Checkmate

If it were love I would give that love every second I had
And I do

Lyrics from "Heaven Help My Heart" from Chess by Benny Anderson, Tim Rice and Björn Ulvaeus

* * *

Trailing up the stairs of the Slytherin tower, close behind Draco, Harry felt a bit nervous about being seen since Draco had hurried up the stairs without giving him time to put on the Invisibility Cloak. "We're not likely to run into anyone right now - it's dinnertime," Draco assured him, when Harry voiced his apprehensions as they quietly wound their way up the spiraling stairs. "But if we do . . . I can always use another memory-spell." He grinned wickedly at Harry. "Right now, I'd love an excuse to punch Pansy in the nose and then make her forget how it happened." Luckily for Pansy, they met no one on the stairs.

Harry was still wearing his winter cloak and wool muffler from walking back from Hogsmeade, but there was something about the closed-in, stony cold of this tower that chilled him in a way that being outside in the frosty fresh air didn't. The Gryffindor tower was never this unrelentingly cold - it was as if the dankness of the dungeons followed Slytherin House, even up into their tower. Harry shivered slightly while he waited for Draco to unlock his door, and was very grateful to slip safely into Draco's room. The fire was already lit in the hearth and to Harry, as he stepped inside, the room seemed a startling contrast and relief after the tense, frigid trip up the icy tower; it was welcoming and familiar, filled with warmth and sweet memories, a place he belonged in now. He relaxed, the tension of the climb up the stairs forgotten, and smiled as he set his bookbag down just inside the door and began to undo the clasp of his cloak.

Draco leaned up against him for a moment, pressing a brief kiss on the corner of his mouth, then took Harry's scarf and cloak and hung it by the door. "Close your eyes," he said, taking Harry's hand.

Harry did as he was told and allowed himself to be towed blindly away from the door. "What are you up to, now?" he asked, grinning, both amused and mildly suspicious.

They only went a few steps before Draco stopped. "Okay," he said after a moment. "You can look now."

Harry opened his eyes and found himself standing by the table in front of the fireplace, but instead of the chessboard that had been there, the table was covered with a white cloth, and laid with the gold dinnerware from the Great Hall. Two candles stood on either side.

Draco pulled out his wand. "Incendio," he said softly, and the candles flamed with a honeyed glow.

Harry's face lit with surprise and pleasure. He slipped one arm around Draco's waist and pulled him close, his gaze still held by the unexpected sight of Draco's table laid out for a romantic dinner. "Do we really get to eat here?" he asked turning to Draco with a delighted smile. "In your room?"

Draco smiled, exceedingly pleased with Harry's reaction. "We do," he said. "No loud, unruly Great Hall, no boring, nosy housemates . . . just us."

"This is great!" said Harry, moving to sit down. "How on earth did you arrange it?"

"I didn't want to eat in the Great Hall tonight," explained Draco with obvious pride in what he had pulled off, "so I went down to the kitchen to ask the house-elves for some sandwiches or something to bring up here, and I ended up with this." Draco waved his hand over the table and grinned at Harry. "Quite a funny story actually," he added as he sat down in his own chair.

Grinning back, Harry said, "But Draco, there's something missing. You know - the food? Did I mention I was starving?"

With a short laugh and an arch look, Draco raised his wand again and said clearly, "Let the feast begin." Instantly, bowls of food, just the same as down in the Great Hall, appeared on the table.

Harry set to work immediately filling his plate. "So how was it a funny story?" he asked, dishing up a large piece of roast chicken.

Draco snagged a particularly plump biscuit before Harry could take it, and reached for the butter dish. "I was trying to decide what kind of sandwiches to ask for, and I must have said something like 'I'm not sure what Harry would want,' but when I mentioned your name, this one elf got rather meddlesome." Frowning slightly, Draco spread butter on the biscuit with his knife, trying to remember the details. "He was an odd sort - had on these weird mismatched socks. He wanted to know 'Harry who?' and 'What would Master Malfoy be doing with Harry Potter?'" Draco paused to take a bite out of the warm bread. "I told him that I wanted to give you dinner, but he wasn't having that. I finally convinced him that we were friends by telling him that Dumbledore knew about it, knew you were with me, and after that he was falling all over himself to help me." Draco dished up the rest of the chicken. "Doggy - I think that was what one of the other elves called him."

"Dobby," corrected Harry, rolling his eyes.

"Whatever," said Draco, with a grin. "Anyway, he came up here with me this afternoon while you were in Hogsmeade and spelled this table like they do in the Great Hall. We can eat all our meals up here tomorrow too. He even cleaned up some ink I . . . spilled." He gave Harry a sly, pointed look. "He was amazingly helpful, Harry - and not for me. It was because this was for you. What did you do to make him so anxious to do stuff for you?"

"It's a long story," said Harry, eying Draco speculatively. Was it possible Draco didn't recognize Dobby, or know what had happened to his father's house-elf in second year? Or even more plausible, had his father had been so embarrassed by the incident that he'd kept it quiet? It had been five years ago, and it would have been just like twelve year old Draco, Harry thought, not to have paid much attention to house-elves as individuals. "It was something that happened second year," said Harry, wondering how to tell it, then realizing he didn't particularly want to talk about it, not now anyway, not while they were having dinner and Draco was in such a good mood. Bringing up Lucius Malfoy would ruin both their appetites. "But it's really not very good dinner conversation," he added, hoping Draco would lose interest.

Draco shrugged slightly, then looked up with an impish glint in his eyes. "Then tell me about the jewelry shop you went to this morning," he teased. "I'm quite curious about that."

"Mmm," said Harry, coloring slightly. He stalled giving an answer by taking another bite of chicken. "It's small, but very nice," he said finally. "I'd never noticed it before." He grinned then, realizing how easily he could turn the tables, to tease Draco instead. "They had lots of pretty things."

"Such as. . . ?" prompted Draco after a moment, when Harry didn't elaborate.

"Um," said Harry in an offhand way, "colored gemstones . . . rings . . . necklaces, the usual stuff." He pretended not to notice the surprised smile that Draco was trying to hide at the mention of the jewelry. "Oh . . . they had really nice crystal balls too," he added, as if those were the most interesting things he had seen.

Draco pushed a few peas around on his plate with his fork. "So . . . did you buy anything there?" he asked.

"Yes," said Harry. He wanted to laugh. Draco was clearly dying to know what Harry had bought him and was not being very subtle about it. "I bought one thing."

"Aha," said Draco. "And this one thing . . . ?" He mashed the peas into a ridged green square, then looked up at Harry. "Is it for me?"

Harry did laugh at that. "Well, I don't actually have it yet."

Draco grinned. "It is for me, then. You said you were having mine delivered."

"I also told you it wasn't underwear and that's all I was going to say about it."

Draco looked thoughtful and ate a few bites of his dinner before he spoke again. "I don't think you would have gotten me a crystal ball, so that leaves the gemstones, rings and necklaces. Just one small hint, Harry? Is it something for me to wear?"

Greatly amused, Harry shook his head at Draco's persistence, then gave in. "It's something for you to wear," he said, coloring a little, at what that revealed. "I hope you'll like it."

"I will," said Draco softly.

Harry blushed more and took hold of his glass of pumpkin juice, but didn't pick it up. His stomach felt all fluttery. Draco was gazing at him in that way he had that turned Harry to jelly, his eyes shining in the candlelight, gray with fiery depths that made Harry shiver a little. He looked down at his plate to cover his tongue-tied reaction, but Draco reached across the table and touched his wrist. He looked back up.

"It's my move next in the game," said Draco, his manner turned serious. "There's something I want to tell you." He took his hand away, his fingers withdrawing with a light caress. "Something important."

"Okay," said Harry, his voice just above a whisper, wondering what it could be.

They ate the rest of their dinner in companionable silence. Draco finished first and laid his napkin on the table. He watched while Harry finished up his last few bites of mashed potato. It was an amazing and novel thing, he thought, to sit at the same table and eat dinner with Harry - this had been so much better than having dinner at separate house tables in the Great Hall. Draco congratulated himself again for the inspired idea.

Harry looked up and set his fork down. He smiled, amused at Draco's smug expression. "This was a great idea," he said as they stood up. "It was perfect."

"Yes, it was," agreed Draco easily. They each blew out a candle, and Draco said the spell to make the dishes disappear. After the table was cleared, Draco walked to his desk and came back with the chessboard. He set it on the table, then made the moves they had made that afternoon in the Three Broomsticks - moving his white Rook to D1 and Harry's black Rook to E4. "Right?" he asked, looking back at Harry.

Harry nodded. "Right." He noted with a little surprise that Draco now seemed slightly nervous. It made him wonder even more what the something important could be.

Draco took a deep breath then moved his Bishop three squares diagonally. "Bishop to D3," he said quietly. "Come sit with me in the window, Harry. We can talk there." He led the way to the window and opened it wide; Harry followed, full of curiosity. Cold air wafted into the room, and the brisk, clean smell of snow. Then Draco turned with his back to the window, hands up behind him on the window ledge and jumped up to sit on the ledge. He turned around to face out the window and let his feet hang outside over the edge to make room for Harry.

Harry imitated Draco, and boosted himself up onto the window ledge. He turned around, also letting his feet hang outside, and smiled at the unexpectedly lovely view. It took a moment for recognition to hit, since snow was falling, covering all the grounds with a layer of uniform white, but then he realized what he was looking at and inhaled a sharp breath. He turned to Draco, stunned. "That's the Quidditch pitch!" he almost shouted. "You can see everything from here!"

Draco smiled at him, a bit of a smirk in it. "I can," he agreed. "Don't you think it's a wonderful view?"

"Draco!" Harry was completely exasperated. "It's not fair, that's what it is! You can watch the other teams practice!" He studied Draco with a frown. "Have you been? Watching us practice?"

"I've watched you," he said. "I don't care about the others."

Harry was touched by that statement, but still hurt that all his carefully planned strategies had been exposed. "Were you watching yesterday?" he asked finally.

Draco grinned. "Yes. And I was impressed. Those moves you were practicing are going to be quite a surprise to the other teams."

Harry snorted. "Except for Slytherin, you mean."

"No," said Draco, quietly. "I mean all of them. The Slytherins aren't going to hear about it from me."

"That's crazy," said Harry, trying to understand this puzzling statement. "Why wouldn't you tell them? But even if you don't tell, during the game, you'll still know, and it won't be the same."

"But I won't be in the game."

There was a heartbeat of silence before Harry could reply. "What?"

"I won't be playing. I'm quitting the team. So it really doesn't matter what I saw."

"Quitting? But . . . why?" asked Harry, astonished and bewildered. "Why now?"

"The truth is," said Draco slowly, "that I don't want to be in this stupid rivalry with you anymore. I can't do it now. I want to go flying with you, not against you in some contrived competition."

"So you just quit? Because of me - us?" Harry stared at him, feeling suddenly bereft. "What if I don't want you to quit?" He paused, uncertain how to explain the sense of loss he felt. Hadn't he always been annoyed with having to play against Draco? "It was fun, playing against you," he said finally. "You made it exciting."

Draco gave a short laugh. "Oh sure," he said, "it was fun for you. Because you always won."

"And everyone will think that's why you quit!" protested Harry. "Besides, how can you let your house down like that?"

"What anyone else thinks is totally unimportant," said Draco flatly. "As for my house, I'm sick of what passes for Slytherin here. Salazar Slytherin was proud, ambitious and smart. If he were alive, he would disown this lot of bleating sheep in a heartbeat."

"Oh," said Harry, this entire, perplexing conversation catching him completely off guard. He wasn't sure what to say. He looked out at the Quidditch pitch, the stands covered now in staggered tiers of snow. "If you hate being in Slytherin so much," he said at last, "I guess you could ask Dumbledore to have the hat resort you."

Draco snorted. "Put that hat on a second time?" He gave a short laugh. "No one's ever done that."

"Er," said Harry, suddenly realizing he had opened up a topic he might not have intended to, and blushed.

"What?" said Draco, instantly alert. "Did you?"

Harry sighed. "Yes," he admitted. "Once in second year when I was in Dumbledore's office alone, I did."

Draco stared at him, his attention totally captured by this startling confession. "Why on earth would you do that?" he asked, rather incredulously.

"I . . . er . . ." Harry rubbed one hand through his hair. "I wanted to ask it something."

"And . . .?" said Draco.

Harry took a deep breath. God, Draco was good at getting private stuff out of him. "I wanted to ask it about . . . well, at the sorting ceremony, at first it wanted to put me in Slytherin. It was only because I kept saying 'Not Slytherin' over and over in my mind that it put me in Gryffindor. I wanted to ask it if that was a mistake."

For a moment, Draco just looked at Harry, rendered completely speechless. "You're making that up," he said finally.

"I am not!"

"You. In Slytherin." He eyed Harry with avid interest. "And what did it say the second time? That it was a mistake?"

Harry sighed. "No, it said the same thing. That I would have done well in Slytherin."

Draco was quiet for a few moments, thinking, his intrigued gaze still fixed sharply on Harry. "That would have changed everything, you know."

"I know," said Harry, seeing it from a new perspective suddenly. "But I didn't want to be in Slytherin, and Dumbledore said it was my choice that mattered the most - that I had chosen right, for me." He touched Draco's hand gently. "That's why I think you could change if you wanted to."

"No," said Draco, firmly. "I may not respect my housemates much, but the hat didn't make a mistake when it put me in Slytherin. There's no doubt of that."

Suddenly the air was full of silent, flapping white wings. Instinctively, Harry held up his arm and felt the familiar grip and weight settle there. He lowered his arm and looked at Hedwig, and she looked back, reproach for a week's neglect in her eyes. Harry gently scratched the feathers under her chin in apology. "Hedwig," he said, "this is Draco." The owl turned to Draco and studied him warily.

