Some Perfect World

Harry ran out the main doors and stopped short, his heart beating frantically. His breath rasped wildly in and out of his lungs. His lips, tongue, and fingers all buzzed from the friction they'd created against the skin of Draco Malfoy.

Harry forced his breathing into a steadier rhythm. He inhaled deeply and held on, finally letting the air out slowly. This was no time to panic.

He needed to get hold of his emotions. He needed to find Draco, and explain. No, he needed to go flying and think about what just happened. No, he needed to keep his feet on the ground and all of his bones intact. He needed to talk to someone. He needed to be alone.

He needed to sit down. Right. Now.

Harry dropped onto a small, smooth boulder just past the castle walls. A few minutes with his head hung between his knees helped his vision clear. The blazing fog was lifting. He no longer felt faint.

He felt wonderful.

A gentle breeze rippled the surface of the lake. The giant squid gave a few lazy rolls and continued its sunbathing.

Harry's heart surged with the beauty of the afternoon, of the sunlight, of the grounds, of life in general. He had just experienced the most incredible moment of his young life, and nothing in the world was less than perfect. He sighed, smiled, and closed his eyes, turning his face to the breeze. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he had been so excited to find out what would happen next.

It struck him as strange that he was so happy. His first reaction had been frantic. He'd kissed Draco Malfoy! Or Draco Malfoy had kissed him. Harry drew himself up, concerned that he wasn't sure which of them had initiated the contact.

But did it matter? They had both been full, willing participants in that unbelievable moment. Until Harry had allowed his disbelief to become audible.

It did seem odd to feel happy. Upon waking from his dreams this past week, he'd been exhausted, and terrified at the implications. But now that he had held Draco's jaw under his hand, and felt those exquisite lips curl against his, he couldn't feel anything but ecstatic. And why shouldn't he be? He'd never felt so alive as in those fleeting moments in that dungeon corridor. Only flying even came close.

Alright, he would have to think about what this meant. It was obvious, wasn't it? He had clearly just enjoyed, very much, kissing Draco Malfoy. Who was clearly, very much, a boy. So.

Well, it was obvious. Wasn't it?

Harry's mind skittered away from the train of his thoughts. There was something momentous he was in the process of realising, but he wasn't sure he was ready. He was ready to realise it, that was, especially if it meant more experiences like the one he'd just had with Draco.

But realising meant revealing. And revealing meant telling his friends. Telling Ron.

Harry's stomach twisted itself slowly. Hermione would understand, would accept him. Probably Ginny, too. But Ron?

The conflicted boy shook his head. Worrying about his friends' reaction wasn't going to solve anything right now. He had to worry about his own feelings first.

Harry forced himself to think the words: I am gay.

He had expected to feel ill when he finally admitted it, as he had when his subconscious had coughed up its bizarre images all week. Instead, he felt lighter, more free.

This is who I am: I. Am. Gay.

Harry inhaled deeply, straightening his spine as he stretched his neck upward. I'm gay. Alright. A slow smile spread across his features.

It all made sense now!

Harry had watched most of the other Gryffindor boys go through crushes and relationships almost monthly, and wondered why he could never muster much enthusiasm for the subject of what colour knickers Lavender Brown might be wearing today. He'd thought maybe he was too occupied with his struggle against Voldemort to take part in such frivolous discussions.

But he had noticed the way the rivulets of water had followed the contours of Oliver Wood's back muscles the first time they'd showered after Quidditch practice.

He'd only ever had one crush on a girl - Cho Chang - and once he'd actually had the chance to date her, had found himself mysteriously uninterested. Their one kiss, the only kiss of Harry's life until this afternoon, had been a disappointingly uninspiring event. The Gryffindor had naively assumed that he just didn't like kissing very much.

Now, however, he understood that he just didn't like kissing Cho very much.

It wasn't only Cho. He hadn't even tried to show Parvati a good time when she had accompanied him to the Yule Ball during Fourth Year. He had never thought of Hermione or Ginny as anything but a sister, even before they were going out with his friends, and even though they had both grown into beautiful young women.

He had racked his brain to understand why he wasn't head-over-heels for at least one of them, but hadn't had an answer until now.

As The Boy Who Lived, the famous Harry Potter had always been dimly aware that he'd had many more options than these. Literally dozens of young women - including some of the visiting Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students when Harry was only fourteen - would have given themselves to him simply for the chance to spend a few moments close to greatness. And Harry hadn't given them so much as a second thought.

