Venture

Morning sunlight poured cheerfully through the open window, splashing across the floor in squares, cut up and divided by the window panes. In one dim corner, a shirt dangled haphazardly from a chair. In another, a pair of pants were piled before a set of shelves. Underwear and a single sock lied beside an open door.

A long rectangle of light climbed up the side of the bed, rippling over a rumpled bedspread. Two young men were tangled up in it, two slender torsos were very close together, and two hands were traveling south in a leisurely manner.

Bright green eyes snapped open. "Draco . . ."

A pale mouth tucked itself into a grin. Draco's hand slipped beneath the covers.

Two mouths met in a long kiss, tongues visible as they thrust into each other's mouths. Draco groaned softly as Harry's hand wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him in place as he nipped his bottom lip. A third hand made an appearance, grabbing Draco's leg and yanking him on top.

There was a moment of wet sucking as they ground together, lips still locked. Draco was the one to tear his mouth away, moaning high in his throat, Harry bucking weakly. They collapsed limply into the sheets once again.

"Fuck," Draco whispered eventually. "How many was that?"

"Somewhere in the double digits," came the sleepy reply.

"Fuck." Draco retrieved his hand from beneath the blankets and gave it a little lick, prompting a shiver from his companion. He cocked an eyebrow. "I think you just found yourself a job, Harry."

Harry laughed wryly, voice hitching as Draco gave cat-like licks to his collarbone. "You're a provocative git even in bed, aren't you?"

"Yes." Draco moved the blankets away, trailing his fingers over Harry's exposed hips and thighs. His tongue traced patterns onto vulnerable skin.

Harry hissed softly, like an angry, aroused cat. "Again?"

"If you feel 'up' to it."

"Junior high innuendo is so irritating, Malfoy."

"I do try." Draco's gray eyes lifted, regarding his bed partner seriously. "I have to be at work in an hour, you know."

"Where do you work?"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Draco deposited a little nip behind Harry's knee, and sat up, kneeling between his legs. "I can't be late."

"It's a crime?"

"Elementary school puns are so irritating, Potter."

Laughing, Harry pulled Draco down for a long, slow kiss, prompting a whimper as his salty fingers brushed a scratch. Harry broke away then, finding his wand on the nightstand and healing Draco's scrapes and bite marks easily. Ignoring the seductive look he was shot was less so.

He sat up quite slowly, back tingling unpleasantly. "If you have to be at work, you have to be at work," he said, tossing his wand to the side.

"Mm-hmmm." Draco shook his head slightly, removing himself from a trance, it seemed, white hair drifting across his forehead. "I won't be coming back."

"I wasn't expecting you to."

Draco slithered into his lap, sucking at a bruise on Harry's throat. "You've changed."

"So've you."

"No, I haven't." Draco rested elbows on Harry's shoulders, his chin propped on his fists. "You're different - I almost didn't recognize you, in the library. I never would have done this with the annoying little git you used to be."

"I could say the same."

Draco's mouth quirked in a devilish grin. He wiggled closer to Harry, watching him intently. It was a staring contest - one that left Harry hard. Draco's eyebrows twitched. He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and planted a reverent kiss in the middle of his chest. "One more time . . . " he murmured silkily.

Harry shuddered as he felt the warm rush of Draco's breath, before he winced and reluctantly pushed Draco away. "No."

Draco turned a curious look on him.

"My back," Harry explained. "It's never fully healed, and it already hurts. One more time'll do me in."

"Your back hurts?" Draco asked incredulously. "You weren't the one on bottom!"

"No," Harry agreed, "but I did have to hold you up twice."

"Yeah," Draco said fondly, remembering. "Sorry about the dishes."

"It's okay."

Draco rubbed his hand over Harry's spine, prompting a pained jerk from the other boy. Without apologizing - both of them would have known it to be false, anyway - Draco kissed the corner of his mouth and slid out of bed. "Where the fuck are my clothes?"

Harry waved his wand. "Accio Draco's clothes!"

Several garments flew to Harry's bed, a pair of pants traveling from beside the front door. Draco pulled them on, watching Harry snuggle back under the blankets with envy.

"You can get a shower, if you like," Harry said, because it seemed to be the polite thing to offer.

"I'll get one at my place." Draco leaned over, planting a last kiss on Harry's shoulder. "See you around, Potter."

Harry gave a nonchalant little wave, like he wasn't even remotely sad to see Draco leave. He listened as Draco padded his way through the kitchen, sighing quietly when he heard the door open and shut. So it was over.

The memories from last night already felt very distant. Harry pulled the blankets tight, ignoring the steady ache from his back.

He felt indescribably lonely. When he fell asleep, it was with the sense that he'd missed something important during last night's proceedings, something he was supposed to say but had forgotten.

