Some Perfect World

The air had that sort of foggy darkness of an image that won't come into focus. Dim and shadow shifted across his heavy eyes, only enough to show that he was moving, walking forward, climbing stairs. A memory tugged at his mind until he remembered the touch of Draco's fingertips on his hip and on his jawline as they had kissed and kissed in the cold, dark corridor.

Something in his mind became alert enough to hope not all of it was a dream.

The stairs turned into a swell in the ground and he was walking uphill over grass. In the clearing brightness of the past-full moon, the liquid black glint of eyes flashed into his mind. There was an animal standing before him, close by; it blinked as if it knew him and raised its antler-crowned head so the branching prongs caught the light and shadow, reaching for him.

He reached out in return, and for a brief moment, he could actually feel the heat of a warm-blooded animal and the roughness of coarse fur when his palm met the stag's flank. The animal turned and began to walk toward the Forbidden Forest, as though intending to lead him. Harry followed.

It felt like looking into the Mirror of Erised, being so close to something he'd always missed. He was so caught up it that he missed the moment that the stag dematerialised, leaving him alone on a rocky shore where the moon illuminated a path across the water.

Deep inside his body, something pulled forcefully toward an unseen desire, hidden behind the very edge of the horizon.

Harry was still straining to catch a glimpse of a shifting silhouette in the distance when he woke to the characteristic twilight of morning behind his bed hangings. He pushed aside the curtains to let in the full sunlight, revealing a sleepy-eyed Dean slipping into a pair of jeans after a morning shower, Seamus rolling over to bury his head under more blankets, and Neville's empty, neat bed.

With a stretch and a yawn, Harry reached across his bed and drew back the curtains on the other side. Ron's bed hangings were wide open and he was sprawled on his back, mouth gently open, covers kicked half off so that one heavy, ginger-haired leg rested on top of the blankets. His boxers had shifted down on one side to reveal the rounded corner of a hipbone, and his t-shirt rode up along the trail of red-gold that led to his navel. One arm was flung back over his eyes and his chest rose and fell steadily with each deep breath.

Harry slid out of bed, padded over, and sat on him.

Ron groaned and dropped his arm from his face in a heavy swing that knocked Harry off the bed. Their yelps and shouts of surprise broke the stillness of the quiet room.

Seamus sat bolt upright, hair even more ruffled than Harry's. "What the bloody hell ..." he began, then spotted Harry and Ron in a tangled heap of bedclothes on the floor.

His eyebrows disappeared into his fringe. He looked to Dean for confirmation or support, but Dean was doubled over laughing and was no help at all.

"And here I'd thought the 'lucky wizard' was Malfoy," muttered Seamus.

Harry felt his eyes fly wide in panic, but Ron didn't appear to twig. He was too busy hurling his pillow at Seamus, who quickly responded in kind. Harry ducked out of the line of fire, rolling back to the safe barrier of his own bed.

"Yeah, you'd do well to run," called Ron. "What were you on about, waking me up that way, anyhow?"

Harry shrugged and gave him what he hoped was a winning grin.

Ron retrieved the pillow Seamus had thrown, and whomped Harry soundly with it. "Well, piss off. Some of us are trying to sleep."

And some of us are still having odd dreams, noted Harry as he scrambled for a towel from his trunk and fled the dormitory, inches ahead of another pillow projectile.

***

It didn't take much for Hermione to convince Harry to join her in the library after lunch that afternoon. He'd learned at least something about his dreams from the Dreaming Draught assignment, after all, and this new one was very curious. It felt more real than even the hawk dreams, too. He'd had very strong, gut-level emotions rise up while dreaming this time, and had to know something about the images that had made him feel that way.

Consulting all the usual sources brought very little insight, though. He remembered the sea as a symbol of new beginnings, from his previous dream. The stag was an obvious reference to his father, he assumed; the book had no entry for 'stag,' but indicated that a deer could represent independence, among other meanings which his gut told him to reject. Harry made a note: new beginnings, freedom, lost parents ... there was something in all of this, he was sure.

When he sat down and thought it through, he found that those had been the only images in the dream. He wasn't sure why it had affected him so deeply, then; maybe it had been that feeling of longing he'd felt as he'd looked out across the ocean. He knew there was something there that he needed, perhaps this new beginning that he was more and more sure he was seeking.

A little voice in his mind suggested that his nascent relationship with Draco was the new beginning in question, but the idea left him feeling unsettled. It didn't sit quite right, didn't feel like what the dream had been trying to say, if indeed it had been trying to say anything at all. He allowed his mind to linger on thoughts of the kiss the night before, nonetheless, and his mouth curled itself into a comfortable smile.

Before long, Ron joined them, and Harry quickly reshelved the dream texts with a tap of his wand. He didn't need Ron asking any questions, especially if he'd heard what Seamus had said that morning. Harry realised he was probably being paranoid, but simply wasn't ready for Ron to find out about him and Draco.

Harry felt his heart give a little racing patter. Images of kissing Draco kept popping back into his mind, making him grin foolishly.

Ron and Hermione raised their eyebrows at him in unconscious unison, and Harry buried his glowing face in a Charms textbook.

After a bit, Ron and Hermione got back to work, but Harry was having a much more difficult time of it.

Harry was beginning to suspect, very strongly, that he was going to fail his N.E.W.T.s. It was looking increasingly likely that he would botch every last one of them spectacularly, and that that would be the end of his hopes of becoming an Auror. Ron and Hermione would go off to Auror training without him, and Harry would be lucky to get a job cleaning rooms at the Leaky Cauldron.

It wasn't that he didn't understand his subjects, or that he had forgotten any of what he'd revised in the days when he'd used time in the library as a way of hiding from the conflicts he'd had with his friends. It was that he still had quite a lot of work to do, and every time he set foot in the library to revise for the exams, something managed to distract him.

This Sunday afternoon, that 'something' was sitting across the room from him, sneaking flirtatious glances at unpredictable intervals. It was all Harry could do to keep his expression impassive, so Ron and Hermione wouldn't catch on to the unspoken communication that was going on under their noses.

After an hour of fruitless attempts at reading, Harry decided he needed a change of venue. The Gryffindor Common Room would be noisier than the library, but nothing could be as distracting as Draco's presence.

He muttered an excuse to Ron and Hermione, who looked at him curiously, but nodded. Books swept into his bag, Harry left the library.

He only made it a little way down the corridor before he stopped, drawn almost physically back toward the library. He was doomed - he couldn't concentrate on studying when Draco was in sight, but he couldn't stand to be away from him, either.

Harry leaned against a wall, supporting his weight with his arms. He looked around himself and smiled. This was the very spot where he had leaned when Draco had first spoken to him about becoming friends.