Would any heterosexual adolescent boy have missed all of these opportunities? His supposedly "noble" character didn't come close to explaining it. Harry simply hadn't been interested.

Harry's thoughts drifted back to the appealing image of Oliver in the shower. How could he have failed to notice how attracted he had been to the older boy?

Oliver Wood had captured Harry's fancy from the first moment Professor McGonagall had pulled him out of Defence Against the Dark Arts to meet the new Seeker. The Captain and Keeper managed to temper his insane zeal for winning at Quidditch with a simultaneous patience for Harry's lack of experience at the game. When Harry had raced for the Snitch, it had always been with thoughts of Oliver's beaming approval in his head. He had hated himself for losing to Cedric Diggory in that match Third Year.

And Cedric. Who, despite his overbearing father, had always been gracious and sportsmanlike. The Hufflepuff Seeker had treated Harry kindly and fairly, even when Harry stole his thunder as the extra Hogwarts champion for the Triwizard Tournament. Cedric, who should have been the winner of the Tournament, and should have lived to enjoy the thousand-Galleon prize purse, which Harry had instead donated to Fred and George Weasley.

Harry consciously straightened his shoulders, which had started to stoop at thoughts of Cedric. When he'd killed Voldemort, Harry had promised himself that he would no longer blame himself for the deaths he had failed to prevent. He had done all he could, which was to avenge those lost souls, and that would have to be enough.

Anyway, he had to laugh to himself at the thought of the twins, whose irrepressible sense of humor never failed to lighten Harry's heart. Harry had to laugh at himself as he recognised their undeniable appeal. Their quick wits and Quidditch-toned bodies had always led Harry to vie for their attention. Harry may have been an honorary member of the Weasley family, but he had been fooling himself to believe that his feelings for Fred and George were purely fraternal. Fred or George, Harry amended to himself. The two were so inseparable that it was easy to think of them as one person, but Harry liked the twins even more for their subtle differences. For instance, in that post-match brawl with Malfoy during Fifth Year, Fred had been harder to restrain from thumping the snotty Seeker, but it was George who had ultimately joined Harry in the fray.

And of course, Draco Malfoy. Harry had really, truly hated the prat until last week. He remembered the fury which had led him to try to punch every inch of the boy's body in that altercation, but the memory came to him all fuzzy, as though recorded on old film. Since he'd started to see a more human side of the Slytherin, the nasty events of the past had faded away, and the face which had once seemed unattractively pointy had taken on a new appeal.

An unconscious smile twitched at the corners of Harry's mouth as he replayed again the events that had just taken place in the dungeons.

The buzz was fading from his lips and fingers, his heart was calming, and he was beginning to be able to think about the episode coherently. He knew he should be more concerned about the look he'd seen on Draco's face right after those awful words had slipped from Harry's mouth. But it was so clear: Harry had feelings for Draco, and Draco returned them. Sure, they'd had a minor misunderstanding, but with a bit of careful communication, Harry would be kissing that mouth again and again in the very near future.

Harry's grin spread across his face at that thought, and a quiet, gleeful chuckle escaped his lips.

"Well, it's nice to see you happy, at least."

Harry whirled to face the unexpected arrival. He really shouldn't have been surprised, actually. It was Hermione's nature to come looking for him when he forgot to meet her somewhere.

Good Merlin, thought the startled boy, she is sneaky!

"Hermione," Harry exhaled. "You are getting even stealthier! I'm impressed!"

Hermione looked baffled. "Harry, I just clumped across the grounds about as quietly as Fang could have." Hagrid's oversized boarhound was not known for his silence.

"Oh. Then, I must have forgotten how to sense a sneak attack." Harry's grin still refused to leave his mouth, so he directed it at his friend.

"I wasn't sneak- Harry, I would think you should be a bit more concerned about that! What about Auror Training?"

"Oh, Hermione, lighten up!" Harry's grin broadened in a way that he sensed might be quite Weasleyish, and this made him snicker a bit at his recent thoughts. "It's a beautiful day. I'll train my reflexes later."

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. Almost too suspiciously. Was he really acting that unusually?

She stepped forward challengingly. "First Year, when you and Ron knocked out the troll in the bathroom, what particularly disgusting thing happened to you?"

Harry gaped. "My wand got stuck up its nose. Why?"

Hermione relaxed visibly. "Sorry. For a moment there, I was suspecting Polyjuice."

Harry was starting to understand why Ron had always called her 'mental.'