It was going on eight when Harry rapped on Hermione and Ron's door. No answer. He leaned heavily against the wall, choking back an unusual feeling of despair.

He wasn't surprised to find that the two of them were out - he even recalled Ron saying something about plans. And it wasn't like he knew what he would say if he saw them, after all. He could just imagine the fit Hermione would have if he told her he'd slept with Draco Malfoy, and that he really wanted to do it again. And again. And again . . . .

He was having a hard time believing it himself.

His forehead was pressed against the wall, eyes closed, when someone's voice came from the air behind him. "Harry?"

Startled, Harry turned. "Oh. Hello, Remus."

Golden-brown eyes regarded him with concern. (Weren't they green just the other day? Harry wondered.) "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Oh, yeah." Harry made a little would-be casual gesture, acutely conscious of how badly he lied. "I just . . . forgot that Ron and Hermione had plans is all."

Remus frowned slightly but he let the untruth slide, reaching past Harry to open the door. "I'm just dropping off some things for work," he said, brandishing a folder at Harry's curious glance. "Are you sure you're well, Harry?"

Trying not to limp, Harry followed him into the apartment, hovering by the door. It felt strange to be here without Ron and Hermione. The apartment seemed much larger in their absence. "I'm, er, great."

Remus glanced over his shoulder. "You're limping."

Harry sighed, then gave up and rubbed his back. "I overdid it," he said glumly. It felt nice to admit it; he found himself trying not to smile for some reason. "Don't tell Hermione."

Remus smiled reluctantly. "I won't," he promised, "although I can't guarantee that she won't figure it out on her own. What did you do to hurt your back?"

Harry coughed. "Nothing."

"With who?"

Harry grinned against his will, casting a pleading look at the ceiling. "You're entirely too good at that."

Chuckling, Remus gestured for Harry to proceed him from the apartment, joining him in the hall and locking the door a moment later. "Perhaps."

Harry ran his hand through his hair, mussing it further, he was sure. "It's not really important, who it was," he said. Maybe it was true. Or maybe he didn't want Remus to feel guilty, and he didn't want to admit to it. "I just wanted to talk to someone."

Remus gave a friendly shrug. "Need a volunteer?"

"If you feel like it."

Rather than answering, Remus motioned for him to fall into step. Relieved, Harry obeyed.

"I have to say that this really isn't your style, Harry." The left the apartment building and hit the street, walking the twilit sidewalk in near-solitude. The sound of children getting in a few last minutes of play echoed through the empty streets. "Hermione is right to be worried about you."

Harry pushed his hair off his forehead again, taking in breaths of the cold air with relish. By the time the sun set, his windbreaker would be useless. He welcomed the cold, letting the purely physical, uncomplicated sensation wash over him. He wanted to fly, suddenly.

"I know," Harry admitted. He kept his eyes focused forward, and sensed Remus doing the same. "I don't know why I did it."

"You're bored," Remus said quietly, "lonely, even."

Harry nodded, mostly to himself, swallowing hard. "Not an excuse. I'm reckless."

"You're young." Remus chuckled softly. "And a great deal like James, to tell you the truth."

Harry tossed him a lopsided smile. He recognized a sincere compliment when he heard one.

"My life's a mess," he said a moment later. He didn't recognize the neighborhood they were in. Houses with spacious back gardens crowded the street. Bicycles and cars were parked in driveways by irresponsible owners -- probably teenagers, no different than Harry had once been. Funny how different the results of irresponsibility could be, depending on one's destiny. "I always thought a normal life would be simpler than this."

Remus smiled at that, but didn't reply. Harry, his eyes on the neighborhood surrounding him, was struck once again by how much he liked it.

It was lovely. Perfect, even. He had seen enough disaster, enough tragedy, to know that excitement and adventure were no excuse for stability and home. Muggles and wizards alike took those simple things for granted. And Harry had never known them, not even once, in his twenty-one years of life.

Maybe that was why he returned to Ron and Hermione so often, forlorn and a little lost. They were the closest thing to a home he had, that he would ever have.

Fighting off a wave of emotion, Harry took a deep breath, scuffing his shoes on the concrete. Remus glanced at him and smiled again, sadly.

"I like it here," Harry admitted. "This place -" He gestured. "It's nice. It's not where I belong, but it's nice."

Remus gave him a curious look. "You belong here as much as anybody."

"Nah." Harry feigned a light-heartedness he didn't feel. "Hermione could belong here, and Ron, very easily. You too. But not me. Not Harry Potter, hero, 'the Boy Who Lived'." He heard the bite in his voice, felt his lips curl back faintly from his teeth. Derision was an ugly emotion.

They reached a corner and turned without speaking a word, an unspoken consensus reached in which way to go. A car passed them on the street.

