And I'll Tell You No Lies

Day 3

Draco

"All right, ladies and gentlemen, everybody take a seat, with your simulation groups," said Auror Trainer Sullivan, and Harry breathed a short sigh of relief as the trainees began to sort themselves and take out their parchments and quills. The discomfort of trying to not notice people who were trying to not watch him was getting on his nerves more than he'd thought it could. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself back in the Great Hall during second year, when everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin, or fourth year, when he had supposedly cheated to get into the Triwizard Tournament, or fifth, when he was supposedly an attention-hungry liar.

With the notable difference that this time, what people were whispering about him was the truth. He couldn't exactly comfort himself that hopefully eventually his name would be cleared.

Varley approached and sat down next to Ron, with Malfoy taking a seat next to Harry, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief at the difference in his reaction to Malfoy. The attraction was still there, as it had been for months now, but instead of the distracting near-obsession of the last few days, this was more of a muted awareness tugging at his consciousness. Slightly sharper than before the bond, but manageable. Apparently the counter-charmer, though cool and distant with him when he'd gone to see her, had been competent, at least. The one thing good thing about Harry's day so far.

It hadn't helped at all that his breakfast had been marred by The Daily Prophet's story on page two, about his scandalous personal revelation of the day before. Thankfully the front page was taken up with articles concerning the one year anniversary of the end of the war, or his own news would have been on the front page, but that wasn't much comfort right about now. He'd been supremely unsurprised to see it penned by his very favourite reporter, and featuring quotes from some of his favourite people.

"I think it's rather irresponsible of him to make such a lifestyle choice when young children are looking up to him," says Pansy Parkinson, who attended Hogwarts with Potter.

Which did have a certain humorous aspect to it. The girl who had wanted to sell him out to Voldemort, accusing him of irresponsibility. Classy.

"This does make it a little more difficult to swallow that his closeness to Dumbledore was purely a mentor-protege relationship, doesn't it?" says Dolores Umbridge, who taught Potter Defense Against the Dark Arts three years ago. "It was clear to me even at the time that there was something highly improper going on between those two."

That one had been a little harder to stomach. The idea was... rather horrifying.

Interestingly, it seems many of Potter's close friends and associates have either known all along, or were unsurprised by the revelation that the Boy Who Lived is a homosexual. No comment could be obtained from any of his colleagues in this year's Auror Training Program. One can only wonder whether they are being diplomatic, or are afraid of angering Potter, who, although unquestioningly brave - some would say recklessly so - is also rumoured to be unstable and dangerous.

More puzzling is the lack of commentary among known detractors of Potter. Draco Malfoy, a member of this year's Unspeakable Training Program and a longtime rival of Potter, had little to say when asked his opinion.

"His personal life is his business," said Malfoy, rather rudely. "If he can be an effective Auror, who cares what he does in his free time?"

Harry had read over the words, over and over. His personal life is his business, said Draco. Malfoy.

Harry glanced at his teammates surreptitiously as he took out his notebook. He didn't need to. None of his teammates were looking at him.

"All right, Finnigan: let's start with you," said the Trainer, and Harry dutifully inked his quill and tried to keep himself looking interested for the next half hour. Seamus had failed to discover that his Suspect, Cormac McLaggen, had actually committed a crime himself, instead of merely aiding and abetting his Unspeakable co-Suspect, who was a distant cousin, and who was trying to get a banned potion from the Unspeakables in order to try to cure their mutual grandmother of a rare magical malady. Francois Rousseau had discovered that last fact, and was reproved for not having shared the information with Seamus. In the second group, Tracey Davis had figured out things about Eddie Carmichael that even his own mother didn't know, but their Unspeakable teammates had done a dismal job from beginning to end; the Interrogator had not managed to figure out that his Suspect and Carmichael were trying to overthrow the Minister, and the Unspeakable Suspect had answered every single question posed to her and only avoided spilling everything because of the complete incompetence of her Interrogator. Neither Interrogator team had guessed that one of their Suspects wasn't under Veritaserum.

Finally it was their team's turn. It seemed they'd done relatively well. Ron and Varley had interrogated competently, though neither Interrogator had managed to find out Malfoy had suspected Unspeakable McAllister of trying to recreate some of Voldemort's more dangerous magic, and had needed a dragon to travel to where McAllister was going to be carrying out his nefarious plot in order to stop him. No one but Malfoy had known that the parchment Malfoy had left for Harry wasn't actually hidden at The Three Broomsticks with a password Rosmerta, but at Honeydukes, with the password Katie Bell, to be discovered only after Harry himself went to try to find the parchment at The Three Broomsticks, because Malfoy hadn't trusted that Harry wouldn't let slip the information if questioned. And nobody except Malfoy knew that Malfoy had also intended to go to Antarctica, not Finland, had only been learning Finnish to throw off a search if he was unable to steal the Mysterious objects without arousing suspicion, and that the elf-stone had nothing to do with anything, and had only been taken to confuse the Aurors.

The rustle of murmuring and complete lack of joking or teasing when Sullivan said the relationship between Harry and Malfoy was a romantic one was telling, and deeply uncomfortable.

Finally the last group was done, they had learned all they could, and although they were supposed to have another half an hour of time scheduled for the debrief, the trainees began to put their things away.

"One last thing, ladies and gentlemen," said Sullivan. "Now we're going to tell you what even the Suspects didn't know."

There was a rustle of surprise. Sullivan grinned at them.

"Settle back down, everyone. McLaggen and Hopkins: that Banned substance? It's no good for your fictional grandmother's condition. It's only of use in Necromancy. The Healer who told you about it and wanted you to take it was working for Jezebel's Apothecary. Yes, the illegal one that we tried to shut down last July."

McLaggen's eyebrows went up as Sullivan waved his wand at the display board behind him, and it filled up with all the ways in which McLaggen and Hopkins had been fooled.

"Carmichael and Brent, the Minister For Magic is, in fact, not a werewolf." There was a general chuckle around the room.

"But his absences from the Ministry... and we saw him change!" protested Carmichael.

"That memory was implanted in you," said Sullivan.

"Well, obviously, it's a simulation!" said Brent.

Sullivan rolled his eyes. "Aside from that. That particular memory was implanted in you by someone else." Sullivan waved his wand at the display board and the facts of the case went up.

"Malfoy and Potter, McAllister's not actually planning on doing anything. The evidence connecting McAllister to suspicious activity was planted by fellow Unspeakable Katie Bell. She wanted you to obtain the dragon net and harness for her, and was going to take them so that she could carry out her own evil little plans. She was going to make the Goblin's Dragon War of 1823 look like a Sunday picnic."

Katie Bell smirked at them. "Mwahaha," she said, and Sullivan gave her an amused look.

"She also planted the evidence against Malfoy, that made McAllister fire him and set him up to look suspicious when the objects were discovered to be missing." Suddenly Sullivan looked a bit uncomfortable. "Her, erm, motivation had to do with her... history with Malfoy."

Malfoy's lips pressed together and Harry couldn't help feeling sympathetic. There had been no reason to make that - or the Three Broomsticks location, password Rosmerta, or any of it - part of the facts of the case, other than to have people once more pass around the story of Malfoy's near-murder of Katie with a cursed necklace two years ago. He briefly wondered if Sullivan had had any hand in that part of the simulation creation. Somehow he didn't think so. Sullivan seemed too much of a professional to be as petty as that.

And it wasn't the first time he'd seen Malfoy subjected to this kind of thing during their training, for all that Unspeakables and Aurors didn't train together all that much. Harry felt a surge of resentment on Malfoy's behalf.

"Now. Why are we telling you this?" Sullivan asked, clasping his hands behind his back. "This exercise should have taught you many things. Obviously, it's supposed to teach you interrogation and interrogation-avoidance techniques, and give you some practice in interdepartmental cooperation, and give you a feel for what it's like to have your will influenced by an outside force - whether it's Credulaserum, Imperius, Confundus, or some spell or potion you haven't even heard of. You are also supposed to observe what it looks like when that kind of thing is happening to a colleague." He paused, and looked around at the trainees seriously. "And it should also teach you to follow orders. You Suspects were convinced you had good reasons to be doing what you were doing, and it wasn't only due to you being dosed to the gills in Credulaserum. You honestly believed you were in the right. You are going to be law enforcement officials. You cannot afford to go against the Ministry the way you did."