Draco nodded at the introduction, then grinned at the owl's ruffled demeanor. "Oh, great," he said, amused. "I think she's jealous." He held out his arm, and after a moment, Hedwig stepped from Harry's arm to Draco's. Draco stroked her with the back of one curled finger. "She's lovely, Harry. She looks just like the snow." He paused, then went on in a sadder, somewhat bitter tone. "My father never allowed me to have an owl of my own. He has so many . . . the family owls, you know . . . they're all the same, so he said it was ridiculous to have another for me."

Harry was totally surprised by this, having believed that the impressive eagle owl he had seen delivering letters to Draco at countless breakfasts was Draco's own, not many identical Malfoy family owls. It had never occurred to him that Draco, vastly wealthy and seemingly spoiled, wouldn't even have an owl of his own. Before he could say anything though, Hedwig hopped back to him and held out her leg. A small note was attached that Harry hadn't noticed at first. He took it, unrolled the parchment and read the following:

Harry,
Where the bloody hell are you? You didn't come back for dinner and I'm worried. Please answer so I know you're okay.
Ron

Harry shook his head, half irritated and half amused, balled up the little note and let it drop out of Draco's window into the snowdrift below.

"You don't have to go, do you?" asked Draco, a look of stark disappointment beginning to appear on his face.

"No," said Harry, reassuringly. "It was nothing important." He lifted his arm so that Hedwig could take off back to the Owlry. "I promised I'd stay, remember. Tonight and tomorrow."

Draco sighed and leaned into Harry, both arms going around him. "Of course, I remember," he said.

They lapsed into silence for a while, caught up in just being together and watching the snow fall. It was snowing steadily now. Large, heavy snowflakes sifted lazily down out of the dark night sky, the familiar castle landmarks indistinguishable beneath a deep and pristine mantle of white. Light from the castle windows fell across the snow-covered grounds in patches and broad stripes of pale gold, invading the glittering blue-violet shadows. Everything was still except for the faint hushed pattering of the snowflakes settling. Harry was comfortable and warm because Draco's arms were around him.

Draco turned his face to Harry. "There's something I want to tell you," he said softly. "It's something I've known for a while . . . maybe ever since what happened to you at the Tri-Wizard Tournament . . . definitely since this summer. But after what Weasley said this afternoon . . ." He paused, watching Harry's absorbed expression. "When I'm gone, I don't want you to have any doubts because I didn't say this . . . ." He hesitated again, waiting to be sure Harry was listening.

Harry turned to Draco then, his attention leaping away from the peaceful charm of the gently drifting snowflakes, awareness flaring with a sudden heart skip that this was something momentous. His eyes met gray eyes full of silver fire and golden light and melting snow. "Didn't say what?" asked Harry, his breath catching.

Draco met Harry's eyes for a long moment, then freed one hand and smoothed an unruly lock of hair down behind Harry's ear. "That I love you," he said.

The warmth in Draco's voice was like a physical touch, a caress that ghosted over Harry's skin and ran down his spine; the softly spoken words so huge they echoed off the vast snow-filled sky and resounded in the depths of Harry's pounding heart.

Oh.

Harry forgot for a second to breathe. It seemed at that moment that he had always been waiting for just this person to say just those words. "Draco," he whispered, "I - "

"Don't say it back," said Draco, gently pressing two fingers against Harry's lips. "Not now, not so soon. I don't want to hear it like that from you, just because I said it first."

Harry took Draco's hand in his and kissed the fingertips that had silenced him, then pulled them away and leaned close, his mouth only inches from Draco's. "Hear this, then," he said, and kissed Draco with all the trembling affection he felt. The words Draco had said still echoed over and over through Harry's mind and a shiver thrill went through him at the revelation they contained. He's known this for a while. . . . Harry pressed Draco back against the window frame, the kiss deepening, but gentling into something melted and dizzying and new. It was like falling, tumbling head over heels through space and feeling safe at the same time. He's loved me since this summer! And I didn't even know.

Harry felt the inside corners of his eyes prickle with emotion, felt Draco's hand slip away from his shoulder to hold onto the window ledge, then memory twisted on a word and his heart caught. The remembrance of another night returned vividly to his mind, of Draco sitting in front of him in the corridor, saying sadly, "A lot of things happened to me over the summer. . . ."

What things happened?

He pulled out of the kiss to face Draco with concern just as an icy gust of wind swept snowfrost against their faces and ruffled Draco's hair into his eyes. Harry lifted one hand and brushed the pale strands back, searching Draco's eyes, finding the warmth in them undaunted by the chill air.

"I thought we were about to fall," said Draco, his voice low and a bit breathless as he finally let go of the window ledge to hold on to Harry instead.

"We are," said Harry softly. He leaned forward and kissed Draco lightly. "Come in," he said, meeting Draco's gaze again, wondering what hurt lay untold, hidden in Draco's words. "It's my turn in the game. There's something I want to know."

Turning around, Harry slipped down from the window, and had to close his eyes for a second in the sudden lamplight of the room, so bright after the snow-feathered darkness of the night outside. Draco jumped down a moment later, then followed Harry to the table by the fire. Their arms went around each other's waists, and they leaned together as Harry considered his next move. He studied his pieces on the chessboard carefully, checking that he hadn't overlooked anything, and going over the position of each of Draco's pieces a second time before turning to Draco, his smile just ever so slightly smug.

One of Draco's pale eyebrows went up. "Go on then," he said, a hint of indulgent amusement in his eyes.

"Queen to A5." Harry moved his Queen diagonally to the edge of the board. "Check," he said in quiet triumph.

But Draco, his answering grin cavalier and a little mischievous, was completely unimpressed. "It's about time you saw that," he teased.

"I saw it," said Harry, with a short laugh, "ages ago." He moved out of their half-embrace, caught hold of a slender wrist, then stepped back and sat down in Draco's chair, tugging Draco down with him, into his lap. "I just had other moves to make first," he added, his arms slipping around Draco's waist to pull him close. "You know - strategy."

"Ah, strategy," said Draco, sliding one arm around Harry's neck. He draped his legs over the arm of the chair toward the fire and kicked off his shoes. "Is that what you call what you've been doing?" he asked, still teasing, but in a softer tone now, as he gently pulled off Harry's glasses and set them on the table. He looked into Harry's eyes for a long hushed moment, then dropped his gaze, and started to work on unbuttoning Harry's shirt, from the collar down.

Harry didn't answer right away, his attention captured for a heartbeat or two by the firelight flickering over Draco's face, by the way the pale eyebrows furrowed slightly as Draco concentrated on a particularly stubborn button. "It must have been fairly good strategy . . ." he replied finally, his voice gone somewhat husky in the wake of the undercurrent of emotion that washed through him at Draco's closeness, his touch, ". . . since I've got you in check."

"That's true," conceded Draco, getting the button undone at last. "Or maybe . . ." he said quietly, looking up, his eyes locked on Harry's, ". . . maybe, I've got you just where I want you."

Harry felt Draco's hand slide inside his shirt to lie like a whispered endearment over his collarbone. The room seemed suddenly very warm, and Harry felt the color rise in his face. "And what will you do with me," he asked, a daring question and sudden hope flaring in his eyes, "now that you've got me here?"

Draco smiled. "You'll have to wait to find that out. It's not my turn yet." Draco paused then, a question of his own in his eyes. "You haven't finished your move. You said there was something you wanted to know."

The words were said lightly enough, but Harry heard the hidden tremor in the voice that lay beneath them. He gazed at Draco, and knew that he would always remember this moment, this sense of comfort and belonging he felt, the glow of firelight on a fair cheekbone just so, the press of a hand laying claim to his heart, the solemn, complex, and expectant expression in the gray eyes that faced him, waiting for the dare. Harry tightened his arms around Draco's waist as if unconsciously sensing the ephemeral beauty of this present moment and wanting to hold on, and yet even as he watched it intently, it faded into past. "Draco," he said softly, seriously, the lighthearted banter of a minute ago forgotten. "What happened to you - while you were home this summer? You've mentioned it twice now."

Draco's expression changed in an instant, as if a door had slammed shut inside him. His eyes shuttered closed and he laid his head back against the chair. The hand inside Harry's shirt withdrew, falling limply in his lap. He was silent for a long time.

Harry felt a momentary regret that he had asked - he hadn't meant to upset Draco with the question. But he cared deeply to know what had happened, so he let the question hang in the air between them, waiting and hoping Draco would be willing to tell him. He placed his hand over Draco's and after a few seconds, Draco turned his own hand over to hold it.

Finally Draco spoke, his voice very low, a hoarse whisper full of anger, and his fingers tightened over Harry's. "My father gave me an ultimatum," he said. "Something terrible. Something I have to do to prove my loyalty to him before the end of the school year . . . or else. . . ." Draco raised his head and opened his eyes to meet Harry's very troubled gaze. "Or else he will turn me over, as a traitor, to the Dark Lord."

And despite his knowledge of Lucius Malfoy's villainy, Harry was shocked. "How could he do that . . . to you? Draco, you're his only child!"

"I'm a tool, like everyone else," said Draco bitterly, "to be used to further his plans and need for power. This summer, I realized that. If I don't fall in line with what he wants, I'm nothing to him. All my life, all the things he told me, he was just trying to make me into something he could use."

Snape's words suddenly surfaced in Harry's memory. "Lucius Malfoy destroys everything that he touches. He would not think twice about destroying his own son if Draco doesn't live up to his expectations." Words he had heard, but scarcely believed . . . until now. "Draco, you can't go home again," he said desperately. "There has to be something we can think of to keep you here."

Draco sighed, his eyes closed again. "We've talked about that already. I have to go." He leaned forward to rest his face against the side of Harry's head, his mouth close to Harry's ear. "Please don't make it any harder for me than it already is," he said, his voice low, strained.

"I can't help it," protested Harry. "It's not safe for you there." He smoothed the fine hair down Draco's neck with one hand. "I don't want you to leave," he whispered. "I want you to stay here with me."

Draco groaned softly. "I don't want to leave you, either."

"Then let's go to Dumbledore - "

"No," said Draco, cutting Harry off in mid-sentence. "Just for tonight and tomorrow," he said, pulling away to look into Harry's eyes, "I want to forget about my father, about what might happen. I just want to be with you as if none of that existed." He tilted his head and leaned in to kiss Harry softly. "Just us for one day, nothing else." He paused. "Please?" he whispered.

Harry gazed into those anguished gray eyes and found he could not deny him this. Even knowing it was unwise, he relented, and bent his head to kiss Draco in answer. It was so close to his own wish, so easy to get lost in the rush of Draco's returned kisses that sent coherent thought from his mind. Surely after tomorrow there would still be time to think of something. Didn't they deserve to have a day without worry? Harry tightened his arms around Draco, let sensation swallow up his dissent, and everything dissolved around him into awareness of only Draco's hands, his mouth, and that the world could be, for once, even if only for a moment, full of rightness, this exquisite, thrilling touch, and peace.

Unfortunately, this peace lasted only a few minutes. Harry, surrendering to kisses that left him lightheaded and breathless, had still managed to pull Draco's shirttail loose and was just beginning to explore the warm bare skin underneath that shirt, when they were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Draco pulled slowly out of a long kiss and swore under his breath. It was probably Pansy, he thought. Maybe if they ignored it. . . . But then the knock came again, more insistent. "Who is it?" called Draco, annoyed.

"Draco?" said a female voice. "It's Hermione. Is Harry there?" She paused for a second, then said, "Please let me in. I need to talk to him."

Draco raised one eyebrow at Harry. "Come in, then."

Hermione slipped in the door, closed it and then looked up to find Draco sitting in Harry's lap, both rather disheveled. She blushed, recognizing at once what she had interrupted. Harry, in particular, looked different, and then she realized he wasn't wearing his glasses. "God," she teased, her tone implying vast female superiority in such matters, "is that all you boys think about?"

"Only every minute," said Draco, giving Harry a rather steamy grin that was mostly, but not entirely, put on. Harry laughed at that and also because he knew Hermione was probably including Ron in that statement. Then Draco's grin changed to that mesmerizing real smile, and Harry was caught up by it, knowing he was grinning foolishly back, but not able to help it.

The way they were looking at each other made Hermione pause, not able to speak for a moment. It was amazing - so intense, and yet conveying such a shared sense of ease and happiness with each other. She wondered if she would ever get over the surprise she felt to see these boys, both of whom she had always known to be tense and unhappy, looking at each other like this. "I'm sorry for bothering you two," she said at last, apologetically, "but Ron wasn't going to give me any peace until I came up here. He's having a fit because Harry missed dinner and didn't answer his owl."

"I ate in here," said Harry, still grinning at Draco. "Draco planned it as a surprise. He got the table spelled like in the Great Hall. It was very nice," he added softly, "with candles and everything." He finally broke away from gazing at Draco to look at her. "I didn't answer that owl," he said firmly, but not angrily, "because Ron does not need to know where I am every minute." He looked back at Draco. "Since we can eat our meals in here, I don't plan to be back tomorrow at all. And I don't want to be pestered with any more owls."

Looking at the table in question, Hermione noticed the chessboard with the game in progress. "Haven't you finished that game yet?" she asked.

Harry gave Draco a meaningful look and said, "I'm hoping we can finish it tonight. We're playing now. He's in check."

"Oh," laughed Hermione. "Right. I can see that - " She turned to Draco. "Just don't forget you have prefect rounds tomorrow night."

Draco made a face. "Bloody hell," he said. "I had forgotten."