"If you don't belong here," Remus said quietly, "then do you think a werewolf does?"

"Yes," Harry said, slightly calmer. "You do, and you're a werewolf, so yes. Anyone else, though, and I wouldn't be so sure."

Remus laughed quietly, a little bitterly. "I could never live in a place like this," he said. "Everything about it and my lifestyle would clash, horribly, both the things I've chosen and the things I haven't. You and I, we're alike in that."

Harry glanced at him thoughtfully, surprised, saddened. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he deserved it, for everything he had done, for the people he had protected - the people who would never protect him back - for everything, everyone, he had sacrificed . . . .

As he looked into that young, but still careworn face, he realized something he head never known before. "You were lovers, weren't you?"

Remus glanced at him, eyes still dark from his bitter thoughts. "Beg pardon?"

"You and Sirius."

Remus flinched slightly at the name. His bitterness faded, replaced by a grief that Harry knew intimately. "Yes," he said. "Before he was sent to Azkaban, and after."

Harry nodded slowly, turning his eyes forward again. He hadn't known, he'd never even suspected. And while he accepted that he didn't have Hermione's intellect, nor her ability to divine emotion with a single glance, he'd always assumed he was an alert sort of bloke. Apparently not.

"I should have guessed," Harry said, realizing that the silence was uncomfortable.

"Most people didn't," Remus said softly. "Neither of us needed nor wanted the controversy that came with admission. It was easier to keep things . . . hidden."

Harry barely heard this, his eyes flickering as he thought. "Mrs. Weasely knew," he said, earning himself a surprised glance, and a nod. "Ginny." Another nod. "Dumbledore, of course. Snape?"

Remus was thoroughly impressed. "Yes," he said.

"You hid it well," Harry said, amused. "I doubt even Hermione knew."

"She knows now," Remus said.

"You told her?"

"I thought it prudent to at least mention it when she offered me a job." Remus hooked his hands in his pockets. "She was surprised, but within seconds, she was drawing the same conclusions you are."

Harry smiled faintly. "That's Hermione for you."

"She's a good friend," Remus agreed. "But both of you missed someone who figured it out early on."

"Ron," Harry said.

Remus shot him a grin, eyebrows raised. "Yes, Ron. He catches more than he lets on. Chess-player mentality."

"You lose to him, too?"

"Constantly."

Harry let out a small laugh, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. They continued their stroll, making small talk, traveling around the block as the sky darkened into true night. A dozen little topics of conversation came and went - Harry's job prospects, the work Remus did in the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures, how tireless Hermione was in her crusades, how Ron was the only person that could keep up, bickering with her all the way.

If Ron and Hermione's relationship worked, Harry pointed out, it would be because they wanted it to, not because they fit together. After all, he had never met two people who were more unsuited to one another, and who loved each other so much. Opposites really did attract sometimes. Remus nodded his agreement, eyes distant.

But mostly, Harry noticed things about his companion, things he had over-looked or simply not deemed worthy of attention. The way he walked, gracefully and quietly. His watch, leather and heavy on his wrist. The way he rolled his shirt sleeves up, and the fine dusting of golden hair on his arms. The thickness of his body, so different from Harry's own, yet still lean.

Remus was an adult, Harry realized with a little jolt. Harry, technically, was an adult as well, but Remus was mature in a way that Harry wasn't. When you looked at Remus, you knew you were looking at a man. But when you looked at Harry, the word 'young' was invariably tacked on.

Maybe that was his problem. Maybe he wasn't supposed to be young. Maybe he was an old man trapped in a young man's body, with energy and potential, but already too tired of life to play anymore.

They wound up back where they'd begun, in front of Ron and Hermione's apartment. Remus glanced up - Harry looked as well, and saw that their light was on.

"They're home," Remus stated unnecessarily. "I suppose you'll go on up and talk to them?"

"Yeah, for a bit," Harry said, already making his way to the door. "Thanks for the chat, Remus."

"Anytime," Remus said, perhaps a bit too quietly. But Harry was already out of hearing distance.

He heard Ron and Hermione before he saw them, right through the door of their flat.

"- I cannot believe that girl - she is such a twit -"

"She's a looker, though," Ron said, in the voice he used when he wanted to irritate Hermione.

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted, "she is. Perhaps I'll date her myself."

Ron choked. "Hermione!"

"What, you're the only one allowed to wind people up? Thank goodness for Remus. I never would manage to get all of this done without his help, he's an angel -"

Harry knocked on the door.

"See who that is, will you, Ron? It might be Harry."

"I doubt it," Ron said. "Sensible bloke he is and all that. Probably at home sleeping -" The door opened, and Ron blinked, "or he's standing on our doorstep, grinning. Hello, Harry."