"Excuse me, sir," McLaggen broke in. "That's not very fair, is it? Next week's Suspects will already know that that's what they're supposed to be learning."

"They won't, don't worry," said an Unspeakable from the back of the room. "You'll still remember this conversation, but they won't."

"Back to the point," said Sullivan, giving McLaggen a quelling look, "I want all of you Suspects to remember these situations. Remember how certain you felt. Remember how easily you broke laws and regulations to reach your goals. You two," his stern gaze now included McLaggen's partner, "your grandmother was sick, so maybe it was all right to steal a Banned potion? If this had been a real case, the potion would've wreaked havoc on the wizarding population of Britain." He faced them all. "Follow orders, people. Go with what the Ministry and the regulations say. No matter what you think is going on, no matter what you think you may know. It's too dangerous to do otherwise."

Harry and Ron glanced at one another as the trainees murmured to each other, most of them nodding seriously and seeming to agree.

"Are you serious?" asked Harry.

"I beg your pardon?" said Sullivan, frowning, and Harry suddenly realized that this was the first time Sullivan had made eye contact with him today.

"Potter," Malfoy said in a low, warning voice. Harry bit his lip. Damn. This really wasn't the right time to do this. But he couldn't just let it go.

"Are you serious," Ron stepped in, "that we should follow what the Ministry says, no matter what? That's the lesson we're supposed to swallow here?"

"Do you have a problem with this, Weasley?"

"Yeah, I've got a problem. It's a load of bosh."

A general murmur of alarm went up from the room.

"I beg your pardon?" said an older Unspeakable. "Was your oath of loyalty to the Ministry just words to you, then?"

"No, it wasn't," Ron said angrily. "I'm loyal, yeah. And I'll follow orders, normally. But we're part of the largest Auror training group in decades for a good reason, right?" He looked around the room in disgust. "How many Aurors and Unspeakables had to be sent to Azkaban for having carried out crimes for the Death Eaters, just last year, while still following Ministry orders, because the Death Eaters had taken over the Ministry? Bloody hell, didn't we learn anything?"

"That is completely out of order, Weasley," said Trainer Philips, over the low rumble from the rest of the group.

"They do have a point, you know," said the elderly wizard next to him mildly.

"We've been running this particular simulation for decades," said Philips. "It's a standard part of training."

"Perhaps this part of it shouldn't be," said the elderly wizard.

"Oh really?" said Philips. "You think everyone should be given special consideration?"

"No," said Harry. "Everyone should use their brains, and follow their consciences."

Philips stared at him. "No matter what bizarre... choices their consciences lead them to make?"

Harry clenched his jaw. "Yeah."

"Excuse me?" said one of the older Aurors incredulously. "Are you putting your eighteen-year-old world wisdom ahead of the accumulated wisdom and experience of your supervisors?" He scowled at Harry and Ron. "You two shouldn't even be here. You didn't even finish your seventh year-"

"Oi, they didn't finish it because they were busy trying to save all of our arses!" snapped Seamus.

"We were asked to come into this program," said Ron furiously. "We didn't ask to come in without NEWTs."

"You could've turned down the offer, then," said an Auror who hadn't spoken up yet.

"But you didn't," added an Unspeakable next to her. "You came in unprepared, and now you expect everyone to kiss your arse?"

"No," said Harry. "But I don't expect to have you act like we wormed our way into the program and don't have any right to be here."

"You wanted us," added Ron, and Harry felt the warmth of his support like a blanket around him. They might be on shaky ground right now, but at least they were standing on it together.

"What do you think, Varley?" asked Philips. "Do you agree with them?"

Varley's eyes widened and she suddenly looked very young. "I... I don't know," she stammered, turning red. "I'd have to think about it."

"Malfoy? What do you think?"

Malfoy looked startled and nonplussed for a moment, then glanced at Harry and his face went unreadable.

"I asked you a question, Malfoy. Do you agree with your teammates?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Yes. The rest of the training exercise was useful. But I don't agree with the moral you're trying to teach us."

Ugly mutters broke out around the room.

"Typical Malfoy, think they can do whatever they please."

"He's just sucking up to Potter."

"Got a little too in love with the idea of being in love with him, did you Malfoy?" somebody called out from the back of the room, and Harry opened his mouth to give a sharp retort but something made him pause. Malfoy's arms were crossed and his jaw was set, and Harry somehow got the distinct feeling that Malfoy would not thank him for interfering.

"Hoping to do a different kind of arse-kissing there, are you?" sneered an Auror sitting near the trainees.

"Leave him alone, you hypocritical bastard!" Tracey Davis snarled at him, and Harry remembered she was a Slytherin too, from their year. The room erupted into chaos - and then Sullivan clapped his hands and shouted for order.

"We will continue this no doubt fascinating discussion tomorrow when we reconvene," he said. "Right now, the Ministry is allowing all employees to take the time to attend memorials. The one at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is starting in three hours." He looked around the room, seeming a bit at a loss.

Philips spoke up. "People, try to put this behind you. Remember we are both celebrating our liberation from tyranny, and mourning the deaths of those who did not survive You-Know-Who's reign."

"Pompous arse," muttered Ron, and Malfoy sniggered.

0000000

"Malfoy," said Harry, approaching Malfoy at the lift. "Erm, thanks."

Malfoy glanced at the other staff waiting for the lift and trying to ignore Harry. "For what?"

"For not turning on us in there," he said, feeling rather horrendously awkward.

"I agree with you," said Malfoy, seeming just as uneasy.

"Why?" said Ron curiously.

"I agreed with you even before you said it," said Malfoy. "You might want to remember I got a firsthand look at the folks who were all for Ministry loyalty, back when they could've stopped the Dark Lord, and didn't."

"Still," said Harry. "You didn't have to take a stand. You could've just waffled, like Varley."

"Varley's a certified twit," said Malfoy scornfully.

"Seemed pretty smart to me," said Ron.

Harry and Malfoy looked at each other, and Harry was surprised to realize they were almost sharing a disbelieving smile.

"What?" said Ron, defensively. "The Interrogators spent some time together the other night, doing extra training for the second interrogation. She's not as big a bitch as she seemed during the session."

"I haven't heard a civil word come out of her mouth since we started training," said Malfoy.

Ron shrugged. "I think it's political," he said.

This was a regular conversation, Harry realized. The three of them were interacting, voluntarily, not because of an assignment, he and Malfoy had no fake emotional bond between them... and nobody had yet thrown a hex. What a difference a year could make.

"See you later, Malfoy," said Ron, and turned to Harry. "Come on. Mum's said we should stop by The Burrow before going to the memorial." Harry nodded to Malfoy and turned to go with Ron - then stopped and turned back.

"Malfoy?" he said.

"Yes?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Erm. I also wanted to thank you for... well."

Malfoy stared at him curiously.

"In the paper, this morning," said Harry. "Skeeter came to you for a quote. Thanks for not giving her one."

Malfoy dropped his eyes and Harry realized to his astonishment that he was blushing.

"You're... welcome," said Malfoy stiffly.

"Why didn't you?" asked Harry.

Malfoy shrugged. "Your private life is your own business."

Harry nodded. "I appreciate it. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Ron cleared his throat. "Harry, I'll meet you at the Floo, all right?"

Harry blinked. Well. Unexpectedly alone with the man he'd had a profound crush on for the last two days, and who even now was worrying at the edges of his consciousness, though thankfully much more manageably now.

"Are you going to the memorial this afternoon?" asked Malfoy.

"Yeah. You?" asked Harry.

"I'm... supposed to."

"Do you not want to?"

Malfoy looked away. "Not really. I'm playing the memorial Quidditch game, but that's not the same, and considering what some people thought of that..."

