Some Perfect World

Harry went directly to the library when he finally rolled out of bed around lunchtime Saturday.

Hermione was there, of course, the top of her head barely visible over a towering stack of textbooks. It looked as though she might have summoned the contents of an entire shelf for her current bout of revision. She appeared to be comparing references in at least four of the tomes simultaneously, and didn't look up when he entered.

Harry smiled in her direction, heading to the section of the library where the dusty volumes on dreams were kept. He would come back to chat with Hermione when he was ready for a break, but first he needed to look into another image he'd remembered from his dream.

Settling in a secluded niche in a remote corner of the library, Harry covered the table with the works of Spode, Mann and company. He unfurled the parchment on which he'd begun his essay, smoothing it flat with his palms.

Before opening any texts, he read over what he had already written. It was some of the worst writing he'd done in years: blotchy, disjointed and jumbled. He had to admit that, if he did end up handing this in, he would have to rewrite it first.

He hadn't made up his mind to give in to Snape's bullying and hand in this essay, but Harry was determined to draw some conclusions for himself, in any case. Ron's advice had served Harry well, and he had been sleeping better since he had taken the Draught and begun to decipher the dream. If only to satisfy his own curiosity, he would finish the job.

With a long-suffering sigh, Harry heaved open the cover of Who Am I to Disagree?: Gleaning the Sweet from Your Dreams, and started flipping pages. When something caught his eye, he got drawn into reading a column and a half before he realised it had nothing to do with the information he was seeking. He stretched his neck a little, then flipped more pages.

After several more irrelevant passages read in this manner, Harry looked up to discover that he'd already wasted an hour here. He pushed back from his table, stretching a few sore muscles here and there, and made his way back toward the entrance to see Hermione.

When he arrived at her table, though, she was gone. She must not even have seen him come in, or she surely would have come to see him before she left.

Harry shrugged and headed back to his corner.

He opened the Spode book again and continued perusing. This time, he only spent about fifteen minutes reading before he got frustrated and slammed the heavy book closed with a resounding thud. He coughed and spluttered for several minutes in the dust cloud that went up from the pages, wryly musing that Madam Pince might have charmed all of her books to fight back like this when mishandled.

To clear his lungs, and his head, Harry wandered over to a window. He eased one side open, inhaling deeply. Out on the grounds, a group of fifth-years from Ravenclaw were playing four-flyer Quidditch against some sixth-year Gryffindors. He could see Ginny's hair shining crimson in the sunlight.

Even though he hadn't had a recurrence of the dream since taking the Dreaming Draught - and thank Merlin for that - another detail had clicked into place as he'd drifted into consciousness late that morning.

Could it be a coincidence? But then, how did he know?

Harry closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool pane on the side that was still latched.

When his spectacles clicked against the window, he removed them instinctively and set them on the sill. He settled forward again into the relaxing posture, letting sunlight burn orange through his eyelids. He brought his hands around, sliding them between his face and the glass to create darkness.

He knew what he'd already written about the baby Wormtail had been holding: it represented rebirth, new beginnings, a chance to start over. It represented all the things he wanted, after seven years of being expected to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World, and after finally fulfilling that destiny.

The child also had silver eyes, like Draco's.

"Wotcher, Harry."

Harry literally gave a small jump at the sudden bark of greeting. He hadn't heard anyone approach.

"Oh," he said, shoving his glasses back onto his face as he looked around. "Hi, Professor."

A bray of a laugh answered him. "No need to be formal. You knew me before this teaching business happened. It's still 'Tonks,' if you don't mind."

He couldn't help grinning. "Sorry, Tonks."

"No matter at all. I'll take 'Professor' over 'Nymphadora' any day. A little dignified, isn't it?" She leaned against a nearby bookcase, overbalancing it and sending half the contents of the top shelf crashing to the ground.

Harry tried not to smirk as he helped her charm the books back into place.

Tonks's nose wrinkled when she smiled mischieviously. "At least nowadays when I do that, Madam Pince never screams at me. Nice to get a little respect around here, finally."

A trio of Slytherin fifth-years passed them by. One of the boys wore a noticeable sneer. Tonks changed her hair colour to Slytherin green and gave her students a cheerful wave.

"A little more respect wouldn't hurt, of course," she amended with an unconcerned shrug.

Harry couldn't think of an appropriate response, so he simply nodded. The fifth-year boy had reminded him so much of Draco, he had got distracted all over again.

Tonks glanced at her reflection in the polished brass of a sconce. She touched her hair and chuckled. Apparently green appealed to her.

Watching her, Harry suddenly remembered her familial relationship to Draco. Perhaps she could help him realise he wasn't so alone? He knew Draco's family hadn't been kind to the Tonkses, however. He had no way of knowing how Tonks might feel about Draco.

"Tonks?"

"Mmm?"

"Say you had a cousin who needed help. Maybe he's someone you never got on with before, but it was mostly his parents' fault, and now they're gone. Dead or something. Would you help him?"

Tonks looked at him for a long moment without speaking. Finally, she asked, "Are the Dursleys all right, Harry? I didn't hear about anything happening to them, but the Aurors haven't been watching them since all the Death Eaters were destroyed."

Harry shook his head. "No, I think they're fine. I haven't talked to them since summer, anyway."

"So this is a hypothetical question."

He couldn't quite meet her eyes. He gave a half-shrug, hoping to avoid admitting his real reason for asking just yet.

Tonks gave a long sigh and stepped back half a pace. "I see," she said.

Meeting her narrowed eyes, Harry saw that she did, in fact.

"Look, Harry," Tonks told him briskly, "I've heard that you've got to be friends with Draco. I don't know why, and I don't really want to know. What you should know, though, is that there's a long history between his part of the family and mine. And it wasn't only his parents."