"Hey," Harry said wryly. He stood on tip-toe to see over Ron's shoulder, and caught Hermione's eye. "Hey, Hermione."

"Harry! Come on in!" Hermione was holding the folder that Remus had left earlier. "D'you want something to drink? We've got coffee, I think . . ."

"I'm good," Harry said.

Completely ignoring this, Hermione poured him a cup, gesturing for him to step further inside. "Here, Harry - what's up? You should've gone with us. Ginny and Lavender are great hosts."

Ron snorted. "Unfortunately, Lavender's still an idiot, so you know how that goes."

Hermione rolled her eyes indulgently, although she didn't argue. She inspected Harry carefully as he sat gingerly on the couch, his back protesting this new movement, and said, "What's on your mind, Harry?"

Ron, who'd been hanging his jacket, threw a glance over his shoulder at this.

Harry took a deep breath, wondering where to begin. He'd lost the sense of urgency that had driven him to come here in the first place, and he realized that he didn't really need to talk to them right now. But he was already there, so . . .

He shrugged and decided to go for it. "I, um, met Draco at the library today."

"Draco - Draco Malfoy?" Hermione sat beside him abruptly, prompting him to set his coffee on the end table, lest it spill.

"The one and only," Harry quipped lightly, tugging on a loose string of his jacket.

"What was he doing there?" Hermione demanded, clearly affronted that her library had been violated in this manner. Ron sat his lanky frame in the loveseat across from them, slinging an arm over the back, clearly amused.

"Getting a book," Harry said wryly, "you know, what we all do when we go to the library."

"Unless you're Hermione," piped up Ron, "and then you go there to live. Until the librarians throw you out."

Hermione tossed him a mild glare and turned back to Harry. "Did you guys talk? Why does this bother you so?"

Harry laughed. "You're going to be an excellent mother someday, Hermione," he said. "Your kids won't be able to slide anything past you."

Hermione suddenly looked anxious, and Harry knew that she was putting the pieces together. "You seem very . . . bothered."

"Probably 'cause it's Malfoy and all," Ron said, offering him an out. "Arrogant git and slut extraordinaire."

"The last part's true," Harry said ruefully. Ron, at least, wouldn't be shocked. "I can vouch for it personally."

Ron snorted. Hermione let out an indignant squeal. "Harry! You didn't?" At his look, her eyes widened piteously. "You did?"

"Yeah," Harry said, and resisted the urge to add, 'several times'. Hermione would not thank him for the visual.

"This bugs you why, again?" Ron asked. He leaned his head against the wall with a thump when they looked at him. "It's Malfoy. He sleeps with anything that'll hold still."

There had not been a great deal of holding still going on, but Harry resisted the urge to add that, too. Hermione caught his hand, pulling his attention back to her.

"Are you okay?" she asked, anxious.

"I'm fine, Hermione," he said. "Do I look not-okay?"

"Well, no." She released his hand. "You - but - sleeping with strangers isn't like you, Harry. I'm not disapproving," she added, glancing sternly at Ron when he rolled his eyes, "but really, it's very risky, especially since he's . . . you know . . ."

Harry lifted his eyebrows. "A Malfoy? A former Death Eater? Blond?"

"A guy." At his slightly sullen look, she hastened to add, "It can be dangerous, Harry. I know you've spent a lot of time away from Muggles, but you can't forget about STD's, and he is . . . er . . . a slut."

Harry was not sure which was more shocking; Hermione talking about STD's as if they had these sorts of conversations every day, or the fact that she had used the word 'slut'. But then, Hermione's closest friends were male. She was probably prepared for any direction their conversations took.

"I haven't forgotten," he said. "We were careful." It was true, mostly.

"Relax, Hermione," Ron said, still lounging in a rather sleepy fashion. Startled, Harry realized that it was getting late. "He's fine."

Hermione still looked worried. Her eyes ticked between Harry and Ron briefly, and he knew she wanted to say something without Ron there to listen.

Ron noticed, too. "I'm going to go change," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "Ginny sprayed that gunk all over me and I stink."

"At least the spots went away," Hermione said encouragingly. "When Fred sprayed you with the test batch, they lasted for a week."

"Yeah. The next time we baby-sit for either of the twins, we spoil their offspring rotten." Ron stretched as he kicked open his bedroom door. "Vengeance is - Crookshanks!"

Gleeful, the fluffy cat bounded into the living room, carrying one of Ron's socks. With an air of great satisfaction, he hid it behind the telly in plain view of everyone.

"Accio sock!" Ron called. The sock flew to his hand. "Dratted cat." And then his door shut.

Shaking her head, Hermione turned back to Harry.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"Harry," she said, keeping her voice low, "I don't mean to sound - er - nosy, but . . . Draco didn't hurt you, did he?"

