Some Perfect World

Harry burst from the portrait hole, biting back angry tears. He ignored the outraged scolding of the Fat Lady, as her frame slammed roughly into the wall.

Still trying to decide which direction to run, Harry set off blindly down the corridor toward the Entrance Hall. He had nearly reached a dead sprint when he collided solidly with another person. She let out an indignant yelp, falling hard to the ground.

"Merlin, Harry, I think you broke my wrist!" scolded the youngest Weasley, cradling her right arm gingerly.

Harry stared mutely. When he didn't respond, Ginny looked up accusingly.

"Are you just going to stand there? What's wrong with you?"

She was clearly in a great deal of pain, and squinting to stave off tears. Harry thought he saw a bruise forming on the side of her face, where he had knocked her books into her.

Had he really just done that? What was wrong with him?

"Sorry, Gin," murmured Harry, while lifting her carefully to her feet. "I just - Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry."

The last of his energy spent, the exhausted Gryffindor collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor.

Harry sensed Ginny watching him in confused horror as his knees drew up to his chest and his hands covered his face. A hot dampness threatened to leak from his eyes into his fingers, which he fought with all his might to prevent.

"Harry?" Ginny sounded alarmed. "What's wrong? Oh, Harry, look, I'm alright!"

He felt the warmth of her proximity as she crouched in front of him. When he didn't look up or respond in any way, she sank down next to him, leaning lightly into his side. Harry pressed back against her comforting weight.

Only Ginny was allowed this close to Harry. He could give Hermione quick hugs or peck kisses on her cheek, but he couldn't relax next to her the way he could with Ginny. In the past few years, Ginny had grown from the little girl with a crush into a young woman who was truly his friend. In many ways, she was even more of a sister to him now than Hermione was.

He didn't know why, exactly, except that she had a gift for being there for him without making any demands. Ron always wanted to know why Harry was acting the way he was, and Hermione always wanted to help spur him into action to fix his problems, but Ginny was different. She understood how it had felt to have Voldemort in his head for so long, and had an instinct for when to prod Harry out of his thoughts and when to let him be.

He was so grateful to her for these small moments, sometimes he was almost jealous of Dean. For reasons that had just become clear, however, Harry's feelings toward Ginny had never quite been anything other than fraternal.

He glanced up at her now, to see her holding her injured limb forward like an exhibit.

"Madam Pomfrey can sort me out," she said. "I didn't mean to shout!"

"It was my fault," Harry whispered. "I can't get anything right."

She blinked at his despondent tone. "Harry? What's going on?"

Bless Ginny. Harry did need to talk about what had just happened with Ron. Only he didn't know where to begin.

He leaned his head back against the wall, not able to say anything to describe his feelings. He was so frustrated with Ron for not accepting him, so angry at himself for trusting that he would. Ginny encircled Harry's shoulders with her good arm, and toyed affectionately with his impossible hair. In response, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy her touch.

Maybe he should let people get this close to him more often. It felt nice.

"Can I help?" she ventured at last.

Harry shook his head against her hand and exhaled sadly.

"Are you sure?"

Harry smiled at Ginny, grateful once again that she was reading his mood just right.

"Yeah, I'm sure, Gin. I really don't think you can fix what's happened." His gaze dropped to his twisting fingers.

She waited a moment for him to elaborate, and when he didn't, Harry knew she would ask.

"What is it that's happened, Harry?"

"It's Ron." Harry took a deep breath, still determined not to cry. "I think our friendship is over. He's disgusted with me."

Ginny sat quietly by Harry's side, letting the words sink in. Harry could hear her breathing softly as her fingers continued to wander through his ink-black strands.

He knew just what she would say when she finally spoke, and needed to hear it, even though he knew it wasn't true this time. As much as he would like to believe something hopeful, Harry had seen the look on Ron's face when he'd learned the reality about his best mate.

"Harry, look at me." Ginny spoke at last, and he did. "There is nothing you could do that would make Ron want to stop being your friend."

Harry closed his eyes against the earnestness in hers. "Gin," he explained, "it's not anything I did. It's what I am."

Her warm brown eyes darkened in disbelief. She searched his face for understanding. "What could you possibly be that he couldn't accept?"

Harry took a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh.

Might as well tell her and get it over with.

"I'm gay, Ginny."

The young witch stared at Harry for a second or two, her mouth frozen in an O of surprise.

A moment later, the corridor echoed with her musical laughter.

Blast it, can't I count on any of my friends for a predictable reaction??

"Ginny," Harry spoke darkly, "what, exactly, is so funny?"

One freckled white hand covered her eyes, while the injured arm dropped to her lap, fingertips supporting her ribcage as though it might burst.

"Ginny..." Harry warned again.