"But he's -"

Tonks held up her hand. "I like to think of myself as a generous person, Harry, but there are some leaps of faith even I can't make."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Tonks's expression left no room for argument.

"Stay out of it, Harry. I'm sorry, but you can't ask me this. You can't ask me to make him family now."

She glanced toward the circulation desk. "I should get going. I heard some Metamorphmagus wrote a book last century on teaching Transfigurations to non-Metamorphmagus students, but I can't find it anywhere. I'll have to ask Madam Pince where she keeps it."

The silence between them had lost its easy comfort. Harry gave her a smile that felt molded out of plastic on his face. "Good luck, then," he said stiffly.

"Thanks, Harry," she said, with a more genuine-looking smile. "Come see me anytime you need anything, alright?" With a wink and a nod, she disappeared back around the corner toward the circulation desk.

Harry stared out the window for a long time. His anger turned his stomach into a hard, heavy lump. How could Tonks refuse to help a family member in need? A quiet voice in his head tried to make him consider how he would react if someone asked him to help Dudley in the event that Petunia and Vernon were suddenly killed, but he wouldn't listen.

Draco had no other family left. Family was important; Harry, who had so little of his own, knew that for sure. He couldn't imagine leaving a family member in need, no matter how insistently the little voice reminded him that he couldn't really blame Tonks for feeling no loyalty toward the Malfoys.

Harry pushed back from the window, turning back to the essay he'd neglected for so long now. He reread the words he'd written this afternoon. The silver eyes in his dream didn't have to mean anything; Draco had been on his mind quite a bit lately, so it made sense for his eyes to have snuck onto the child in his dreams.

It wasn't so easy to explain away the silver birthmark on its forearm.

Precisely where Draco had his scar.

Harry still didn't know what it was meant to tell him. Was Draco supposed to be some sort of saviour for him? Was Draco supposed to help Harry find his new chance at life?

Or was the baby Harry's conscience? He remembered his guilt at the its question - "Have you done all you could?" - and his chest grew tight again with the fear that he would never understand.

Harry dragged the Mann text closer, and heaved it open. There had to be another explanation for the light coming from the baby's arm. He would find it. He would.

By late afternoon, though, Harry was getting tired and frustrated. He hadn't found any leads, and kept getting dragged back into his circular, self-blaming thoughts. He pushed away the book he was currently searching and pulled his glasses off with one hand. The other arm wiped impatiently across his drooping eyes.

He inhaled deeply, again. He had time. The essay wasn't due until Thursday, if he even did write it. He could take his time working this out.

Harry stood up and shoved his glasses back onto his face. He stacked the books neatly and gave them a single tap with his wand. They vanished instantly, heading back to their home shelves.

On his way out, he walked toward a window in the main part of the library. The Quidditch game was clearly over. A few students lounged lazily in small groups all over the grounds. Ginny's brilliant hair was no longer visible among them.

He wondered whether his dream had been right, about Sirius and Remus being a couple. That would explain why Remus had never really joined in on trying to reassure Harry, after Sirius had died. It would explain why Remus had left Britain, as soon as the war was over. He had take himself to Romania, where he was undergoing an experimental new treatment that was reputed to heal those afflicted with lycanthropy. Harry knew all of this; he also knew that the first few letters he'd written had never been answered, so he'd given up trying.

He only hoped Lupin could forgive him, someday.

Harry stretched his arms high above his head, and then out to the sides. He rotated his neck, feeling the crackles of tension dissipating in his joints.

A month and a day, he thought. That's all I have left here, ever - one month and one day. His shoulders sagged in resignation. A part of him was ready to put this long chapter of his life behind him, but another part was already mourning the separation from the only true home he'd ever known.

"Harry!"

He span around, catching the glare from Madam Pince at the loudness of the voice which had called his name across the quiet library.

"Dean?"

Dean was bright-eyed, clearly pleased to see Harry. In fact, he was practically hopping from foot to foot with excitement.

"What's going on?" Harry asked him.

Harry eyed the exit. He couldn't decide whether he was relieved at having a friend find him, or whether he'd prefer to be left alone to think about what he might have learned from his day of fruitless research.

"We've been looking for you everywhere! You've got to come with me now, it's important." Dean grabbed Harry's arm solidly above the elbow and proceeded to drag him away.

"Hang on a minute!" protested Harry. "What's so important? Is everyone okay?" His voice took on an edge of panic. "Did something happen to Ron? Or Hermione?"

Even after the happy scene that had taken place the night before, Harry felt edgy around Ron. Things still weren't quite right between them. If Ron were in trouble now, and still had even the slightest doubt as to Harry's devotion to their friendship, Harry didn't know how he would live with himself.

"No, no!" assured Dean. "Nothing like that. But ... I'm not supposed to tell you."

An eyebrow cocked appraisingly, Harry waited for more information.

Dean blushed. "It's a surprise. Go on, Harry. Come with me, will you?"

Naturally, as Harry's luck always seemed to work, it was at exactly that moment that Draco stepped around the corner into the library, obviously looking for Harry. His eyes wore that guarded vulnerability they'd shown the night before, when Draco had allowed Harry to cradle his arm and brush his fingers over the scar that had both saved and almost killed him.

Harry's heart jumped into his gullet. He wished, on a disloyal and ungrateful level, that Dean would go away and leave him alone with Draco.

At the same time, Harry's impatience surged. Why did Draco have to show up right now, when his friends wanted his company? Where had he been all afternoon, when Harry had been alone in the library?

Why did Draco have to be so unavailable when Harry wanted him, and show up only when Harry was ready to move on? Who was he to decide the terms of their relationship?