Harry blinked at her. "No, of course not."

Hermione wetted her mouth. "You could tell me, you know."

"I know, it wasn't anything like that, it was -" And something about the look on her face made his next word bitter. "Casual."

Hermione sighed, some of her anxiety fading, her worry increasing. "This isn't like you," she said again. "I know it's none of my business, Harry, but you need someone in your life. Someone special, not just someone 'casual'." She paused. "You know, he's engaged to Pansy Parkinson."

"I didn't know," Harry said, and his voice sounded funny even to himself.

"They've been betrothed for years, and everyone knows he's only doing it for the money. He arranged the marriage with her father after Narcissa was convicted of killing Lucius." Hermione held out her hand for Crookshanks, who trotted over willingly enough. "You're not like him, Harry. You care for people. He doesn't. He'll hurt you, if you let him."

"I won't let him," Harry promised, helping her pet Crookshanks. "I'm fine, Hermione."

"You are taking it better than I would have guessed," Hermione said, a bit more brightly.

"I talked to Remus," Harry said, scratching Crookshanks' chin. "I stopped over earlier, when he was dropping some things off."

"Remus is a good listener," Hermione said. There was a . . . funny? . . . look on her face, but it faded quickly into a smile as Crookshanks started to purr. "He's lonely, though."

Harry was surprised that he hadn't realized it before.

Three days later, Harry stopped by the Ministry, itching for his Invisibility Cloak as a group of people gathered near the desk, pointing and staring at him. He boarded the elevator gratefully, huddling in the corner when two Aurors got on after him.

They carried on their conversation, almost entirely oblivious to the war hero in the corner. Harry tuned into their conversation distracted, his pulse jumping when he heard a familiar phrase.

"- anti-Pureblood group," the first Auror, a woman, was saying. "They've degenerated into mindless terrorism at this point."

"No proof they're behind anything," the second Auror grunted. Harry blinked at the cloak covered head. Was this person human?

"Exactly!" the woman complained. "They're too clever at hiding themselves. The only good thing is that they haven't started targeted non-humans, right mate?"

"Not yet." The elevator stopped and they got off.

Harry waited anxiously until Level Four, already trying to forget the conversation he'd just heard. No use brooding over something that he couldn't control. And Remus had proven that he could look after himself.

He left the elevator in a jumpy moon, keeping his head lowered until he bumped into someone. He lifted his head and forced a grin.

"Hey, Remus."

Returning his smile, Remus set a pile of papers on a desk that was probably Hermione's. "Hello, Harry. Here to see Hermione?"

"Just for a quick chat," he said. "She's out?"

"For the moment." Remus turned towards another desk, painstakingly organized. "There was a call from Rosier Manor about a rebellious house-elf, and . . . well, you know Hermione."

"Spew's going well, then?"

Remus chuckled at the hated nickname. "Well enough." He gestured for Harry to take a seat. "She's had more opportunity to work with abused house-elves now that Dobby's helping. House-elves have their own communication network, did you know that?"

"No, I didn't." Harry leaned back in his chair and watched Remus talk.

"They can Apparate anywhere, even into places enchanted to prevent such things - it's a shame we didn't realize it during the war. They tend, also, to gossip, so they get the news days before wizards. Dobby's our 'tap' into the circuit, not to mention that he's as famous as you are."

Harry laughed, strangely elated by this news. "Dobby's a bit mad."

"Only a bit?" Remus looked up, flashing him a smile and turning to a woman who approached them tentatively, staring at Harry. "Yes, Clarice?"

Clarice jumped and handed Remus some papers. "Hermione asked me to give these to you," she said nervously, eyes flicking towards Harry repeatedly, "and . . . she said you'd know what to do with them . . ." Harry rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, his hand over his mouth, eyes pointed at the desk. He knew that his manners were appalling, and he didn't care a whit.

"Yes, thank you, Clarice."

With a last glance at Harry and a nod, Clarice fluttered away, joining a group of her fellow workers. Remus startled shuffling through the papers. "She's gone."

"Mmm," Harry murmured, looking up. "When Hermione shows up, tell her -"

"I'm right here, Harry."

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Hermione, who had Portkeyed in a few feet away. She tossed something onto her desk and walked quickly around to join them, cheeks flushed. "Hello, Harry - is everything all right, Remus?"

He was focusing on his paperwork - at Hermione's question, he glanced up, startled, "Yes, quite. Harry and I were just talking for a moment."

Hermione smiled swiftly, and a little falsely. "Good," she said, a little mysteriously, "I can talk to you in a minute, Harry, I need to deal with Melissa Rosier -" Under her breath, she added, "that bitch."

Harry coughed into his fist, startled. "Need some help?"

"Actually . . ." A devilish gleam entered her eyes. "If you feel up to it."