The hand on her face moved away, revealing tears of mirth. She swept her hair back from her face and tried to compose herself.

"I'm sorry Harry!" she wheezed. "I'm sorry." Ginny gained control of herself quickly. "It's just that you've got it so wrong, and, oh I can just see his face -!" Her voice dissolved into another fit of giggles.

Harry stared at his friend, openmouthed. Her laughter felt almost as much like betrayal as Ron's dismay. All the times she known the right thing to do seemed to evaporate in this instant.

How could you laugh at me, Gin?

When he spoke, Harry's voice had dropped several degrees colder. "I would appreciate being let in on the joke."

Ginny sobered up quickly at hearing the icy tone.

"Harry, there's no way Ron is disgusted with you," she assured him hastily. "He doesn't have any kind of problem with anyone being gay. He was totally fine with it when Charlie came out to us all."

"Charlie." Harry echoed the name as though he'd never heard it before. He knew her words should be making sense to him, but his brain was all a blur.

Ginny looked at Harry as though he'd gone stupid. "Yes, Charlie. My brother. Stocky chap, works with dragons, lives with the Bulgarian Seeker. Remember him?"

"Lives with..." Harry's chest felt tight. Ginny's words were threatening to send relief washing over him, but he was afraid to listen, in case he was mistaken.

Her impatience was turning to concern, but slowly. "Are you actually hearing me, Harry? Or have you been incompletely transfigured into a parrot?"

Harry blinked. "Hearing you," he responded distantly. "So Charlie ... and Krum ... and Ron's okay with that?"

"Okay? Harry, he's thrilled! We have a world-famous Quidditch player as a kind of brother-in-law! Ron couldn't be more proud. I thought he'd told you."

She paused, thinking for a moment. "In fact, I know he did. I was there."

Memories flooded back to Harry of Ron and Ginny returning from the Burrow after Christmas during Sixth Year, telling their friends the surprising news about their brother and Viktor Krum.

He remembered his own shock - he never known a gay wizard, but his mental image of one hadn't been like anyone as tough as Charlie, with his bulky muscles and big, shiny burn. Harry had been surprised about Krum, too, since everyone knew how intently the Durmstrang champion had pursued Hermione during the Tournament.

Hermione herself hadn't seemed at all surprised about Krum, though. Harry and Ron both suspected, on seeing her reaction, that Krum had already told Hermione of his own orientation. They agreed that it had probably been the reason Krum and Hermione had parted on such good terms after Fourth Year.

Come to think of it, that must be what she had meant about the lack of chemistry between her and Krum. Why hadn't Harry remembered that when she'd mentioned it by the Lake?

Harry must have been even more overwhelmed than he'd realised by recent events, if he could have forgotten so completely about Charlie and Krum. He'd simply been so worried about what everyone would say about his revelation that every rational thought had left him. All he'd had on his mind, for the past two days, had been about the huge change in the way he saw himself, and about worrying how his friends might see him, once they knew. Everything else, even this relevant information, seemed to have left him as a result.

"Yeah..." murmured Harry. "Yeah, Ron did tell me. I suppose I forgot."

It was true - Ron hadn't seemed upset at all about his brother's revelation - only sort of curious, since Charlie was the first gay wizard he'd known personally. Actually, Ron had seemed rather pleased at his brother's happiness, and as Ginny had said, excited to be related to the world-famous Seeker.

Of course Ron shouldn't have been disgusted with Harry being gay. What had Harry been thinking?

So what was going on, then?

Ginny had clearly read the question on her friend's face. "Harry, Ron wasn't disgusted. I promise you that."

"Gin, you didn't see the look on his face. It was awful."

She nodded gently. "I promise you, Harry: Ron was probably very surprised, but he would never have been disgusted."

"This wasn't surprise, Ginny. You're not listening."

"I'm listening, Harry. Are you?"

What did she mean by that? "Yes. Why?"

"Did you listen to Ron?"

Harry exhaled angrily. "Yeah, I listened. I listened when he said, 'Bloody hell. You're gay,' and looked at me like I'd just kicked his grandmother -"

"And what did he say after that?"

Harry stopped dead. Ginny was looking at him a bit more sharply, because she clearly knew the answer: that Harry hadn't stayed to hear any more.

"I, uh..."

"Yeah, I know you, uh. If you hadn't run off, you might have heard the reason he said that. But since you had to go bolting down the corridors and slamming into people, you didn't give Ron a chance to explain. So now I have to do it."

Harry remained silent, thoroughly chastened, waiting for her to continue.

"When Ron heard your news, he would have been terribly disappointed -"

"Disappointed that I'm gay?" This wasn't getting any better.

"No," answered Ginny quickly, then amended, "Well, not exactly."