Harry faced Hermione for a moment. "Tell Ron he can stop worrying about me," he said seriously. "I'm fine." He looked back at Draco and felt his face go warm. "A lot more than fine, actually," he added, then grinned conspiratorially. "Tell him I said that the kissing is still spectacular."

Hermione smiled a small mischievous smile. "Oh, don't worry, he's going to hear about this." She turned to go, then at the door turned back. "I'm going to tell him exactly what I saw . . . in detail - "

"Wait - " said Draco, his gaze riveted on Harry. "I have a message for him, too," he said, his eyes never leaving Harry's. His face had a captivated, subdued expression Hermione had never seen. "Tell him this from me." He tilted his head slightly and leaned in to kiss Harry, his eyes falling closed with a rapt, intense tension between his brows. One hand came up to lie along the side of Harry's face.

For a few seconds, Hermione was rooted to the spot. As she watched, spellbound, Draco's hand slid behind Harry's head and he pulled Harry closer, tilting his face more to deepen the kiss. Harry's mouth opened under Draco's and his hands fumbled for a moment with the hem of Draco's shirt before slipping up under it, giving Hermione a glimpse of pale skin at Draco's waist as the shirt rode up over Harry's wrists. Then Draco's fingers were trailing down Harry's neck, into the unbuttoned front of Harry's shirt, and Hermione could almost feel the warm delicacy of that caress herself. She turned away with a small shiver, feeling heat flush to the tips of her ears as she reached for the door handle. "I'll tell him," she whispered.

It was several long minutes before Draco broke off the kiss. He glanced toward the door, noting with satisfaction that he and Harry were alone again. "My opinion of that girl is rising steadily," he said turning back to Harry. He gave a short, devilish, gratified chuckle. "I quite like the idea of Weasley married to someone who will purposely and ruthlessly torment him."

Harry laughed quietly. His hands were under Draco's shirt and he quite liked that, the satiny, warm skin under his hands something he wanted a lot more of. "And I'm beginning to think you like kissing me in front of other people," he countered.

Draco snorted, amused. "I figured, if you were going to make claims about spectacular kisses, she might want some evidence to back that up. But mostly," he added softly, "other people have nothing to do with it." He gave Harry that rare, always unexpected, slightly shy look that Harry found so endearing. "I just like kissing you."

Harry pulled Draco closer. "Mmm," he said, his heart beating faster. "I don't remember saying you should stop."

* * *

Hermione let herself out the door, then leaned back on the closed door to regain her composure. It was a minute or so before she felt her flushed face might be back to normal. But just as she turned to go down the stairs, a bemused smile on her face, she heard footsteps coming up. She paused and waited, her back to Draco's door, to see who it was.

After a couple of seconds, Pansy rounded the corner of the spiral stairwell. She stopped dead when she caught sight of Hermione, then frowned. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Head Girl business," said Hermione calmly, thinking fast. "Draco has prefect rounds tomorrow - I came to remind him."

Pansy came to the top of the stairs and sniffed scornfully. "Well, I'm quite sure he didn't need to be reminded, so if you're all finished, I have something personal to discuss with him."

Hermione stayed where she was, blocking Draco's door. "I don't think he's going to want to be disturbed right now," she said coolly. "He's rather . . . busy at the moment."

"That's too bad. If you can go in there, I certainly can. This is important," insisted Pansy in a haughty tone. "He has taken me to the Yule Ball every year, and I need to find out about going this year."

"Oh," said Hermione, hiding a grin. "He hasn't asked you yet, then?"

Pansy narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly. "He would have, but we were . . . interrupted last night when I tried to speak to him about it." She gave a quick furtive glance over her shoulder, back down the stairwell, as if afraid that something was going to creep up the stairs behind her. Then with a slight shudder, she turned back to Hermione, and her chin went up defiantly. "So you might as well go on about your Head Girl business. My business with Draco doesn't concern you."

"That may be true," conceded Hermione evenly. "But," she continued, remembering what Harry had said at dinner two nights ago, about taking both his unknown "girl" friend and the sixth year Slytherin, Natalia, to the ball, "I'm going to hazard a guess and say I'm pretty sure that he's made other plans this year."

Pansy scowled at her. "What would you know about his plans?"

"Only that I was just in there," replied Hermione. "He has company. And they weren't in there studying, if you take my meaning."

"What are you talking about?" started Pansy, glaring, then her eyes went round with shock and understanding as Hermione's last words sunk in. She just stared at Hermione for a moment, speechless. Her lower lip trembled slightly. "Draco never . . ." she whispered finally. "He can't be . . ."

"I'm sorry," said Hermione softly, taking sudden pity on the other girl. "I'm just telling you what I saw. I don't think you want to go in there right now."

"Oh," said Pansy, as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of her. Her hand went up to cover her mouth. "Oh." Then she turned and fled down the stairs.

Hermione watched her go with a feeling of misgiving. This was a complication neither of the boys had anticipated, she was sure. She pulled out her wand and faced Draco's door, quietly spoke the words of a do-not-disturb spell and touched her wand to the wood. At least they'll have one night of peace, she thought as she started down the stairs to find Ron.

* * *

Harry leaned his head back against the chair, breathing hard, thinking dazedly that he had never been so thoroughly kissed in his life. He had no idea what time it was - minutes or hours could have passed. But he was more or less sure that every square inch of his face and throat had been attended to by Draco's soft mouth. Although, he had to admit, he'd done a very good job of returning the favor. Draco's quickened breathing was loud in his ear as Draco's lips brushed a neglected spot there.

"P-K," whispered Harry, as another kiss graced his ear lobe.

"Hmm?"

Harry's hands were inside Draco's shirt and he moved them farther up Draco's back, his exploring fingers spanning sharp compelling curves of spine and shoulder blade. A wave of shivery longing washed through him, as Draco kissed him again. "Draco," he whispered. "It's your turn, you know."

"I know," said a low murmur.

Harry shifted slightly and let one hand slide outward, over Draco's shoulder blade and then down further, finding ribs with his searching fingertips. "You're in check . . ." he said, gently insisting, "and if we finish the game, we can - "

"Shhh," said a soft breath in his ear, followed by another kiss.

Harry laughed quietly, then trailed teasing fingers down Draco's bare ribs. "I want you to move . . ." he said. "Now."

Draco caught his breath as Harry started tickling him. He tried to shift away, but the tickling became insistent. "Okay, okay! I'll move," he said, sitting up slowly, looking rather tousled and sulky and velvet-eyed. "Don't do that. It's hard enough to think as it is."

"I don't want you to think," said Harry, gazing into soft gray eyes. He pulled his hand out from under Draco's shirt and tucked a wayward strand of hair back behind Draco's ear. "I want you to be distracted and play badly, so I can win and the game can be over."

"Ah," said Draco, with a bit of a grin. "More strategy?"

Harry chuckled at that. "Take your turn," he insisted, slipping his hand back under Draco's shirt, fingers splayed, cupping the curve of waist and ribs, a mild threat of more tickling implied.

Draco gave in with a look that insinuated Harry was using vastly unfair tactics, then turned to look at the chessboard. He sat up a little straighter, studying Harry's possible future moves. Harry was a fairly good player, but, Draco smirked to himself, not as good as he was. Draco was indeed in check, just as he'd planned, and as he had joked earlier, he had skillfully drawn Harry's play and maneuvered him right into the position where he wanted him to be. He reached for his King, his hand pausing for a second before moving the piece. "King to E2," he said, turning back to Harry. "Do you remember what you said you would do, if I talked to Weasley?"

Harry smiled. "You said something about being petted and made over. I thought that's what I was doing."

"Well, yes. But now I'm thinking of something specific I want you to do."

"Oh?"

"Come to bed and I'll tell you."

Harry's heart skipped a beat and he looked at Draco, hopefully. "Have you . . . changed your mind then - about us waiting until the game is over?"

"No."

Draco started to get up, but Harry pulled him back down. "Why not? I . . ." Harry suddenly let his need to know override his willingness to give Draco space on this issue. He reached out over Draco and moved his remaining black Bishop. "Bishop to A6," he said with determination. "Draco . . . I need you to talk to me. . . . I'm not asking you to change your decision, I just want to know why you changed your mind last night."

"You can't do that," protested Draco, waving his hand at the chessboard. "It's not your turn yet."

"I don't care - we'll come back to your turn," said Harry firmly. "I want to know this first."

Draco was silent for several minutes, thinking. "I don't want to feel like I'm pushing you into something," he said at last. "What if you are on the rebound - like Weasley said? You have to admit this has happened very fast."

"I'm not on the rebound - not the way Ron meant." Harry took a deep breath, then continued in a softer voice. "And I don't want to make love to you as part of this game we're playing - not as a dare, or because one of us wins."

There was another drawn out moment of silence while Draco regarded Harry solemnly. "I didn't mean to make it part of the game," he said. "I don't want it to be that way either." He looked down. "I wanted to give us a little more time, that's all. I want you to be sure."

"The chess game is nearly over, Draco. I don't know how I can be more sure in a day or two than I am right now - and I thought you felt the same." Harry paused. "Look, I don't mind waiting. I just need to understand. What did I say that made you change your mind about wanting to be with me?"

"God, Harry," said Draco, looking up as if mildly startled. "I haven't changed my mind. But the things you said about that girl made me realize I don't want us to rush into this. You said you wanted to get married, have children - what about that? Have you thought seriously about what you'd be giving up . . . to be with me?"

Harry was quiet for a bit. He hadn't really thought about the marriage and children question. He'd been certain he'd wanted that with Cho - but now? "What about you?" he asked after a moment. "Don't you want children, Draco? To carry on the Malfoy name?"

Draco's expression hardened. "Absolutely not," he said. "I'm not going to be responsible for bringing any more Malfoys into the world. It was a great name once, but not now."

"You could change it - make it honorable again," offered Harry gently.

"No," said Draco, his voice quiet, sad. "It's far too late for that." He turned to look at Harry. "But you should, you know. After the war is over, everyone will expect you to get married and have lots of little Potters."

"I don't care what everyone expects," said Harry flatly. "And that's assuming I survive."

"I think you will," said Draco softly. He dropped his gaze, lifting one hand absently to straighten Harry's collar. "Your parents would have wanted that too, you know. They wouldn't have wanted you mixed up with a Malfoy, with no grandchildren. . . ."

That stung. "Draco . . . what are you saying?"

"That you should think about it." Draco let his hand rest against Harry's chest, feeling reassured by the solidness that lay beneath his fingers, like finding a rock to cling to in deep water. "You know how I feel about you," he continued after a moment. "But for once in my life, I'm trying not to be selfish. I know I may not get to keep you. That's why I want to have you to myself now, while I can - I'm afraid this may be all I'll have."

Harry caught his breath, fear muting his voice. "Please don't think things like that."

Draco paused, sighed. "Come to bed, Harry. Let's not think about any of this. I'm only asking for one day."

* * *

Ron was practically hopping from one foot to the other when Hermione found him waiting for her at the bottom of the main stairs. She rolled her eyes at him, not sure if she was more touched by his frantic expression or annoyed with his stubbornness.

"Did you find Harry? Was he okay?"

"He was perfectly fine," she announced firmly. "He said to tell you to stop worrying about him. And no more owls."

"Hermione," said Ron rather defensively, "Malfoy said he had some secret surprise planned and then they never came back down to dinner, even though Harry said how hungry he was. I think I was right to be suspicious."

Hermione put her hands on her hips and looked up at Ron, exasperation clearly written on her face. "That secret and diabolical plan Draco had," she said pointedly, "was to give Harry a romantic dinner up in his room. You could take notes from him, Ron. Really."

"That was it!" sputtered Ron. "They ate dinner in Malfoy's room?"

"Yes, with candles and everything. And you should have seen them when I got there. Harry with his shirt half-unbuttoned, Draco with his shirttail out and sitting in Harry's lap, both of them all rumpled because I interrupted them making out in the chair in front of the fire."

Ron grimaced and turned sort of green.

Hermione, enjoying that reaction immensely, continued, a mischievous sparkle in her eye. "Harry had a message for you," she said, trying to keep her tone serious in spite of Ron's amusing expression. "He said to tell you the kissing was still spectacular."

"Okay, that's enough," moaned Ron. "I don't need to hear any more."

"Oh no, it's not enough," she insisted, determined that Ron face the truth. "Draco had a message for you, too."

"I don't think I want to know . . ."

"He said, 'Tell Weasley this for me,' and then right in front of me, he kissed Harry."

Ron groaned. "I knew I didn't want to know."

"And he didn't stop. In fact, they were still at it when I left. I've never seen anyone kiss like that. It was so - "

"Stop. Please," he said, wincing. "I can't take any more."

"- sweet and intense and - "

"Argh!"

" - passionate."

"You are spiteful, sometimes, Hermione. You know that? Spiteful." He frowned at her, reluctant to admit that he'd seen an example of it himself. Instead he wanted to find some reason for it - other than the most obvious, the truth. "Maybe Malfoy's put some kind of spell on him," he grumbled. "Have you thought of that? Some kind of sick dark magic love spell so that Harry won't suspect anything. Or, it could be a potion. You know he's Snape's pet; he's way too good in that class."

Hermione sighed. "Ron," she said, trying again to be patient, "Draco is really in love with Harry. I could see it. You can't honestly believe he would be plotting against him now."

"I'm not sure what to believe," said Ron stubbornly, "and I'm not going to start trusting him until I do. This is serious, Hermione. I'm not letting some kissy-stuff blind me to something that could be very dangerous. Even if Malfoy's okay, there's still his father. I don't like to think about how he'll react when he finds out his son is involved with Harry."

"I know," said Hermione. "And I completely agree with you on that. Lucius Malfoy could be very dangerous even if Draco's intentions are good, and that worries me too."