Harry got to his feet, catching Remus' eye, both of them muffling grins. "Let's go, Hermione."

Slightly miffed by their shared amusement, she grabbed his arm and started hauling him along. Well-accustomed with On-A-Mission-Hermione, Harry let her, listening with only half his mind as she started to chatter.

"Dobby told us about Binky two days ago, but we had to get permission from the Minister in order to go into the house . . . You wouldn't believe the place that had this poor elf living, a hollow in the wall of the dungeon - you could see the mold growing on the ceiling, and the watermarks where it flooded, and the smell from the septic tank . . . She refused to leave at first, even though she was covered in sores. She's quite old, her children were doing twice the work so she could rest . . . Harry, are you listening to me?"

"Yes," Harry said, nodding, "Binky, dungeons, mold, septic tank. Horrible."

"Dobby convinced her that it would be okay if she left, and I had to threaten 'Miss Rosier' into giving her clothes -"

"You threatened her?" Harry asked, impressed.

"Within legal limits, naturally. Since the house-elf was being abused, she could either let her go or face charges."

"But then she won't get in trouble for what she did to the elf -"

"- will she?"

"Oh, your friend Miss Granger has taken care of that," a cold voice said.

Harry looked to his left, and found an older woman, arms crossed, face scarlet. A certain white-haired member from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was there. He tossed Harry a wink.

"Ah, Malfoy," Hermione said. "I see you've taken care of the preliminary charges?"

Draco lounged against a desk. "Miss Rosier is being very uncooperative," he pouted in a decidedly campy manner. "She won't let me get through them."

"This is ridiculous!" Melissa Rosier snapped. "I gave you the damn elf in order to avoid this sort of thing!"

"True," Hermione said. "However, a member of my team is incredibly sensitive to the Dark Arts. She contacted an Auror - Mr. Malfoy, here - and asked him to search your house, based on a hunch that Dark Magic artifacts were concealed in the dungeon somewhere."

"You can't issue a search warrant for a 'hunch'," Miss Rosier sneered, straightening. "Nothing you found will hold up in court!"

"Actually," Harry said peaceably, "Ginny Weasely's sensitivity to the Dark Arts has been studied by both St. Mungos' Healers and several top Aurors. It's as reliable as a Sneakoscope."

"And her 'hunches' have been used as evidence in court before," Hermione said cooly. "Mr. Malfoy, what did you find?"

Draco grabbed a roll of parchment and scanned it. "Muggle bait," he said, using the Ministry term for objets enchanted to befuddle Muggles, "Dark Arts spell books, some Dark Arts equipment - a skull, used for necromancy, an infant's skeleton, and more - as well as a collection of poisons that show up as Muggle spices."

"It's all my brother's," Miss Rosier said, predictably, when three pairs of eyes turned to her. "Evan Rosier."

"Ah," Draco said, setting the parchment aside. "Too bad he's already in Azkaban, eh, Miss Granger?"

"Too bad, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione agreed sadly. "We can hardly press charges against him - isn't he scheduled for the Dementor's Kiss?"

"Yep." Draco crossed his arms and looked throughly discouraged. "Whatever are we going to do, Miss Granger?"

Harry held up his hand like he was in class. "I have an idea?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" Hermione's lips were twitching.

"You could press charges against Miss Rosier."

"Oh!" Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth. "D'you think we could?"

"I believe so," Harry said solemnly. "They were found in her house, and they're illegal. Doesn't matter who they belong to."

"Guess that Auror's education did pay off, Potter," Draco said, pointing his wand at Miss Rosier. "Ligare metallum!" Metal cuffs appeared around her wrists. "Well," he said, "now that everything's all settled . . ."

"You're not going to get away with this, you realize," Miss Rosier said reasonably. "The only reason you did that search was because of the house elf. My lawyers will -"

"Not care," Hermione said cooly. Any trace of playfulness was gone. "Malfoy, if you would escort Miss Rosier to a holding cell and make certain she is acquainted with legal procedure?"

"Gladly," he said, and led the furious woman from the room.

With a satisfied smirk, Harry watched them go, trying not to stare at Draco. "That was fun."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "You were very good."

"Thanks. But you know, I get the feeling that you would've done fine without me."

She laughed, brushing her hair out of her face. She led Harry back to her desk, waving at some of the people they passed. "People will stop abusing house-elves, one of these days, if for no other reason that the fact that they're afraid of me."

"And Ginny and Draco," Harry added.

She smiled. "And Ginny and Draco," she said. "You guys haven't gotten together again, have you?"

"No," Harry said. "Why?"

"He couldn't keep his eyes off of you."

"Yes, well, as Ron put it, it is Malfoy. He sleeps with anything that'll hold still." Harry shrugged at her slightly suspicious glance. "I'm not interested in him."