Harry's mind raced over the events of the previous evening. He still couldn't believe Draco had actually kissed him. It was no surprise that part of the scene had bled over into his dreams, but the result was that by morning, Harry had begun to doubt whether any of it had been real. Harry had spent his morning wandering the corridors, hoping to find Draco somewhere, but with no luck. They hadn't seen each other until sometime that afternoon after Ron had arrived, when Harry had looked up from his reading to see Draco watching him. There hadn't been any opportunity to talk at all.

Draco's flirtatious and searching glances, though, had confirmed Harry's hopes: not all of his dreams had been false.

The sound of approaching footsteps caused Harry to start. He was trying to decide whether to return to the library or continue on to Gryffindor Tower when the figure careened around the corner from the library. Draco was moving so quickly that he couldn't stop, and nearly knocked Harry over. Harry grabbed onto Draco's shoulders for balance, and the two stumbled for a moment, each struggling to keep his feet.

Before Harry had got over his surprise enough to be happy to see Draco, he had stumbled backwards into the wall, hands still grappling at Draco's shoulders, and was pinned. The smiling face from his dreams was only inches away.

"Hi," said Draco. His expression was so childlike in its bliss, Harry had to bite his own lip to keep from laughing out loud.

Harry would never actually miss the spoilt prat who had once worn that face, but it did amuse him a little to remember the first time they'd seen each other at Madam Malkin's, so many years ago. It would be an understatement to say that things had changed.

"Hi," he responded, looking deeply into Draco's eyes. They really were silver, not grey or hazel. Beautiful.

Draco's smile was so close. Harry inclined his head slightly forward. His gut did that reaching-out thing it had done in his dreams. Their mouths were now only a tiny fraction of an inch apart. He could feel his need like a physical sensation.

Draco turned his head a few degrees, barely enough to touch Harry's nose with his own. Harry nudged back gently. They both smiled again.

"Hi," repeated Draco.

Harry did laugh this time. "I think we covered that already, didn't we?"

Draco shrugged and pulled back a little. His smile had twisted into a small, nervous frown.

"Look, I know this is stupid of me, but I was up half the night smiling and up the other half worrying about what's next, and so I need to know." Draco's eyes bored expectantly into Harry's.

"You need to know," echoed Harry softly, only half-confident that he understood what Draco meant.

"Yes, I need to know," Draco said again, looking at Harry as though balancing on a precipice.

Harry blinked at him. He would look like an idiot if he reassured Draco that he wanted to be with him ... if that wasn't what Draco meant, at all. Draco's expression was darkening as he waited, and Harry was almost convinced enough to say something when Draco spoke again.

"I see," he said, pulling further away. "I should have known you would change your mind by morning. I mean, why would you want -"

"Draco, how could you think that?" interrupted Harry, openly astonished. "I haven't changed anything!" he insisted, tentatively adding, "Have you?"

He drew his head back, although he didn't have much room to manoeuvre, with Draco's warm body still pinning him deliciously to the cold, stone wall. If he wasn't careful, their closeness would soon catch the attention of certain excitable parts of his anatomy, and he was pretty sure from the conversation that the timing wasn't right for that sort of thing.

Anyway, Harry had been kissed exactly three times, now, and had never had anything more. He didn't feel remotely ready for 'that sort of thing.'

Draco's searching eyes softened, along with his expression. He gave a tiny shake of his head. "No, you haven't, have you?" he stated.

Harry could tell it wasn't really a question, but he answered, anyway.

"I haven't."

"Good. Neither have I," replied Draco, as his palm grazed the back of Harry's neck, bringing Harry's face down for a soft, warm kiss.

Harry relaxed, smiling. Draco's mouth tasted of heat and boy. He kissed Harry more softly than ever before, letting his lips part only slightly, enough to tease at Harry's lower lip, but no more. His lips were even smoother than Harry remembered, but his cheeks were dusted with the finest of golden stubble, too light to be visible yet still sharp enough to sting.

Harry ran the backs of his knuckles across Draco's whiskers, feeling the delicate prickles. There were so many details he hadn't noticed before. He looked forward to taking his time at memorising each one.

Draco pulled back, looking Harry very directly in the eye.

"So," he began, "does this mean we're - I mean I can see why maybe you wouldn't want, since it would be complicated, but I had the impression -"

Harry interrupted, threading his fingers into the flaxen strands at the nape of Draco's neck. "Yes, I do want," he said eagerly.

Draco looked at him without speaking for a long time, and Harry's stomach turned spiky with nerves and began to float upward toward his throat.

"I mean," he backpedalled, not quite sure how Draco really wanted to proceed, "if you want, that is. To be. Together. Like, um, you know."

There was a word that came to mind, but it sounded too ridiculously, embarrassingly stupid even to consider saying it aloud.

A silence stretched across a few seconds that seemed to last all of human history, and then some.

"Boyfriends?" Draco prompted, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

Harry nodded, swallowing the uneasy lump in his throat. In Draco's voice, the word wasn't stupid at all. Odd and foreign, a bit, but not at all stupid.

"Yes, like that," he confirmed tentatively. "If you want."

The silver eyes trapped Harry in their piercing gaze. That excitable part of his anatomy was starting to take notice. He took a deep breath, willing it to calm itself, but it wasn't taking orders, especially when Draco's voice dropped the octave as he spoke again.

"Oh, I want," murmured Draco in a husky whisper. "I'll show you how much I want."

He was reaching for Harry again when they heard footsteps approaching from the direction of the library. They sprang apart, Draco smoothing his hair to hide the signs of how Harry's hands had rumpled it. Harry smirked at the thought that his own impossible hair had some convenient qualities, at least.

Hermione came around the corner and stopped short. She looked at the two boys and clearly arrived at an accurate conclusion in no time at all. She span around, addressing the person who was not yet in sight behind her.

"Ron, wait! I've left one of my books on the table. Will you go and fetch it for me?"

"Hermione, you didn't leave any books," came the disembodied reply. "I saw you pick them all up."

"I'm sure I've left one!" she insisted. "Please, won't you go and look?"

"Can't you just Summon it?"

"Ron!"

"Oh, have it your way." Heavy footfalls faded back toward the library.

Harry, who had stood rooted to the spot with horror, came to life when Hermione turned toward him again. He glanced toward Draco, to find that his friend (boyfriend, he thought to himself with wonder) had disappeared.

It was a good job one of them could think quickly under pressure.

Hermione took several hurried steps toward him, clearly torn between glee and disgust.

"Then you're together?" It wasn't really a question.

Harry nodded, feeling a flush along his cheekbones.