Harry looked at her desperately, but Ginny held up a hand to stall another interruption, "It's not that you shattered some image you think he had of you. It's that he would be so disappointed in himself, Harry."

He could only look at her in complete confusion.

"Ron takes great pride in being your best mate, in knowing you better than anyone."

"He does know me better than anyone. So what's the problem?"

Ginny was starting to smirk. "Not in this case," she corrected. "As it happens, Ron just found out that he didn't know some things about you that his brother apparently did."

"What? Ginny, that doesn't make sense. Which brother?"

Her smirk was turning dangerous. "Charlie, of course."

"And what did Charlie know ... what, that I'm gay?"

The smirk had grown positively impish. "Right. But Ron didn't. And it's going to cost him twenty Galleons."

"Twenty -!"

"It wasn't your fault," she assured him, "I told Ron not to make that bet with Charlie."

Harry absorbed all of this, with Ginny watching in amusement. He was more than a little annoyed about the level of entertainment she seemed to be deriving from the conversation, but at least she was helping him feel better about the whole thing.

"Hang on," he spoke at last. "Are you telling me that Ron bet Charlie that I'm not gay?"

"Pretty much, yes, that's what happened," she confirmed.

"Ron bet Charlie twenty Galleons that I'm not gay?"

Ginny nodded, no longer able to contain her giggles.

Harry's face broke into a shining grin. He was so relieved to learn the reason for Ron's disappointment that he didn't even care how wrong Ron had been in his suppositions about Harry. Harry, after all, was only one step ahead on that count, himself.

He mulled all this over for a moment before he twigged.

"Ginny, when was this?"

Ginny's giggles faded into suspicion. Harry's voice had betrayed a lilt of amusement that must have made her nervous.

"Just after Charlie came out," she spoke slowly. "Why?"

Harry nodded, now smiling broadly. "And why, exactly, were your brothers making bets about my ..." He faltered slightly. "... you know?"

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "Sexuality?"

Harry blushed deeply. "Um, yeah, that."

She smiled indulgently. "Ron was curious about how Charlie and Krum had got together, how Charlie had known that Krum was gay, too. Charlie explained that gay men could sometimes recognise each other by certain signs, although he couldn't put it into words. Ron wasn't satisfied, so he asked Charlie to demonstrate by naming someone else he could tell was gay. And, well, it was all downhill from there."

Harry let out a tiny burst of laughter, imagining the look that must have been on Ron's face when he'd heard Charlie's prediction. His amusement was enhanced by the fact that Ginny had just confirmed his suspicion.

"Was anyone else there when Ron agreed to this ill-fated flutter?" he asked.

"Well, I was, and like I said, I told Ron not to do it."

He gave her a reassuring smile, to let her know she was not to blame. "Does Hermione know?"

Ginny grimaced. "No. And she's going to flay him alive."

Harry's laughter came a little more freely now. Despite his anger at her initial reaction, Ginny had once again succeeded in making him feel a lot better.

"Wow," chuckled Harry, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I know," agreed Ginny. "Ron's one dead Weasley, isn't he?"

"No," replied Harry. "I mean, yes, but that's not it. You see, Ron could have saved himself a lot of money by checking with Hermione before he made that wager!"

Harry pushed himself upright, then gingerly assisted his friend to her feet.

"What? Harry, d'you mean -"

He shook his head to cut her off. It wasn't important. Hermione's reaction at dinner would explain everything.

"C'mon, Gin," he said. "Let's see how quickly Madam Pomfrey can heal that arm."

***

"Ronald Weasley!" exclaimed Hermione, setting her flagon of pumpkin juice down so roughly that a bit sloshed over the side. "How could you have been so foolish?"

The Head Girl looked unable to decide between scolding her boyfriend and mocking him senseless.

Ron had turned the trademark shade that always gave away his emotions, whether embarrassment, anger, confusion, or happiness. Harry could see that it was the first of these, in this case. He grinned at his best friend in a moderately taunting way, because really he had immediately forgiven Ron for making the ridiculous bet.

In fact, Harry was secretly considering helping Ron pay it off, but wasn't sure he wanted to encourage any sort of repeat performance.

"For goodness sake," continued Hermione in a hushed tone, "you've been best friends with the boy for almost seven years, and still thought he was straight?"

"Hey, whose side are you on?" burst from Harry's lips before he could stop it. His face flushed to match Ron's, but he was enjoying the good humour that surrounded the table.

"Who thought who was straight?" enquired Dean Thomas, who was just arriving to sit next to Ginny.

A shocked silence fell on their section of the Gryffindor table, like the slamming of a door. Hermione turned the colour of parchment, stricken at having been so careless with her friend's secret. Ron and Ginny wore matching openmouthed stares. Unable to cover for Hermione's gaff, all three friends looked apologetically to Harry for guidance.