Harry was dully aware of the illogic of his train of thought, but he couldn't help listening to himself. He was mad for Draco, even blind with it at times; why did he have to wait around for Draco to admit what was right in front of him?

Meanwhile, Draco's and Dean's eyes were both narrowing in a diluted sort of hatred, born more from habit than from current emotion, as they regarded each other from a safe distance of separation.

After a moment's standoff, Draco broke his glare away from Dean and met Harry's eyes.

"I've been working on my Dreaming Draught essay," he said in a perfectly even, uninflected voice.

"Me, too," answered Harry, cursing the crack in the second syllable.

Draco only nodded, and continued staring for what seemed a very long time. "I thought perhaps we could compare notes," he added at last.

Harry's stomach twisted and dropped. He ached with curiosity about what dreams Draco might be having. He panicked at the thought of showing Draco any detail of his own dream. His heart soared at the flattery of knowing that Draco was willing to share his dreams with him.

He cursed Draco for toying with his affections, probably knowing full well how curious Harry was about his dreams.

Harry needed Dean to go away and give him some time to sort this out. Or maybe he wanted to leave Draco standing alone, wanting more, the way he'd left Harry the night before.

Harry glanced at Dean, who must immediately have seen the hesitation in his eyes.

"It's been too long already, Harry," said Dean quickly, "we have to go now." He tugged on Harry's elbow in a renewed attempt to budge him into motion.

After one more quick glance at each of his friends, Harry made a quick decision: he and Dean had never been close, but he clearly had a particular plan in mind which couldn't go forward without Harry's presence. It was nice to feel needed that way.

Draco, on the other hand, kept dancing around the attraction between them, pretending they had never kissed and that he himself wasn't gay. It was exhausting and depressing, to be frank, quite a lot of the time.

"Sorry, Draco," said Harry shakily, wishing he could sound more confident. "Dean and I have plans."

Draco's eyes went dark. "I see," he responded quietly, and turned toward a different set of desks.

Watching him walk away, Harry cursed himself. Draco might not be being entirely honest with either of them, but he wasn't the only one at fault for the turmoil in Harry's gut.

"Draco?"

He turned halfway, the tip of his noise pointed somewhere between Harry and the wall to his right.

"Maybe we can meet tomorrow instead? This time tomorrow?" Harry gritted his teeth, hating the desperate tone in his words.

Draco shrugged inscrutably and left, disappearing into back of the library so quickly that Harry briefly fantasized that he'd never been there at all. Only the lingering expression of bitterness on Dean's face confirmed what Harry had seen and heard.

Harry mustered up all available enthusiasm for the treat that apparently awaited him, and smiled at his friend.

"Lead on," he mock-commanded, and Dean did.

***

Oh. This is a good surprise!

Harry was jogging to keep up with Dean as they descended the final staircase to the Entrance Hall. Waiting for them, not looking nearly as impatient as Harry had expected, were Hermione and the predictable heads of flaming red hair.

What Harry hadn't predicted was that there would be three heads of flaming red hair.

Ron's face lit up when he spotted Dean and Harry approaching over his brother's head.

"Finally! I was thinking you two would never get here!" He looked down at his stocky older brother. "Now can we eat?"

Charlie chuckled, turning to face the new arrivals. "Yes, Ron," he replied, stepping forward to shake Harry's hand.

"Come on," continued Charlie, "Viktor's waiting for us all in the kitchens."

***

By the time they reached the portrait of the fruit bowl, Ginny was giggling relentlessly. Although Hogwarts seemed unchanged over the millennium of its existence, the castle was in fact modifying itself imperceptibly each day. The alterations were minor enough that the current students never even noticed, but over time, they added up. Charlie had already got hopelessly lost no fewer than five separate times trying to find the right corridor before his younger siblings had taken over the lead.

Harry marvelled once more at the impressive magic contained in the Marauder's Map. Somehow, Moony, Padfoot and Prongs had thought to charm the document so it would keep pace with the castle's changes.

Harry gritted his teeth against the pain that rose in his gut when he thought of his father and his friends. Instead, he forced himself to smile, thinking of the 'mysterious' return the map had made into his life on his sixteenth birthday. Dumbledore hadn't been all that subtle, though - the handwriting on the card had matched the one that had accompanied the Invisibility Cloak on Harry's first Christmas at Hogwarts.

Still snickering sporadically, Ginny reached out a finger to tickle the pear. It squirmed, joining her laughter as it turned into the handle of the hidden door.

The Hogwarts kitchens were as warm and welcoming as ever. Perhaps even more so, for Harry, who was thrilled to be in the company of these friends. It felt spectacular to be surrounded by Weasleys again, and his heart floated upwards until the corners of his mouth had to rise, as well.

The heavy oak table in the middle of the room had been set with seven places, a small heavy drinking glass and a plate in front of each. A flagon of something suspiciously golden sat in the middle of the table.

Viktor Krum clomped in from beyond a corner and approached them in his familiar, duck-footed stance, offering handshakes and hugs all around.

As soon as Harry had stepped aside from shaking Krum's hand, Hermione embraced the man warmly.

"Zdrasti Viktore!" she greeted him. "Kak si?"

Krum smiled at her. "Mnogo dobre, Hermione. I ti?"

"Fine, she's fine," interrupted Charlie. "Hermione, I didn't know you spoke Bulgarian!"

Hermione blushed happily. "Samo malko," she responded.

"Maybe only a little bit, but you still pronounce very well," amended Viktor, whose English pronunciation had improved to the point that Harry could only discern a soft purr of accent.

Harry was amused to note that Ron was now acting much more friendly toward Krum than he had during Fourth Year, and hadn't scowled at all when Hermione had hugged him. Harry caught Ginny's eye and exchanged a grin, both clearly sharing the same thought.