"Oh, thank God," breathed Ron in relief. "I was starting to think I was the only one who could see that."

"Of course not," replied Hermione as if mildly insulted. "But it's not just Harry I'm worried about; Draco is in danger as well. And if something happens to Draco now, you need to remember how much that will devastate Harry."

Ron made a face and ran one hand through his hair, then reluctantly agreed. "Okay," he said in a resigned tone, "I get the point."

"Which is?"

"That even if I don't care what happens to Malfoy for his own sake, I should care for Harry's sake."

"Right," she said, nodding once in firm approval. Then she gave him a sly, challenging look. "And what else?"

Ron screwed up his face for a moment, thinking. "Er, that romantic dinners with candles and everything are something I should have thought of?"

"Right again." She grinned. "Very good."

He grinned back at her, then took hold of her sleeve and drew her closer so that he could put his arms around her. "And if I do that," he asked, his blue eyes lighting up with sudden possibilities, "does that mean I also get to make out with you in front of the fire with your shirt half-unbuttoned?"

* * *

I'm only asking for one day.

The words Draco had spoken reminded Harry of his earlier decision to give in on this and he relented. "Okay," he said softly, "but after tomorrow . . . we need to talk." Draco moved to get up and this time Harry let him go.

Draco made no comment in answer. He stood up and stretched, then turned to Harry and held out his hand.

Harry took Draco's hand and let himself be pulled up out of the chair. He faced Draco for a brief moment, searching the serious gray eyes for an answer he didn't find, before Draco squeezed his hand and let go, then turned away. He watched Draco walk across the room, then looked down at the chessboard. Draco's move had surprised him somewhat.

"Harry?" called Draco from the bathroom door.

"I'll be right there," said Harry. Draco nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. Harry continued studying the position of the chessmen. He grinned slightly. While he had joked about distracting the other boy with the tickling, he hadn't actually expected Draco to make such a bad move. Draco was playing right into the trap he'd been setting up. In three or four more moves, the game would be over. If he could just get Draco to keep playing tomorrow . . . then, tomorrow night they might. . . .

He smiled at that idea, and went to collect his overnight things from his bookbag by the door, then followed Draco to the bathroom. When he got there, the shower was running and a towel was draped over the shower curtain rod. Draco's clothes were laid in a neat pile on the floor. Harry stood in the doorway for a second, frozen in indecision. For a moment, he was tempted to slip into the shower with Draco, but something held him back. He'd never thought twice about showering with the boys in his dorm or on the Quidditch team; with so many of them sharing, sometimes there just wasn't time to wait until a stall was free. But this was different.

Harry walked slowly to the sink and set his bookbag down. Absently, he unbuttoned the bottom section of his shirt and took it off, dropping it on the floor next to his bag. He turned back to look at the shower curtain that rippled and billowed slightly with the movement behind it, hearing the sound of the water change accordingly too. He closed his eyes, a flush creeping over him, making his ears burn. This was very different. If he got in there with Draco . . . oh, God . . . what he'd want to do. . . . Instantly his imagination pictured it, Draco wet, water streaming down his body, himself pressing Draco back against the tile, kissing him with the water pouring over them, their bodies moving together. . . . Exactly what Draco was asking him not to do.

Abruptly the water turned off, jerking Harry out of his thoughts. The towel disappeared. Harry turned back to the sink, his face flaming, then he fished his toothbrush and comb out of the bag and got the toothpaste out of the cabinet. He heard the shower curtain being swept back. In another moment, Draco was standing beside him, wearing the towel around his waist, one hand coming up to rest on Harry's shoulder. Harry set the things he was holding down and turned to Draco, slipping one arm around his waist, pulling them together. Draco's skin was cool and damp where they touched. Their eyes met and everything else melted away. Draco was gazing back at him with an expression of such intense longing that Harry felt suddenly that the other boy must have shared his thoughts about being in the shower together, and he felt the heat creep up into his face again.

He leaned in and kissed Draco softly, his free hand going up to lay along Draco's jawline, thumb caressing his cheek, vaguely aware that Draco was trembling and holding on to the edge of the sink. Harry pulled out of the kiss and gazed at Draco's face, only inches from his own. Draco's eyes were downcast, his still damp hair falling over his forehead, a flush of color on his face - from the kiss or the shower, Harry didn't know. Harry dropped his hand, fingertips tracing a line down Draco's neck, then lightly following the length of Draco's collarbone out to his shoulder. "Draco," he whispered, "I will wait as long as you ask me to, but you have to know . . . I don't want to wait at all."

Draco leaned forward so that their foreheads rested together for a moment, the pressure of his hand on Harry's shoulder tightening slightly. Then he let go, his lips brushing Harry's cheek, and he slipped away without a word, out of Harry's arms, out of the room, and closed the door behind him.

Harry stood alone in the bathroom, transfixed for a minute with desire, a dull ache beginning in the back of his throat. There were too many questions that Draco wasn't answering. If he wants this as badly as I do, thought Harry, then why is he doing this? Harry reached absently for his toothbrush and the toothpaste. I've told him I'm sure. There's got to be something he still isn't telling me. . . . He finished brushing his teeth, then looked at the shower stall and decided to follow Draco's example. He found another towel on the shelf and draped it over the curtain rod, then turned the water on. The water was still warm since Draco had been running it.

Getting undressed hurriedly, he stepped in and let the hot water pour over his shoulders and back. He thought about Draco being in here with him again and smiled wryly. Someday soon, he was sure, that would happen. He only had to be patient with whatever it was Draco believed they needed to do for a little while longer. He just wished he understood what that was.

Harry showered quickly, toweled his hair and body, then wrapped the towel around his waist and pushed the shower curtain back. Draco was standing by the sink again, this time dressed in the gray knit pants he'd worn the night before. He was just finishing brushing his teeth. Harry came over to the sink and picked up his comb.

Draco put his toothbrush away then took Harry's comb out of his hand. "Here," he said quietly, "let me do that."

Harry bent his head and submitted to Draco's ministrations gladly, closing his eyes, the sure, light touch of Draco's hands soothing the confusion Harry felt, stirring his heart with comfort.

"Okay," said Draco after a minute. "That's not too bad."

Harry smiled at that and opened his eyes. Draco was smiling back at him, with an amused this-is-hopeless look in his eyes. "Thanks," said Harry. "Whatever you did, I'm sure it's better than I would have done."

"No question of that," agreed Draco, handing him back the comb and moving to the doorway. "Now hurry up. In spite of your illegal commandeering of the chess game, it's still my turn."

Harry glanced in the mirror after Draco left and grinned at his reflection. Draco did seem to have a magic touch for fixing his hair. He pulled a clean pair of boxers out of his bag and put them on, then took a deep breath to settle the anticipation fluttering in his stomach before walking out to face whatever Draco had in mind.

Draco was almost finished turning out the lamps when Harry came out of the bathroom. Harry set his bag next to Draco's trunk, then got into bed and sat leaning back against the headboard, watching as the room darkened with each lamp that went out, until there was only the warm flickering glow of the fire casting long shifting shadows across the floor from the table and chairs in front of the fireplace. Draco appeared on the other side, and they faced each other across the bed, a hushed feeling of expectation surrounding them. Then Draco pulled back the covers and slipped into bed, lying on his side facing Harry, one arm tucked up under his head.

Harry lay down too and there was only a second of hesitation before Draco moved over to curl into Harry's side, his head on Harry's shoulder, one hand resting over Harry's heart. Harry put his arms around him, buried his face for a moment in the fine, still slightly damp silk of Draco's hair and sighed with content at this simple comfort. Lying in bed, holding Draco in his arms like this, being held in return, was becoming a safe haven for Harry, a deep source of security that he'd never experienced before. And yes, this touch too, he thought, as Draco moved his hand and Harry felt that light, exquisite caress feather over his chest and down his arm. It was hard to explain even to himself, but Draco's touch was so uniquely Draco's - a touch that could never be replaced, something no one else could ever give him. This touch had become something he needed, something that put him at peace and stirred him at the same time; a touch that held his heart willingly captive.

Turning his head so that his cheek was against Draco's hair, Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply, soaking in the ease and genuineness he felt in this moment, giving his heart and himself over into Draco's slender hands with complete trust. Draco, too, seemed to be lost in this shared comfort, his wandering fingers moving languidly, drawing circles and lines of tender fire on Harry's arm and shoulder and throat, evidently in no hurry now to take his turn in the game.

It would be so easy to fall asleep like this, Harry thought, but the memory of wanting to finish the chess game surfaced in his thoughts and he stirred finally, his arms tightening around Draco. "It's your move," he said softly. "What do you want me to do?"

Draco's hand stilled, then trailed up Harry's neck to tangle in a lock of hair behind Harry's ear. "What you did that other night," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The way you touched me . . . with the magic. I want to feel like that again, but not fall asleep."

Touch me with the magic . . . . It was not what Harry had expected. He remembered that night so vividly - Draco lying in his arms, the words he had said then, trying to explain the rightness and completion he felt, the sense of belonging together that had begun to ease the heart-scars of loneliness inside him, and Draco's unexpected tears that had followed. He'd been touching Draco, stroking his back to soothe him, and had used wandless healing magic, a calming spell and then a spell to bring sleep.

Draco raised up on his elbow to look down into Harry's face, gray eyes full of hope mingled with uncertainty. "I remember . . . it felt amazing . . ." said Draco quietly. "So peaceful . . . like I was floating and there was nothing in the world to worry about, but then I fell asleep. Can you do that - the peaceful part, but not put me to sleep?"

"Yes," said Harry, meeting the questioning gray gaze openly. "I used two spells that night - one for calming and one to put you to sleep. I won't do the sleep one this time."

"What should I do?"

"Lie down," said Harry, gently pulling Draco back down into his arms. "Get comfortable. It will take me a few minutes to be ready to do it."

Draco settled himself against Harry, with his head resting again on Harry's shoulder, his eyes closed. He remembered those few moments when Harry had cast the spell on him that night as if it were a fragment of a dream, something beautiful and elusive, something glimpsed and cherished, but lost before it was ever held. A feeling of peace like he had never imagined could exist had woven through him, stolen deep into his heart, and he longed to feel it again. He wanted to live in it, if only for a short time, and be free from the worries that haunted his every waking moment. If Harry could give him this . . . there were no words for how grateful he would be for such a gift, or for how much more deeply he would love Harry for giving it. Or . . . for what he would willingly give Harry in return. He sighed without a sound and waited, the tension of mixed hope and anticipation stirring his pulse.

Harry relaxed and closed his eyes, holding Draco lightly. The centering ritual would take a few minutes, but Harry had practiced it so many times it was becoming second nature to him. It had an almost dual quality - was both a turning inward to consciously connect with the source of magic inside himself while at the same time releasing and willing that magic to expand outward, letting it fill and flow out of him, giving it direction through his hands and purpose with the incantation of spells. The spell Draco was asking for was a simple one - he had performed much more complex spells with Madam Pomfrey.

Lying still, Harry first became conscious of the quiet sounds of the room, the faint murmur of the fire, the wind sighing at the window, Draco's soft breathing. As he turned his awareness inward, he became attuned to his heartbeat, the steady rhythm of his own breathing drawing his focus further into the center of magic that pulsed just below his heart. He could feel it vibrate, a well of magic power gently thrumming within him, awakening in response to the mental touch of his awareness.

As he went deeper into that inner state, his sensitivity to subtle energies around him increased. He could feel the fragile high-strung tension in Draco through his hands, sense the faint shifting of shadow and firelight across the bed, and the separate auras of magic that surrounded both himself and Draco. Harry moved his hands up Draco's back, then back down, the smooth skin like velvet under his sensitized fingertips, and felt Draco respond like a taut harp string to his touch. He whispered the words of the calming spell, letting the power of the spell flow out from his hands. Almost immediately he felt Draco relax, felt the tension ebbing away with each caress of his stroking fingers.

He felt Draco breathe deeply and move in his arms to be held closer, melting into him in a way that was much more than merely seeming. He felt again that deep, almost musical vibration surrounding them, like a sound too low to be heard that he had sensed before when he had held Draco like this. It was as if magic sang with a soundless hum in the air all around them. He lost himself in it for a moment, drawn by the lull of its delicate tone, a new awareness of its nature gradually forming in his mind. It seemed to tremble at the borders of their individual magical auras, stirring and dissolving the differences, weaving them together into each other. Then with sudden insight, Harry realized that the humming vibration was not causing the joining, but was simply the sound created by his magical aura blending with Draco's. Now, he could clearly sense the edges of their magic running together, separation disappearing like two drops of water that touched and merged and left no trace of their original duality. The boundaries of self and other blurred until Harry no longer quite knew himself from Draco. He felt a heartbeat that echoed his own in close counterpoint; breath that synchronized and mingled, shared. Draco's hand wandered softly down his chest and he felt the calm of the magic he was casting invading himself, as if Draco's touch transmitted it too, and knew an immense sense of wonder that this could happen.

The inner magic he was tapping was strong tonight, stronger than he had ever felt it, and the spell flooded through him, submerging him in waves of peace, resonating between himself and Draco, responding to their combined energies. For a long, long moment, he rested in this stillness with Draco, a calm as deep as the ocean filling his senses. Harry knew it within himself, and also felt it within Draco as an echo, a double sense of self and . . . not other, but other self. And welling up within that calm, like a tide answering to the touch and movement of Draco's hand, was . . . love. Draco was overflowing with it, as if he too cast a spell, and Harry drank it in, let it break his heart with longing and mend it with joy, let it spill over and pour back into Draco, until there was no longer any sense of self or other - only the joining, the oneness of dissolving together into each other.