Harry nodded sympathetically. Some of what had been said when it came out that Malfoy had signed up for the charity match had been... less than charitable.

"It's... I probably wouldn't go today, if I weren't an Unspeakable and already in the public eye," he admitted. "I'm sure there will be plenty of people who won't want anyone from my family there. But if I don't go, it'll just give them more ammunition against me." He shrugged, then almost smiled at Harry. "Although thanks to you I don't really have to worry much about being the centre of negative attention today."

Harry surprised himself with a small laugh. "True enough," he chuckled. "We'll see you there, then."

He walked away, and Harry mused over the morning, slowing down as he caught up with Ron at the Floo.

"Ron. Erm." He paused. Damn it, this was so awkward. He'd imagined the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts would be difficult enough, but had never in his wildest dreams thought he might have to be dealing with an unintentional outing at the same time.

"Are you sure I should come with you?" he asked, and Ron gave him a puzzled look. "Your mum reads The Prophet, Ron," he pointed out.

Ron's eyebrows went up. "Bloody hell, yeah. I forgot about that. Bollocks."

Harry sighed. "Why don't I just meet you at Hogwarts?" he suggested.

"No, don't be daft," Ron began, frowning.

"Look, you've got enough on your plate with... with all your family's going to be dealing with today." Which was probably an understatement. "I'll finish up some work at the library, then join you at the memorial. One o'clock?"

Ron's shoulders slumped slightly. "All right," he said, and turned away.

Harry turned and plodded to the Ministry library, almost empty as the building cleared itself out so that the staff could attend the memorial services or be with their families. He pulled out his parchment and quill and Moste Useful Speles: Expelliarmus Through the Ages, and tried to organize his thoughts. Let's see... he had the final write-up of his Expelliarmus research, a surveillance class report to finish, and an assignment on Foresight spells. He glanced around the library again, noticing that Malfoy was there too, in a dark corner of the library, with a large stack of blank papers and an empty book before him. He didn't appear to have noticed Harry's entry, as he peered closely at what looked like a blank piece of paper, then wrote something on the page which left no mark as far as Harry could tell. As Harry watched, he frowned and scratched out whatever he'd written and scribbled some more, leaving the page just as blank as before.

Go figure. Unspeakables.

The Wizard's Wireless was on in the background, a muted hum of inoffensive and relentlessly dull music. Harry supposed that was out of respect for the one year anniversary. The sound was soothing, distracting Harry from the morning's paper and the training session and even Malfoy's presence, and he soon found himself actually immersed in what he was doing. It certainly made homework easier when you were truly interested in what you were learning. Even Divination was interesting when taught by a competent teacher, and figuring out useful Divination spells for criminal investigations was actually somewhat fascinating...

He was deeply immersed in Criminal Dream Analysis when the music ended and a radio announcer's voice came on.

"And as we prepare to remember the sacrifice of those who died during the reign of You-Know-Who, and those who fought to end his reign, the wizarding world has been shocked by allegations that the main architect of You-Know-Who's demise is a homosexual." Harry felt an ache begin in his forehead at the announcer's smooth tone, and his prissy pronunciation of 'homo-seck-ssual'. "The Prophet broke the story this morning, and the wizarding world is in a tizzy trying to figure out what we think of this."

"Tizzy is pretty much how I would describe it, Howard, yes," said a woman's voice.

"Opinions range from disbelieving to outraged to amused. There are many who are saying that if true, these allegations do nothing to diminish the importance of what Mr. Potter has done for the wizarding world. Others say that while they still respect his accomplishments, they cannot in good conscience call him a role model any more."

"Well Howard, it's being pointed out, particularly among those wizards with close ties to the Muggle world," and Harry had to suppress a snort at her careful avoidance of the word 'Muggle-born,' a year after Voldemort's defeat, "that this is the kind of opinion we have to change in the wizarding world; our ways are conservative, and change slowly. Perhaps, they say, too slowly."

"Is that so?"

"Apparently in the Muggle world, a revelation of this nature would not be cause for alarm or dismay."

"Well, Wanda, be that as it may, still others remind us that even if the allegations are true, Mr. Potter is still a very young man. And many young people are... well, confused about their own sexuality, at least until they mature a little."

Harry sat, a blush heating his face and a desire to hex Howard making his wand hand itch. So he was either depraved or a confused child, was he? He suddenly wished Lee Jordan were on the radio right now, Lee would never have - but then, Lee was probably at The Burrow...

He caught Malfoy's eye across the library, and Malfoy gave him a small smile and a sympathetic shake of the head, then turned back to his own reading. The other three people in the library studiously bent their heads towards their work, except for one, who gave Harry a barely concealed sneer.

Bloody hell, there was nothing stranger than being on the same wavelength as Malfoy.

"And of course," chimed in Wanda, "once again rumours abound about the late Albus Dumbledore's sexuality, and questions about how close he and Potter may have become during Potter's formative years."

Harry shuddered.

"Here to talk to us about this is a classmate of Potter's, Pansy Parkinson. Welcome, Miss Parkinson."

Marvelous.

"Thank you, Wanda."

"Now, you were in Harry Potter's year, were you not?"

"Yes, I was. I can tell you none of us knew about this. None of us outside of Gryffindor house, anyway. Who knows what the Gryffindors knew; they were likely to accept anything Potter did, with no questions asked. He always got away with the most outrageous things at school."

"Didn't he do underage magic?"

"Yes, he did. He also performed magic in front of Muggles several times, and nobody cared. He was allowed to get away with it. Everybody still treated him like a hero no matter what he did."

"Yes, there are many people who admire him greatly. And many people quite disappointed in him right now. What would you say to that?"

"Well personally I've never understood why anyone idolized him. Honour him of course, as the person who was technically responsible for You-Know-Who's downfall, but see him as a role model? That's not quite right."

"It's interesting, though, not many people who know him personally have come out to speak against him."

"Probably because it's the memorial today," said Howard.

"Everybody still worships him, or is afraid of him," said Pansy snidely. "Which is why he wasn't disciplined back in school. He was very unstable, always has been. You know he almost killed a fellow student once."

"Yes, Draco Malfoy," said Wanda. "Who hasn't said much about this. He was not exactly known for being a friend to Potter; why wouldn't he come forward?"

"He's got his own reasons." Pansy's voice was suddenly rather tense.

"Why would he not back you up, though? You were in Slytherin House together, weren't you?"

"We were, yes," she said, her voice sounding angry. "But it's not like he'd know what house loyalty was if it came up and bit him in the arse." She paused. "Besides, I happen to know that Draco Malfoy is also gayer than a gift basket."

"What?" said one of the others in the library faintly.

"Merlin!"

'A gift basket?' was the first thought that went through Harry's mind. Across the library, Malfoy's face had gone perfectly still, his quill stopped in mid-invisible word.

"Oh my," Wanda said. There was a small pause. "Now is that true, or are you trying to bring down Draco Malfoy because he is now an Unspeakable, going to play in the memorial Quidditch match, and you... are not?" There was a pause. "After reports of your actions during the Battle of Hogwarts, when you suggested handing Potter over to You-Know-Who-"

"That's nothing to do with it," snapped Pansy.

"Is it lack of House loyalty, or lack of loyalty to you?" said Wanda, her friendly manner gone and her voice strongly reminiscent of Rita Skeeter's on the scent of new scandal. "Has he broken ties with you because of the negative publicity over-"

"You people are all the same!" said Pansy, her shrill voice bordering on hysterical now. "I was scared, all right? I didn't see why the rest of us had to be killed just to protect one person. And most of you tossers who say nothing but shit about me would've done the same thing!"

"Miss Parkinson-"

"And it doesn't change the fact that Draco's queerer than a three-Knut coin, now does it? Couldn't get it up for a girl for all the Galleons in England!"