Hermione smiled and hugged him tightly. "Oh, Harry, that's wonderful! I mean, I still don't get your taste, but I'm so happy for you!" She pulled back with a devilish smirk.

"So," she said. "Spill."

Harry gaped. He'd never had a romantic life that had amounted to anything before. He wasn't prepared to talk about it.

Hermione sensed her friend's discomfort and took his hand. "Alright, you don't have to tell me." She regarded him appraisingly. "But you will."

Harry tried to keep his resolve, but buckled quickly under the pressure of her gaze.

"Last night," he said. "We missed the carriages, and I brought him back through the tunnel under the Shrieking Shack, and then he kissed me goodnight."

She smiled at him softly, and thankfully, didn't comment on the tunnel or its history. She simply stayed quiet, in a manner that made it very clear that she expected to hear a bit more than he had already said.

"And it was brilliant," he added. "He meant it, just like I wanted. It was real."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Ron's voice called from around the corner, complaining that he hadn't found anything and was hungry and he'd told Hermione she already had all her books and could they find Harry and all go to dinner now, please?

Harry and Hermione shared a grin. Even when some things were changing for the better, it was comforting to know that others would never change at all.

***

If Harry had thought everything would be settled once he and Draco had confirmed their feelings for each other, then he had forgotten to consider several other factors. One was sitting at a back table, next to Blaise Zabini. Another was lecturing sneeringly from the demonstration desk up front. In fact, the Potions classroom was full of complicating factors that Monday morning.

Harry imagined he might be worried about the opinions of his friends and teachers if he could think for a moment about anything but Draco. As had been all too frequently the case this spring, Harry was completely incapable of concentrating on anything else at all. Draco monopolised all of his senses, until it was impossible for any other impulse to break through.

Harry could hear his Draco's quiet breathing next to him, could see fair skin and golden hair in his peripheral vision. Every once in a while, Draco's foot would venture over to meet Harry's ankle, caressing lightly before disappearing again. The subtle musk of Draco's particular scent drifted over to Harry's nostrils, possessing his olfactory senses until Harry could taste Draco on his lips and tongue.

It was driving him utterly mad.

Worse, Harry was beginning to worry about all the things Draco had said when he'd tried to talk to him previously about their kiss a month earlier. What had happened to Draco's self-imposed mandate that he marry a witch and continue the Malfoy line? Harry couldn't really ask him to give all that up. And if he wasn't, then was this only a bit of fun before leaving school? How could he know what Draco expected from him?

As if the proximity and whirling thoughts weren't enough, Draco now felt the need to add to Harry's distraction. Probably, he couldn't concentrate any more than Harry could. He pushed a note across the desk, until it touched the scroll where Harry was taking notes:

When can I see you?

Well, that was the question of the hour, wasn't it? Harry did want to spend time alone with Draco, and not only to talk about the worries that plagued him.

He knew there were plenty of places in the castle where students had been known to find time alone with each other, but the chances of getting to and returning from those places without being discovered were almost nonexistent.

He wasn't ready to face the reactions of his housemates when they learned about the new relationship, and he suspected Draco felt the same about the Slytherins. What they had had been hard-won, but it was still fragile; it was too soon to put their fledgling relationship to the test of public scrutiny.

I don't know, he wrote back. He waited for a moment when Snape was busy scowling across the room at Ernie and Padma, then pushed the note back toward Draco.

Draco's face fell fractionally. Harry tried to concentrate on Snape's demonstration, but found that he had been thoroughly enough distracted as to have no idea of the topic of the day's lecture. He was reminded, appropriately enough, of the state of his mind during the lesson that had ended moments before Draco had first kissed him. He glanced forward at Hermione, willing her to turn around, as though her eye-contact could somehow give him a clue as to what was going on, but she was thoroughly absorbed in taking notes.

A few minutes later, the bit of parchment brushed his elbow again.

We could study tomorrow night?

'Study.' Right.

Harry smirked to himself. He knew perfectly well that it wouldn't be Potions they would be 'studying.' It was a perfect excuse, though, for them to spend time together. Harry's mind had been in such a shambles lately, that he'd forgotten he and Draco had a very reasonable motivation for meeting, and that they had frequently studied alone before, so no one would have any cause to be suspicious.

A tired sigh escaped Harry's lips. He'd only been in this relationship with Draco for about thirty-six hours, and he was already tired of the lies he would have to tell to keep it secret. He hoped it would get easier, with time. He was excited about being with Draco, but it wasn't worth losing the most important things in his life, like his closest friends.

Harry wasn't really worried about losing Ron over this, but he knew things between them were about to get difficult. Really, he had always thought of Ron as an all-weather friend, the kind of friend most people were never lucky enough to have. The only time their friendship had been tested before had been in the early days of the Triwizard Tournament, when Ron had mistakenly thought Harry to have willfully excluded him from a plot to outwit the Age Line. It was only when Ron felt Harry had betrayed him that he had turned away.

Harry could understand how Ron saw a friendship with Draco - Ron's worst enemy - as a betrayal on Harry's part. He couldn't imagine how Ron would react to a romantic relationship between the two, especially when Harry had so recently told him no such thing was going on. Harry knew he'd have to tell Ron soon, before the half-truth became any more of a lie. He only needed a little more time to feel ready to talk about this.

He wondered how Draco felt about fitting their relationship into his life, for that matter. Harry couldn't imagine that it would be worth Draco giving up his commitment to his family, any more than it was worth Harry losing Ron. Perhaps it was best not to get too attached.

Harry caught Draco's eye in his peripheral vision, and smiled. It wasn't Draco's fault that the situation was so impossible. And when Draco smiled in return, Harry understood that it was far too late to worry about getting attached.

As Harry picked up the bit of parchment to note his response - Yes, let's - a sweeping of black robes appeared immediately in front of him.

Oh, bugger.

The scrap was tugged from Harry's fingers. He looked up to find a very annoyed Potions Master staring down at him.

Snape read the note, taking an excruciatingly long time at it. Harry gritted his teeth against the inevitable: any second, Snape would start reading Harry's and Draco's words aloud, and their secret would be common knowledge among the entire class.

The second didn't come. Instead, Snape's voice sounded quiet, dangerous. "Detention. Both of you." He glanced again at the paper, twisting his lips into a sadistic little smirk. "Tomorrow night, I think."

BUGGER!

Snape glared at each of the students in turn, sparing an extra long look at the student who had once been his favourite. With narrowed eyes in response to Draco's proudly up-tilted chin, Snape swept back to the front of the room.

Don't worry, said Draco's new note, which appeared in Harry's lap moments later. We'll find a chance soon.

Harry reached out with his own foot, brushing it awkwardly against his boyfriend's calf. He hoped 'soon' would be soon enough.