It was a sensation that knew no boundaries of time, and Harry let it wash over and through him, through Draco and back again in a seemingly endless cycle, as water mirrors the sky. The feeling gradually abated with the dispersing of the spell he had cast. Profoundly moved, Harry opened his eyes and saw a pure and perfect serenity reflected in Draco's face. His heart melted, and he reached out to touch the other boy, his fingers resting lightly on Draco's shoulder, then he gently let his fingers skim down Draco's arm and his breath caught. In the shadowed light, the trembling movement of his hand cast golden sparks of light across Draco's skin. And where Draco's fingers stirred in response, touching him, there were also sparks, clear as crystal, diamond bright. This was no figment of imagination or dream - he was looking right at it - heightened senses fully alert this time. Fascinated, he leaned closer so that he could see better. His fingertips left tiny gold sparkles in their wake as he moved them over Draco's skin. "Draco," he whispered, making barely a sound, but Draco heard and opened his eyes.

For a moment, the eye contact was almost too intimate to bear, yet too compelling to break. The gray eyes that met Harry's were like a window opening on endless gray skies awash with emotion. Harry shifted down a little, turning on his side so that he was directly facing Draco. "Do this," he said softly, lifting his hand, holding it upright between them, palm toward Draco. Draco's hand rose to mirror it, and Harry saw shimmering in the space between their hands, the glitter of sparks, gold and crystal white. "Can you see that?" he breathed, completely amazed. "Between our hands?"

"No," whispered Draco. "What do you see?"

"Little glittery sparkles of light . . . white ones and gold."

"Is it some kind of aura? Like you told me you could see?"

"Probably," said Harry, "but not anything I've ever studied about."

Draco's face became wistful, staring hard between their hands as if willpower alone would make them appear to him.

"Wait, let me try something. . . ." Harry closed his eyes and mentally sank back into the center of magic inside himself, visualizing it expanding out, building its intensity and strength, picturing it flowing into the energy he could feel connecting and effervescing in the space between their hands. Then he heard Draco's sharp intake of breath and opened his eyes. The sparks were much, much brighter. "You see them now?" whispered Harry, careful not to lose his concentration.

Yes," whispered Draco back, awed. "Like tiny stars."

Harry turned slowly onto his back and Draco did too, careful to keep their hands aligned. They lay side by side, their hands still raised on either side, the distance between them now spanning across their chests. The sparks spread out, arcing over their bodies, a miniature galaxy stretched between their fingertips. The effect lasted only a few moments, then faded. Harry let go of the magic energy he was expending and let his raised hand drop onto his stomach.

Draco turned onto his side and raised up on one elbow to look down at Harry's face. "What do you think it means?" he asked in a hushed voice, placing his hand over Harry's.

Harry looked up at him. "I thought you might know . . . or have heard of something like it."

"No," said Draco, and he paused a moment, a faraway look in his eyes, then lay back down, settling close to Harry, his head on Harry's pillow. Harry put one arm around him. "But it reminded me of something . . ." His fingers traced down the backs of Harry's fingers, and up again, then stilled.

Harry imagined the shiver of white sparks that must have followed that touch across his skin and waited for Draco to go on.

"Once . . ." said Draco, very softly, "last summer, when I woke up in the dark in my room . . . after my father had . . . cast Crucio on me, I climbed out my window and stood on the ledge. I thought it could all be over if I would just let myself fall." His fingers tightened over Harry's. "But I couldn't let go . . . and I couldn't go back in. After a while I climbed onto the roof instead and lay up there looking at the stars."

"I'm glad you didn't let go," whispered Harry, horrified.

Draco was silent for a long moment, his fingers moving again to trace the bones of Harry's wrist. "I imagined you with me out there."

"Like this?" Harry hugged him closer.

"No, not like this. Not then. I just imagined you . . ." Draco closed his eyes, picturing a deep midnight sky luminous with the cold, indifferent, ice-bright sparkle of countless stars and the dark-haired boy he had wished there sitting beside him, a silence as vast as the sky overhead joining them in unspoken understanding. ". . . you were sitting close by, watching with me," he said, remembering then how the starlight had seemed to change and kindle, shining down with an intimate, embracing warmth in the power of that partnered gaze. "I felt better after that."

They were quiet together for a long time, though Harry raised his hand to lightly stroke Draco's hair. Finally Draco spoke again, his voice very soft with emotion. "What happened," he asked, "when you did the spell? I could feel you . . . like you were inside my skin."

"I don't know," said Harry slowly. "I felt it too," he said. "It was the magic . . . somehow . . . it was in both of us." Vivid memory of that intimacy pooled between them. "I could feel what you were feeling." Harry turned onto his side so that they were facing each other again. Their eyes met for a second, then he moved closer and kissed Draco, drawing a tremor of tenderness from both of them.

"Will it be like that if we make love?" whispered Draco after a timeless moment, his words falling like an echo of both of their thoughts.

Harry opened his eyes. Draco was looking at him with that intense longing again. A slow wave of heat washed over Harry. "It might . . ." he whispered back, an ember of hope igniting in the hush that followed his words. He kissed Draco again, his fingers drawing a glitter of gold sparks across Draco's shoulder.

Draco pulled gently back from the kiss and sighed, a sound of yearning for something desperately desired but relinquished unrequited. "Put me to sleep, Harry. Like you did before," he said, closing his eyes against that desire.

Harry hesitated, then lay back, drawing Draco into his arms, a lump growing in his throat for Draco's continued avoidance of what they both so clearly wanted. Then he centered himself and spoke the words of the spell, his fingers feathering the hair at the nape of Draco's neck, and felt the unmistakable backwash of it through the other boy within himself. Draco went heavy in his arms, falling into sleep.

Holding Draco tightly, Harry lay still, thinking. What had happened when he'd done that first spell? It seemed that the magic he'd done to Draco had affected him too. Even now, he was feeling drowsy from a rebound of the sleep spell. He'd been very aware that their magical auras had joined, and that wasn't supposed to happen.

Something else had happened too. There was something that he knew now without a shadow of a doubt, and the memory of that lifted his heart away from his concerns. Though he had believed the words when Draco had said them, he had felt with absolute certainty when their magic had joined, that Draco loved him. The strength of it, as he thought back on it now, stunned him. It had permeated Harry's spells with a power equal to Harry's own magic. Harry turned his head so that his face was against Draco's hair.

"I love you, too," he whispered, though he knew that Draco was already asleep and wouldn't hear.

But knowing how much Draco loved him made some of Draco's behavior all the more puzzling. For example, there was the marriage and children question Draco had asked him earlier. Was Draco really concerned about that, or was that only part of the truth? He didn't want to doubt, but he was definitely beginning to believe that there was something Draco wasn't telling him. Harry sighed, and shifted down a little, settling himself with Draco more comfortably, admitting reluctantly to himself that he hadn't really answered Draco's question either.

He knew that he wanted to spend his life with someone he loved, married or not. It seemed quite clear that Draco was that someone, and if they couldn't be married, well, that wasn't going to stop Harry from wanting to be with him. Nor did he care how others would react to that. But the idea of children, he had to admit honestly was a wrench to give up. He'd let his imagination get carried away while he'd been with Cho, had envisioned being the father he'd never had, making the loving home he'd never remembered. That wasn't so easy to stop wanting, and he knew that not even Draco would be able to fill up that one empty corner of his heart. But if he had to make a choice. . . . He glanced down at Draco, asleep in his arms, and smiled, then closed his own eyes and allowed the spell to lull him to sleep. He'd made his choice.

* * *

Harry woke up in the morning alone. Since this had been true all his life, it was a moment or two before he realized something was wrong with that. This morning, said sleepy memory, there should have been someone in bed with him. He sat up, still not fully awake, and rubbed one hand through his hair, squinting at the slanting shaft of muted light that fell across the bed through the partly open bed curtains on his left. There was a soft murmur of words and a rustling sound from the corner of the room to his right where the wardrobe was. "Draco?" he called quietly.

There was a pause in the rustling, then footsteps, and the draperies at the end of the bed flew open. "It's about time you woke up," said Draco, grumpily, standing at the foot of the bed, dressed only in the gray pants he'd slept in. "I've waited breakfast for you, and I'm starving."

To Harry's somewhat blurred vision, it looked like Draco was grinning, in spite of the tone of voice, and Harry suspected he hadn't been up as long as he had implied. Harry scooted toward the side of the bed, wondering where he had left his glasses the night before. He seemed to remember Draco pulling them off . . . then he recalled why, and that told him where. "How late is it?" he asked.

"Late enough," said Draco, coming around to the side of the bed as Harry stood up.

Now that he was closer, Harry could see that he was grinning and smiled back.

Draco reached up to smooth down a lock of Harry's unruly black hair. There was a moment of shyness as touch brought back a flood of memories of the night before.

"How do you feel?" asked Harry softly, concerned that the spell he'd done had worked properly. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Better than I ever remember," said Draco. He leaned in and kissed Harry - one of those lingering, feather soft kisses that always made Harry's heart turn over. "Thank you."

"Anytime," said Harry sincerely.

"Come on," said Draco, suddenly impatient, taking Harry's hand, pulling him toward the table by the hearth. "Let's eat. I have lots of plans for us today."

"Wait," said Harry, drawing back, marveling that Draco seemed unfazed by being shirtless and barefoot in the chilly room. "It's cold in here - at least let me get a shirt on."

"I've got the fire going," insisted Draco, not letting Harry go, tugging him forward. "It's warm over there. And besides," he added, his grin changing to a bit of a smirk, "you'll just have to take it off again after breakfast."

Harry's eyebrows went up.

"You have to try on dress robes, remember."

Harry groaned inwardly and let Draco lead him across the room, realizing that the rustling sounds he had heard when he woke up had been Draco looking through the clothes in his wardrobe. But he had agreed, he reminded himself, to let Draco lend him robes for the Yule Ball, so he had to keep his promise if he wanted them to go together. He found his glasses on the table and put them on while Draco carried the chessboard over to his desk to clear the way for the breakfast things. He still thought the room was a bit chilly for going around wearing nothing but boxers, but the fire was blazing up now and it was warmer on this side of the room, and he certainly didn't mind that Draco was half-dressed.

Draco came back with his wand, and in a moment the table was full of breakfast - pancakes, muffins, bacon, eggs, toast, fruit, and pots of tea and hot cocoa. Harry sat down and pulled his feet up into the chair, away from the freezing flagstone floor, then picked up the large pot of hot cocoa and poured himself a cupful. The first sip burned his tongue a little, but it warmed him quite nicely going down. He reached for a muffin and sat back, regarding Draco curiously. "What are all these plans you have for today?" he asked. "Besides finding me something to wear to the Yule Ball."

Draco gave Harry a mischievous look. He popped the last bite of a piece of bacon in his mouth and licked his fingers. "I'm not saying, yet," he grinned. "Not until I take my next turn in the game."

Harry grinned back at him. There was something marvelously intimate about eating breakfast with someone in your underwear and it reminded Harry of the marriage question Draco had asked the night before. If they lived together, Harry wondered, could be it like this every morning? Well, maybe a bit warmer would be nice. . . . Draco seemed in a good mood and maybe the trying on of robes wouldn't be so bad - maybe Draco had already picked something out for him.

Draco finished his breakfast quickly, then got up and went to the window. He pushed it open and gazed up at the long, sharp-toothed icicles that hung from the castle eaves above him, then out at the grounds and the cloudy sky. The snow had finally stopped in the early morning hours, and though the landscape spread out below was beautifully covered with a blanket of white, Draco regarded the pale, gray, overcast sky with a frown. It wouldn't be as nice as a clear day, but Draco had only this one day and not even a sky full of snow was going to stop him from doing what he'd planned for the day.

Harry joined him at the window and shivered as a blast of the frigid air reached him. "Bloody hell, Draco," he said, his tone teasing, not angry. "Isn't it cold enough in here as it is?"

Draco turned to him and shook the hair back out of his eyes that a gust of wind caught just at that moment. He grinned. "I know what's wrong with you," he said. Pulling the window closed, he walked past Harry to his desk to retrieve his wand. When he came back, he stopped and stood a few feet from Harry, then pointed his wand at Harry. "This is so elementary, I didn't realize you didn't know it."

"Know what?" said Harry, rather startled by the wand that was aimed right at his chest.

"Hold still," said Draco.

"Wait!" Harry held up his hands in front of him. "What are you doing? Are you sure it's safe?"

Draco raised one eyebrow and gave Harry a half smirk. "This is the very first spell the first-years learn in Slytherin. It's completely harmless, but totally essential. No one could stand to live in the dungeons without it." He lowered his wand a little, and tilted his head slightly, amused affection in his eyes. "Do you trust me?" he challenged softly.

Harry took a deep breath and relaxed. "Yes," he said, then he screwed his eyes shut tight, waiting for whatever it was to hit him, while trying to ignore the silly feeling he had standing there like that in his boxers.

"Corpofoveo," said Draco.

A mild tingling sensation ran over Harry's skin, from the top of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. He opened his eyes. Draco was watching him curiously. Something was different . . . then Harry's eyes opened wide. Oh! The cold was gone! He felt as if a thin layer of comfortable warmth surrounded him. He held his arms out from his sides and the warmth moved with him. "Aha," he said, grinning at Draco, greatly impressed. "This is why you're always so warm."

Draco laughed. "I wish I had thought of this last night," he said, feigning annoyance. "You had those cold feet on me again this morning. It woke me up."

"Sorry," said Harry, still grinning. He wiggled his now warm toes happily.

"And you're going to need that spell, for what I have in mind later," hinted Draco. "But first," he added, a predatory gleam in his eye, "it's time to try on dress robes."

