malfoy just stared at him.

"I'm here for appearances only, and you know it."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going home."

Malfoy's face was blank. "Home?"

"To London. I'm supposed to be there for the Solstice, to become godfather to Ron and Hermione's baby."

"You're also supposed to be here."

"To babysit you. You don't need babysitting."

"Won't you catch hell from your superiors?"

"Probably. My godchild's more important, though."

Malfoy nodded slowly, and Harry suddenly wished he could figure out what was going on behind his shuttered expression. Wished he could tell whether he'd just insulted Malfoy, or disappointed him, or whether somehow he'd been able to make Malfoy understand that he just didn't feel like going along with MLE's hypocrisy towards Malfoy any more.

"We should get some sleep," he said instead, and Malfoy simply nodded again.

Harry reached out and blew out the light.

December 20

It was dark when he awoke. Of course it was dark. He lit his small torch and glanced over at Malfoy, still sleeping, the soft rise and fall of his chest even and steady.

Most people looked innocent in their sleep. Malfoy just looked asleep. There wasn't much about him that was innocent.

Harry hesitated for a long, long moment before moving to Malfoy's side and carefully undoing the zip on his sleeping bag. Malfoy was still nude from the waist down, and Harry told himself he would've covered up if he didn't want Harry to... no. Harry impatiently reminded himself of who he was dealing with.

He's had the same fantasies as you, you know, Njörður had said.

He shifted himself down, slowly caressing Malfoy to hardness, then taking him into his mouth. And it was a rather thrilling moment when, halfway through a gentle suck, he felt Malfoy awaken.

"Oooh," Malfoy moaned, and Harry smiled. "What... ooh, don't stop," he whispered, and Harry shook his head slightly. "God, don't ever stop," he whispered, and Harry continued, licking, sucking, helping with his hand as Malfoy lay back, and Harry took himself in hand, working them both with the same gentle rhythm, getting Malfoy to an edge and keeping him there, until finally Malfoy growled and put a rough hand in his hair.

"If you don't finish me off in the next few seconds I'm going to fucking well--" but Harry never found out what it was he was going to fucking well, because he gave Malfoy a little more suction, a little more pressure, took him in a little deeper - and Malfoy tensed and came with a choking cry, in pulses that hit the back of Harry's throat but that he nearly missed noticing as his own climax rushed through him like a wave.

They lay panting, silently, the semi-darkness of the tent a comforting presence between them.

"You swallow," Malfoy said lazily. "Wouldn't've thought you would."

"You don't?" Harry asked.

"M-mm," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "Can't. Never tried that hard, though."

"Just let it hit the back of your throat, that way you don't taste it," said Harry. "Trick I learned."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Silence descended again.

"It's going to be time to go soon, if I'm going to catch the plane back to Reykjavik," Harry finally said. He felt Malfoy nod, then sit up and fumble for his own lamp. The sudden light made him blink.

"Here," Malfoy said, passing him his clothes. They dressed unhurriedly, then Harry put together all of his equipment.

"Ready?" Malfoy asked, and Harry nodded and picked up his backpack, standing and exiting the tent behind Malfoy. The sky was hidden, snowflakes like stars floating down to the earth around them. The small puffs of their breath seeming very fragile proof of life and light in the darkness.

"You can find your way to the village with that thing?" Malfoy nodded at the GPS in Harry's hand.

"Easier than most locating spells," said Harry.

"You're sure about this?" Malfoy asked

"I'm sure," he said, adjusting his traveling cloak. "Are you... erm, d'you mind?" he asked, and immediately felt like an idiot because, well, what a time to ask.

Malfoy gave a small chuckle. "Me? No, of course not."

"Good luck with the ritual," he said.

"Same to you," said Malfoy. "I'm supposed to come in to MLE once I get back to England. I'll let you know how it went."

"I'll make sure to let MLE know you didn't ask me to go," said Harry.

"Thanks," said Malfoy, and Harry nodded.

And there was nothing else to say. He turned to leave the crater, setting off into the darkness, snowflakes like tiny caresses on his skin, and he didn't look back until he was over the ridge.

December 21

Harry placed his hand on Hermione's growing belly, and smiled as he felt a small movement under his hand. Hermione smiled back at him, a warm, happy smile, relatively free of maternal dottiness. What Harry thought of as her Ron-smiles, usually only seen directed at Ron when Ron wasn't looking.

Malfoy would be accompanying the Icelandic wizarding population through the intricacies of their ritual in just a few hours, thought Harry. In the middle of the longest night of the year, in a land with one of the longest nights on earth. Indulging a jealous volcano spirit with delusions of godhood.

He'd rather indulge Hermione's delusions of sanity any day.

He smiled, repeated the words she said, and pledged his life to the child growing inside her. Then he took Ginny's hand and held it as she repeated the same vows, and they both took a sip of the ritual mead. Silence fell as the last candle in the church was put out, and they waited for the midnight hour to arrive.

The clock struck midnight, and the man in black waved a hand at one of the candles, lighting it again, as their part of the earth began its slow return from darkness to light. As the child Hermione and Ron had created together would help to bring light back to his family, which had gone through so much darkness in recent years.

And Hermione's insanity didn't seem so insane any more. Doing your best to ensure your child had the best possible start was a worthwhile goal to go a little crazy about, after all. The craziness certainly didn't seem to affect Rose in any negative way.

Their part in the ritual finished, Harry and Ginny stepped back down from the altar and went back to the pews. Harry picked up Rose from Molly's lap and held her as Ron and Hermione came together again, their hands over Hermione's belly, whispering words together for their son and his magic and their love.

"Mama," said Rose, waving a chubby hand at her parents.

"Yeah, Mama," said Harry.

"Numnum?"

"No, Mama can't numnum right now, Rosie," Harry told her. "Numnum later, OK?"