***

They almost had a chance that very evening, when they passed in an otherwise deserted corridor near the library. Draco looked exhausted, bending slightly under the weight of his bookbag; Harry was rushing, already late to meet Hermione.

The race for the House Cup was close, and Hermione had warned Harry that Snape might force him to spend his detention writing an essay on the potion he'd failed to learn the previous morning due to being so intent on arranging a private rendezvous with Draco. If Harry were to arrive at Snape's office still knowing nothing about the lesson he'd disrupted, he would be guaranteeing a large deduction of points from Gryffindor.

Therefore, in addition to his N.E.W.T. preparations and a particularly hefty essay for Transfigurations, Harry would be spending his evening learning every smallest detail of a tiringly complex restorative potion which was designed to keep even mortally wounded soldiers alive until Mediwizards could transport them to a safe place for more thorough treatment.

It didn't bear thinking about the dreams he would have, after reading about a potion like that.

When Draco's pale blond hair lit up the dim corridor, though, Harry momentarily forgot about promises to Hermione and piles of homework. Even his horrific memories of the Final Battle were pushed aside. All he could think was how happy he was to see Draco and how he wished they could be sure of being uninterrupted, for at least a few moments.

These thoughts had barely passed through Harry's head when Draco grabbed him and pushed him through the door of a nearby broom cupboard, slamming the door behind them. Harry was gasping for breath, from surprise, when Draco's mouth was suddenly on his, softly and insistently demanding attention and response. Harry threaded his fingers through Draco's impossibly fine hair, finding the warmest roots at the back of his neck.

For whatever brief moments passed, he lost all track of time, letting himself sink into the blissful sensation of his skin against Draco's, even if was only fingers and faces and necks.

"Alone at last." Draco's lips softly brushed Harry's earlobe as they murmured, then nibbled and took hold, alternately sucking and ghosting over the sensitive skin.

Harry gasped and leaned his head to give Draco better access. There was so much he didn't know about being close to someone physically, so much he'd never experienced. To his best recollection, he hadn't even initiated a kiss before, but now he found himself entertaining fantasies of slipping his fingers past buttons and zips to find new and uncharted expanses of Draco's skin.

The fantasies remained unrealised, however, as their very suggestion made him blush to the roots of his hair. Harry was eager to try further intimacy with Draco, but he was very, very shy about the idea.

Footsteps on the other side of the door startled him back to his surroundings.

"Draco, I can't stay."

Harry tried, reluctantly, to push Draco gently away, but Draco held fast.

"But we haven't any time."

"I know. I'm sorry. But I promised Hermione."

Draco pulled back. In the total darkness, the silence gave no hint as to its meaning.

"Does she know?" Draco asked finally.

Harry nodded, then realising Draco couldn't see him, said simply, "Yes."

"What about Weasley?"

Harry shook his head, again momentarily forgetting that nonverbal communication was impossible in the darkness.

"You haven't told him, have you?" persisted Draco, before Harry could speak.

"It's not that simple, is it?" said Harry defensively. "I'm happy we're together, but it's not going to be easy, telling Ron. I can't risk losing him."

Draco let out a sarcastic grunt. "Can't risk losing Weasley? Am I that horrible?"

"Go on, Draco, you know there's a lot of history between your families. And it's not as though you're going out of your way to proclaim our relationship to all of Slytherin."

"You're the one who's working so hard to keep this a secret, Harry. Not me."

Harry blinked, wishing he could see Draco's face and that Draco could see his.

"But what about everything you told me before? About carrying on the Malfoy family line, and all of that?"

Harry caught his breath, as he heard the words tumble out. He'd had no intention of letting those concerns slip into sound.

Draco was silent for a long moment, but his fingers had started to play with the short strands at the back of Harry's neck again. Harry leaned into the touch, enjoying every second of contact, aware that each second made him later for his meeting with Hermione.

"I'm not sure, alright?" Draco answered finally. "I used to be sure, but now I'm not. I mean, it's only been a few days, and you're talking about the rest of my life."

"You're right, I'm sorry." Harry backpedaled quickly.

"No, I get it," said Draco after another, shorter pause. "I can see why you'd wonder. Only I don't have a good answer for you." His fingertips found a sensitive place that made Harry shiver deliciously from head to toe.

He tried to respond, but only a weak whimper would pass his lips. Draco reacted quickly, pulling Harry's body more closely against his.

"Is it alright, then, Harry? Can you live a while without a good answer?"

Harry was breathing too hard to make any reasonable verbal response. He tried to nod, but Draco's lips met his and kept his head immobile for half a minute longer.

Finally, unwillingly, Harry broke away. "Look, I really am going to be late," he said apologetically.

Draco pushed the door open, allowing the light from the hallway to illuminate his soft eyes. "Go on. I'll see you in detention." He put his fingers against Harry's face, smiled, then shoved him out the door and slipped out behind him.

"Goodnight," whispered Draco, as Harry moved away. Harry stopped a moment longer, to face him. "Dream about me?" added Draco hopefully, with a smile, before he turned and walked away.

Harry stood, shell-shocked, wondering whether Draco could possibly know about his dreams.

***

It was a sleepy bunch of Gryffindors that nodded blearily at each other over breakfast on Tuesday morning. Harry could barely keep his eyes open, from the horrible night he'd had after finishing his homework.

He'd been right, and the revising he'd done to learn about the restorative potion had brought back scores of gruesome images from the Final Battle. He'd lain awake for hours when he'd got back from the library, afraid to sleep and face the nightmares he might find waiting in his subconscious.

Harry had thought he'd recovered from the horror of the previous summer. He had been so terribly mistaken. He was sure he'd gone mad; clearly, he wasn't ready to get into a relationship with Draco, whose family was so completely enmeshed in Harry's memories of those blood-drenched days.

But as Harry had thought of Draco, a light had come on in his mind, and a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He had thought, again, of the jagged, silvery scar that marred his boyfriend's forearm, where a horrid black brand could have been, instead. It had been Draco's bravery that had kept him alive past the end of Voldemort's influence. It had been Draco's goodness.

Harry smiled a bit, while eating his porridge, as he remembered the pleasant thoughts that had finally allowed him to sink into slumber. His dreams had been gentle and warm; he didn't remember any specific visual images, only the sensation of being safe and loved. He had a pretty good idea who had made him feel that way.

Harry tried to seek Draco out across the Hall, but his eyes wouldn't open far enough to focus at that distance. He took another bite of porridge, instead, smiling to himself as he listened to his dormmates' sleepy chatter around him.

"Look at this, Ron," Hermione was saying. "It's our invitation to Emma and Persephone's wedding celebration in July."