Harry sighed, his grin deflating into something like a rueful smile. "Fine," he said. "But I'm not wearing anything that makes me look like a vicar."

Draco gave him a scornful look. "Oh, and I suppose you thought it was better to go about looking like a giant green bean."

"No!" laughed Harry, far too amused by the mental picture that conjured to be insulted. "But I didn't pick those robes myself - Mrs. Weasley got them for me." Harry laughed again. "At least what I had was better than what Ron got stuck with."

"Ah, yes," said Draco, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "That maroon monstrosity. What a ghastly color that was - especially with Weasley hair."

"Well, I think he has Percy's navy blue ones now," said Harry, not wanting the conversation to go any further into insulting Ron.

"Better," conceded Draco. "But you," he added, raising one eyebrow and looking Harry up and down appreciatively, "this year, for a change, you are going to look stunning."

Harry blushed slightly. He walked over to the open wardrobe and stood next to Draco, looking in. The interior of the wardrobe appeared to go back much farther than was physically possible, revealing an extensive array of ties, shirts, sweaters, robes, and trousers. "God, Draco," exclaimed Harry, flabbergasted, "how much stuff do you have in there?"

"A lot," said Draco quietly. He pushed a row of shirts out of the way, then gathered an armload of robes and carried them to the bed.

Harry was still staring into the wardrobe. "I've never seen so many clothes," he said, mostly to himself, since Draco was busy sorting through the pile of robes laid out on the bed. He turned away from the wardrobe after a moment to see what Draco was doing, then smiled at what he saw. Draco was holding two robes up side by side, his head tilted slightly, his expression thoughtful, appraising. "I thought my cousin had a lot of clothes," Harry teased, "but this . . ."

With a glance back at Harry, Draco said softly, "My mother likes to buy me clothes. She knows I like to wear nice things." He laid one of the robes down, and stood for a moment stroking the velvet trim on the one he still held. "But, I've never worn half of these." He paused, then added, "It's all she can do for me now . . . and I don't have the heart to tell her to stop."

There was an undercurrent of sadness in Draco's voice that made Harry go to him. His arms went around Draco's shoulders and he bent his head to kiss the edge of Draco's ear. "I'm sorry," he said.

Draco shrugged slightly. "Doesn't matter. You were right," he said with a small, wry grin. He turned his head and kissed Harry. "The Malfoy collection of dress robes is beyond the comprehension of mere mortals." He held up the robe he was holding so Harry could see it. "I think we would look good in this."

"We?" asked Harry, looking over Draco's shoulder at the black velvet trimmed robe. It was made of a black fabric that seemed to shimmer with silver when it moved. "You have two?"

"No," replied Draco smugly, turning around to face Harry, "but I know a duplicating spell."

Harry grinned. "Everyone will be even more horribly shocked, you know. If we go dressed alike."

"I know," said Draco, grinning back conspiratorially. "It'll be brilliant."

Harry laughed. Draco seemed to have completely forgotten that he had originally been worried about them being seen together. "Do you still want me to try it on?"

Draco handed the robe to Harry. "Of course I do - I want to see how you look in it, before I decide."

"Right," said Harry, having hoped for a moment that Draco had already decided and he wouldn't have to try anything on. At least, it seemed, he might only have to try on this one. He held up the robe and found that it was more complicated than he had originally noticed. It was made of a fine black fabric, closefitting through the body with small buttons that curved from the side waist to the center of the high velvet collar, and the full sleeves had buttons above the long fitted velvet cuffs. The back was fashioned like a cape, the edges also trimmed in black velvet, that was gathered at one shoulder by a silver brooch shaped like a Celtic knot, then draped over the other shoulder to fall to the floor. It was the lining of this cape that Harry had seen shimmer with silver. A long black velvet sash looped around the waist and was fastened at the side with another silver pin. Harry was sure he had never worn anything so elegant. "How does it open?" he asked, eyeing all the buttons suspiciously. "Do I have to unbutton all of these?"

Draco gave him an amused look. "Unless you know how to Apparate inside it, you do."

Harry suppressed a sigh and moved past Draco to sit down on the bed so that he could use both hands to work the buttons. It took several minutes, and Draco had to help finally, but at last Harry got the robe on and stood before Draco for a verdict. It was several more minutes, or so it seemed to Harry, before Draco nodded his approval.

"Stunning," said Draco softly, coming to stand very close, facing Harry, his arms going around Harry's neck.

The heat crept up in Harry's face again as Draco kissed him. His hands came up to hold Draco lightly, slipping around Draco's bare waist to rest against his back. "There's one thing, though," he said when they parted. He stepped back a step from Draco and indicated the front of the robe. "It's a bit drafty."

Draco snorted and looked at Harry with a mischievous light in his eyes. The robe was split over the left leg from the waist to the floor where the two front panels met, which, since at the moment Harry was only wearing a pair of boxers, exposed one bare leg from thigh to foot. "I rather like it this way," said Draco. He paused for effect then added, "But there are matching trousers that go under it."

It took Draco a few minutes to find the pants that went with the robe, and Harry tried those on too. Then they looked for a pair of boots. Harry was just slipping his feet into a promising pair when a shaft of sunlight streamed in through the window and lit up the room. Draco looked up, his interest caught by the possible significance of that sudden brightening, and went to the window to look out.

"These fit," called Harry, sitting on the other side of the bed. He stood up and walked to the wardrobe to look in the mirror on the back of the closet door. He had to admit that he did look good. Stunning wasn't something he would ascribe to himself, but, he grinned, he was glad that Draco thought so. "Are we done?" he asked hopefully.

The sunlight faded, dimming the room again, but Draco, gazing out at the sky, was smiling. The clouds were breaking up, and so it seemed his plans for the afternoon were going to turn out as he had wished after all. He turned away from the window and came around the corner of the bed to find Harry standing in front of the wardrobe, then stopped, heart-struck by what he saw. The clothes made a difference certainly, but it was Harry himself, standing with his arms out a little from his sides to invite Draco's inspection, his chin up, hair tousled from trying on the clothes, and green eyes soft, kindling with affection, waiting to know what Draco thought, that Draco found inexpressibly stunning.

A wave of love shivered through Draco and he stood still, lifting one hand to hold on to the bedpost to steady himself. There was a glow in Harry's face, a welcome in his eyes, that spoke straight to Draco's heart. The way Harry looked at him now was so profoundly changed from only a week ago it was staggering. It was what Draco had desperately wanted, and could hardly believe . . . and, said a small choked voice inside him, would be lost to him forever so soon . . . so soon.

Not today! thought Draco, slamming a door in his mind against this thought. He'd vowed that today, for this one day, he would not think about the future.

"So, is this okay?" asked Harry, breaking into Draco's thoughts.

Draco turned his full attention back to Harry, and letting go of the bedpost, came to stand close in front of him. He straightened Harry's collar a little, then adjusted the folds of the cape across Harry's chest. "You look perfect," he said, his voice low, full of warmth.

Harry blushed slightly. "It's the fancy clothes," he said.

"It isn't the clothes," said Draco, putting his arms around Harry and pulling him close. "It's just you. That you're here with me. That you want to be here. Sometimes I can't quite believe it."

"I want to be with you," responded Harry quietly, "very much." Green eyes met gray and there was only honesty, simple and unalloyed, in them. "Please believe it," he added in a whisper as Draco's mouth found his.

Draco kissed Harry with a tremulous intensity that was not desire, but rather the outpouring of all the powerful, mixed emotions he felt - the wanting, the fear of losing, the love, the deep gratitude that not only was he allowed to share a kiss with this person but that this person was holding him and kissing him back - all of it flooded through him, igniting into a sudden flare of tender passion that left both of them trembling and clinging to each other, breathless.

"Draco?" whispered Harry, dropping his head to kiss Draco's neck, the top of one bare shoulder. But Draco was pulling away, slipping out of his arms, escaping the unspoken question in Harry's voice, elusive as water in a sieve. He met Harry's eyes for a second, the color in his face high, apology vivid in gray velvet - and then he was standing an arm's length away, out of reach.

"I should put these away," said Draco, his voice unsteady, turning to the pile of dress robes on the bed.

Harry stood silent and watched as Draco gathered up the robes. He stood aside as Draco came back to put them away in the wardrobe. He toed off the boots, and pulled off the pants, handing them to Draco without a word. Then with shaking fingers he started on the buttons of the robe he was wearing. Finally he pulled that off over his head and gave it to Draco.

Draco put everything away and got out his own clothes. "You can get dressed now," he said softly to Harry. He walked to the bathroom, then turned at the doorway and looked at Harry over his shoulder, a small smile beginning to show again at the corners of his mouth. "Dress warm," he said, before he closed the door, "because after lunch, we're going outside."

For a long moment, Harry just stared at the closed bathroom door, biting his bottom lip, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, completely mystified again, and frustrated, by Draco's contradictory behavior. But, for the time being at least, he was willing to wait - it wouldn't be much longer until the game was over. He walked slowly to the foot of the bed to find his bag and pulled out the red plaid flannel shirt he had brought.

Dress warm . . . outside . . .

Snow! Harry grinned to himself. Now that was something he could understand.

When Draco came out of the bathroom, he found Harry dressed and sitting at his desk, elbows propped on the edge, chin in his hands, contemplating the chessboard. Light from the window was flooding the room in a more persistent way than it had earlier. It was nearly noon. Draco went to look out the window again and saw that the snow clouds were swept clear, the sky bright with crisp sunlight. He smiled in satisfaction and went to join Harry. "My turn," he said. Harry sat back, giving him room, waiting, green eyes full of curiosity and expectation. With only a second's hesitation, Draco moved his Rook one place sideways. "Rook to G1." He tilted his head and gazed down at Harry with a pleased, excited expression. "I want you to go flying with me," he said. "Not playing Quidditch, not competing . . . just us flying, for fun."

Harry stood up, his eyes lit with a matching excitement. "That's exactly what I was hoping you would say," he said. "But I have to go back to my dorm to get my broom."

Draco raised one eyebrow and grinned mischievously. "We can eat lunch first," he said as he walked back to the table in front of the hearth, "then we'll get your broom. I have an idea about that."

It didn't take them long to eat the sandwiches that appeared on the table. Draco loaned Harry a wool sweater to wear over his flannel shirt and some dragonhide gloves that Harry suspected were far too expensive to be worn riding brooms in the snow. But Draco had insisted and Harry gave in.

When they were dressed in their winter cloaks and mufflers, Draco fished his own broom out from under his bed, and beckoned Harry over to the window. "Come on," he urged when Harry gave him a questioning look. "We're not going out through the castle." He opened the window, then straddled the broom. Harry got on behind him, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist just in time to hold on as Draco flew up and straight out the window. "Can you find your window in the Gryffindor Tower?" Draco asked as they skirted up over peaked rooftops and turreted walls.

"I think so," said Harry, hanging on tightly. "There," he said, pointing ahead as Draco rounded one side of the castle. "That's it - my room is at the top."

"This one?" asked Draco, veering in to hover close by an arched window near the top of the round stone tower.

Harry squinted, but the glare from the snow made it hard to see in. "Get a little closer," he said, "so I can knock." He held on to Draco with one arm, and reached out as Draco brought the broom up to the window, and rapped several times on the glass. At first, nothing happened, but then a figure appeared and a moment later, Seamus, a huge grin on his face, was opening the window.

"Hey, guys!" he called over his shoulder. "It's Harry!" He leaned out the window, laughing. "And oooh," he managed to say, "he's riding Malfoy's broomstick!"

"Can you just hand me my broom, Seamus?" said Harry in a mortified voice, his ears burning and not from the cold air. "It's under my bed."

"I don't know, Harry," laughed Seamus. "That looks awfully cozy," he added, making an obvious reference to the way Harry was sitting pressed against Draco, his arms around Draco's waist.

Draco glanced back at Harry and grinned, seemingly not at all embarrassed by Seamus's innuendos.

"My broom, please?" groaned Harry.

"I've got it," said Neville helpfully, appearing behind Seamus, blushing but grinning, holding Harry's Firebolt up, then handing it outside into Harry's outstretched hand.

"Any chance you'd take me instead?" teased Seamus, giving Draco a flirtatious look.

"Finnigan," drawled Draco, flipping his hair back and grinning devilishly, "you and your broomstick have as much chance of coming with me as a basilisk in a henhouse."

Seamus leaned against the window frame, gone suddenly limp with laughing.

"Thank you, Neville," called Harry, as Draco angled his broom sharply away from the castle wall and took off across the grounds towards Hogsmeade. They flew over the Forbidden Forest in a straight line, keeping low over the trees, then landed on the outskirts of the town.

"Ever flown past here?" Draco asked. "Past the far end of town?"

"No," said Harry, his mind not entirely on the question. Draco's eyes were bright, his face flushed from the cold, and Harry wanted very much to kiss him. "Have you?"

"I might have," Draco replied cryptically. "The forest is tamer out that way - it's broken up by fields and some farms. It's safer than flying over the Forbidden Forest."

Harry had a sudden vision of first-year Draco screaming and bolting from the sight of Voldemort drinking unicorn blood in the Forbidden Forest the night they had detention with Hagrid. At the time, he'd been far too scared, and in pain from his scar, to have seen anything funny about it. But now. . . . He tried to suppress a grin but wasn't entirely successful.

Draco raised one eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," said Harry, smiling. "I'm just glad we're not flying over the Forbidden Forest. Too many bad memories." He jumped on his Firebolt. "Let's go!" he called as he circled up into the air.

With an answering smile, Draco was right behind him, then whooshed past, leading Harry in a swift, riotous chase over Hogsmeade and out across the bright snow-covered fields and trees beyond.