Harry jumped in to save Hermione before she could judge herself too harshly. At this point, he preferred to tell as many of his friends as possible, and get the whole thing out of the way. The hardest revelations, to the people whose opinions mattered the most, had been made. Now, Harry just wanted everyone to know so he wouldn't have to hide anymore.

"Ron thought I was," explained Harry. "And he was foolish enough to put money on it with his brother, so now he's in a bit of a tight spot."

Ron ducked his head, as if to hide it inside his jumper. He looked miserable as the two witches, relieved, began smirking at him again.

Dean stared at Harry momentarily while he parsed the boy's statement. "So... then you mean you're gay?"

"Yep," confirmed Harry, biting into a leg of chicken in mock-nonchalance as he watched for Dean's reaction.

"Alright," shrugged Dean, offering a reassuring smile, then helped himself to some green beans.

"When did that happen?" asked Seamus, who had clearly been listening. He quickly found himself overshadowed by a towering, irate Weasley.

"'When did that happen?'" repeated a flabbergasted Ron, "When do you think it happened? Since always, you dunce! You don't become gay, you just are."

Harry grabbed Ron's sleeve and flashed Seamus an apologetic look before fisticuffs could erupt at the dinner table.

"It's alright, Ron," he placated the smouldering boy, dragging him back down to his seat. He had decided it was best to tolerate any questions from his friends, no matter how inane, at least for now.

"I just figured it out, actually," Harry told Seamus. "You lot are among the first to know."

A tentative voice piped up from the other side of Hermione. "So do you have, you know, a boyfriend?" Neville had joined them just in time to catch the gist of the conversation.

"Interested in the job, Neville?" teased Seamus. Neville blushed bright red in the midst of biting into a slice of bread, and shook his head.

Harry smiled warmly at the shy Gryffindor. "No, I don't yet," he told him.

The word 'yet' earned Harry curious looks from nearly all of his companions. Only Hermione kept quiet.

Oops.

"So!" Ginny jumped in with the zeal of a practiced gossip. As dependable as she was when she and Harry were alone, Ginny could be such a girl around other people. "Who's the wizard lucky enough to have caught the eye of the most eligible bachelor in our generation?"

Harry sighed. He should have known to expect such questions. It was probably just as well that the first round was coming from his best friends. After all, he'd heard about the speculation in the gossip columns of Witch Weekly over who might be the next girl to capture the heart of The Boy Who Lived. Once word got out about his orientation, the attention would be even more fierce, only with different gender pronouns.

"Never said there was one, but you know, hopefully someday..." evaded Harry, while his gaze wandered across the Hall of its own accord. He reined it in before anyone but Hermione could notice.

A couple more minutes of refusing to talk about his potential love interests, and conversation eventually floated off to other topics. Harry munched the last of his potatoes, staring dreamily at the shining blond head at the Slytherin table.

Draco's face lit up with laughter at a joke from one of his housemates. Harry watched, basking in the glow.

"Careful," came a hiss in his ear. Harry straightened up to realise Hermione was watching him. "They may be talking about other things now, but everyone's still trying to guess who the 'lucky wizard' is."

Harry pretended not to have heard, or to have acted in any way unusually. He helped himself to strawberry tart while redirecting his attention to another Slytherin-bashing story from Seamus. Apparently, this time, Morag MacDougal had had an unexpected allergic reaction during Care of Magical Creatures, and was currently in the Hospital Wing undergoing treatment for rat-sized boils all over her face and arms.

The beating of wings above his head alerted Harry that Hedwig had arrived with a special delivery. As his head snapped up, he saw a handful of owls swooping around the Great Hall with bits of post that hadn't arrived in the morning. Luckily, most of the Gryffindors were laughing hard enough at Seamus's story that they didn't take much notice the snowy creature. Due to his celebrity, Harry still received the occasional unexpected letter; his friends had got used to seeing them, and to ignoring them. They knew Harry was still embarrassed by the extra attention he got due to his fame, and were kind enough not to compound his annoyance by saying anything about them.

This was no letter from an unknown admirer, though. Harry's heart leapt: finally, a response from Draco about tonight!

Fingers shaking, he barely succeeded in untying the tiny roll of parchment from his owl's leg. She helped herself to his pudding, as he read:

Potter,

Can you or can you not read? I asked for your discretion, not a post-midnight meeting on the Quidditch pitch! As if I can't see through your ruse to get me another detention. I thought we had all outgrown such childish pranks. I will not be there, and don't try to convince me otherwise! I'm starting to suspect that it was you who hexed me. What game are you playing, anyway?

D. Malfoy

Harry's heart sank. So, that was that.