She smiled. "Well, you're not what I expected to find, are you? I came out here looking for the Harry Potter I just left behind in the Potions dungeon. You know, the one with the hunched-over shoulders and permanent brooding expression? And then I come out here and find a Harry Potter looking about ready to jump for joy, with a happy sparkle in his striking green eyes..."

Harry blushed and looked away, trying to hide his grin.

Hermione continued, "The Harry Potter I know was supposed to meet me in the library after class, but I thought I saw him come out here -"

Harry's smile turned gentle. "I know, Hermione. Sorry I didn't come find you. I just had some thinking to do on my own."

Hermione mirrored his expression. "That's alright, Harry, I understand."

Harry's euphoria was faltering quickly. "Anyway, I thought you'd be pleased to see me in a good mood!"

As happy as he was to have Hermione with him, her presence meant the time had come for the first revelation. Well, the sooner he said it, the sooner he could deal with it.

So. Say it.

But Hermione was already responding to Harry's accusation. "Of course I'm pleased, Harry! I was so worried about you this morning at breakfast, and then in Potions..."

"Yes, about that."

Hermione fell quiet to let him speak. Which he didn't.

Her eyebrows traveled slowly upward.

Finally, Hermione's curiosity won out. "What about that, Harry?"

Just tell her!

Blink.

"Harry?"

Right. Anytime now.

"Hermione, I..."

Hermione stood looking expectant, then patient, then impatient, then worried.

"What is it, Harry?

"Hermione."

She was starting to look nervous.

Great, she's going to think I'm in love with her or something.

Harry squared his shoulders and inhaled slowly. No time like the present.

"... come on, let's go for a walk."

Wimp.

Hermione exhaled her impatience away. "Sure, Harry," she replied with a smile, linking her arm through his as they turned to follow the path he'd been meandering.

And to her credit, she walked silently by Harry's side for nearly ten minutes. As both friends drank in the glory of the afternoon sunlight, the clever witch allowed her friend to take all the time he needed to find his words. For that, he was extremely grateful.

Harry's mind, meanwhile, was reeling.

Saying the words to himself in his mind had felt so right. As he tried to speak them aloud, however, all he could think was, Once I say it, I can't take it back. Once I say it, everything changes. What will she think? She'll make me tell Ron. What will he think?

As easy as it had been to bring himself to the truth of his orientation, Harry was surprised by the difficulty of telling Hermione. Because once he told someone, it would be real.

Right, then. There's nothing for it but the old Gryffindor spirit. I'll just, you know, go for it.

Harry stopped walking, and turned toward Hermione, dropping her arm. She looked at him questioningly, but summoned up an encouraging smile, obviously sensing that the moment had come for him to tell her what was on his mind.

Faced with the challenge of explaining the process of his realisation to his friend, Harry fell back on doing what Harry did best: Harry babbled incoherently.

"Hermione, there's something I wanted to tell you, and really I just figured it out myself, I mean I suppose I had suspected it for a while, and then I started having these dreams, but you wouldn't want to hear about that. The point is something happened today, I think it's something good, I don't know just yet, but the thing that was definitely good is it helped me realise, well I had suspected for a while, oh I said that already. I didn't know I suspected it, that is, but, I mean, that must be where the dreams came from, but you don't want to hear that part, but the point is."

Harry drew a deep breath. Maybe babbling wasn't the solution, after all.

Hermione continued to listen silently and attentively, actually appearing to have followed all that had just flowed from her friend's mouth.

Hermione really was terrific.

Hermione was dependable.

Hermione could be counted on to take the news calmly, and to support Harry completely.

"Hermione, I think - no, I know - that ... I'm gay."

Hermione's reaction was nothing like what Harry had expected.

Hermione let out a joyous shriek and bounced forward, engulfing Harry in an enthusiastic hug.

"Oh, Harry, that's wonderful!"

Um?

"It is?"

"Of course it is! Why wouldn't it be?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Aren't you happy about it, Harry?"

Harry stopped to consider the question. Yes, now that it was out in the open, he was happy.

Harry smiled and nodded.

"But ... you're not surprised?"

Hermione failed to choke back her giggle.

"Harry, you and I have been best friends since we were eleven."

"Yes..."

"And, not to sound conceited, but you never once gave me the impression that you were thinking about me that way."

"Okay..."

She gave him a superior look, the type she always wore when about to quote from Hogwarts, A History.

"It's psychologically impossible for straight, adolescent boys and girls to spend as much time growing up together as we have, and not at least consider it."

Harry bristled. "How do you know I wasn't just staying out of Ron's way?"