The world seemed full of light, bouncing in dazzling, blinding sparks off the snow. Harry's heart felt filled with it. He had flown with Cho, but never like this. This was wild and abandoned and breathtaking, pushing each other to the edge of recklessness. It was exhilarating. They flew as if they were perfectly attuned, a single force in duplicate, streaking in unison through the sunlit sky. They had done this many times before, Harry recognized suddenly - tearing through the sky over the Quidditch pitch, dodging, weaving, diving as one, bent on the same small objective. But this time it wasn't competition that drove them, but just being together in pure flat out flight, something they both understood and didn't have to explain. Harry felt he could barely breathe for the cold air and the sheer joy of it.

Draco suddenly slowed down as they overshot a large field, banked, and circled back.

Harry followed and caught up a moment later.

Hovering over the center of the meadow, Draco took out his wand, and stared down at the perfect, unmarked expanse of snow below. He looked up as Harry flew closer, grinning. "I've always wanted to do this!" he shouted across the space of sky that separated them.

Waiting until he had maneuvered his broom close enough so they wouldn't have to shout, Harry asked, "Do what?"

With a sweep of his hand, Draco indicated the width of the meadow below them. "It's like a huge blank sheet of parchment," he explained, excitement evident in his eyes. "It's just crying out to be written on!"

"Okay," laughed Harry. Draco's enthusiasm was contagious. "What are you going to write?"

Draco raised one eyebrow. "My name, of course," he said with mock arrogance, as if it should have been obvious. "Really big."

Harry laughed again. "Go on, then. I'll watch."

Flashing a smile at Harry, Draco brought his broom down until he was hovering about six meters over the ground on the left side of the field. He pointed his wand and a stream of blue fire shot from the end melting a deep groove in the snow. Flying slowly and holding his wand steady, Draco flew so that the groove became the first long sweep of the capital letter D. He looped around, swung out in a large arc that went back to his starting point, and ended with another looping flourish.

From Harry's vantage point high above, a perfect script letter D was now clearly written in the snow. The blue fire Draco was using reminded Harry of the fire Hermione had used on the Devil's Snare back in first year - a spell he still didn't know. He watched for a minute more, before deciding to make something of his own while Draco was busy. He landed in the opposite corner of the field from where Draco was working, and scooped up a handful of snow. Starting that rolling, he very soon had a ball of snow large enough to be the base of a big snowman. He rolled a second ball for the middle section and used Wingardium Leviosa to levitate it on top of the bottom one, repeating the process for the head. Then, walking over to the edge of the nearby woods, he collected a couple of dead sticks, a bunch of long, dried, stringy grass, and a pine cone. He had to search for a few minutes more, kicking aside the snow and fallen leaves, but finally found two large, dark, roundish stones that he was satisfied with.

It was just as he stepped back to admire his finished handiwork that the first snowball whizzed past his ear. Harry spun around and had to immediately duck a second snowball aimed right at his head. "Hey!" he yelled and scooped up a handful of ammunition.

Draco was standing near the spot where Harry had left his broom, packing a third snowball in his hands, a huge, smug grin on his face.

"Missed me!" shouted Harry, and let his snowball fly.

"Ha!" yelled Draco, ducking Harry's missile easily and in one smooth motion, throwing his own.

Harry bent down to grab another handful of snow, but when he stood up to throw it, the snowball Draco had just thrown was on a swift collision course for his face. Reflexes took over and he threw up his one empty hand to deflect it. An instantaneous, but not completely conscious thought shot through his mind - one powerful thought fueled by the reflexive adrenaline rush of that expected impending impact. Harry wished the snowball was something soft, something harmless, that it wouldn't hit him, and in the next instant, the snowball exploded in mid-air, all the bits of it transfiguring into small white butterflies.

Almost at the same moment, Draco sank down on his knees in the snow. For a second, he was too stunned and dizzy to realize what had happened, but then his equilibrium returned and he sat back on his heels, completely astonished. He watched with Harry in amazed silence as the little round cloud of butterflies, looking for all the world like a floating, super-expanded snowball, rose up into the sky and flew away.

"Do you realize what you just did!?" shouted Draco. He shook his head at Harry's very startled and perplexed expression. "You just did wandless magic . . . and it wasn't a healing spell! It wasn't even a spell!" Then his amazement turned to amusement and he started laughing. "But butterflies!?" he teased. "Butterflies!!" He was laughing hard now. "God, Potter! That's got to be the poofiest thing I've ever seen!"

Harry strode over and pounced on him, trying to stuff the handful of snow he still held down the front of Draco's sweater.

Draco went down on his back in the snow, still laughing, but valiantly trying to protect the precious black cashmere sweater he was wearing. "Nooooo!" he protested, grabbing Harry's wrists, but laughing too hard to hold on. "Not the sweater!"

Harry gave up on ruining Draco's sweater and pinned Draco down instead, and sat on him, straddling his stomach. They were both laughing, breath pluming in the chilly air. Draco's pale hair was fanned out against the snow, as if it were the white of a pillow, and his face was smiling and rosy from the cold, his eyes bright from laughing. Harry's breath caught - it wasn't that he'd never seen Draco look beautiful before, but this was a new revelation of that beauty, and it took Harry, as it had each time before, by surprise. A rush of caring, of desire stirring, swept over him - he'd never had Draco in such a position, or so much at his mercy, and he gazed down at the other boy, his heart racing, not sure how to best take advantage of it.

Draco, however, immediately settled Harry's momentary dilemma by giving up all pretense of trying to fight Harry off, and switching tactics, pulled him down into a kiss. It was a short kiss, its brevity not at all an indication of the emotion behind it, but barely a moment after it was begun, Draco was pushing Harry away. "Let me up," he said with a hint of urgency, looking up into Harry's brilliant, questioning green eyes. "My hair's getting wet."

With a laugh, Harry stood up and reaching down to grasp Draco's extended hand, tugged Draco up too. He turned the blond around to brush the clinging snow off his back and smooth down the fine hair that was barely damp. "Your hair is fine," he assured Draco, but he couldn't disguise the trace of teasing in his tone.

Draco turned to face Harry, one eyebrow raised, glancing up in obvious skeptical consideration of Harry's wild, windblown hair. He dropped his gaze to meet Harry's and his teasing expression softened. "So is yours," he said with a crooked grin. For a moment, their eyes held each other, green meeting gray in a world of white, then Draco tangled one gloved hand in the collar of Harry's cloak, the other arm going around Harry's neck. "That was an amazing thing you did," he said, his voice soft and awed, just a breath against Harry's mouth, before he pulled Harry back into the kiss that he'd interrupted.

There was nothing brief about the kiss this time. Harry's hands found their way inside Draco's cloak, to the warmth encompassed there; he snuggled in so that the thick wool draped over them both. Draco's mouth was warm too, and Harry let all this warmth enfold him. He had, for a second, thought that Draco had pulled away from the first kiss for another reason, the same way he had slipped away from Harry last night and this morning, avoiding Harry's desire, his questions. But now, Draco seemed to be overcome with a need to kiss him senseless, and Harry surrendered to it willingly, giving himself up to this kiss, responding with pleasure but making no demands that might cause Draco to withdraw again.

The words Draco had just spoken went through Harry's mind, and he was suddenly stunned, struck by the implications. Draco held him closer, deepening the kiss and Harry felt himself shiver against the other boy, thrill tremors igniting deep inside him at Draco's touch, at the revelation in his words. Draco had not been too awed by Harry's wandless magic to tease him about his messy hair, but even the teasing had shown that Draco didn't mind the messy hair, had in fact found it endearing. Draco loved him, all of him - both Harry-of-the-rare-magical-power and Harry-of-the-unruly-hair - both flaws and talents accepted as parts of a whole, neither outweighing the other. There was nothing of the hero worship that Harry despised in Draco's acknowledgement of Harry's gift, and everything of loving him, wanting him just for himself. It was what Harry had always longed for, and holding Draco now here in his arms, kissing him, brought a rush of memory of last night flooding over him too. Harry felt he had never been more in love than at this moment.

Draco pulled gently back, breaking the kiss, then kissing Harry softly again. He let go of Harry's cloak and put that arm also around Harry's neck, hugging him, his face turned in against the side of Harry's face.

Draco's hair was cold and silky against his cheek, a feathery caress that touched his heart for all its simplicity, and made Harry hold Draco tighter. Harry held him like that for several minutes; Draco seemed not to want the moment to end at all and Harry was more than willing to give him all the time he wanted. He felt Draco sigh finally and turn his head to face out over Harry's shoulder, then Harry felt him draw a sharp breath in surprise and suddenly Draco snickered.

"Oh God," Draco laughed, looking over Harry's shoulder. "That's just like the first time." And Harry turned around to see his snow rendition of Professor Snape, with its lank grass hair and large pinecone nose, facing them. A fat twig broken in several places formed a crooked zigzag line for the mouth, giving it an appalled expression; its dark stony eyes were big and round, the thin stick arms thrown up to the sky in horror, as if reacting again to their kissing. "A perfect likeness," declared Draco, turning back to Harry, his eyes shining. "He looks totally scandalized."

Harry felt his face flush, partly from the kiss and partly from Draco's praise. Approval from the other boy was still unexpected, still caught him off-guard. He grinned. "At least this one can't take House points," he said. "Or give us detention." They stood together for a few minutes admiring the snowman, Harry's arm stealing around Draco's back. After a moment, though, Harry found himself gazing at Draco's face instead of at the snowman, and a few seconds later, Draco turned to meet that gaze.

The kindled warmth in Draco's eyes brought back all the thoughts he'd had while Draco was kissing him and he remembered the chess move he had planned that morning. There was something he needed to say. Long blue tree shadows were stretching across the field behind them, the first rose-gold hints of sunset tinting the sky, and Harry knew suddenly exactly when and where he wanted to say it. "We should go," he said. "It's my turn in the game . . . there's something I want to do."

"I want you to see my name before we go," insisted Draco, as they walked back to their brooms.

They flew up and hovered over the field, and Harry had to laugh again. Sprawled elegantly over the entire field below, just as if it were written across a vast sheet of white parchment, was the huge signature of Draco Malfoy.

"Very impressive!" shouted Harry, with a grin.

Draco grinned smugly back, then looked down at his name, his satisfaction mingled suddenly with a sharp edge of sadness. In a week or so, when the snow melted, when those two words that held his identity vanished into the cold, muddy earth . . . what would be left of him then? Resolutely he turned to Harry, pushing that thought from his mind. "I'm ready," he shouted back. "Where do you want to go?"

"Knight to B4," called out Harry. "Follow me!" He led Draco this time, flying fast in wide rising circles. They flew up, faster and faster, spiraling around each other, the arc of the circles tightening as they flew higher and higher into the sunset sky, their ascent laid against a backdrop painted bright with long radiant wisps of clouds shot through with streamers of pink, apricot, and amethyst. The Forbidden Forest blurred beneath them, the world laid out below like a tapestry of gilded patchwork as the setting sun poured rivers of molten gold across the snowy fields and forests. Harry stopped finally and caught hold of Draco. They were both out of breath and flushed from the wind that whipped their cloaks out behind them like rippling flags.

Clinging to each other, they watched the sun slip beyond the horizon. Then Harry drew Draco close and kissed him there, high over the spinning world in a sky full of spilled colors. "Draco," said Harry, as a deep blue dusk fell around them, his voice soft, trembling slightly, "I don't know when you thought it would be a good time to tell you this. . . . I wanted to say it last night." He pulled away just enough to meet Draco's eyes, eyes that reflected the vivid, velvet twilight. "I love you, too."

Draco had his arms around Harry then, completely heedless of the danger of falling. "This was a perfect time," he breathed, kissing Harry back. And it was quite dark, the stars full and brilliant overhead, before they came down.

* * *

The boys flew cautiously through Draco's window, being careful with their brooms in such close quarters, and both landed without mishap in the darkened room. It was much later than they had imagined; they had missed dinner entirely and Draco was late for his prefect rounds. Fortunately, the spelled table still worked, and they ate dinner in a rush.

"Let me come with you," suggested Harry, hurriedly swallowing a bite of shepherd's pie. "I have the Invisibility Cloak. No one would know."

"It's really quite boring," warned Draco, finishing the last bite of his.

"It'll be boring here without you," countered Harry hopefully.

"You could look at my books," offered Draco, going to get his school robes on.

Harry eyed the shelves of Potions tomes and rolled his eyes. "Not bloody likely," he said with a grin. "I would much rather walk up and down empty halls with you, looking for non-existent spies and poorly-hidden, late-night snoggers."

Draco laughed. Of course he didn't mind if Harry came along. Prefect rounds were not among his favorite things to do, and company would improve the night's tedious duty immeasurably.

* * *

Draco finished his rounds and was headed back to the Slytherin tower; Harry under the Invisibility Cloak was walking beside him, holding his hand. Their walk had so far been uneventful - no spies, or even surreptitious snoggers, had been spotted. It had been very nice to have Harry's company, even if he couldn't see him. They were just about to turn the corner into the corridor by the Transfiguration classroom when a rough shout from behind froze them in their tracks, the gruff voice unmistakable.

Filch!

"You!" commanded the grizzled old caretaker, as he came down the hall toward them. "Stop right there!"

Draco made an annoyed sound and turned to face the old man. Harry moved around behind Draco, his hands holding onto the sides of Draco's waist. Just before Filch reached them, Harry leaned into Draco.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty," whispered Harry in a sing-song voice in Draco's ear.

Draco's eyes went wide and he had to swallow the snort of laughter he'd almost made because Filch was suddenly right there.

Filch grimaced gleefully at Draco like an ogre that had cornered its prey.