"Please," said Viktor finally, "everyone sit. I have a surprise for you."

The friends all chose chairs, couple by couple, leaving Harry feeling a bit like a seventh wheel.

He tried to push those self-pitying thoughts out of his head. Everyone had gone to a lot of trouble to include him, after all. It would have been easy to have left him to study while they enjoyed this feast.

Harry caught himself with a bit of a start. His friends would never really consider having this gathering without him! He must be feeling more left-out at Ron and Hermione's increasing closeness than he had realised.

Charlie, seeming to read Harry's mind, patted the chair at his own right side. He looked up at Harry with a wide, warm grin.

Harry smiled gratefully and joined him.

No sooner had he sat down, than two familiar pairs of ears bounced around the edges of the table. Dobby and Winky, the latter having sworn off Butterbeer and cleaned herself up considerably, greeted the friends happily as they placed a loaded plate in front of each person.

"Harry Potter, sir!" squeaked the male house-elf with glee. "Dobby was so pleased to learn that you would be visiting the kitchens this evening! Dobby hasn't seen Harry Potter in a very long time, sir!"

Harry naturally experienced a twinge of guilt at this. The past year hadn't been easy, and he still hadn't entirely recovered from the emotional aftereffects of his final confrontation with Voldemort, but that was no reason to have neglected his friends.

"I know, Dobby. Sorry."

Dobby shook his head, bat-like ears waving around his enormous eyes. "Harry Potter must not worry about Dobby, sir! For Dobby is simply thrilled to see him now, sir! Dobby and Winky are cooking Bulgarian food for the first time tonight! Mr. Viktor Krum is teaching us how!"

Krum smiled at the pair. "Thank you both. The shopska salata looks exactly right." He began to pour a small amount of liquid from the flagon into each glass, starting with Ron, who was seated to his left.

Dobby smiled at the compliment, then leaned toward Harry, lowering his voice. "Dobby is enjoying learning about this Bulgarian food, sir, but Dobby is thinking that what Mr. Krum calls 'cheese' might be spoilt." His ears wilted with worry as the group looked ready to eat.

Ron sniffed at the salad in front of him, clearly sharing Dobby's opinion. "Ugh! What's this white stuff? It smells like feet!"

"Ronald!" snapped a mortified Hermione.

Dobby ducked as though about to have his hands ironed, but only Harry noticed this as Charlie and Viktor burst into laughter.

"That's what he said the first time, too!" gasped Krum through his guffaws, pointing at Charlie.

Charlie calmed himself to a chuckle. "It's true, I did," he added, looking warmly at Viktor. "But sirene is actually very good."

Only Harry saw Dobby's expression of extreme relief as the house-elf snuck back toward the stove.

Krum raised his glass, which he had filled about two fingers deep with the amber liquid. Harry noticed that the rest of the glasses contained a significantly smaller quantity.

"It is wonderful to be back at Hogwarts." Krum held his glass forward in a toast. "To friendship and family. Nazdrave."

A chorus of "nazdrave" and "cheers" (and "noroc" from Charlie, who still worked in Romania) echoed around the table.

Harry lifted his glass to his lips. Before he could even sip, the fumes smacked his nose and he nearly began to cough. Not to insult Viktor, however, he allowed a few drops to enter his mouth. The liquid burned all the way down his throat.

On the other side of Krum, Ron was bright magenta and gagging. His glass sat empty in front of him. Hermione was patting him on the back and glaring at the guilty party.

"What is this stuff?" asked Ginny, who had managed a little more than Harry had.

"Wow," added Dean. "How did Bulgarian Wizards figure out how to make a drink that's more than one hundred percent alcohol?"

"It's rakiya," answered Charlie, "and it's no stronger than vodka, actually. The taste will fool you, though."

He fixed Krum with a glare. "I never should have let you give this to them," he scolded. "McGonagall will have my head if she catches them weaving back to the tower."

Krum smiled at him indulgently. "I know, kote," he murmured soothingly. "You've said this all week."

"And you still gave it to them!"

"I told you, it's not a traditional Bulgarian meal if it doesn't start with shopska salata and rakiya."

"Well, you could have warned them. What's so funny?"

This last was directed at his sister, who was failing to hide her giggles.

"You sound just like Mum and Dad!" she managed to wheeze. "And like those two!" She pointed now to her other brother and future sister-in-law.

Hermione flushed to match Ron's colour, and the whole party broke into goodhearted laughter.

"Which reminds me," said Krum, adding a few more drops of the spirit to his brother-in-law's glass before raising his own. "To Ron and Hermione. May you enjoy a lifetime of happy years together."

"Cheers," spoke the company together, as Ron kissed his new fiancée gently on the temple.

Harry took a slightly larger swallow this time, starting to enjoy the warm feeling the liquor created in his stomach. Any feeling was better than the dead weight that hung in his middle every time he thought of his unresolved row with Ron.

"So." Ginny took charge of the conversation. "Hermione, you know I love you, and I'm thrilled you're going to be my sister - and sorry, Ron - but what in Merlin's name are you two thinking, planning to get married so young?"

Ron shot her an annoyed look, but Hermione laughed out loud and shook her head.

"I never said anything about getting married this young!" she responded with a good-natured nudge to Ron's shoulder. "We're going to wait until Auror Training is over, at least. We have three years of studying to complete, after all, and might have to spend months apart in the process."

"Awfully long engagement, that," responded Ginny amiably.

"True," began Hermione. "I had always assumed we'd get engaged later. But when Ron asked me, I realised I had always assumed we would get engaged. So why wait on making the promise?"

"What I can't figure," said Dean, "is how Ron managed to get the ring and everything, and never tell any of us that he was planning it!"

Harry exchanged a look with Ginny that confirmed she hadn't been informed, either. He felt a little better, knowing he wasn't the only one left out of the loop.