July. Harry's smile faltered a bit. Hermione and Ron would probably be away for his birthday, then. He'd been hoping they could all celebrate together, this year, since his seventeenth had been such a disaster. Molly and Arthur had really, really tried to make Harry's birthday special, but coming so soon after the Final Battle, no one had been in a festive mood. All Harry could remember of the evening was gritting his teeth and wishing to be allowed to leave the table and find a place to be alone.

"Mmm?" responded Ron groggily, looking up at Hermione through his fringe.

"Honestly, Ron," scolded Hermione lovingly as she brushed the hair off his forehead, revealing his squinting blue eyes. "You'd better get your hair cut before we go to America. You're starting to look like Harry!"

Harry stuck his tongue out at her, while Ron laughed. "At least I don't have a great, round pair of glasses," said Ron. "Then we'd have another set of twins in the family."

"Oh, Merlin, please, no!" groaned Ginny, as Harry tried to decide whether to kick Ron for the comment about his glasses, or to feel pleased about being called a member of the family.

He decided on both.

"I'm not dyeing my hair," said Harry, as Ron grimaced and rubbed his shin. "I want to make that clear."

Ron shrugged. "Your mum was a redhead, wasn't she? Close enough, in my book."

Hermione laughed. "Next you'll be telling us you're related to Susan Bones!"

"We are," said Ginny. "She's our second cousin, or third, I forget."

"Both, probably," responded Ron. "Pureblood families are so intermingled, I think Mum's related to her dad, and Dad's related to her mum. You know how it is," he continued, now addressing Harry. "You saw the -"

Ron cut himself off, realising what he'd been about to say.

Harry closed his eyes, unable, after the night he'd had, to protect himself against the pain of thinking about his godfather. He spoke very quietly. "The tapestry in Sirius's house. Yes, I remember."

A tense silence fell, as everyone slurped his or her porridge morosely. Ron munched on some kippers, clearly wishing he'd thought not to speak.

Unfortunately for Seamus, he chose that moment to arrive at the table, looking for two available seats.

Ginny, Hermione and Ron all looked mistrustingly at Millicent, who stood quietly behind her boyfriend, hoping to be accepted at the table. Dean offered a reluctant-looking, but friendly, smile. Parvati and Padma gave the couple twin glares of open hostility. Lavender matched their expression from her seat at the Ravenclaw table, where she was eating with Michael Corner.

One of the empty seats happened to be next to Harry. He turned to Millicent and smiled, inviting her to sit down.

Her face lit up. Harry couldn't help brightening in response. She was actually quite lovely when she smiled that way. Seamus flashed Harry a grateful grin as he took the seat on the far side of his girlfriend from Harry.

"Thanks," said Millicent as she settled herself into the seat. Her broad, square shoulders filled up the space between Harry and Seamus, but her smile brightened Harry's mood considerably. He couldn't imagine why the other Gryffindors didn't appear to feel the same effect.

"By the way," she continued in an undertone, inaudible to anyone else at the table, "Draco asked me to give you this."

Harry felt something nudge against his leg, under the table, and put his hand down to receive the bit of folded-up parchment she was passing him. He opened it up under the table to read:

Can you stay after detention tonight? Pansy's on patrol-duty and said she'd cover for me.

He looked round-eyed at Millicent. "Do you know?" he whispered, well aware that she would, now, simply from his question.

Millicent nodded once, so slightly that Harry nearly missed it. "He told Pansy and me, last night. He hasn't told anyone else. He knows you want to keep it quiet."

Harry glanced over at Hermione, about to tell Millicent that one more person did know, and noticed that Ron and Hermione were both eyeing them suspiciously.

Harry cleared his throat and grinned at his best friends. "You two must be excited about going to America, then," he said, gesturing at the invitation still clasped in Hermione's hand.

Ron brightened up at the mention, and looked over at the rose-coloured card again. "Awfully frilly, that, isn't it?"

Hermione scowled at him, and handed it to Ginny, who had held out her hand, saying, "Give it here, then." Ginny's brown eyes skimmed over it and she smiled wickedly. "I think it's lovely, don't you Dean?"

Dean swallowed, hard, and hurriedly passed the paper across the table to Seamus. While Ginny was cackling with mischievious mirth, Seamus handed the invitation to Millicent, who glanced at it and passed it on to Harry.

It was a bit frilly, but Harry thought it was nice. He unconsciously traced a gentle finger down the edge of the soft, heavy stationery as he read,

He looked up to make an appreciative comment, when he noticed Hermione reading a letter that must have been included with the invitation. Her brow was furrowing deeper and deeper, and she kept shooting increasingly agitated glances at Harry.

Without looking up, she grabbed Ron's sleeve. "Ron, I've just remembered I needed to tell you something about the agenda for this afternoon's prefect meeting."

Ron blinked, but let himself be dragged away from the table.

Ginny watched them leave, narrowing her eyes. "Does she think anyone actually believes her when she does that?" she enquired of no one in particular.

Harry shook his head, wondering a bit bitterly what the letter contained that Hermione could discuss with Ron but not with him.

***

As annoyed as Harry might have been about Hermione's sudden departure from breakfast that morning, he was appreciating her friendship again by evening.

Thank Merlin for Hermione, he thought, and not for the first time.

She'd been precisely correct; Harry and Draco had arrived at Snape's office at eight o'clock to find two desks, placed as far apart as the room would allow, each topped with a long, blank roll of parchment and a quill. Snape had instructed them to write thirty inches on the potion he'd taught the day before, and had sat down between them to grade essays, a malicious grin teasing the corners of his mouth.

Harry had tried, once, after a long while had passed, to meet Draco's eyes across the room. Unfortunately, Snape had looked up at that exact moment.

"There will be none of that," snapped the Potions Master, catching the glance between his students. "It was that type of dilly-dally that caused you two to fail to pay attention in my lesson yesterday, which is why you are here now.

"Furthermore," he continued sneeringly, "while we are on the subject, I would like to let you know, Mr. Malfoy, that I am deeply disappointed."

Draco tried to keep his expression proud, but Harry could see he was crushed. Snape was still the professor whom Draco most admired, the one who had saved him from bleeding to death when he had performed the Light Protection. He had to know how deeply the word 'disappointed' would cut Draco. Harry felt his temper rise. Who was Snape to tell Draco how to live his life? It wasn't as though Snape himself had had any great success at romance, if outward appearances were at all accurate.

"I'm not going to make any comment on your orientation," spoke Snape again, still addressing Draco and largely ignoring Harry. "That's your own business. I would have hoped, however, that you would have better taste."

"Better taste!" burst from Harry's mouth, but the same words came even more loudly from Draco at the same moment, so that Harry's interjection went unheard.