Her expression turned warm. "You're a good friend, Harry, but you're also human. Your friendship with Ron wouldn't have stopped you from thinking about it, at least for a moment."

She had a point. "And you're sure I would have?"

"Ouch."

They shared a laugh. "No, I didn't mean it that way! I just meant... Hang on. Did you think of me - ?"

"Well, of course I did," she replied briskly. "It would have been psychologically impossible not to have."

Harry noticed Hermione blushing slightly. She so rarely blushed that Harry was almost shocked.

She smiled at him softly. "But it was only very briefly. I could tell that you weren't interested in me."

"Could you."

"In fact, I think that was when I began to suspect that you might have been uninterested in me, categorically."

Harry blinked. "Categorically."

"As in the category of female -"

"Yes, I know what you meant!" he snapped impatiently, but with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

The sparkle turned to resignation. "When?"

Hermione blushed again. It was actually a very good look for her. He hoped Ron got to see it more often.

"End of third year. After I put that time-turner chain around both of our necks. We were so close together, and you were so full of all this energy. But even though you put everything on the line to save me that night, I could tell you were acting out of friendship, and nothing else."

Harry absorbed this.

"So you thought about me that way for a grand total of three hours?"

"I think it was actually a little less..."

"Oh, thanks."

"Well, what did you expect? It was obvious I wasn't going to get anywhere. Why waste my time?"

Hermione was nothing if not practical.

"So you knew I was gay four years ago and didn't bother letting me in on it?" Harry didn't need Hermione's glare to know that was a ridiculous statement, so he abandoned it. "But, so, this isn't weird for you?"

"Weird?" Hermione looked at him as if he'd gone barmy. "What would be weird? My two best friends have turned into my boyfriend and my hot gay friend! I'm the luckiest witch at Hogwarts!"

Harry let this sink in for a minute. Hermione grinned at him, and gave him time.

She had a point: this certainly did clear up any possible tension between the three of them. Harry had often worried about what would have happened to their friendship if he and Ron had both fallen in love with Hermione. But now Hermione and Ron were in love with each other, and Harry's orientation erased any possibility of jealousy between the boys. And as much as Harry loved Ron, the boy was so obviously straight that Harry didn't even consider him romantically.

Perhaps their situation was now ideal.

Then Harry twigged to what Hermione had really just said.

"You think I'm ... hot ... do you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry, and linked an arm back through his, as they continued walking along the lakeshore.

"What matters, Harry, is not what I think." She shot a look at him from the corner of her eyes. "But I'm guessing you've already figured that out."

Harry faltered slightly in his steps, little enough that his friend wouldn't have noticed were it not for his arm around hers.

Hermione was treading dangerously close to territory Harry wasn't ready to discuss yet. It felt wonderful to be open and honest with his friend, but he knew it would be quite another thing to tell her what had just happened in the dungeons...

"So, is Malfoy a good kisser?"

...Or not.

Harry halted completely, unable to do anything but stare at his entirely-too-observant best friend.

He tried to think up an intelligent denial, but the time stretched out and his jaw stayed slack. Intelligence was not exactly the quality he was exuding at the moment.

Hermione, however, looked as clever as always, and twice as smug. "Honestly, Harry! The way you two were eyeing each other this morning at breakfast, and the electricity between you throughout Potions! How could I have missed it?"

"Wait - he was eyeing me, too?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"I mean I wasn't, I mean what makes you think, I -"

"It's okay, Harry, I promised I wouldn't tell."

Harry took a deep breath.

"But why would you think anything happened?" he challenged, playing for time.

Hermione executed another flawless eye-roll. It was such a trademark expression for her, Harry thought she should patent it. "Harry," she spoke as though he were trying her patience, "when I found you, you were practically skipping. I've only ever seen you this happy before when you'd beaten him at Quidditch."

Harry blushed at the images that 'Quidditch' and 'Draco Malfoy' together currently brought to mind. He opened his mouth to protest, but knew the game was up.

A bashful smile crept over the face of the very private wizard.

"Um, yeah," he murmured softly, then spoke more loudly as he gained confidence: "Actually, no. I mean, he's a bloody brilliant kisser."

The insuppressable grin had returned. Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend and shook her head, laughing along with him.

"Ew, I didn't actually want to know that." Her face was so cute when she scrinched it up that way.

"Hey, you asked."

After a minute or two of shared giggles, Hermione grew serious.

"Just be careful, okay, Harry?"