He was so sure that he was right about Malfoy - about his orientation, about his role in the kiss, about his potential to be someone who was more important in Harry's life. That was worth nothing, though, if Malfoy insisted on hiding behind his flimsy story of what had really happened in the dungeons.

Harry felt his stomach clench. His disappointment was so intense that he found himself blinking his stinging eyes. He hadn't realised how much he'd wanted a chance with Malfoy until this moment.

Involuntarily, Harry's eyes swept across to the farthest table. As his gaze locked on Malfoy, Harry became aware that the other boy was looking back.

Malfoy wore an expression that was obviously intended to be haughty, or disdainful, or even angry. Harry knew the proud tilt of the chin and the distrustful narrowing of the eyes so well he could have drawn them from memory.

There was something else behind the gaze this time.

Harry was sure he was going mad, even hallucinating. He had never thought he'd ever live to see Malfoy appearing wistful, much less vaguely apologetic.

By the time Harry's eyes had blinked in surprise, Malfoy had broken the eye-contact and returned his attention to his friends. Harry continued to stare, struggling to understand whether Malfoy had been trying to communicate with him just now, or had simply wished to compound the injury by watching Harry's reaction.

As he stared, Harry fell into a trance. Malfoy really was exquisite, physically speaking. Harry found himself infatuated with the porcelain perfection of Malfoy's complexion, his fingertips itching to trace the chiseled jaw line. Harry's mouth watered to close on those feather-soft lips again.

Hermione's elbow jarred Harry back to reality. He snapped his face toward hers, which was giving him another warning glare.

Harry scowled at Hermione. She had been great yesterday, and some part of him knew she was right now to be curtailing his staring before others noticed, but he was getting annoyed. Who was she to decide when and at whom Harry could and couldn't stare? Just because she was in a relationship that was respected and endorsed by everyone who knew them, didn't mean that Harry's choice was any less valid.

"Bugger off, Hermione," he hissed.

Hermione looked a bit shocked, but somehow also obnoxiously patient.

"Okay, Harry," she responded softly. "Go ahead and stare. Just don't blame me when Ron blows a gasket."

Harry's shoulders softened. He hated it when Hermione was right. It wasn't her fault, though.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Sorry."

Hermione's slight nod made it obvious that she had accepted his apology. A moment later, she and Ron got up from the table, leaving Harry alone.

Harry surreptitiously reached a hand across to massage his bruised ribcage, still sore where Hermione had poked him. Now that his friends were disbursing, Harry thought it might be safe to chance one more glance across the Hall.

When Harry flicked his eyes back to the Slytherin table, Malfoy was gone.

***

Harry bit at the end of his quill. He was taking a giant gamble that he was right about Malfoy's true feelings. If he were wrong, he'd be opening himself up to endless ridicule.

If he were right, though, he might be paving the path toward something amazing. He felt all buzzy and bubbly inside, just thinking about the possibilities.

He'd lived through five years of endless ridicule and scorn at the hands of the Slytherins from his year. The potential benefits of the risk he was taking far outweighed any negative consequences.

Harry let out a slow breath and read over the letter he'd just written.

To D. Malfoy,

It's too bad you don't want to meet me tonight, but I suppose I understand. There's a long history of mistrust between us. I wasn't trying to trick you, you know. I hope someday you'll believe that.

There's something I wanted to tell you: After the other day in the dungeons, I realised it hadn't been an accident for me. I didn't know before, but I thought for a while after it happened, and it turns out I really am gay. I've told all my friends now, and they've been great, so I'm starting to feel pretty good about it.

I know it doesn't make sense, after everything, but I'd like to be able to count you among my friends, too. That's why I've told you what I just did. Is it even possible? Think about it, will you?

Look, I know you weren't under any hex. I know why you want to believe you were. We're kind of going through the same thing here, so I thought maybe we could help each other. Even if you don't want to talk about that, though, we're working together in Potions, so ... it would be nice if we got along.

See you in Potions on Monday.

H. Potter

As soon as his eyes had skimmed over his signature, Harry rolled up the parchment. If he read it again, he might lose his nerve, or simply come unhinged. He wished he could pretend he didn't actually care that much about the situation between himself and Malfoy, but the tight feeling in his chest belied any such claims.

He had to figure out what was going on in Malfoy's head. He hadn't needed anything so badly since he had avenged his parents. He couldn't begin to explain why Malfoy was having such a powerful affect on him, but when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the look on Malfoy's face when their hands had locked around the Snitch.

If he could just break through the first of Malfoy's walls, Harry could sleep a little better. He knew not to hope for too much, considering the advanced state of Malfoy's denial.

Harry hoped that a friendship with Malfoy wouldn't be too much to ask, nor too little to accept.