"Miss Parkinson-"

"And I should know, the freak, why do you think he was always such a drama queen whenever Potter was concerned? He wanted him, that's why. Wanted to take Potter and bend him over a desk and-"

"I think maybe that's enough," said Howard's voice hastily. "Thank you, Wanda, and Miss Parkinson - no, no that's really quite enough-"

But Harry wasn't listening any more, as he watched Malfoy's face flush, then go pale. Malfoy took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, before determinedly smoothing out his parchment and continuing his invisible reading, only a faint trembling of the hand that held the quill betraying his distress.

Except for Howard's smarmy voice on the radio, now apologizing for the inappropriateness of the little outburst on "this solemn day of remembrance," the silence in the library was absolute. Harry stared at Malfoy, his own work utterly forgotten, his mind a whirlwind. He glanced down at his work, surprised to note that apparently he was reading something to do with Divination.

Five minutes later Malfoy checked his watch and put away all of his things, his face still as perfectly blank as his parchment, then walked out.

0000000

The school grounds were full. It seemed as though most of wizarding England had shown up, with much of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales thrown in for good measure. Harry ignored the sidelong glances and outright stares, and not a few disgusted glares, as he wondered if maybe it might not have been wiser to have come with Ron's family after all. He might not have felt so exposed and alone, looking for them. Finally he spotted them near the seats that had been set up close to Dumbledore's grave, and Ron waved him over. He hesitated briefly, spotting Ginny standing next to Ron and looking rather put out, and Mrs. Weasley seeming a bit nervous. He steadied himself, and approached them.

"Dear, thank you for coming," said Mrs. Weasley, giving him a hug that didn't seem as warm and genuine as others she'd given him over the years. Harry felt a twinge at the loss, and wondered miserably if it was just due to shock and understandable distraction because of the day, or if she disapproved so strongly of him now that she'd never treat him like a son again.

"Harry, good to see you," said Charlie, taking his hand in a firm handshake and clapping him on the back. Bill, Percy, George and Lee merely nodded to him, their minds clearly elsewhere, and Fleur gave him a slightly chilly smile.

"You should have come to The Burrow, Harry," said Mr. Weasley.

Harry cleared his throat. "Erm, had some work I needed to finish up on. Besides... it's supposed to be a day for family."

"You are family, Harry," said Mr. Weasley reprovingly.

Hermione gave him a fierce hug, and they moved to sit down, all the Weasleys and their friends in a row. A small wizard in black started with a prayer and a blessing, as the audience quieted down. Soft murmurs and sighs, and a few sniffles and sobs, were heard through the crowd as the small wizard led them in paying their respects to the people lost one year ago.

Thank God he didn't have any kind of central part in this ceremony, thought Harry. He'd been asked several times and refused every single one, and it turned out to have been one of the wisest things he'd ever done.

They all sat in respectful silence as a Ministry official spoke about the lessons of the war, and then Kingsley reminded everyone of how far they had come in a year, with far less flourish and political posturing than had been seen in a Minister For Magic in all of Harry's memory.

Finally all those who had fought at the Battle of Hogwarts were asked to come stand in the front, and Harry again thanked God that he'd pushed to be just one of the people before the crowd, instead of The Boy Who Killed Voldemort Twice. Standing among students and their families, professors, members of the Order and the DA, and Hogsmeade villagers, it wasn't so difficult to face the crowd and note how many of them seemed to be whispering about him.

And then the formal part of the memorial was done, and they were all free to mix casually again. Which wasn't necessarily a good thing. Harry looked around, spotting Malfoy sitting stolidly next to his remarkably composed and serene mother, and wondered how either of them could manage that today of all days, in this place.

"Harry, it's so good to see you. I didn't know if you'd make it in today," said Hermione, giving him another hug.

"Of course," said Harry. "I wouldn't have missed it."

"I know you wanted to."

"Yeah."

Hermione shook her head at him fondly. "I know, you hate being the focus of attention. I still think it would've been good of you to say something, though."

"Are you joking? After this morning?"

"What about this morning?"

Harry blinked.

"Harry," said Ginny, coming up to him. He eyed her warily. "Good of you to make it," she said. "Though Mum would've preferred it if you'd been at The Burrow."

"Erm." His feet suddenly seemed too big for some bizarre reason, and he inwardly shook himself impatiently. Ginny wasn't being particularly friendly, but she wasn't being cold or hostile, either. He should have known she wouldn't cause a scene. She had the same look on her face that she had when he'd broken up with her the first time. Not the defensive, angry look as when he'd broken up with her the second time.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he said awkwardly. "Are you... are you all right?"

A wry smile twitched Ginny's lips. "Not broken-hearted any more, if that's what you're asking about." Harry felt a blush heat his face. "There are more important things in my life than you, Harry," she said, slightly angry. "For example, supporting Mum and Dad through this day. Supporting George."

"I know that," he said, hoping he didn't sound as defensive as he felt. "Which was part of why I didn't go to your home. I thought you'd have enough going on, you didn't need to make today all about me."

Ginny's eyebrows went up, then she gave him a small smile. "Right, yeah, I suppose you would see it that way. It wasn't necessary, though. You could've come. You would've been welcomed."

"Right. I... I'm sorry."

Ginny nodded. "Well, that's that, then. Excuse me, I've got to go back to Mum."

"What was that all about?" Hermione said, baffled. "And why would you think Ron's family would fuss over you today? They've never been like that."

Harry finally clued in. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Did you read the paper this morning?"

"God no," Hermione shuddered. "I couldn't stand to read yet another dose of Skeeter being self-righteous, or Ministry folks who sent Muggle-borns to Azkaban blithering on about unity. Why? Were they talking about you again?"

Ah. He blew out his breath. "The paper said I'm gay."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, almost comically. "You're joking."

"No, I'm not. I am gay, though. And I didn't want to be around the other Weasleys, when even Ron isn't comfortable around me right now."

"You're... what?"

"Gay. All right? Gay. Possibly bi, but I didn't particularly want to explain that one to Ron."

Hermione was blinking rather a lot. "Why not?"

"'But your sister made me hard' isn't something I want to say to him," he said impatiently, and Hermione blanched. "...or to you, to be honest," he finished, wincing.

"Thanks." Hermione shook her head, a bit dazed, then put an arm around him and hugged him close. "Come, let's walk down to the Memorial Wall. I think maybe you'd better tell me about this. Try to spare me certain... details, though."

Harry nodded and followed her.

0000000

The memorial had devolved into small groups of people chatting amongst themselves. Harry could thank Skeeter for one thing at least: he wasn't mobbed by people who wanted to shake his hand. Though there were several who did so - some reluctantly, some eagerly and annoyingly showing their support for him despite his latest public disgrace - most people were keeping their distance. It would've been nice if he'd been more warmly greeted by some of the present members the DA, but that couldn't be helped. Zacharias Smith was cool towards him, no surprise, but so were Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown. Not that big a loss, though still somewhat annoying and a little bit painful.

Neville was fine, though, as were Seamus and, to a lesser extent, Dean. It was good to catch up with them for a bit, though it didn't last long enough, as Dean and Seamus went to see Dean's mother and Neville went to his grandmother. Harry looked around and spotted the Malfoys, standing and talking stiffly with Andromeda Tonks, and went over to them.

"How's Teddy?" he asked Andromeda, and was annoyed to see note her distinctly uneasy air at his approach.

"Oh, erm, he's too young to understand any of this," she said. "I'll bring him when he's a little older, and talk to him about his parents."

"Right."

"Mr. Potter, it's good to see you," said Narcissa calmly. "I never did thank you in person for what you did for my son. We very much appreciated it. I doubt he would have been accepted into the Unspeakables without your testimony at his trial."

He glanced at Malfoy, wishing he could read what he was thinking behind the tight control he seemed to keeping over himself. "You saved my life," he said to her. "And I did get your owl after the trials."

"It's not the same," she said. "Personal contact would have been more appropriate, although at the time I did not wish to impose upon you."

Harry nodded and cast about for some other topic, as silence settled among them.