"Careful? The danger is gone, Hermione. Voldemort is dead, and Draco is no longer the son of prominent Death Eaters. This isn't some Dark plot. He's just another orphaned wizard, paying the price for his parents' choices. Just like me. Our parents chose different sides, and my parents died to save me while his lost their souls when the Dark Lord died, but the result is the same."

The Muggle-born Head Girl looked at him for a long moment.

"You've thought about this a lot, haven't you Harry?"

Harry shrugged and looked away. "Not really. Maybe. I suppose I started to think this way the day he challenged me for the rematch."

"And since then?"

Harry's neck began to prickle. He was not telling his friend about the dreams.

"I still think it's true. About what he and I have in common, I mean." Harry turned to face his sceptical friend. "He didn't even try to cheat in the match. And he didn't become a Death Eater, did he, or he wouldn't be alive."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not talking about threats of Dark and Light, Harry. I'm talking about being careful of your heart."

"Being ... what?"

"You've heard the expression 'Love is Blind'?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"Well," continued Hermione, "if love is blind, then chemistry is blind, deaf, and stupid. When the sparks start flying, your brain goes right out the window."

She looked out into the lake, a darkness passing over her regard that couldn't be brightened by the late-afternoon sun.

"Hermione?" ventured Harry. "Is everything alright with you and Ron?"

As quickly as it had faded, the light returned to Hermione's eyes. "Everything is wonderful between Ron and me."

"Oh. So did something happen back in Fourth Year, with Krum - ?"

"Oh, goodness, no!" Hermione looked simultaneously amused and appalled. "There was never any chemistry between Viktor and me. There couldn't have been, of course."

She looked at Harry in a significant manner that made him feel as though he were missing an important point. Hermione was probably already in love with Ron during Fourth Year, at least on some level. Was that what she meant?

"Then who -?"

Watching the sadness return to his friend's face, Harry immediately regretted asking the question. Except that he knew her well enough to be sure she'd wanted him to ask.

"His name is Daniel. He's a Muggle who grew up down the street from my parents' house; we were in school together when we were younger. I went home after fifth year, and he was there. And he was so handsome and fun, but more importantly, so normal. I mean Muggle normal. What used to be normal for you and me, back before we knew about all of this." She made a vague, sweeping gesture at the castle and its grounds. "He didn't know anything about wizards or Voldemort or - or Sirius."

Harry's heart constricted to hear the name of his dead godfather, but he didn't interrupt.

"It only lasted a couple of weeks, and then I had to come back to work with the Order."

"Hermione, I'm so sorry," spoke Harry, taking a step closer to his friend. "I'm sorry he hurt you."

"No, Harry, that's not it." Hermione drew her arms around herself. "He didn't do anything wrong, we were just ill-suited. He played football, for goodness sakes! And me, a bookworm witch. He never would have understood about our world. But for that short time, all I could think about was living in his."

She hugged herself a little more tightly. "He was crushed when I left him, and I'll never forgive myself for how selfish I was. I was only thinking about what I needed, and never considered how it would affect him."

Hot tears had started to slide down her face, and Harry turned to take her in his arms.

"Hermione, you can't blame yourself. Those were very dark days. Sometimes you have to watch out for yourself first." He was relieved to feel her nodding against his shoulder.

Hermione pushed gently back from Harry, wiping away her tears. "Thank you, Harry."

"What are friends for?" He smiled at her softly, and received a red-eyed smile in return.

They had turned back toward the castle, and they strolled in companionable silence for a while. After a minute or two, Harry broke the silence. "So did you ever see him again?"

Hermione shook her head. "Even though I spent most of last summer with my parents, I avoided Daniel's house." A melancholy smile crossed her face. "I just didn't want to be reminded of my mistakes."

"Does Ron know about him?"

Hermione let out a sad little sigh. "No, but he will."

Harry stared at her, a bit taken aback. "You don't think I would tell him?"

"No, Harry," she replied softly. "I will."

Hermione clearly saw the confusion on Harry's face, clearly knew it would be there, so she explained. "When Ron and I take our relationship to the next level," Harry noticed that she had said when and not if, "Ron will want to hear that he's the first. And I can't tell him that."

At these words, Harry understood the reason for the darkness in her eyes, and the reason for Hermione's sureness that she'd hurt this other boy.

Harry also understood what enormous courage it had taken for Hermione to tell him this, and he was grateful for her trust. Ron was their best friend, and it would have been easy for Harry to feel that he would have to report what he had learned, but Hermione knew he would keep her confidence.