Rose nodded and lay her tousled ginger head on his shoulder sleepily. He briefly wondered what her mood would be like tomorrow, after being awakened in the middle of the night to do this weird thing with chanting and candles in a darkened church.

Oh well. Ron had said she didn't normally sleep through the night anyway.

He hugged his goddaughter closer. He was exhausted, but as soon as this ceremony was over, he was going to go to sleep. And hopefully he'd not be woken up for a good long time. The same could not be said of Ron or Hermione. There were definite advantages to the single life after all.

"Didn't think you'd be back in time for this," George said quietly as Ron and Hermione listened to the wizard in black robes earnestly telling them something that looked like it had Hermione spellbound and Ron confused. "Heard you were in Iceland? With Draco Malfoy?"

"Camping together in the dark," Ginny said. "And you solved it?"

"Pretty much."

"What time did you two get back?"

"He's still there, as far as I know."

Ginny's eyebrows went up. "You just left him?"

Harry shrugged. "He's a big boy. He knows how to get the job done. Certainly didn't need me there to hold his hand."

"Must've been even worse than we thought it would be, if you left early."

Harry cleared his throat and shifted Rose onto his lap, ducking down to avoid Ginny's sharp gaze.

"Oh my God you didn't," she whispered slowly.

"Didn't what?" asked George.

"Harry!"

Harry shook his head, giving Ginny a warning glare. George looked from one to the other. "No," he said, his eyes growing wide. "No, you're joking. Malfoy?"

"Malfoy," Ginny smirked, sitting back. "Believe it. For ages he's been crushing on him and I suppose--"

"Oh my God why didn't anybody tell me?" George slapped his forehead. "I've got to owl Lee. Think of the marketing! Potter and Malfoy action dolls!" He groaned. "Bloody hell, and I've totally missed the holiday market! Although actually Valentine's Day might--"

"Shh," Harry said, stifling a laugh. "They're saying the final blessing."

December 22

"There was no reason for him to be there." Harry could hear Malfoy's voice from down the hall as he approached Kingsley's office. There was an indistinct sound - from Kingsley, presumably. "The situation was well under control. He did his job, he provided backup and covered your arses through the entire process." Pause. "The locals all knew what to do. It wasn't a real emergency." Pause. "Pardon me if I don't agree that making one of your best Aurors take on menial escort duties is the best use of his skills." Pause. "No, of course I appreciate his help when it's needed. He's been invaluable before and I've always said so. But his presence at the ritual wasn't going to be one of those times. This just involved a minor deity throwing a major tantrum." Pause. "Well, the Icelandic authorities didn't seem to think so. If you'd like to explain to them why you're going to discipline an Auror they're quite pleased with at the moment, then by all means, go ahead." Pause. "Very well. Yes, happy Christmas to you as well."

The door opened and Malfoy came out, stopping short at the sight of Harry in the outer office.

"I take it you were in there covering for me," said Harry.

Malfoy nodded guardedly.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

There was a moment of silence.

"So things went well in Iceland?"

"Very. I was able to do International Apparition out of there."

Harry nodded. "Lucky you. I was seated next to a baby with colic the entire flight."

"My condolences." Malfoy paused. "I take it your own ritual went well?"

"Very well. I'm now the proud godfather of Hugo Arthur Weasley."

Malfoy winced. "Hugo. How quaint. I thought Weasleys usually used deadly dull names. Salt of the earth kind."

"With odd middle names."

"Why Hugo, then?"

"To be honest I think Ron may have picked it out of a hat."

Malfoy nodded. "Might be one of the reasons I'm not terribly upset to not be contemplating having children. My parents would probably pressure me to name them after some godawful insane uncle, or a constellation."

"And would you?"

"Think I'll call my child Gus."

"Gus Malfoy?"

"Or Frank. Or maybe Sigbjörn."

Harry laughed, and after a startled moment, Malfoy laughed too.

Harry hesitated. "So what are you doing now?"

"In terms of assignments?"

Harry shook his head, pushing down his nervousness. "In terms of what you're doing in the next few days."

Malfoy blinked, startled. "Erm." He cleared his throat. "Not much. Probably spending some time getting my eyes accustomed to sunlight again." He paused. "You?"

"First I've got to make sure I don't get fired. Then some holiday things with the Weasleys." He cleared his throat. "But I'm not scheduled for much during the holidays. At work, I mean."

"Really."

"Do you want to do something?"

"Such as?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, beginning to get annoyed.

Malfoy gave him a small smirk. "Dinner?" he said casually.

Harry nodded. "Sounds good."

"Day after Christmas?"

"I'm free."

"Good."

"I'll owl you."

Harry nodded, then turned to go into Kingsley's office, oddly feeling no anxiety whatsoever about the no doubt uncomfortable meeting he was about to endure. Turned back on impulse. "Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"Tell the truth - you looked up 'pelagic', didn't you?"

Malfoy blinked, then slowly smiled. "Yes."

"And you knew about hijabs."

"I spent two summers in Tangiers, Potter," he said with a smirk. "I may not know much about Muggles, but I'm not utterly clueless."

Harry laughed. "Fair enough. I'll try to keep that in mind."

"I'll see you in a few days," said Malfoy.

"See you then." And Harry turned and knocked on Kingsley's door.

"Come in!" called out Kingsley, and Harry didn't bother to hide the grin on his face as he opened the door and went in.

ooo000ooo

Post-it Notes:

http://www.dicts.info/dictionary.php?l1=English&l2=Icelandic

http://www.websters-dictionary-online.org/definition/Icelandic-english/

http://odin.bio.miami.edu/norse/icetrans.html

I want to go to the Blue Lagoon.

A series of pictures of Iceland, in case you didn't get enough of them, set to musik.