"It's lovely weather for the memorial," said Andromeda, and Harry had had enough. The weather. Next they would be talking about Quidditch. Andromeda was clearly uncomfortable with him; whether that would extend past the time that it took for news of him to clear off the papers remained to be seen, but in the meantime he certainly didn't need to stay here and make everyone ill at ease. He glanced around, spotting Hermione again.

"Anyway, I just wanted to come by and ask about Teddy. Tell him I said hello."

"I will," said Andromeda.

He started to leave, then turned back. "Erm, Malfoy, could I have a word?"

Malfoy's eyebrows went up and he approached Harry, his expression guarded.

"I wanted to thank you, for not saying anything to the papers yesterday," said Harry. Malfoy blinked. "I know I already did, but... you could've said something. Your own private life might not have come out, if you had."

Malfoy made a dismissive gesture. "I doubt that would've made much of a difference. Pansy was pissed off that her own sins came up again. She just lashed out at whoever she could. Woman scorned and all that."

"She might not have, if you'd supported her instead of saying No Comment."

Malfoy shrugged. "If anything, this is probably for the best. With what the paper said this morning about you, the pressure's not exactly on me now, is it?"

He did have a point. "How is your mother taking it?"

Malfoy smiled bleakly at his mother, still making stilted small talk with Andromeda. "My mother's had to accept all sorts of difficulties in the last few years. Believe it or not, having me forced out of the closet is not the biggest problem she's had to face. It doesn't even qualify for the top ten." He shrugged. "Your own news has eclipsed mine. What else is new." He paused. "Except this time, I don't mind at all."

Harry chuckled. "I suppose not." Merlin, this was better than the last few days had been, in terms of emotional stability at least. So why did a part of Harry wish he was still under the influence of the bonding spell, so that he could maybe figure out some way to keep talking to Malfoy, maybe ask him what he thought of the simulation now that it was over, ask whether it had changed anything in how Malfoy felt about him, ask about whether Pansy had been telling the truth about...

Yeah, no. "Well. I'd better get back to Hermione," he said.

"Right. Say... hello for me."

"I will."

He approached Hermione, who smiled at him and looked over his shoulder curiously.

"What were you talking to him about?"

"I just, erm, said thanks to him for not saying anything to Skeeter."

"Ah, yes, Ron showed me the article." Hermione shook her head. "Skeeter. May she rot in hell. It's not as though she's anything better to talk about."

"Did you hear about Malfoy?" Harry said, in what he hoped was a casual way.

"Oh God yes." Hermione suddenly narrowed her eyes at him. "You're not... you don't actually have genuine feelings for him, do you? Ron told me a bit about the simulation, but he seemed rather desperate to change the subject..."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Why does it have to be that just because we're both gay, I would necessarily be interested in him?"

"Other than the fact that you were just forced to be in love with him a couple of days ago, and there aren't a lot of out gay men in your life, and according to Pansy Parkinson he had a thing for you for years in school?" said Hermione. "No reason at all. So are you trying to chat him up? Here?"

"No! Of course not!" said Harry, and winced. That had come out a little louder than he'd meant it to. "I mean, even if I wanted to, it's not exactly the time and place for that kind of thing, is it? I mean, what with this being the memorial and all..."

"Everyone here is trying to get on with their lives," said Hermione. "Move forward. That's what you're doing."

"Am I?"

"Yes. It's not quite where we thought you'd move, but..." she cleared her throat. "You have to admit, it certainly is moving."

"I wouldn't know where to start, though. If I was interested."

"Which you are," Hermione said crisply. "Don't waffle. Though I can't imagine why. Ron did say that he's been a different person since you all started training, but..."

"Ron said that?"

"More or less. 'Less of an annoying arrogant prat', minus some foul language. I think something Malfoy said this morning impressed him. So, you fancy him. What are you going to do about it?"

Harry found himself wondering if Hermione was ever as annoying to people who didn't know her as she was to her close friends. "How would I know?"

"Obviously first you'd need to find out how he feels," said Hermione. "Ask his friends." She paused a fraction of a second. "No, no that's a horrible idea, please don't do that." She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "Invent a reason to call him. Compliment him. That works well."

"How would you know?"

"Excuse me, I am dating Ron."

"Excuse me, before you got there you had to send a flock of tiny birds to try to peck out his eyes."

Hermione paused. "Good point." She sighed. "This is ridiculous. You have dated before; this can't be that different."

"Yeah. I dated a girl who cried on me, and I only asked her out the first time by accident. And then when we went on our first date, she thought I was dating you."

"True."

"And Ginny was Ron's little sister. I kissed her in front of God and everybody, which I'm not going to do with Draco. Malfoy." Though the idea did sound remarkably attractive. He shook himself. "And then I broke up with her and then watched her dot for months."

"Her... dot?"

"Yeah," said Harry glumly. "I was an arse about going back with her. I never even stopped to think about how I really felt about her." He sighed. "Besides, girls are different."

"Which... dot?"

"Her dot, on the map. You know, the Hogwarts map."

"Right. Of course," Hermione said, sounding very relieved and blinking rapidly.

"What did you think I meant?"

"Her, erm, freckles," said Hermione hurriedly. "Are you just interested in Malfoy because of the simulation?"

"No, actually, I've been interested a lot this year. It was just a harmless crush, though. I didn't think... I mean, I was still with Ginny and all. Officially."

"This is a new definition of 'with' somebody, what with her being here and you being in London and barely writing two letters to her all year," Hermione pointed out. "Hm. D'you know who we need to help us?" she said, and Harry reflected only Hermione could go from shock to acceptance to meddling in his private life in under two hours.

"Who?"

"Ron."

"Hahaha. I thought you were being serious. How would Ron be able to help? He's gone out with a total of two people, and frankly neither approach he took is anything I'm eager to copy."

"He's good at strategy, he could-"

"All players in the Quidditch Charity Game," a loudspeaker suddenly squawked, much to Harry's relief. "Please report to the Quidditch hut. All players in the Quidditch Charity Game, report to the Quidditch hut."

"You're in that, aren't you?" asked Hermione. "You're playing Seeker?"

"No, Chaser. We're all taking positions we don't normally play." He paused. "Actually, Malfoy's a Chaser too."

"Playing for the same team?"

Harry chuckled. "Erm, yeah."

"Well that might help," said Hermione encouragingly. "Team spirit and all that."

Harry nodded. "Couldn't hurt, anyway."

"Right. Go on, then," Hermione said, and he headed off to the Quidditch pitch.

0000000

"You may be the worst Chaser in the history of this sport, Potter," said Malfoy at the end of the day, but his tone was mostly commiserating, not snide or condescending. "Why did you agree to this game again?"

"Same reason you did. And you're not much better," Harry pointed out.

"I didn't Chase a Bludger into our own goal, Potter."

"Point."

"Yes, I could've done without that bit," said their captain.

"Sorry about that," said Harry.

"Ah well, no harm done, it was just for charity anyway. Although I would suggest that next time there's a game like this, maybe you should be a Beater. Or Keeper. Anything but a Chaser. We almost looked like the Cannons before Gupta caught the Snitch."

"You can't blame Potter for all of that, sir," said Malfoy. "Albright was too busy flipping off her broomstick to catch a single Quaffle. Besides, the other team was even worse than us."

"Yeah I thought the Monmouth Keeper was joking when he said he couldn't Seek if his life depended on it," said another player. "I don't think anybody's going to remember Potter or Malfoy today." He paused. "Not for their playing, anyway."

There a half-embarrassed snigger went around the room, and Harry found himself grinning tiredly. He lay back against the bench, relaxed and worn-out. The game had gone relatively well, all things considered. They'd won 180 to 120, and it had been mostly fun - for the players, at least.

The match had been for charity, and because people desperately needed the mindless distraction of a silly game in which none of the players was doing all that well, after the sorrow of the day. It was supposed to be a light-hearted end to a difficult day. It hadn't quite turned out that way.