"I doubt that," she said. "But it doesn't matter. What did you want to talk about?"

"Nothing too important. I checked out those books you recommended."

"You did?" Hermione walked backwards so that she could see his face. "What did you think? Were they helpful? Have you made a decision?"

"Yes, I liked them, yes, and no, in that order."

Hermione made a face, bumping into her own desk with a start. "I don't even remember what I asked, Harry. Why d'you always do that?"

Grinning, Harry stole her chair and plopped himself into it. "Because I can?"

She smacked him on the top of his head and perched on the edge of her desk, studiously ignoring the paperwork waiting for her. "Have you made a decision?"

"No," Harry said, seriously. "The ideas were good, and it gave me a lot to think about, but . . ."

She waited, and then prompted, "But?"

". . . but I can't picture myself doing any of those things. I can't picture myself doing anything, really."

"Well . . ." Hermione stared at him in thoughtful silence for a moment, then stood and went to the coffee pitcher. "Coffee?"

"I'm not thirsty. What were you going to say?"

Hermione handed him coffee anyway. "Don't take this the wrong way, Harry," she said, taking a cautious sip, "but it sounds to me like . . . you're just being a little lazy. Not on purpose - but sometimes you have to get up and do something, you know?"

"So, basically, make a choice and then go from there?"

"Yes."

Harry shrugged. "It's an idea, I guess. I'm not mad."

Hermione smiled. "Good," she said. "Have you thought about anyone - other than Malfoy - that you'd like to see?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Over the years, Hermione had become very involved in his love life, in the same way that Ron was involved in Ginny's. "Not really." He wondered if it bugged Ginny as much as it occasionally bugged him.

"You need to think about it," Hermione said, "or Ron and I are going to set you up with someone, and she'll likely be awful."

"No he?"

Hermione took a thoughtful sip. "Are you suddenly becoming selective?"

"Maybe."

Her eyebrow twitched. "Any particular reason?"

"Other than the smashing sex with Draco the other night, no . . ."

Hermione choked on her coffee. "Harry!"

Snickering, Harry set his own drink aside. "Kidding, kidding. I was just nitpicking. I don't want you to set me up with anyone, no matter if they're male or female."

Hermione kicked him. "Then find someone."

"They don't pop out of nowhere, Hermione," he said, a little shortly. "It's hard enough to meet people, me being who I am. No less finding someone datable."

"Then maybe you're going about it the wrong way," Hermione said. "Maybe you need to start looking at the people you already know instead of strangers."

Harry sighed and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "Maybe," he said, but he didn't think it would be that simple, either. He got to his feet. "I'll be seeing you?"

"Count on it." She gave him a quick hug.

Harry flashed her a grin and started to leave - only two steps away from her desk, he looked back. "Hermione, where could I find Malfoy right now?"

She looked disapproving. "Two floors up, third door on the left. His secretary is named Amelia."

"Thanks, Hermione."

Noncommitally, she said, "Sure."

Later that afternoon, as the sky was just beginning to darken, Harry came out of a light doze at a gentle touch on his back. His eyes snapped open as his body tensed.

"Relax," Draco murmured. "I'm just looking."

Harry rolled onto his side, shielding his back from Draco's view. With a pout, his companion flung himself beside Harry. "You know, I get the feeling you don't trust me."

Harry gave him a look. "Draco, we just had sex. Several times. And then I fell asleep. Would I have done all of that if I didn't trust you?"

"Well, you're fairly dense," Draco said. "You never know."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said, "be that way. I distrust you heavily. Immensely. I also find you evil, ugly, and morally repulsive."

Draco returned Harry's eye-roll with one of his own. He rested his chin on his hand and stared intently into Harry's face when it was clear that he was finished. The room became very quiet.

"I want to see your back," Draco said.

Harry could feel himself starting to get very angry. "And I don't want you to. Christ, is that too much to ask?"

"Yes." At Harry's startled look, Draco relented slightly. "No. But . . ."

"I'm not going to show you my worst injury just to satisfy your morbid sense of curiosity, Malfoy."

"Oooh, back to my surname!" Draco quipped, obviously irked. "A sign of true irritation!"

Harry pressed his lips together and looked at the ceiling. Draco fell silent and pulled at a thread in the bedspread. The only sound was the rustle of cloth as the blanket twitched, and then Harry said, "Please don't destroy my blanket."

Draco gave a defiant tug and ripped the thread out. As Harry turned to glare, he leant over and planted a kiss on his forehead.

Surprised, Harry half-sat up, and then, feeling foolish, rested against the headboard. He resolutely ignored Draco's cocked eyebrow and the way he laid his head in Harry's lap, nuzzling against the vulnerable, white flesh.