***

There must be some school rule forbidding students to pad around the hallways barefoot; Harry was quite sure of it. However, since he knew for a fact that he was violating several other rules by being out of Gryffindor Tower so late, he didn't care. The Invisibility Cloak that had belonged to his father hid his unshod feet just as effectively as it hid the rest of him, anyway.

The uneven stones of the hallways felt smooth and clean under Harry's soles. He was always amazed at how little dirt seemed to accumulate along the paths that were trod by so many students each day. His feet stung a little from the cold - the castle never warmed up properly until late June - but Harry enjoyed the sense of connection that he could never quite attain when shoes separated him from these stones.

Walking barefoot was the only way Harry allowed himself to remember Sirius. It had been nearly two years since Harry's godfather had died, but the loss still ached inside his bones. He still couldn't quite breathe when he remembered the hopes he'd cherished of going to live with Sirius, of having a family who cared for him at last, so he kept the memories locked away, untouched.

At night, though, from time to time, Harry crept around the castle, imagining the bottoms of his feet to be as tough as the pads of a dog's paws. He remembered the time Sirius had snuck into the castle looking for Scabbers, presumably disguised in his Animagus form for at least part of the venture. His bare paws would have touched the very same stones that now chilled Harry's feet. With every step, Harry wished to allow himself forgiveness, and each time he lifted his foot from the stones, he feared forgetting and losing connection with his godfather forever.

Harry swiped impatiently at the tickle on his cheek. He didn't cry. It was too late for that. He concentrated on the other reason for his foray, instead.

After the events of the day, Harry knew a good night's sleep tonight was unlikely, so he had decided to send his letter before he could reconsider.

Speaking of reconsidering, Harry stopped short at the threshold of the Owlery. With all due respect to the many majestic creatures who resided here, he suddenly wished very much for a pair of shoes. The floor was littered with feathers and droppings.

It was a good job he had become so expert at Summoning Charms.

"Accio shoes!" the young wizard spoke quietly, picturing a pair of blue trainers he'd left on the floor of his dormitory. Half a minute later, he was slipping them on.

Harry considered his delivery options. Of course, Hedwig was always dependable, as were many of the school owls. And he recognized Draco's handsome eagle owl preening in a corner, a bit separate from all the others.

All the others, but one. The fawn-colored bird was sharing its roost with a beautiful, snowy -

"Hedwig?" Harry spluttered.

Two pairs of yellow eyes fixed at him with a distinctly superior expression.

"That is, I mean... hi, Hedwig. And, um, Malfoy's owl. Together. Right."

Oh, this is so weird - my owl is getting more action from a Malfoy than I am!

Harry approached the pair quietly, not sure how to deal with this new information. From his pocket, he offered owl treats to both birds, then stroked Hedwig's breast feathers gently. She nipped his finger affectionately.

The Malfoy owl watched the entire exchange warily, but accepted the treats, and seemed relatively calm in Harry's presence.

"I have a favour to ask of your mate, Hedwig." The snowy owl blinked and ruffled her feathers.

Harry directed his attention now to the eagle owl. "Will you take a letter to Draco for me?"

The owl eyed him a moment, then stretched out his leg for Harry to tie the parchment on.

Something about bearing of the proud, handsome bird made Harry feel he needed to speak to it in very formal tones. "Thank you. Please deliver that to him at breakfast, if you would."

He distributed a few more treats between the two owls, then exited the lofty chamber.

Harry knew he should return to bed and not push his luck. He hadn't been caught yet, but knew that Filch would not hesitate to give detention this late in the year, even to a student on the verge of finishing.

Especially if that student were one of the Indomitable Trio.

Still, he felt more awake than ever. There was no way he would sleep. He reeled slightly from the weirdness of seeing his owl snuggled up to Draco's. What were the odds? True, they were the most handsome two owls at the school, but Harry couldn't help searching for hidden meaning. Owls and red-tailed hawks were both birds of prey, weren't they?

Harry scolded himself silently. Owls were animals, and animals mated. Hedwig was one of the proudest, most beautiful owls Harry had ever seen. Of course she would choose and be chosen by the finest male in the Owlery. It didn't have to mean anything.

The letter he had just sent replayed itself in Harry's head. Why did he have to tell Draco he was gay? It felt better, and got easier, then more people he told, but Draco? Malfoy? He had just ensured that all of Slytherin house would know before lunch. He had just guaranteed himself merciless teasing for his final weeks at Hogwarts.

Maybe not. Maybe he had misjudged all the Slytherins, maybe they had all changed since the events of last summer. Maybe he was right to extend this olive branch to Draco, even at this late point in their school days.

Harry's head began to reel with all of these questions. Instead of keeping him awake, they were making him impossibly sleepy. It was time to head back to the Tower.