He didn't need to ask why Ron hadn't at least told him. He would have, in any other situation, but things had been tense enough since Harry had become friends with Draco that Ron probably didn't feel like sharing happy news with him.

Ron shrugged. "I was afraid I'd lose my nerve if I told anyone. Or that Hermione would get a whiff of it, and would say something before I'd found the right moment."

Ginny giggled at him, making Ron blush.

"The long engagement works out, anyway," said Charlie then. "You can use the time to plan. It won't be easy to hold a ceremony that will work for both our family and yours, Hermione."

"No," agreed Hermione. "You all and your parents do a fair job of passing as Muggles, but if the rest of you lot are anything like some of the people we saw at the World Cup ..." She trailed off, shaking her head in amusement.

Harry smiled at the memory of all the wizards who had so thoroughly failed to dress as normal Muggles at the last Quidditch World Cup. The whole clan of Weasleys being able to 'pass' as Muggles so as to avoid having to Memory Charm an entire family of Grangers ... well, it would be quite a challenge.

Listening to the conversation, it occurred to Harry that his own parents would have had the same concern. He wondered what they had done. But thinking about his parents' wedding reminded Harry of Sirius, who had been best man, which in turn reminded him of his earlier thoughts of Remus. Harry's emotions were still too raw on all of those subjects, so he wrenched his mind away from that path.

He took another sizable swallow of his drink, and poured himself a bit more. He chose not to notice Charlie's raised eyebrow as he did it, but tucked into the cucumber and tomato salad with its strange tasting cheese, instead.

As the salad disappeared - along with a little more of the rakiya - Harry settled back into his seat, cradling his glass comfortably. This was his family - the people at this table, plus the other Weasleys. And everyone at this table knew he was gay. Current problems with Ron aside, Harry had never felt so loved, accepted and relaxed in his life.

It probably didn't hurt that he was on his third rakiya. His face felt warm and a bit funny, and he was cheering up by the minute.

The salad plates were replaced with shallow dishes of a thick, white soup, which turned out to be cold. The flagon disappeared - to the great relief of all the English diners - and was replaced with a few bottles of fizzy drinks. Charlie complained, but Viktor insisted that pumpkin juice simply did not match well with a Bulgarian meal.

"Tarator." Viktor identified the new dish before anyone could ask. "It's a cold soup made from yoghurt, cucumbers, pecans, and dill. Good to eat in hot weather, because it cools you down."

The weather had not yet been particularly warm, but the soup was excellent. Harry enjoyed the unusual combination of flavours, crunching on the bits of cucumbers and pecans in the creamy concoction.

He had only been able to take a few spoonfuls when Krum spoke to him directly.

"Tell me, Harry, what will you do next year?"

Harry laid down his spoon. "Auror Training, with Ron and Hermione," he responded with a nod toward his friends.

"What a relief!" exclaimed the elder wizard. "My teammates on the Bulgarian national Quidditch team were very worried that you might want to play professional Quidditch."

"Your teammates should worry," muttered Ron, audible to everyone at the table. "You're the only decent one on the side."

Harry raised an eyebrow to watch for Krum's reaction, but he and the other Weasleys only shrugged. Apparently this was not a new topic of discussion among the family. In fact, Harry remembered Charlie making a very similar comment just before the last World Cup final.

"Well," Krum answered Ron, "with you and Harry becoming Aurors, your older brothers running their joke shop, and your sister planning to be a Healer, we should be safe from England for a while."

"Don't forget Angelina," interjected Dean.

Krum merely scowled. Angelina Johnson, an excellent Chaser and former Gryffindor Quidditch captain who had finished Hogwarts two years previously, had already proven her skill as a member of the English national team. If she continued to play as well as she was, England was very unlikely to suffer another embarrassment such as the one that occurred against Transylvania three years ago. Bulgaria had plenty of reason to be nervous for next year's Cup.

"And Wood, playing for Scotland," added Ron. This touched off a heated debate over the relative importance of Keepers versus Chasers, Seekers versus Beaters, which lasted well into the next course.

Dean held his own, having learned a great deal about Quidditch in his years at Hogwarts, despite a childhood spent watching football and despite never having played the wizarding sport formally, himself. Hermione simply watched indulgently. Harry knew she really didn't care much about Quidditch, unless her friends were playing, but she was accustomed to sitting through long discussions of the sport. Wizards, all the Muggle-raised friends had found, were even more obsessive about Quidditch than Muggles were about football.

The food was so plentiful that even Ron's and Harry's endless appetites were sated. The English wizards and witches had the opportunity to taste kashkeval pane, a more-familiar type of cheese, prepared fried. The main dish was a meat-and-vegetable stew called kavarma, for everyone but Ginny, who had turned vegetarian last year. Krum provided for his sister-in-law, as well, with chushki burek, fried peppers stuffed with eggs and cheese, which looked so good that everyone at the table had a taste.

Hermione didn't even have to remind the rest of the group to show their appreciation for the house-elves who had prepared the meal. Dobby and Winky were showered with so many compliments that they covered their eyes with their hands, bowing deeply in delighted embarrassment. Krum made a special point of declaring that the food was so authentically prepared that he felt as though he were back home in Plovdiv.

The house-elves smiled and shook their heads, refusing any sort of help as they cleared the dishes and brought the final course, a small dish of crème caramel for each person.

When everyone had finished the pudding, and the final plates had been whisked away, the conversation began to die down. Dean made a poor job of covering an enormous yawn, while Hermione blinked rapidly to keep her head from nodding.

Noticing the fatigue of their companions, Charlie and Viktor stood up from the table. They embraced Ginny and Hermione and shook hands with Ron and Dean.