Abruptly he sat up again, straddling Harry and forcing him to meet his eyes. "We can't keep doing this."

Harry felt a rush of disappointment.

"I can't afford to like you this much," Draco continued softly, eyes and voice strangely all intense. His hands petted Harry's stomach and back anxiously. "You understand that, right?"

Harry did, but he was thunderstruck. No matter what Remus had said, he had never genuinely considered that Draco might be in love with him. It went against everything he had ever known about him as a boy, and it was too damned weird, to imagine Draco Malfoy lusting after him while pretending to hate him.

"What are you saying, Draco?"

Draco ran his hand along the side of Harry's face, soothingly. When he sank into the pillows. Draco didn't follow him. He instead offered up a brief, resigned smile - the most genuine, sophisticated expression Harry had ever seen in him - and said, "I'm saying that I want to go on hating you and wanting you, but from a distance."

Something felt cold and hard inside of Harry. Sort of like he was being denied a treat, a gift he had always wanted, a payment he had earned. He had hoped that some kind of . . . relationship . . . with Draco would solve all of his problems; he got the feeling that it had only made them worse.

Draco crawled out of bed, finding his clothes. Harry watched him, entranced by the smooth lines of his body and his girlish grace, feeling the ache of loneliness once again.

He glanced back before leaving the room, the picture of a young businessman, handsome and composed. Only his sweaty hair and sex-sleepy eyes detracted from the image.

"Please don't look me up again," Draco said, not cruelly, but there was something very cruel about it. "I promise I won't sell my story to the Prophet and make millions."

"Not like you need them," Harry murmured.

Draco flashed him a smirk. "That's my Harry," he said, and left.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, thinking to go to sleep, but he wasn't tired anymore. He considered calling Hermione, or Ron - it was only, what, seven in the afternoon . . . but he didn't know the words needed to explain things to them.

"I had a feeling I'd find you here."

Harry looked over his shoulder, somehow unsurprised. Remus was standing there, his hands in his pockets, looking past Harry towards the game he'd been watching.

"Who was it this time?"

Harry took a deep breath, trying to force away the ache in his chest. He tore his eyes from Remus's face, but didn't turn his face away, staring blackly across the street.

"The same person it was last time," he said, as casually as he could. It came out sounding pensive and almost frightened. Lost.

"Do you still think that it doesn't matter, then, who it is?" Remus asked, coming to his side. Harry went back to watching the softball game. The children, conscious of their audience, shouted loudly at each other, excited. "Now that it's so obviously unsettled you a second time?"

"No," Harry said, composedly. "I don't think it doesn't matter."

"Who?"

Harry watched the pitcher lob a gentle underhand at a little boy. He missed by a foot - everyone called out encouraging words as the catcher ran to get the ball. It made him feel oddly warm inside, this display of support. Why did things ever have to change?

"Draco Malfoy," he answered at last.

Remus hissed in a soft breath. "Because of my comment?"

Harry wasn't surprised. "No," he said, "more like he was convenient."

"Twice?"

He almost sounded bitter, Harry thought. How odd. "Twice, but no more. You weren't far off when you guessed that he was in love with me."

Remus sighed. "I wouldn't have said anything," he said regretfully. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's all right," Harry soothed, watching the visibly distressed man beside him. "I'm fine, honestly."

Remus gave him a dark look that Harry recognized, although he couldn't have said from where. Bitter and faintly grim, almost forbidding. Someone who was powerfully lonely and bored.

"You're not fine," Remus said. "And it's my fault."

"It's no one's fault." Harry had heard that phrase, that incredibly comforting platitude, so many times that he'd lost count. It's not your fault, Harry, it's no one's fault. There wasn't anything anyone could have done . . . "Look, I don't want you tearing yourself up over this. I'm fine."

"Have you talked to Ron and Hermione?"

"No."

"You need to."

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Was it Harry's imagination, or did Remus seem faintly gratified by those words? As if something in him had become peaceful at last. When he turned to look at Harry at last, he seemed calmer, lighter, more the mild-mannered professor that Harry knew.

He found himself yearning for that dark expression he couldn't quite place. He wanted to know what bothered Remus, what laid inside of him that could distress him so. But he was too much the coward to ask.

"Indeed you are," Remus said, as if he'd heard his thoughts, and gestured for Harry to fall into step alongside him.

Harry glanced back at the players as they left. The little boy had finally managed to hit the ball - he was standing on first, watching the next batter eagerly. Dusk threatened, lengthening shadows to nightmare shapes. Urgency underlaid every movement, the children terribly conscious that night was falling and soon play must cease.

The second baseman - basewoman - glanced over her shoulder at them as they walked away. Harry lifted his hand in a wave, which she returned gleefully.

He couldn't help but laugh softly at it all.