Moving silently on his bare feet, and mercifully distracted from his reasons for choosing to walk without shoes, Harry padded down the stairs to a hallway high up on the front of the castle. He paused at the nearest window, staring out at the darkened quiet of the grounds. A slim crescent of moon presided over the night sky, low in the west, almost ready to set. Harry eased the window open so he could inhale the cool night air.

Looking at the moon reminded Harry of Defence class that morning. His dreams had started the night of the rematch, which had coincidentally been the first night after the full moon. So, which was the cause - his sudden attraction to Draco during the match, or the season and his supposed destiny? Did it matter, in the end?

Could Draco be my Destined Love? mused Harry. If I even really have one, that is. Dumbledore had been known to have a twisted sense of humour. This could all be some elaborate joke, or perhaps a final lesson he wanted Harry to learn. What that lesson would be, Harry couldn't fathom.

Harry tried to imagine being with Draco after Hogwarts. Would they live in the Manor? No, the Ministry had seized all of the Malfoy family assets, other than a relatively small sum that belonged expressly to Draco in name, so the Manor no longer belonged to the heir of the Malfoy line.

Some flat in London, then? Perhaps a house in the country with a picket fence, two children and a dog?

Harry had a momentary vision of himself in one of Aunt Petunia's frilly aprons, pecking Draco chastely on the cheek and handing him his briefcase as he climbed into his car and drove off to the office.

The sleepless wizard shook his head to clear the vision. Now that's just silly.

Maybe he and Draco would be together for life. Maybe they would become friends, and nothing else. Maybe they would enjoy a few more passionate snogs and go their separate ways after school.

Maybe Draco would reject Harry's offer of friendship, and they would never be more than a diluted version of the enemies they'd been in earlier years.

No matter what, though, Harry and Draco would always have to be equals. Harry knew neither of them would want it any other way.

***

By the time Harry finally pushed his way back into the Gryffindor Common Room, he was exhausted to the point of collapse. The adrenaline that had caused his earlier restlessness had now spent itself completely, leaving him utterly sapped of energy. No thought crossed his mind other than the single purpose of climbing the stairs to the dormitory and sinking into peaceful oblivion.

The common room wasn't empty.

"Harry," called Ron softly, from one of the best chairs by the hearth. It was clear that he'd been waiting up, alone, in hopes of talking to Harry. Ron had probably been seen his best friend slipping out of bed, had probably been sitting in that very spot since Harry had left the Tower for the Owlery.

Harry smiled at his friend, and ambled sleepily over to join him.

"Harry, I'm sorry," began Ron.

Harry rumpled his forehead. The day was such a blur, he couldn't even sort out why he was supposed to be angry with his friend.

Ron clearly read the confusion on Harry's face. "About making that stupid wager," he explained. "About having all the wrong assumptions about you." Ron looked away, clearly having spent the entire evening berating himself until he had reached a new level of self-reproach.

Harry shook his head, smiling. "Don't be sorry, mate. It's not like I gave you any great clues, I mean, I only ever told you about Cho ... well, I mean, that's all there really was before ... that I realized, anyway ....." He trailed off into the awkward silence.

"Yeah." Ron looked Harry directly in the eye. "You could have, though."

"If I'd known, I could have. No harm done, though."

Ron snorted. "Easy for you to say."

"Yes, well." Harry smiled gently. "Just remember to check with your girlfriend next time before you make any bets about people."

Ron covered his eyes in surrender. "She wasn't my girlfriend, then."

Harry laughed softly at his friend's embarrassment.

"But she did already know." Harry faltered nervously as he spoke the words. He still wasn't used to saying them out loud. "About me, I mean."

The blue eyes looked up sharply. "You told Hermione over a year before you told me?" Ron's voice turned bitter as his gaze moved to the flames. "Well, I can't say I blame you..." His tone belied his words.

"No!" Harry interrupted. "I told Hermione yesterday. I only figured it out for myself just before I told her, remember? I said so at dinner."

"Yeah," agreed Ron with a shrug. "Then how -?"

Harry shot his friend a look, causing Ron to break into a smile before he was done.

"She's several steps ahead of us both, once again, isn't she?"

Harry nodded, smiling at a myriad of memories from the past seven years. "As always."

The boys shared a chuckle over their own inability to see, and over Hermione knowing the truth so long before either of them had.

After a moment, Ron's mirth faded out. His expression grew sincere.

"It's great, though, Harry. I mean, I'm glad for you."

"Thanks, Ron."

Ron let out a shaky laugh. "And I'm glad you weren't dreaming about Hermione."

Harry echoed the sound. "Me, too."

Ron regarded Harry very seriously. "Harry, I had no right to accuse you. I know you wouldn't have tried to get between Hermione and me."

"Forget it, Ron. I understand."