Of course Harry was surprised: he had assumed that Hermione was about as inexperienced as he was, or at least had been before she'd started dating Ron. But he also knew that, despite the way she was currently berating herself, Hermione never did anything without some sort of good reason.

"Hermione, you love Ron, and he loves you. That's all that will ever matter, in the long run. He'll understand."

Perhaps it was the utter conviction in his words that made his beautiful friend smile and squeeze his arm more tightly. He felt good saying them, felt good offering any encouragement he could to someone who had always stood by him.

Harry pulled Hermione closer and pressed his lips affectionately to her forehead, leaving her smiling. That felt good, too. He'd never been demonstrative before, but now that he was being honest with himself, it was easier to show his friends how he felt.

The sun shone warm on the faces of the pair. Harry felt completely at peace, inside and out.

"You know, Harry," Hermione spoke up suddenly, "I should be saying the same words to you."

He couldn't understand what she meant at first, but realization dawned just as she spoke again.

"When you tell Ron, about being gay. It'll be fine. He'll be just as happy for you as I am. He'll hate it about Malfoy, but he'll be happy for you."

Harry's smile twitched away. He watched the sunlight play on the lake surface for a minute before responding.

"There may be not be anything to tell about Draco."

Hermione looked perplexed. "But you kissed! And you looked so happy! I thought for sure you were together."

"Nothing's sure," corrected Harry. "He's still Malfoy, remember?"

"I remember," she replied, fixing him with a pointed look. "And I'm glad to hear you do, too."

Harry sighed. "How could I forget?" He paused to search her expression. "But you don't mind?"

Hermione was quiet for a moment. "I can't stand the prat, Harry," she finally said. "But I did notice something different about him when we were setting the rules for the rematch. Maybe he has changed."

She turned to look at him. "But, Harry," she continued, "do you think he's changed enough?"

Harry's heart sank a bit to hear Hermione echo his fear.

"I don't know, Hermione. I think I'd better figure that out next."

***

Snores echoed through the seventh-years' bedchamber. How physically-fit seventeen-year-old boys could snore more boomingly than neckless Uncle Vernon, Harry had no idea. Nevertheless, it was true of three of the Gryffindors in that dormitory. Only Harry and Dean were relatively quiet sleepers. Except, of course, when Harry woke screaming from a nightmare, but those were mercifully infrequent now that Voldemort was dead and Harry's parents avenged.

Harry was glad that Ron still slept in the same room. As Head Boy, the second-youngest Weasley had the right - and in fact was expected - to sleep in a private bedchamber. He would still have been in Gryffindor Tower, but surrounded by a different set of four walls. There wouldn't have been the same late-night chats that continued until both boys had lapsed into slumber. Ron wouldn't have been there to shake Harry awake from his few lingering Voldemort nightmares, or Harry to talk Ron calmly back to sleep when he jerked, gasping, out of dreams plagued by spiders. They would have been apart.

Naturally, Ron had declined the privilege. Harry knew he'd planned on accepting, of course, but also that he couldn't do it in the end. The two boys had been so nearly inseparable since their very first day at Hogwarts that it just wouldn't feel right any other way.

Harry tapped the point of his quill against the parchment, leaving dots of black ink. He stopped every few minutes to Scourgify the marks away. He wouldn't want the recipient of his letter to know how long he'd agonised over each word.

Finally, an idea occurred to the sleepless Gryffindor, and his quill began to flow across the page in a few brief, inconspicuous phrases.

To D. Malfoy,

You left our conversation this afternoon before I could explain. I am afraid I may have led you to believe that I disagreed with you. But I agreed completely. I hope you will be willing to meet me this evening, so we can talk some more. Tonight, at the hour I surprised you two nights ago, at the location where we proved ourselves equals. Please confirm by return owl.

H. Potter

Harry rolled up the parchment tightly, thankful for the instant-drying properties of wizards' ink.

He was quite pleased with himself for making his intentions quite clear, while disguising his words in case the letter should fall into the wrong hands. The location of their rendezvous might be too easy to guess, but he didn't see a way around that. It was a necessary risk. And no one but the two boys and Moaning Myrtle knew the hour to which he referred.

Harry realized that any amicable correspondence between himself and the Slytherin would raise some eyebrows, but not nearly to the extent that the truth would do.

He tied a thin, silver ribbon around his letter and hid it in a fold of his curtains. He would awake before breakfast and go to the Owlery to find Hedwig.

Harry slept, and dreamed of hawks.