Harry stepped up to bid them farewell, too, but a look from Charlie stopped him. Taking his cue, Harry lingered behind as his friends left the kitchen.

Krum produced three bottles of Zagorka from an unknown hiding place. Charlie looked at him askance but said nothing.

Harry knew enough to understand that it was not Butterbeer that was contained in those bottles. He had never tried Muggle beer, but felt that he was being treated as an adult for one of the first times in his life and did not want to botch it up. He sipped from the bottle, found he liked it more than he expected, and swallowed another mouthful.

Charlie looked at him askance, but said nothing.

"So Harry," began Krum, "you seem to be faring pretty well."

Harry had no doubt that Charlie would have told his boyfriend about the content of Harry's letters. Here was his confirmation.

"Pretty well, yeah," he responded. "Everyone here tonight knew. They've been great."

"How's Ron?" asked Charlie.

Harry didn't want to spoil his mood by thinking about his row with his best mate, so he covered his silence by taking another swig of beer. When he lowered the bottle, he grinned mischieviously.

"Worried about that twenty Galleons he owes you," he replied.

"Twenty Galleons?" asked the Weasley with mock innocence. "I don't remember making any wager for twenty Galleons. I'm quite sure I said twenty Knuts. Ron must have misunderstood."

Harry's grin widened. The Weasleys were sometimes merciless with each other, but they knew precisely when to take pity, as well.

"Ron will be happy to hear that."

All three shared a chuckle.

"But seriously," continued Charlie, "what about Ron's attitude toward Draco?"

Harry shot his eyes toward Krum as he took another swig. So much for keeping his pleasant mood - Charlie was going to force him to think about Ron. He supposed he should be grateful for the help.

He hadn't really wanted the entire contents of his letters to be common knowledge, of course. But then, Charlie and Viktor would probably already be married if it were legal in any of the three countries they frequented. Harry supposed that telling one of them anything was as good as telling the other, and would be treated with equal confidentiality.

Viktor read his mind. "Don't worry, Harry. I kept Charlie's secret for a year and half, I can keep yours as long as you need."

"A year and a half?" Harry did a little mental arithmetic. "So you two already knew about each other at the Triwizard Tournament?"

"A day or two afterwards, actually," corrected Charlie.

"Yes, I was still a bit confused at that point," admitted Viktor. "Hermione's such a wonderful girl, and I wanted very much to be in love with her, so I tried to convince myself that I was. I even invited her to visit me in Plovdiv during the summer, as she probably told you. I had noticed Charlie, of course, but I was scared of my own feelings. And I was afraid of what my family might say if they knew I fancied a wizard, so I thought I could fix it all by falling for a nice girl like Hermione, instead."

Charlie looked at him warmly, as if this were a long-familiar topic.

"Plus," continued the Bulgarian, "she has such beautiful breasts."

Harry almost spat out his beer. Charlie choked on his laughter.

"Now, hang on!" spurted Harry. "That's not ... you're not supposed to ..."

Viktor raised an eyebrow at him, smirking dangerously. "I'm not supposed to what, Harry?"

Harry gaped at him. Wasn't it obvious what he meant? "I mean, you're gay -"

The couple looked at him incredulously before bursting out in unison laughter.

"Harry, you really don't know many gay wizards, do you?" asked Viktor fondly.

Harry shook his head.

"See the thing is," Charlie intervened, "some gay men, like Viktor, think they're missing something by never getting very close to a pair of breasts."

"While others, like Charlie," Viktor picked up the thread, "absolutely don't see the point of having extra fat on one's chest, and can do perfectly fine without."

Harry gaped a moment longer, before his mouth reorganised itself into a broad smile. He took another pull on his beer, watching Charlie and Viktor roll their eyes affectionately at each other.

"Oh," commented Harry after a moment's thought. "I think I must be in the first group. I was wondering why I still can't keep my eyes off Ginny's -"

"Hey!" Charlie punched him playfully on the arm, almost making Harry spill. "That's my sister!"

"Cheers," replied Harry with an impish grin, raising his bottle at him.

"She does have a lovely set," added Viktor, earning himself an affectionate elbow in the ribs.

Charlie mock-glared at his companions for a moment, then drew himself up so he could look down his nose at both of them in turn.

"Well, it all worked out for the best, then, didn't it? My little brother got to have his one true love, my sister found a nicer boy than either of you two, and I got Viktor."

The couple leaned their foreheads together for a moment, interlacing their fingers on the tabletop. Harry didn't bother trying to look away. He was fascinated to see how happy and right a gay couple could be together. It gave him hope.

Charlie turned to Harry. "We met at the First Task, actually, but it took me until the end of the year to have the guts to approach Viktor."

"Lucky that awful Rita Skeeter woman had disappeared by then!" added Viktor. "What a nightmare that would have been!"

"Yes," agreed Charlie. "With one thing and another, it was quite some time before we were ready to come out to our families."

Harry noticed that Charlie avoided any mention of the Order, Sirius or Voldemort, for which he was extremely grateful.

Harry thought now about his own predicament. "So, how did you finally talk to Viktor?" he asked Charlie. "I mean, where did you find the courage?"

Both Charlie and Viktor chuckled.

"I don't think 'courage' is the word," explained Charlie. "I knew I would never see Viktor again otherwise, so even if I totally humiliated myself by asking him out, there really wasn't any risk."

"But you shouldn't wait that long," admonished Krum. "You and Draco still have a month until school ends. You should enjoy that time together."

A cold feeling of panic gripped Harry at the thought of actually asking Draco to move their friendship to another level, even after the emotional intimacy they'd shared the night before.

"But how can I be sure of what he wants?" he protested.

"He already kissed you, didn't he?" reminded Charlie.

"Yes, but he claims he was under a hex."