"Professor, Harry's the one who saved your life!" protested Draco further. "If it weren't for Harry, you'd be wandering around without a mind in your head, just like him."

Snape's silence in response echoed more loudly than any shout. Draco's mouth snapped shut, as though he realised he had crossed the line by comparing Snape to his father. Snape glared burning daggers at both boys, clearly trying to decide which to attack first.

Finally, he swept himself out of his chair and strode toward Draco. Harry barely heard his words in the stillness.

"We will discuss this later," he whispered angrily. "For now, you would do well to remember that I am your teacher, and that you owe me your respect. Ten points from Slytherin should help jog your memory."

Harry gaped. He'd never known Snape to remove points from his own House before, and certainly never from Draco. He tried to communicate support with his eyes, but Draco had fixed his eyes to his paper, jaw and shoulders rigid as though fighting to contain his emotions.

Snape glared in Harry's direction now, leaving him no choice but to return to his own essay.

Harry found it almost impossible to write. He knew better than to try to look at Draco again, but he wished there were some way he could communicate his concern. He could only hope Draco was faring better at the essay than he was. With an hour gone, Harry had written barely fourteen inches, and couldn't begin to imagine how he would fill up another sixteen.

Hermione's voice spoke inside his head, reminding of the tight race for the House Cup, and gently encouraging him to remember more details, so he could keep writing. The House Cup didn't interest Harry so much at the moment, concerned as he was with nurturing his relationship with his very Slytherin new boyfriend. It was important to his friends, though, and he wanted to stay in their good graces, as well.

Harry put down his quill and stretched his sore writing arm, closing his eyes to remember the material Hermione had helped him revise the night before. When he opened them, Snape was staring at him menacingly. Harry hurriedly picked up his quill and returned to writing.

By the time he had completed his thirty inches - his handwriting getting noticeably larger toward the end - Harry's shoulders were tied in knots. He sat up, reaching his arms overhead, at the very moment that the castle's clocks chimed eleven o'clock.

Draco looked up then, with strain obvious in his features. He was rolling up his parchment, which looked as though it might be long enough to be complete.

"You heard the bell," growled Snape in Harry's direction. "Potter, I expect you to return to Gryffindor Tower directly. Mr. Malfoy," he continued, turning toward Draco, "I would like a word with you."

Harry handed his scroll to Snape and slouched out of the room feeling defeated. The irony did not escape him: not so long ago, he would have gloated at Draco being in more trouble with Snape than he was.

It wasn't funny, though. He and Draco had had plans. Those plans had been the glimmer of hope beyond the dark prospects of the evening, and now Snape was sure to escort Draco back to Slytherin personally, leaving the boys no time alone.

He leaned against the wall, exhaling heavily.

It wasn't fair. He'd finally found something that made him truly happy, and he didn't have time to enjoy it! When were he and Draco ever going to find a decent amount of time alone?

Never one to give up easily, Harry moved into the shadows of that familiar alcove, dropping his bookbag at his feet. He was pleased that he'd thought to bring it, knowing he might have to sneak back to his common room later than was precisely allowed.

As he draped the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and over his head, Harry allowed himself to hope that he might yet be able to find some time alone with Draco.

He had to wait quite a bit longer than he'd expected. By the time Snape led Draco out of his office and down the corridor toward the entrance to the Slytherin common room, Harry had become quite worried about just how much trouble Draco was in.

Draco looked so angry, in fact, that Harry wasn't sure he would welcome his presence. He had waited so long, though, he had to try. He was confident that Draco would let him know, somehow, if he wanted to be left alone.

Harry was in luck: as Draco and Snape approached his hiding place, Harry saw that Draco was walking on the side closest to him. He hoped Draco wouldn't be so startled as to blow Harry's cover, when he made his move.

Naturally, Draco was as cool as ever, and when the invisible Harry grasped his hand, he only started slightly, and kept walking, his fingers wrapped lightly around Harry's.

"Something wrong, Mr. Malfoy?" enquired Snape, who never missed anything.

"Yes, actually, sir," replied Draco softly, half-stopping in his tracks as though he'd just remembered something and as though Harry's presence were the last thing on his mind. "I mean, in a way. It's only that I'd promised Pansy I would send a letter for her before I returned to the common room tonight."

"All right, Malfoy, give it to me and I will post it after I've seen you to your dormitory."

To Harry's surprise, Draco did produce a roll of parchment from his pocket and hand it to his Head of House. Apparently Harry hadn't been the only one to have planned a strategy for getting back to the dormitories after their meeting. Draco, who did not own an Invisibility Cloak, had apparently arranged a cover story, in case he'd been caught out.

If only it had worked to get them alone.

Draco scowled and squeezed Harry's fingers, gently, as the three of them walked down the corridor together toward Slytherin House.

Snape stopped at a blank stretch of stone wall, in the corridor Harry recognised as containing the entrance to Draco's common room.

"I trust you will think about what I told you," said the Head of House to his student.

Draco narrowed his eyes, but nodded. "Yes, sir," he said bitterly.

"Good," replied Snape, ignoring the tone of mutiny in Draco's expression and voice. "Legacy," he said to the wall, which slid open to allow Draco to enter.

At the last moment, Harry realised he would have to enter, as well, in order to find his moment with Draco. He allowed his boyfriend to drag him through the opening, as Snape scowled from the far side of the closing wall.

The Slytherin common room was exactly as Harry had remembered it: stark, cold, in the very finest of taste, and extremely unwelcoming. Draco strode purposefully toward a door in the back, right corner. None of the handful of students tried to speak to him; the younger ones looked intimidated, and a few older ones looked indifferent. Harry was sorry to see that the good humour he'd witnessed between Draco and his housemates, when they'd been in Hogsmeade together, had been short-lived.

He was glad to know that Pansy and Millicent, at least, were on Draco's side.

Harry followed Draco through the doorway, down a dark, winding staircase, and past several closed doors. Finally, at the bottom of the stairs, Draco paused.

"Harry?" he asked quietly.

"Yes?" answered Harry in an equally soft voice.

"I don't know who will be in there. I didn't see Crabbe, Goyle or Zabini upstairs in the Common Room, but sometimes they're playing cards with the sixth-years or something. If they're inside, we'll have to get you out. I don't know how we'll do it, but we'll worry about that if it happens, alright?"

"Alright," breathed Harry, feeling very foolhardy for having willingly entered the snake pit without having first planned his escape.

Draco pushed open the door, to reveal a dormitory very much like Harry's own, only colder and windowless, and of course the curtains and bedspreads on the large, four-poster beds were all a deep, emerald green. The fire in the hearth and torches on the walls did little to add cheer or warmth to the surroundings. It looked, to the last detail, like it had in his dream a few weeks earlier.