Everyone had known there would be a bit of discomfort to the event; the inclusion of Malfoy and Albright had been somewhat controversial when it had been announced a month before the memorial. But they had been included as a sort of sop to those on the losing side of the war, though neither had actually been found guilty of any Death Eater-related crimes, and both had walked the party line since Voldemort's demise. Thanks to Rita Skeeter, though, they hadn't been the main controversy during the match itself. Much as Harry hated the blind adoration he got from some quarters, he knew the idea had been that there would be cheers and celebration from the stands when the The Boy Who Lived took to the air, not a confused babble. And when he was hit by a Bludger, there weren't supposed to be scattered cheers. Charlie and George Weasley weren't supposed to be hauled off the stand for belting a spectator who made the mistake of hissing "Serves the arse bandit right!" too near them when Harry was almost knocked off his broom.

Thankfully, it was done and over with, and right now Harry couldn't be arsed to care about what had happened. The aftermath of the training simulation, his involuntary outing, the memorial, and a hard-fought game, had left him with a sort of 'who the hell cares' attitude. He was tired, they'd played hard, and the team had come together in camaraderie of sorts, though who knew whether it would last past tomorrow. That was good enough for him.

Plus, it was nice to see Malfoy looking tired and flushed. He could admit that now. The man did fill out a Quidditch uniform rather nicely.

Suddenly there was a pop and a tiny female house elf appeared and squeaked with pleasure, handed Harry a warm, scented towel, and, nearly flipping herself over with delight at the sight of him, dropped the rest of her load of warm towels onto a bench and disappeared. A few seconds later Kreacher appeared, praising Harry soundly, distributing the warm towels the other elf had dropped, and handed out extra Butterbeer to every member of his team before disappearing back into the Hogwarts kitchens.

God bless house elves. They probably didn't read the Prophet or listen to the Wireless. And if they did, they didn't give a damn who a wizard wanted to shag.

"Well, I've got to get up early tomorrow," said one of Harry's teammates after he'd finished toweling his hair dry. "I'll see you at work, Malfoy. Good game, everyone."

Harry nodded, and closed his eyes as one by one their team mates and their friends left the hut. Briefly he wondered if the rest had left because they didn't want to change in front of two newly-outed shirt lifters, but found he really didn't particularly care.

He opened his eyes a slit, suddenly realizing that he and Malfoy were alone in the hut.

"So... what did you think of the game?" he found himself asking, and wondered if Hermione would be proud of him when he told her.

"Entertaining enough, I suppose," shrugged Malfoy, examining a bruise on his shin with a critical eye. "Interesting, trying out a new position."

Harry nodded. "I was thinking of practicing some more, myself."

"What for?"

"You know they were saying they might open up Ministry Quidditch again."

"They've been saying they might do that for a year, Potter," said Malfoy. "Even if they did, would you really want to join in?"

"Sure. There are a lot of empty spots to fill."

"All four teams already have Seekers. They all survived the war."

"They don't have enough Chasers."

"True."

"I was thinking we could try to get on one of the teams. We might make a good team, if we practiced together."

"You, me and Stebbins?"

Harry blinked. "Stebbins. Yeah."

Malfoy shook his head. "He wouldn't. Practice with us, I mean."

"Why not?"

Malfoy looked hesitant, then shrugged. "He's gay."

Harry gaped at him. "What? Is everybody these days?"

Malfoy sniggered. "I found out Unspeakably, and I didn't tell anybody. But he's closeted as hell, and he's not going to want to risk being seen with you and me. Not now that we're out, unwilling or not."

"Ah." Harry nodded.

"Well... maybe you. Definitely not me. Besides, he'd probably think I was trying to chat him up if I asked him."

"Why would that matter?"

"You know what my popularity is like," said Malfoy evenly.

Harry hesitated. "D'you know something? You can't hide behind that excuse forever. You can't think you know how somebody's going to react to you based on how they did before."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really. Even if you did want to chat him up, who's to say he'd say no?"

Malfoy shook his head. "I would," he said quietly.

Harry rolled his eyes, annoyed as his post-game glow dimmed before Malfoy's pessimism. "Bollocks. You're a competent enough Unspeakable, you don't have a criminal record, and you're fit enough. You can't know what somebody's answer will be if you never ask the question." He rubbed a sore spot on his neck where a Bludger had caught him and wondered when he'd become such a coward that he couldn't just come out and say what he wanted to say to Malfoy directly, instead of faffing about with hints of 'somebodies' who might be interested in him.

Malfoy was silent for a few moments. "Maybe you're right," he said, and stood up. "Thanks, Potter. I'll let you know how it turns out."

Harry's brow furrowed. "How what turns out?"

"I'm going to see if I can catch Stebbins before he goes home."

"Ah. Good luck, then" said Harry, feeling as wrong-footed as he'd ever felt with Cho Chang. Malfoy gave him a small smile and headed out. Harry rubbed a spot between his eyebrows and contemplated picking up a bottle of Firewhisky or two before heading home.

No, that was silly. He wasn't devastated. Just annoyed at himself. As far as pick-up attempts went, that had to be one of his worst, in a short but glorious history of bad pick-up attempts.

Although maybe it would've been more successful if he'd actually been trying to pick up Malfoy. If he hadn't been so tired and relieved to no longer be so bloody tense around him that he'd just opened his stupid mouth and let whatever was buzzing around his head come popping out, and helpfully pushed Malfoy in the direction of the nearest available gay male who wasn't Harry.

He'd probably saved himself considerable embarrassment anyway. Malfoy had never given any non-bonding-induced indication that he was actually interested in Harry, Pansy Parkinson's pathetic diatribe aside. Better to just leave things as they were.

Suddenly the hut's door opened, and Hermione came in. "Oh good, you're still here," she said, pleased. "I was looking for you." She looked around the room. "Where's the rest of your team?"

"Home, I would imagine."

"Where's Malfoy?"

"Not home."

"Really?" said Hermione. "Do you want to see if you can ask him out?"

"Ah, no," said Harry, giving her a rueful smile. "Don't think that's going to happen."

"Why not?"

Harry chuckled. "I told him he was attractive enough to find someone, and he took me up on it."

Hermione's eyes grew round. "Really?"

"...with the other Chaser. Who is also gay."

"God, there must be something in the water," she muttered, then sighed. "All right, I should've seen that one coming." Harry scowled at her. "Well you were never particularly good at romance with girls, Harry. There's no reason you should be any better at it with boys."

She did have a point.

What the hell, stupid idea anyway, thinking of Malfoy that way. He'd dealt with his feelings towards Malfoy long enough that it was habit by now - habit made somewhat tougher by the effects of the bonding spell and the realization that his feelings weren't that different, with or without the bloody thing, but still: he was used to this. He could certainly live with the disappointment.

"Are you all right?" asked Hermione sympathetically.

"I'm fine." He stood up and stretched, feeling a burn along his triceps. Definitely time to get back on a broom again, he decided, whether he tried to join the Ministry Quidditch league or not. Not like he was going to get to 'ride' anything else any time soon.

"Are you coming back with us?" asked Hermione.

"Where?"

"The Burrow," she said. "Mr. Weasley's gone to bail out Charlie and George, and Mrs. Weasley's invited everyone over. I think Ginny's staying here, though." She paused. "With, erm, Neville."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "Oh really?"

Hermione tilted her head at him. "I was wondering if that would upset you."

"Why would it? Are they actually together?"

"Not yet. He definitely wants them to be, though."

Harry smiled. "Good. He'll be good for her. Better than me, anyway."

Hermione gave him a hug. "Come on, let's go."

They left the hut and almost ran into Ron. "Oh, good, you found him," he said to Hermione, and gave Harry a small smile. "Let's go then."

They headed towards the castle, and Harry felt a twinge of envy as Ron reached out for Hermione's hand and the three of them walked together towards the special Floo the Ministry had installed for the memorial.

As they approached, Harry suddenly groaned. "Oh blast. I forgot my shin pads in the hut," he said. "I'll be right back."

"We'll see you at The Burrow, then?" asked Ron, and Harry nodded. Ron hesitated for a moment, then clapped Harry on the back. "Listen, mate, things are a little weird right now, what with... well, you know what, but... we'll get used to it. We'll just need a bit of time, right?"