Krum scoffed. "The only hex he was under was a little thing called hormones. He's only having trouble believing he could actually be attracted to someone he's used to seeing as an enemy."

Harry blushed a very deep shade of red at the thought of Draco being attracted to him, especially on a hormonal level. He hoped it was true, of course. In fact, he was rather excited at the idea. He wasn't used to discussing the topic out loud with anyone, however. He hadn't even mentioned it to Hermione since that first day by the Lake.

"And anyway," added Charlie, "statistics are in your favor."

Viktor snorted into his beer, prompting both men to laugh harder. Charlie threw an arm around his lover's shoulders as they shared the moment.

Harry sat looking perplexed, hoping one of them would take pity and explain the joke.

Krum noticed Harry's expression first.

"Traditionally," he clarified, "there is sort of an expectation about Seekers."

Harry's eyes flew wide. He felt his cheeks growing warm again. Indeed, all three wizards in the room, plus Draco Malfoy, were all current or former Seekers. But wait -

"Um, Cho Chang certainly struck me as being very straight," commented Harry, wondering whether he would have said that out loud before the Zagorka.

"Male Seekers, he means," amended Charlie.

Another thought hit Harry. "So Cedric -?"

Viktor and Charlie looked at each other uncomfortably, realising this was delicate territory for the younger wizard.

"Yes, I think so," answered Viktor simply, "but I really was never sure."

Harry nodded, and drank some more beer to get the prickle out of his eyes. A melancholy quiet settled around the table.

Harry began to feel wretched. And feeling wretched reminded him of Charlie's earlier question.

"Things are bad between Ron and me, Charlie," he said quietly.

The couple looked at him with great understanding and did not interrupt.

"I mean," Harry continued, "we were alright tonight, and last night when they told me, like we were on our best behaviour for the occasion or something. But Ron hates Draco. And he won't listen. I can't even imagine how he'd react if I told him I wanted to be more than Draco's friend."

Harry tipped his bottle up to his mouth again. His nose and lips felt a bit fuzzy, but that was fine. It made the words easier to say.

"Ron and I never hang around together anymore. He was so understanding when I came out to him, but now he won't even look at me most of the time. Hermione and Ginny are trying not to get stuck in-between, but Hermione is engaged to Ron now, and Ginny's his sister, of course. When I'm not studying with Draco, maybe I play cards with Dean and Seamus and Neville, but mostly I'm alone."

The bottle was almost empty. Harry swirled the suds at the bottom slowly, watching them foam and fizzle.

"I never see Ron," he added finally. "And I miss him."

Harry's eyes traced the grain of the table in front of him. He had almost never had such an uninterrupted opportunity to express his feelings. He had almost never said so much about his own thoughts at one time.

It was very, very scary.

He wanted very much to know what his older friends thought of his speech, but couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes. He continued to memorise the shape of the lines in the oak, using one idle finger to drag the condensation from his bottle into the grooves in the wood.

"Yeah, Harry," said Charlie softly. "I know."

A heavy, gentle hand landed on Harry's shoulder and stayed there. He looked up to meet two perfectly understanding gazes.

Charlie and Viktor hadn't been through everything Harry had been through, but they had still experienced enough to empathise. He could see it in their eyes.

For possibly the first time in his life, Harry was hearing someone say 'I know how you feel,' and he believed it.

"I should go," murmured Viktor. "There are a few other friends I'd like to visit while we're here."

For the split second that Viktor's eyes met Charlie's, Harry saw what it was for two men to love one another. For that instant, Harry knew that no one existed for those two except each other. For that instant, Harry believed that he would feel that way, someday.

"Znaesh li, che te obicham?" purred Viktor.

Charlie smiled at him, and leaned in to give him a soft, slightly lingering kiss.

"Da, znaya," he murmured back, "i az sushto te obicham."

Krum placed a hand on Charlie's cheek as he stood, then collected the empty beer bottles, which were whisked away by an obliging house elf. Harry, reminded of what he'd been drinking, moved his head from side to side experimentally. His brain seemed to lag behind the motion of his skull, and his tongue and earlobes were numb.

He reflected that he'd never noticed sensation or lack thereof in his earlobes before. This could be a problem. He hoped he would not meet Snape or McGonagall on his way back to Gryffindor Tower.

Or Draco. Harry shuddered at the humiliation he could cause himself by running into his unwilling love-interest when his inhibitions were down.

With a smile and a wave, Krum departed, leaving Charlie and Harry alone.

"I didn't know you spoke Bulgarian," commented Harry after a brief silence.

Charlie nodded. "Viktor has taught me a little."

"You've improved his English, as well."

"Yeah."

Harry observed the contented grin on Charlie's face.

"You're really happy, aren't you?" he asked.

"I am," confirmed Charlie, his lips still quirked upwards at the corners.

Harry sighed, without bitterness. "You're lucky."

"That I am," answered Charlie with a nod.

Both wizards absorbed the exchange in silence. The fire flickered in the hearth. An army of house-elves bustled around the far end of the kitchen, finishing the last of the washing-up after the dinner in the Great Hall that the group had all missed.

Harry sensed Charlie looking at him steadily, more steadily than Harry could manage in his current state.

"You'll get there, Harry."

Harry blinked. "Where?"

Charlie's eyes flicked toward the exit whence Viktor had disappeared. "Happiness," he answered simply.

"You mean a boyfriend?" asked Harry muzzily. His brain was struggling to catch up with what he was sure would be a profound revelation, if he could only comprehend it through the fog.

Charlie's teeth were comfortingly crooked when he grinned.

"You might have. I hope you have one, for a while at least, to see how you like it. But there are a lot of ways to be happy, Harry."

"Even if I'm alone?"