Other than the furnishings, the room was empty.

"Merlin!" exclaimed Harry, pulling off his Cloak as Draco shut and locked the door. "No wonder you Slytherins are such a depressing bunch!"

"What do you mean?" asked Draco, his expression guarded.

Harry noticed, and walked over to him, putting his arms around Draco's waist. It felt amazingly good to be able to do that, after over two days of almost complete separation.

"Not the coziest décor, is it?" he asked softly, as Draco leaned into his embrace.

"To each his own," murmured Draco against Harry's neck, his lips softly brushing the pulse-point.

Harry pulled back slightly, looking Draco in the eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked. "About Snape, and everything?"

"Don't," said Draco brusquely, but there was a sad tenderness in his eyes. "I only want to think about you right now."

Harry drew Draco close again, running his fingers through the flaxen silk of Draco's hair and sighing happily. Everything that had happened since their moment in the corridor Sunday afternoon simply ceased to matter.

"Draco," Harry said, and took a firm grip of the nape of Draco's neck in his right hand.

Draco tilted his head back in Harry's palm, meeting his boyfriend's gaze. "Harry?" he answered, a bit challengingly.

Without further preface, Harry kissed Draco.

There, he thought. Now I've initiated a kiss!

He smiled against Draco's lips, feeling the soft, firm muscles parting to drink Harry in. Still smiling, Harry pressed his hand against the back of Draco's neck, deepening their connection as he slid his tongue between Draco's teeth.

Draco was still the best kisser Harry could imagine, but Harry was learning.

Draco had wrapped his arms around Harry's back, one hand snaking down toward Harry's waist, the other angling upward into the roots of Harry's hair. Harry was engulfed by Draco, possessed by him, and the very idea made him dizzy with delight. He couldn't imagine there had ever been a time when he'd wanted to spend any moment doing anything else.

Harry felt Draco's lips curve against his and pull away, letting a laugh escape Draco's throat.

"Why are you smiling?" asked Draco, who was doing so, himself.

"Was I?" answered Harry, in a way that really wasn't an answer.

"Yes, you were." Draco's top hand had withdrawn to the front of Harry's body, and gave a light push to his right shoulder. "You haven't stopped smiling since you started kissing me."

"Is that a problem?"

Draco grinned at him. Harry tightened his arms around Draco's waist, enjoying the view. He didn't think he'd ever seen Draco grin before. He liked it.

"That depends on why you were smiling," insisted Draco, but his playful expression belied the doubt in his words.

Harry raised a hand to brush the fringe away from Draco's forehead, caressing the skin and hair he passed over on the way. "I'm smiling because I'm with you. Why else would I be?"

Draco shrugged. "Is it pathetic of me to need to hear you say that?" His expression drew slightly tense, almost vulnerable.

"Draco." Harry took his boyfriend's face in both of his hands. "I'm smiling because I'm with you."

And to emphasise his point, he kissed him again.

Harry could feel Draco smiling against his lips now, as they pulled each other even closer into their renewed kiss. He opened his mouth softly, letting Draco in, sliding his tongue along the tongue that entered his mouth, matching movement for movement, caress for caress, sigh for sigh.

Draco's hands were at Harry's collar now, pushing his school robes from his shoulders, loosening his tie. Harry followed the example, helping Draco out of the unnecessary extra garments. He wrapped his arms around Draco's shoulders again, feeling the heat of his body through the thin layers of shirt and t-shirt. In return, he could feel Draco's hands pressing against his sides, separated from his skin by so little material.

Harry sighed and pulled Draco closer still, so that their chests were pushed up against one another. The buttons on Draco's shirt were digging into his sternum. With a rush of awareness, Harry realised that Draco's buttons weren't the only things exerting pressure against him.

He felt his face go hot and red so fast he was afraid he would burn Draco. The bulge in Draco's trousers was matched by a similar shape in Harry's own. Up until now, this type of physical reaction had always been a reason to be embarrassed or awkward, but Harry realised with a jolt that now that they were together, they had the option of doing something about it.

Harry's mind had barely begun to swim with the implications of the hardness that pressed against him, when another sensation startled him, causing him to jump back with a yelp.

"Ow!" gasped Draco, whose finger had got caught under Harry's shirttail and wrenched at an uncomfortable angle. "What was that?"

"Sorry," muttered Harry, the flush in his face now due more to humiliation than excitement. "I'm sorry."

Draco's annoyance was turning to concern, as he took in Harry's posture. Bringing his injured hand to his mouth reflexively, Draco reached out with the other to soothe his boyfriend.

"Harry? What happened?" he asked, more gently, although he still sounded a tiny bit petulant. "Are you alright?"

"It's nothing," replied Harry, leaning into Draco's touch against his face. He couldn't meet his eyes.

"Then what?"

"Look, it's only ..." Harry paused, embarrassed to continue. "I haven't ever done much before. This is sort of new. So I might have panicked a bit."

Draco looked confused, and Harry wished he were self-assured enough to be more specific: that Draco's fingers venturing inside and under his shirt and t-shirt were the first time he could remember that anyone had ever touched any part of his bare skin other than his face or hands. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey had prodded his arm that time she'd had to give him Skele-Gro, but that had been completely different from having his bare stomach caressed by a would-be lover.

Draco's hand guided Harry's gaze up to meet his own. "Really?" he asked. "I'd thought you would have had plenty of opportunity. I mean, you've had a lot of admirers."

Harry shook his head, bringing his hand up to take Draco's. "I saw the way people looked at me, Draco. They didn't want me. They wanted the hero from the pages of the Daily Prophet."

"So you didn't -?"

"No. I didn't."

"Well, you must have had some experience, haven't you?"

Harry backed away from Draco, annoyed with his questions. "One kiss, alright? Before you, I'd had exactly one kiss, in my entire life."

Draco looked stunned. "But you're so good at it," he said, with an evident astonishment that made Harry laugh.

"I suppose I'm a fast learner," he replied, stepping closer to Draco again.

Draco opened his mouth as though to make a smart retort, then appeared to think the better of it, and reached for Harry again. Harry took hold of his hands, locking Draco's eyes with his own.

"But that doesn't mean I want to learn fast, at least not yet," he continued. "I think I need to take this slow. Can you do that?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but his smile was gentle. "Of course, Harry," he murmured. "Only I can't promise to control myself around you all the time."

When Harry looked at Draco questioningly, Draco met his eyes and laughed lightly.

"You're hot, Harry. When I'm with you, self-control isn't the first thing on my mind."

Harry flushed very deeply at that and backed up to sit on the edge of Draco's bed. "Alright, then," he said quietly, looking away shyly.