A glimmer of a grateful smile crossed the other boy's face. Harry returned it, making it clear that no apology was necessary.

Harry had been annoyed with Ron's insistence in the afternoon, but there was no point in drawing out that argument now. Harry knew how besotted Ron was with Hermione, and how unconvinced he was of his own worth. If Ron could only see himself the way his two best friends did, he would never have needed to suspect that Hermione had been in Harry's dreams.

Harry knew Ron better, though. He hadn't really meant his accusations, but had simply been powerless not to put a voice to his deepest fears.

The fire crackled softly, sending shifting shadows across the boys' faces as they sat in companionable silence for a few minutes.

"So, are you going to tell me?"

Harry snapped out of his reverie. "Tell you what?"

"Who was in your dreams?"

The eyebrow waggle had returned. Harry let out a long, slow breath. He wasn't any more amused than he had been hours earlier.

"Who says anyone was?"

Ron scoffed. "Your guilty face, for one. For another, how about the way you reacted when I asked you about your dream? Remember? You didn't say 'I wasn't dreaming about anyone.' You said, 'that's probably not even who it is.'"

Harry summoned a chuckle that came out more nervous than nonchalant. "Just because my subconscious is coughing up random wizards doesn't mean that I actually fancy anyone."

Ron met Harry's argument with silence. When Harry looked over, he found the blue irises narrowed in bitterness.

"You could tell me, you know. I'd understand." The tone of Ron's voice was as dark as the sky outside.

All the air went out of Harry's lungs. He hated to see Ron disappointed, but there was no way he knew what he was asking.

"I'd tell you, Ron," he muttered, unable to look his best mate in the eyes.

Both boys were silent for a very long moment. The lack of words between them started to ring in Harry's ears. He wanted desperately to be able to be honest with his best mate, but couldn't begin to imagine telling Ron that he apparently fancied the one student who had been the nastiest, the most cruel, out of any student in all of Hogwarts, toward Ron, Ron's girlfriend, and the rest of the Weasley family.

Harry became aware that Ron had inhaled deeply, as if steeling himself.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

Ron remained silent, looking at Harry as though holding back a mouthful of water.

"What is it, Ron?"

Harry searched his best friend's gaze, trying to understand the reason for his sudden discomfort. Was it possible that he knew?

Ron dropped his eyes to the rug. "Look, I just wanted to say ... Harry, it's okay if it's me. I mean, that's not how I feel, but it wouldn't be weird or anything."

Harry looked up into his best friend's blue eyes, and in that one moment, wished for all the world that it were.

"Thanks, Ron," he said sincerely, then added as gently as possible: "but it's not you."

Another silence fell. Harry could hear his own heartbeat, and Ron's quietly agitated breathing.

"Okay." The blue eyes stayed fixed to the floor. "So, what's the problem then?"

The outburst in response surprised both of them: "I never said there was one!"

Ron recoiled a bit at the exasperation in Harry's voice, then regrouped quickly for a counterattack.

"But you won't tell me?"

"I can't, okay?"

Harry relaxed his shoulders a bit. He really didn't want to fight with Ron.

"Alright, maybe there is someone," he continued. "But I'm not ready to talk about it yet."

Harry had expected the silence this time, but it wasn't any easier. He was relieved that Ron was so supportive of his orientation, but why did he have to be so insistent about knowing who was in Harry's dreams?

"Fine," came the barely audible reply.

Harry had never heard his best friend sound so bitter, at least not since the horrible weeks before the First Task, over three years ago. He also noticed that Ron hadn't looked at him in several minutes.

"Ron... you're not... jealous?"

"No!" Ron let out a single snort of cynical laughter. "Maybe. Sort of." He finally raised his eyes to meet Harry's. "I mean, I'm your best mate, right? But there's some other bloke you care about more?"

Harry was impressed. Hermione's jab about Ron having the 'emotional range of a teaspoon' didn't seem to hold true anymore. He still didn't express his emotions very often, other than anger and outrage, but they were obviously there, and obviously real.

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. It never ceased to astonish him, even after all they'd endured together, how true and constant a friend Ron really was. Harry had no idea how he could even deserve such a friendship, but he was deeply grateful to have it.

"I still care about you the most, Ron. You, and Hermione, and Ginny. You're my family. And you know that means more to me than anything."

Ron sat silently for a moment, a quiet smile settling onto his face. Finally, he nodded and pushed himself up from the bed. "Well, I'd better get to sleep. See you in the morning."

"Cheers, Ron," replied Harry. "Goodnight."

Ron strode over to the staircase, and started to climb, his long legs easily managing two steps at a time. He paused a moment on the landing and looked back to where Harry sat watching him ascend.

"You could tell me, Harry," Ron said quietly, before turning the corner and disappearing from view.