Charlie grunted out a laugh. His left hand gestured vaguely around the table which had recently been surrounded by Harry's friends. "Alone?"

Harry shrugged, concentrating on watching the puddle of condensation in front of him as he poked it with his fingertips.

"You'll never be alone, Harry. And you'll find your own type of happiness. I'm sure of it."

Harry looked up. The expression of certainty in Charlie's eyes was tempting.

"I want to believe that," he answered quietly.

Charlie's fingers touched his wrist bone lightly. "You will," he emphasised, never releasing Harry's gaze.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat.

"What about Remus and Sirius? They finally got their chance, when Sirius escaped Azkaban, and then he got killed." Harry was staring at the table again. He hated feeling this way.

He could feel Charlie's eyes on him.

"How did you know about them?" he asked finally.

Harry shrugged. "I didn't. Or, I mean I suppose I always did. I realised it because of something I dreamed."

"Right," said Charlie simply, looking at Harry without suspicion or accusation, but simply watching him for the next response.

"I miss Remus, Charlie," Harry said quietly. "I don't know how I could ever apologise, but I don't want him to be angry with me anymore."

Charlie's silence changed in quality, Harry sensed, from calm observation to speechless surprise.

When Harry glanced up, it was to find confusion in Charlie's eyes. For a long moment, Charlie simply stared at Harry without seeming to summon any response at all.

Finally, he said, "Harry, why would you think Remus is angry with you?"

Harry blinked. "He never wrote back."

Realisation dawned on Charlie's features, and he covered his eyes with one hand, looking very tired. Harry's eyes starting to sting, and he looked away, even as Charlie began talking.

"I saw Remus a few months ago. The Healing Centre where he's been staying since the war, it's really remote and they don't allow many visitors, but Mum had asked me to try, so I did.

"Remus is doing very well. He's managed to control his wolf side during the full moon, without having to take Wolfsbane, although he still changes. They think they might be about to make a breakthrough that would allow him and the other patients to avoid changing completely, at least for one moon cycle. Remus looks better than I've ever seen him, too."

Charlie took a deep breath. "He's still sad, though, mostly about you."

Harry's eyes lifted automatically at those words. The lump in his throat didn't allow him to speak, but Charlie must have seen the question in his eyes.

"He's sad because he feels he was never there for you, Harry," explained Charlie. "He feels guilty that he couldn't be around when you were growing up, because Dumbledore forbid him to try to contact you, and the Dursleys would've had a fit, anyway. He wishes now that he'd tried, somehow, sent you letters by Muggle post or something. He feels guilty that he left Hogwarts, when you'd just got used to having him around. He feels guilty that he and Sirius never told you about their relationship, and that he was angry, for a while, right after Sirius died."

Harry tried to look away at this, but Charlie's hand on his arm drew him back.

"The fact is, Harry, and you'll find this out now that you're an adult yourself: sometimes grown-ups fall out of touch with one another because they simply don't know what to say. That's what's happened with Remus: there are so many things he wishes he'd done differently for you, he doesn't know how to begin to tell you. So he hasn't written at all."

Harry hunched his shoulders, feeling miserable. "So that's it, then?" he asked in a thick voice. "I'll never see him again?"

Charlie's hand lifted and resettled on Harry's shoulder. All the angry little voices in Harry's head got quieter when the soft weight of that hand leaned on him. It made everything a little better.

"Give him time," said Charlie quietly. "He'll be back, and he'll be glad to know you've missed him."

Harry blinked quickly and swiped at his right eye with his palm, averting his eyes from Charlie.

"And what's going to happen with Ron?" he asked in a very small voice.

Harry held his breath, not daring to look at Charlie for fear of what he might see on his face. He desperately needed to hear encouraging words.

Charlie let his breath out in a sigh. "I'll deal with Ron."

"Wait, Charlie, I didn't -"

"Let me, Harry." He fixed him with a steady gaze. "It's why I came here."

Harry looked at Charlie incredulously.

Charlie didn't wait for him to articulate his confusion. "I'm glad I was here to celebrate Ron's engagement with him, but did you think we'd planned this trip on only a few hours' notice?"

Harry could only shrug. He hadn't thought through the logistics of the couple's voyage. He'd forgotten that most people chose not to Apparate over distances that great. Charlie and Viktor must have flown, or had to wait to arrange for a Portkey in order to travel all the way across Europe.

Charlie spoke again. "We decided to come here after reading your last letter. It sounded as though you were going to need some help."

Harry looked away, shoulders slumping. So much for being treated like an adult.

"I could've handled him myself," he muttered miserably.

Charlie's voice was quiet and even. "Harry, you've been around Weasleys for only seven years. Not even. I've been around them for twenty-five. Trust me when I say you needed help."

Harry forced himself to meet Charlie's gaze. "But what can you possibly do?"

"Ron's my little brother, Harry," replied Charlie with a sigh. "I can't work miracles, but I know where to start."

Harry sighed defeatedly. "Well, that's more than I know at this point."

Charlie rose, patting Harry on the shoulder again. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, feeling safe again at the briefly lingering weight. It was good to have Charlie on his side.

"Leave him to me. And write again, anytime you need advice."

Harry stood up as well.

"Thanks, Charlie." He managed a smile.

"I mean it, Harry. It means a lot to me that you came to me for advice."

When they got back up to the Entrance Hall, Charlie gave Harry a quick, hard hug before allowing him to start up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower. Harry had climbed only two or three steps before Charlie's voice made him turn around again.

"If you'll accept one more bit of advice," he offered with a wry half-smile, "you'll want to listen to Ron in the morning. He'll sort you out."

Harry would have liked to ask Charlie what he meant by that, but his brain was so jumbled that his mouth wouldn't do more than smile vaguely in farewell.