Draco moved to sit next to Harry on the bed. "I think," he said, removing Harry's glasses and placing them on his night stand, "that we should start right here." His light touch to Harry's shoulder guided them both into a horizontal position on the bed. He wrapped him up in his arms and simply held him, breath feathering across Harry's cheek.

Harry was beginning to relax into the feeling of Draco's body lying next to his, when a rattling noise came from the door.

"Draco?" sounded Goyle's voice. "What's going on? Are you in there?"

Draco and Harry stared at each other for a second before springing into action. Harry shoved his glasses back onto his face. He grabbed his robes and bookbag from the floor, stuffing one into the other, then threw his Cloak over himself and everything he was carrying. As he did, a splash of colour caught his eye from behind Draco's wardrobe. He hadn't noticed before because its green blended so well with all the other shades in the room. There was something familiar about it, though.

Before Harry could think, Draco was grabbing him and pushing him toward the door.

"Alright, alright," Draco grumbled, perfectly imitating the manner of someone who had accidentally fallen asleep and was unappreciative of being awakened. He threw the door open to reveal Goyle and Crabbe, both, carrying their bookbags and a handful each of cakes from the kitchens.

"Where have you two been?" he demanded, as though he'd been waiting impatiently and not at all trying to steal time alone with his secret boyfriend.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a look. "Library and kitchens, what'dja think?" responded Crabbe, raising each hand in turn to demonstrate the evidence of their evening.

"Is Pansy back yet? I need to talk to her."

"Don't think so," answered Goyle with a shrug. "Isn't she patrolling until midnight?"

Draco checked his watch, angling his wrist so Harry could see, as well. It was five minutes before the hour. Perfect.

"I'm going to go up and wait for her," he told the other boys. "I'll be back in a while."

Without another word, he swept out the door and into the corridor, Harry keeping close behind him.

It was pitch black in the stairway, so neither could see the other when Draco turned again to gather Harry into his arms.

"This is so strange," he commented. "I can feel you against me, but I can't see anything at all."

"I can't see anything, either," Harry pointed out. "It's pitch black in here."

Draco held him a moment longer without speaking, and then whispered into his ear. "When Pansy walks into the common room, I'll distract her long enough for her to leave the door open so you can get out. We won't have long if other people are still up, though."

Harry found Draco's lips in the darkness, and pressed his briefly against them, feeling the slide of the Invisibility Cloak between them. "Thank you," he said.

Draco held Harry tight for a moment before releasing him. "Let's get you out of here," he said.

***

When Harry slipped through the portrait hole, he knew to expect that the common room might be occupied. He couldn't risk being caught out so late, though, so he took his chances that his entrance might be noticed.

Unfortunately, Hermione and Ron were waiting up expressly for him. Having the Head Boy and Girl for your best friends could get awkward at times.

"Where have you been?" asked Ron, making a surprisingly accurate grab at pulling the Cloak off of Harry.

"Detention with Snape," evaded Harry as he retrieved the fabric from his very annoyed-looking best mate. "He kept us late."

"Past midnight?" demanded Ron, but to Harry's relief, he looked more indignant that suspicious. Hermione, of course was a different story.

Harry muttered something unintelligible.

"Hang on," added Ron. "If you were only coming back from detention, why were you wearing the Cloak?"

Harry's mind caught hold of the first plausible image it could find: the cakes in Crabbe's and Goyle's hands. "I was hungry after, so I snuck to the kitchens for a quick snack."

Hermione clearly hadn't believed a single word, but kept mercifully quiet on the subject. She did, however, remind Harry of the importance of not losing any House points. "You ought to be more careful," she scolded.

Harry cut his eyes toward Ron, remembering what his best friend had seen in the mirror of Erised back in First Year. He felt badly, then, thinking of how close he'd come to letting Ron down. He promised himself then, no matter what happened with Draco, no matter how loyal he felt to his very Slytherin new boyfriend, he would make sure to help Ron win the House Cup for Gryffindor.

"Sorry," he told them both, sincerely. "Listen, I'm knackered. If I promise to follow the rules from now on, can I go up to bed?"

Hermione and Ron exchanged an uneasy glance.

"Harry, we didn't wait up for you to scold you about being late," said Hermione, looking even more serious than before. She brought her hand out of her pocket. It was clutching a folded page of paper.

Harry tried to remember where he'd seen it before.

"I don't know what it means," Hermione was saying, as she opened it to reveal close-spaced writing covering one entire side, "so that's why I didn't want to say anything at breakfast this morning. But I talked to Ron, and we both think you should see this - even if we don't know if it's anything."

"If what is anything, Hermione?" asked Harry, bewildered. He couldn't fathom what a letter to Hermione from her aunt could possibly have to do with him. "Ron?"

Ron screwed up his face, clearly unsure how to explain. "It's ... I don't know, Harry," he said. "You need to read it yourself." His eyes were beseeching.

Harry took the page in his hand, then, and began to read. His heart stopped somewhere in the middle of the third paragraph.

Dear Hermione,

Many congratulations on your engagement, as well! I'd had no idea that you and Ron were so serious. I'm thrilled that you've found someone who makes you so happy. Can't wait to meet him.

As for your request, ... well, you know that we're planning a very small ceremony, but normally I'd say that there's always room for one more. The thing is, in this case ... I'm hesitating, because I don't know how to explain it: Persephone reacted very oddly when I mentioned your friend Harry. I've known her fifteen years and I've never seen her so startled.

I can't ask her why - she changes the subject whenever I try. There's a funny coincidence, in that Persephone's middle name is Potter, but that's a common name, right? Only, I don't know anything at all about P.'s family back in England, if there is any, and she never talks about her childhood at all. I'd ask her mother, who lives here in Salem, but she has always been a very secretive and nervous woman, and I can't imagine getting her to talk about the past.

I don't suppose your friend Harry might have a long-lost cousin in America? Sounds sort of ridiculous, doesn't it? But I simply can't think of what could have caused Persephone to react quite so strongly upon hearing his name, unless it were something like that.

I await your reply, and remain

Your affectionate aunt,
Emma

"But ..." Harry could barely get the words out. "My father's family is dead. Everyone's always told me that all the Potters are dead."

Ron was looking at him searchingly. "It is possible, though, right Harry? If she were a distant cousin or something? Could Persephone be a Potter who lived, and no one ever knew?"

Harry was shaking his head, but he wasn't sure whether it was a denial or an attempt to keep the lights from going all funny in his eyes. He didn't know how he managed to take enough air to answer:

"No. It couldn't be. Someone would have told me."

As he spoke, he felt that place inside his chest or his gut do that reaching-out thing, as though it weren't listening to his words for a single moment.