Harry nodded.

"I mean, I doubt even you were all right with it right away, after you figured yourself out."

Harry chuckled. "No, I wasn't."

Ron nodded. "Wish you'd told me, mate. It might have been weird at first, but I still wish you'd told me." He took a handful of Floo powder. "I'll tell Mum you'll be along in a bit."

"Thanks." He watched Ron and Hermione flash out of sight, then wearily trudged back to the hut and opened the door, startled to note that Malfoy had come back and had changed out of his Quidditch leathers and into regular clothes.

Momentarily pitying himself for not having arrived a few minutes earlier, Harry asked "Did you not catch up with Stebbins?"

Malfoy's lips twitched briefly. "Oh, I caught up with him. Asked if he'd thought of practicing for a Chaser position, and told him you and I were thinking of doing it." A brief internal struggle to regress to age ten at the words 'doing it' possessed Harry for a moment, but Malfoy was still speaking. "He said no before I could even ask if he wanted to join us. Like he was terrified someone might see him talking to me. Don't know whether it's the Death Eater or the Gay, but whatever it was, he couldn't wait to leave."

"Bugger," said Harry. "I'm sorry."

"So am I." Malfoy gathered up his things, frowning at a frayed piece of lacing on his leather elbow pad. "Wonderful. Free to be who I want to be... but nobody wants a Death Eater." He sat down and took out his wand, conjuring a repair kit, and glanced up at Harry. "Where are Granger and Weasley?"

"Gone back to The Burrow. I'm supposed to meet them there."

"Well, don't let me keep you, then," said Malfoy tightly, beginning to fuss with the lacings.

Harry picked up his shin pads and debated leaving for a brief moment. Sat down instead, and gazed at Malfoy thoughtfully. "Did you get a chance to see the new war portrait hall?" he asked.

Malfoy shook his head, concentrating on the laces. "Not that many people I'd want to see there. You?"

"Some other day. Not today." Harry watched Malfoy painstakingly unwinding the laces, and wondered how often he'd done that himself, letting the careful, precise work of maintaining sports equipment soothe him after a bad day.

They really weren't so different after all.

"Have you ever spoken to a portrait of someone you knew who died?" he asked.

"Nobody I was close to, no. You?"

"Dumbledore's. Right after the Battle."

Malfoy nodded. "Who would you want to talk to?"

"Professor Lupin. Fred Weasley. Colin Creevey." He paused. "Snape."

Malfoy nodded, briefly meeting his eyes. "Me too. Not today, but eventually. Though I can't think a lot of people will be too eager to speak to him, no matter how much of a hero he turned out to be."

Harry laughed. "No, probably not. I will talk to him though, some day. Not today. He'll probably only sneer at me anyway."

Malfoy smiled. "Probably. He wasn't your biggest fan."

"He'd probably want to talk to you."

"Maybe. I do wonder what he'd think of me joining the Unspeakables, though."

"Why did you?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I like it. I like solving problems."

"What kind of problems?"

Malfoy smirked. "I can't tell you. Or rather, I could tell you-"

"But you'd have to kill me, right." Harry rolled his eyes. "You people are so annoying when you do that. D'you know our own Trainers didn't know why your lot was doing the simulation with us? I mean, obviously you wanted to learn interrogation techniques, but you don't normally go out and investigate crimes, do you? Why do you need to know how to interrogate anybody? For that matter, why do you need a dungeon?"

"Again, I could tell you, but-"

"Yeah, got it."

"Well why did you go into the Aurors?"

Harry thought for a moment. "To be honest some days I'm not sure."

"You don't enjoy it?"

"I do, only..." Harry searched for the words. "Sometimes it seems almost too easy. Not the work itself, but the fact that I went into it."

"What?"

"I... I'm eighteen and I've been doing what I'm supposed to do my whole life. I keep thinking it's... almost like a cliché. That I'm expected to eventually end up being an Auror and a role model for little wizarding children, and marry my best mate's sister and be surrounded by children named after my parents and friends..."

"Don't you want that?"

"Not all of it, not really."

Malfoy nodded. "Well I was supposed to follow in my father's footsteps, handle the Malfoy fortune, and be part of the leadership of wizarding society, once we were rid of Muggles and Muggle-borns."

"You've still got your fortune."

"I can't exactly lead anybody, though, can I? What with not exactly having the approval of the masses."

Harry snorted cynically. "The approval of the masses doesn't mean much, I don't think. They're likely to turn on you at any moment."

"True enough." Malfoy tilted his head to the side pensively, and tested the suppleness of the laces he'd just repaired, running them through his fingers and absently tugging on them. Harry firmly told himself he was nowhere near far gone enough to envy laces. Even leather laces. Besides, Malfoy was speaking. "My mother would like it if we had that back. Hence her pushing me to sign up for this bloody charity game. But the Unspeakables... well, they're respected and feared, but not really trusted by most people. Mother thinks I should've gone into Healing, or something equally praiseworthy."

"Why didn't you?"

"It's my life, not my mother's," said Malfoy. "It's not easy to make some choices, but I've done what people around me wanted me to do for most of my life, and it hasn't helped me get anywhere. I'm trying to do what I want now." He gave Harry a crooked half-smile. "Which is why I just tried for Stebbins instead of dismissing your idea as typical Gryffindor leaping before you look."

Harry nodded, suddenly rather sheepish. Not a comfortable feeling, realizing a Slytherin was showing more courage than he was at this particular point in time.

Malfoy finally finished with the lacings, retied them onto the elbow pad, then examined the pad and put it down, taking out his wand and making his repair kit vanish. He stood up, picking up his Quidditch equipment.

"You know what I said about not knowing the answer if you don't ask the question?" Harry said slowly.

"Yes?" Malfoy looked somewhat put out, on his way to the door. "I did ask. I know the answer now."

"I'm not talking about you asking anything." Harry stood up too. "What would you say if I asked?"

"Asked what?"

"Was Pansy telling the truth? What she said about how you felt about me during school?"

Malfoy coloured up, and Harry mentally kicked himself. "Sorry, that's none of my business-"

"We were kids, Potter," Malfoy said. He hesitated, then lifted his chin, almost defiantly. "Yes, I... I was interested, but I mostly just hated you. Besides, why would you care?"

"Because I've been thinking about you for ages," Harry said, and Malfoy's mouth dropped open slightly, grey eyes widening in shock. "I thought it was just a... sort of a crush, and being interested in what you were doing because you were turning out pretty different from what you were like at school, but the simulation... well, what I felt was weird, but not as much as it should have been, you know? I sort of realized that what I felt before wasn't just - before the simulation, that is - it wasn't just a crush." And he should probably really stop any moment now, because now he was babbling, and Malfoy hadn't expressed any current interest in him, after all.

"You did get the spell taken off, right?" Malfoy said slowly.

"Yes. You?"

Malfoy nodded, and Harry didn't have a clue as to what he was thinking or what emotions were playing out behind his eyes. He tried to comfort himself that rejection wasn't one of them. Not right away, anyway.

"Did you feel any different after it was gone?" Harry asked. Malfoy's mouth opened, then closed, and Harry made himself push on, his pulse racing. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, and Go Go Gryffindor. "I didn't. Not really. I mean, the intensity and all, the - some of the stuff that I knew was artificial, that was gone. But not... not being interested. That felt the same." Malfoy hadn't broken eye contact. "What would you say?" Harry repeated again. "If I asked?"

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair and blushed darkly, and Harry was suddenly tired of being cautious. What the hell, you only live once, he thought, and at least this time there weren't fifty people standing around watching - and he reached out and kissed him.

Malfoy pulled back, his eyes wide. Harry started to back up too - fuck, he'd gone too far-

"No, sorry, just - startled, that's all," Malfoy said, and dropped his bag of equipment. He pulled Harry close and kissed him back passionately, finally breaking for air to gasp, "I'd say yes, are you joking?"

Harry laughed and pulled Malfoy back into his arms and then he was lost. The part of him that could make sense of anything at all had the fleeting thought that the difference between this and what he'd had with Ginny was like the difference between riding a bicycle and flying - the exhilaration of having a man's body at his fingertips, all firm planes and the scent of Quidditch leather and wind and maleness, the hands running over his body sure and firm and strong, a rough tongue caressing his. He ran lips down Malfoy's neck, feeling him moan, hands wandering down his back to his arse, pulling them closer until he could feel Malfoy's hardness against his own.

"Fuck," he murmured, "fuck that's good. Oh fuck..." and his knees were growing weak and his heart was racing, and in the midst of the wash of sensations, the exhilaration of taste and scent and heat, the vague thought crossed his mind that he didn't want to waste any mental energy trying to keep his balance. He spotted the wall and pushed Malfoy towards it, and Malfoy laughed, a free, rich sound, as his back hit it and Harry braced a hand on either side of him. Malfoy dropped his head back, pulling Harry closer, and rocked up against him

"Fuck!"

Malfoy laughed again, and Harry vaguely remembered that they were in a nominally public place and anybody could come in at any moment, but it was a little difficult to hold on to that thought as he nipped the side of Malfoy's neck, where his pale hair curled a bit with dampness, either from the game or from what they were doing right now.

"Don't - oh don't stop," Malfoy moaned, shivering as Harry tasted the side of his neck. He tilted his head to the side, his fingers running through the strands of Harry's hair before urging him to press harder with his mouth, and the whimper that moved through him that was the sexiest thing Harry had ever heard.

Future note: Malfoy really, really liked having his neck bitten. Harry would really need to remember that, assuming he didn't die of pleasure right now from the way Malfoy was groaning and cradling the back of Harry's neck, unselfconsciously gasping in delight as Harry's tongue and lips and teeth roamed over his throat, and pressing himself more and more urgently against Harry, and oh-

He should've known that Malfoy would be like this. Taking, pushing, feeling everywhere, his hands now running over Harry's body quickly, demandingly. He'd been brought up to take whatever he wanted, and it was a bloody dream come true, to be what Malfoy wanted this fiercely.

And it felt like he'd wanted this forever. Like he'd wanted Malfoy forever.

They were both going to come, Harry realized, and really couldn't spare a thought as to why that might not be such a good idea. Everything had narrowed to Malfoy, the pulse at the base of his throat, his movements against Harry's body. The hand that suddenly moved to the front of Harry's trousers and cupped him through his pants, and if Harry had thought the sensation of grinding against Malfoy's length was amazing, it was nothing compared to the friction and purpose of Malfoy's hand on him, firm strokes that were going to - and he could do the same, he realized, and moved his own hand to Malfoy's cock. He glanced down briefly, swiftly unbuttoning Malfoy's trousers and slipping a hand inside, Malfoy's shocked intake of breath echoed by his own. Malfoy's cock was hard, and velvety warm against his palm, and Malfoy's hips jerked with each stroke, and suddenly somehow Malfoy's hand was curling around Harry's cock too, and Harry didn't even know how that had happened.

They were crying out with pleasure now, stroking each other firmly, bringing each other closer to completion, Malfoy's breath against Harry's lips as they gasped together, and as Malfoy's eyes squeezed shut, lights burst through Harry's consciousness and everything but the white heat of his climax tearing through him was obliterated in a shout.

Oh, fuck.

They were still, panting. Harry's limbs felt like lead and his entire body was awash in the shock of what had just happened, heart still racing.

Merlin, he could sleep for a year after this. If he didn't fall on his arse first.

Malfoy took a deep, shuddering breath, and his fingers worked their way into Harry's hair again. Harry braced himself against the wall with his elbow, drawing away from Malfoy enough to meet his gaze.

There was laughter, and happiness, and a kind of dazed wonder in Malfoy's grey eyes. Malfoy smiled at him and rested back against the wall, and Harry chuckled.

"What?" asked Malfoy.

"Fuck, that was amazing," Harry said, his voice sounding happier than he'd felt in years.

"Merlin yeah," Malfoy said, then closed his eyes and groaned. "Only problem is I'm going to fall on my arse if I don't sit down."

Harry laughed. "D'you want to sit, then?"

"In a moment." He pulled Harry close again, then frowned slightly and looked down. "Erm."

Harry looked down too and sniggered. "Bit of a mess," he remarked, taking his wand and murmuring a cleaning spell over himself.

"Mmm, I'll clean up later," said Malfoy, his voice drowsy. "My wand's with my Quidditch things."

"Here, take mine." Harry handed Malfoy his wand, marveling at how natural it felt to do so, just as it had during their simulated 'crime'. His wand seemed to respond well to Malfoy, too, in much the same way as Malfoy's wand had felt friendly, somehow, in Harry's hands when he'd taken it from Malfoy over a year ago.

Their wands felt friendly in each other's hands. Off the top of his head he could think of about a dozen dirty jokes that could be made from that.

Malfoy gave Harry back his wand and they rested together comfortably against the wall, and God, this was amazing. Though really, it would probably be a good idea to draw apart before someone came in. Too bad nuzzling Malfoy's neck and just hoping for no interruptions for the next few hours felt like a much better plan.

"Mm, you didn't answer," he murmured against Malfoy's neck. Malfoy made a soft noise of inquiry. "About whether it felt different after the spell was off."

Malfoy was silent for a few moments. "It didn't. But not because of what you think." He pulled away slightly. "I wasn't really under the bond spell."

"What?" Harry drew back, puzzled.

"They cast it on me, but I counteracted it." Harry gaped at him. "I wasn't really under its effects. It... heightened some things. But I was in control of it, mostly."

"How? Is that also some Unspeakable thing?"

Malfoy regarded him seriously. "It's a... survival thing. From having lived with Death Eaters in my home, and learned how to not allow anyone to influence me."

"Nobody knew you were counteracting it?"

"No." He cleared his throat. "I will share what I did with the Unspeakables, eventually, only-"

"So... how you were acting towards me..."

"That was real," said Malfoy. "Mostly."

"But... why?" Harry knew from the moment the words were spoken that it was the wrong thing to say. "Never mind," he said quickly. Regardless of what they'd just done together, questions like that were a little too intimate for right now, and Harry didn't even need to access his inner Hermione to figure that out.

Suddenly he tensed, hearing murmurs outside the hut at the same time as Malfoy did, including one voice that sounded rather familiar.

Malfoy closed his eyes in dismay. "Bollocks. Skeeter. And she's..." Malfoy fumbled for his wand and muttered a spell, then groaned. "She's camped out right outside the hut. Along with a bunch of other reporters. They heard you came back to the hut, and they're going to try to interview you the moment you step out."

Harry scowled. "How did you - yeah, never mind, you could tell me, but. Are you sure they saw me? Did they see you?"

"They suspect I may be in here, but nobody saw me come back."

Harry glanced over Malfoy, taking in the rumpled clothing, the dishevelment, the air of being rather well-fucked. They could smooth out their hair - well, Malfoy could, anyway, Harry's hair was pretty much a lost cause on the best of days - and do up their trousers and remove certain stains, but their blushes were inerasable and in any case they had both just been outed today, so nobody was going to miss the obvious media-worthiness of them having spent over half an hour in a small Quidditch equipment shed... and there was no Apparition on Hogwarts grounds...

Fuck.

Suddenly he smiled. "Let's go, then." He straightened up.

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. "What? If we go out there now, they'll see us."

"I know. Who cares?"

Malfoy's eyebrows climbed even higher. "Excuse me?"

"So they'll see us. And they'll come to the obvious conclusion. And they'll talk about us."

"Yes..."

"And we're not doing anything wrong." He tucked himself in and buttoned up.

"They'll think we are," said Malfoy, following suit.

"Who cares?"

"Are you insane?"

"No. I'm just tired of caring what other people say or think."

Malfoy stared at him. "So am I, but..."

"So. D'you want to? Give them something to talk about?"

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, then suddenly gave him a grin. "Why not?"

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

They smiled at each other, and opened the door.

- End