Draco touched his badge. "Prefect rounds, sir," he said, trying to keep a straight face.

"You're late, Malfoy," growled Filch, squinting his eyes menacingly, obviously disappointed that Draco had a legitimate excuse for being out. "It's past time you should've been doing that."

"I know, sir," said Draco. "I forgot it was my turn - "

"Forgot!" Filch grinned maliciously. "Of all the pathetic excuses. . . ."

"But I'm finished now, sir," Draco added, hurriedly. "I just was on my way back to my room."

"Oh, Poopsie-kins," whispered that sing-song voice again next to Draco's ear. Draco bit his lip and stepped back hard, his heel finding invisible toes. He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him and had to struggle not to laugh out loud.

"Eh?" Filch leaned in close to Draco, his face screwed up with suspicion. "What was that? What did you say?"

"Nothing, sir," choked out Draco. He coughed slightly, then coughed louder to cover Harry's next giggle-stifled whisper of, "Dumplin-wumplin." He cleared his throat, only Filch's nasty look keeping him from breaking out in a grin. "It's only a bit of a cough, I have. Sorry, sir."

Filch eyed him nastily. "Well, maybe you should go up to the hospital wing and have the nurse take a look at that," he said with a sarcastic sneer. "Maybe she can give you something to fix your memory too!"

"Yes, sir," said Draco, his voice horribly constrained.

"Hrumph," muttered Filch, turning away. "Get on with you, then. If I find you out here after hours again, I won't be so easy on you." He stomped off, back the way he had come.

Draco turned around, grabbed Harry and dragged him in the other direction, the way they had been going before Filch stopped them, to the end of the hall and around the corner. They ducked into the Transfiguration classroom, Draco managing to pull Harry to the front of the room out of sight of the open doorway before they collapsed against each other laughing. "God, Harry," gasped Draco. "You nearly got me detention out there!"

Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, and grinned at Draco. "And you nearly crushed my toe!" He laughed again, and leaned back against the blackboard behind him. "That was brilliant - 'only a bit of a cough!'"

Draco laughed and moved in to stand close in front of Harry, his hands coming up to press Harry's shoulders back, pinning him to the blackboard. "I demand retribution for the trouble you nearly made me suffer," he said in a low, teasing voice.

"Oh, you do?" said Harry, teasing back, his arms going around Draco's waist to pull them together. "And what do I get for my suffering toe?"

Draco leaned in to kiss Harry. "This," he said softly, kissing Harry once lightly, "is for me. And," he added, pulling back just enough to say the words against Harry's lips, "this is for your toe." Then he kissed Harry deeply. "Better?" he asked, a bit breathlessly, when they finally parted.

"Much better," said Harry on a sigh. One hand skimmed up Draco's back to smooth the hair at the nape of Draco's neck and pull him into another kiss. "I think maybe I'll be able to walk again, now."

Draco rolled his eyes, but was only barely hiding a grin. "Then we should get back," he said, raising one eyebrow. "Before Filch catches us again."

Harry nodded. As he let go of Draco, one hand brushed the chalk rail behind him, and he turned slightly, noticing for the first time what he was leaning against. A piece of chalk lay only a few inches from his fingers. "Wait!" he said, suddenly struck by an idea. He picked up the chalk and turned to Draco with a smirk. "I think we should leave Filch a little message."

"Ha," snickered Draco. "As long as I don't get blamed for it."

Laughing quietly, Harry drew a large heart on the blackboard. Draco was watching Harry, so neither of them saw the cat that slipped through the doorway. The cat stopped dead in its tracks when it saw the two boys and stood quite still. Harry finished drawing the heart, then with a devious glance at Draco, wrote words inside it. Filch + Poopsie-kins. Stifling a laugh, Draco draped one arm loosely over Harry's shoulders. The cat sat down suddenly, its eyes wide as saucers, ears flattened back, the nervous flick of its tail showing its agitation.

Draco took the chalk from Harry with a broad grin. Under the words he drew a silly cat face with crossed eyes. Then, outside the heart, down by the point he wrote True on the left side and Love on the right.

"Oh, God," said Harry, grinning, his arm going around Draco's back. "That's perfect. I wish we could see his face when he sees that." He leaned forward and kissed Draco.

The cat shot to its feet like it had been electrified. Its back arched, the hair on its tail stood out like a bottlebrush. With a startled hiss, it turned and streaked from the room. And it was a shame that Draco, who was still kissing Harry, didn't see it. The reaction was everything he could have hoped for.

"Come on," said Draco, when Harry let him go. "I really don't think we want to be here when Filch sees that."

"No," said Harry, with a snort of laughter. "But you'd better go with me under the Invisibility Cloak now. Filch would expect you to have been back in your room ages ago, so it wouldn't be good to meet him in the corridor again on the way back."

A short time later, Harry and Draco, arms around each other's waists under the Invisibility Cloak, were making their way down the main stairs to the entrance hall, headed for the Slytherin tower entrance. It was Harry who saw the cat first and froze halfway down the stairs, pulling Draco tightly back to stop him too. "Don't move," he whispered urgently. He nodded down toward the entrance hall. "Mrs. Norris!"

Draco looked down and sure enough, there was the cat, sitting boldly in the middle of the entrance hall, its head tilted slightly as if it were listening intently. He swore softly, then turned to Harry. "Now what?" he whispered back.

"Go slow," said Harry. "She can't see us, so even if she can smell us, if we don't make any noise, she won't understand that we're here. I've gotten past her like that before."

Nodding, Draco tightened his arm around Harry, and with a look of agreement between them, they started, step by step, creeping noiselessly down the stairs.

It seemed to take forever. At each step, Harry watched the cat, but other than a twitch now and then in the tip of its tail, or a flick of its ear, it never moved. They were at the bottom step when Harry, glancing up again, finally noticed the dark, rectangular markings around the cat's eyes. "Oh my God," he breathed suddenly, and he clutched at Draco, his heart in his throat.

Draco looked at him, startled. "What?" he mouthed, barely making a sound.

But Harry didn't have to explain. The cat stood up, and suddenly it grew, changed shape, and took human form. Within seconds, Professor McGonagall stood where the cat had been. She took a couple of steps toward them, then crossed her arms over her chest. Her face was very stern. "Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy," she said severely. "I know you're there, so let's please dispense with this little charade."

Harry groaned and slowly pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. He glanced at Draco, noting with dismay that Draco was tense and frowning, eyebrows drawn down over apprehensive eyes. Reaching behind the folds of the cloak, Harry took Draco's hand. Draco glanced back at Harry, his expression relaxing slightly.

McGonagall fixed her attention on Harry. "Mr. Potter," she said in a very clipped tone, jerking Harry's attention back from Draco. "What is the meaning of this?"

Harry took a deep breath, knowing it would be best to tell the truth. "Draco had prefect rounds to do," he said. "I went with him."

For a moment, McGonagall turned her piercing stare on Draco. "That explains Mr. Malfoy's presence in the corridors after hours, though he should have finished some time ago." She turned back to Harry. "It does not explain why you are out here with him." Then her voice seemed to rise in pitch slightly, "Nor does it explain what was going on in my classroom!"

Harry and Draco exchanged stunned looks. This was getting worse by the minute. How much had she seen?

As if in answer to their unspoken question, McGonagall went on. "I saw everything," she stated fiercely. "I should give you both detention!"

Draco paled visibly and Harry squeezed his hand, helpless to do anything else.

She fixed them each with her most withering gaze. "I should," she repeated, still scolding, yet obviously relenting a little, "but I'm going to wait until morning to decide that . . . after I've had time to give this . . . situation . . . some thought." She looked at Draco again, her regard questioning under the sternness. "Mr. Malfoy, you may go back to your room. I will walk Mr. Potter back to his dormitory."

Harry's heart sank, and he turned to Draco with anguish and apology in his green eyes.

Draco met Harry's eyes, looking stricken, gray eyes full of sharp disappointment. Then with effort, he composed himself and faced Professor McGonagall. "May I say goodnight to Harry?" he asked, quiet determination in his voice. After a second of silence, he added, "Privately."

McGonagall's mouth set in a very thin line, but she nodded. "Make it quick," she said tartly. "Potter, I'll be waiting for you." She swept past the boys and started up the stairs.

Harry dropped the Invisibility Cloak, stepping toward Draco and Draco leaned into him. Their arms went around each other and they just stood like that for a few moments. "I'm sorry," whispered Harry. "This was my fault. If I hadn't come with you - "

"Shh," said Draco. "It doesn't matter." After a moment, he pulled back to meet Harry's eyes. "It was a perfect day."

"It was," agreed Harry. "I'll . . . miss you tonight."

Draco's eyes closed. "Me too," he said very softly. Then he bent his head and kissed Harry and all of his memories of their night and day together were in it. When the kiss ended, Draco rested his forehead against Harry's and they clung together, blood racing, an unseen glitter of gold and crystalline sparks shimmering between them. "Good night," whispered Draco, finally letting Harry go.

"Night," whispered Harry back. He moved out of Draco's embrace and bent to pick up the Invisibility Cloak. Taking out his wand, he shrunk it so that it fit back into his pocket, and looked up at Draco one last time. Their hands reached out and clasped for a second, then with a final squeeze, Harry turned reluctantly away. Each step he took up the stairs felt like lead and his heart was already heavy with longing by the time he reached the top.

Draco stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched as Harry trailed up the staircase after Professor McGonagall. Harry paused, midway up, and turned to look back at him for a moment, before he continued on to the top. With a deep sigh, Draco started back to his room. His one day with Harry was over.

Harry found Professor McGonagall waiting for him at the top of the staircase. She gave him a searching look that made him wonder how much she had watched while he and Draco had said goodnight. "Professor?" he said, hesitantly, unsure how angry she was. "I . . . it was my idea to go with Draco, and my idea to draw on the blackboard." McGonagall fixed him with a very stern eye, and he hesitated, then took a deep breath, determined to go on. "I was hoping . . . maybe . . . that you wouldn't give Draco detention. Just me."

"From what I saw, Mr. Malfoy appeared to be a perfectly willing participant," she stated flatly. She gave him one more critical look, then turned to go. "Come along, now," she said in a clipped tone. "I don't intend to stand here discussing it."

Harry was silent, his heart downcast, as he followed the professor up the many staircases to the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. On the way he remembered that his broom, his cloak, and his bag with his overnight things were still in Draco's room, but he didn't dare tell that to McGonagall and expose the fact that he'd been spending the night in the Slytherin tower. About half-way up the third staircase, she stopped and turned, and Harry, lost in thought, almost bumped into her.

"How long has . . ." she paused, seemingly momentarily lost for words, ". . . what I saw in my classroom . . . been going on between you and Malfoy?"

"Almost a week," said Harry feebly, thinking how impossibly short that sounded for all that had happened.

"And where were the two of you going when I stopped you?"

Harry gulped. "I was walking him back to the Slytherin tower," he said, knowing with a pang of guilt that it wasn't the complete truth.

"Potter," she said, her voice at once both exasperated and sympathetic, "all of the teachers have noticed that Malfoy has been behaving differently this year, but do you think it's wise to get . . . involved . . . with the very person who . . . whose father. . . ."

"I don't know if it's wise," said Harry, squaring his shoulders and meeting her honestly concerned gaze unflinchingly. "I know I don't want to stop it."

McGonagall looked very troubled. "Very well," she said hesitantly. "But you know I will have to report this to the headmaster."

A bit of a smile quirked at the corner of Harry's mouth. "I'm pretty sure he already knows." Professor McGonagall's eyebrows went up at that, but she pursed her lips and they continued walking the rest of the way to the Gryffindor common room in silence. Harry turned to her as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, a puzzled look in his eyes. "Professor," he started, "how did you know we were there? I've tiptoed past Mrs. Norris lots of times."

Professor McGonagall put her nose down and regarded Harry over the tops of her small rectangular glasses with a slightly insulted air. "I only assume the shape of a cat, Mr. Potter. I certainly do not become one. I, unlike Mrs. Norris, know about Invisibility Cloaks, and I can understand you are there whether I see you or not."

* * *

"Cream Puff," said Harry, and tried to look apologetic when the Fat Lady gave him a sleepy, annoyed frown as she opened the portrait hole. To his surprise, Ginny was curled up on the couch in the common room with a book. She looked up, startled that someone was coming in so late, and when she saw it was Harry, she quickly looked away, her book falling closed in her hands. Harry was very tired, and more than a little unsettled by the episode with McGonagall, but after hesitating a moment, he knew he might not have a better opportunity to talk to Ginny alone and went to sit by her.

"I'm sorry," he said in a rush, as she turned to him, her eyes full of hurt and questions. "I know it was sudden, and you were shocked." He met her eyes honestly, and took a deep breath. "But I love him, Ginny - I'm only asking you and Ron to give him a chance to show you he's changed."

Ginny looked down at the book in her lap, her hands pressed flat, tense, on the cover. "Harry, his father tried to kill me," she said in a low, unsteady voice. "But even before that, my father taught us to distrust everything associated with the name Malfoy." Her fingers curled around the edges of her book, holding it tightly, and she glanced up at Harry again. "You know how my parents feel about you," she said, pleading with him. "They will be horribly upset by this - and not because you're with another boy." She paused, then added, "I'm pretty sure at least one of my brothers is gay, and they're okay with it. But you with Malfoy. . . ." She shook her head, her expression sad and tight. "No, this isn't something we can just accept. Draco Malfoy is going to have to prove he deserves your love. Even if he's changed, he hasn't proven that."

Harry sighed. "All I'm asking is that you give him that chance." He hesitated, searching for the right words to explain how he felt. "Ginny, please try to understand. So much of my life has been unhappy - and my future is . . . uncertain at best. I can't really explain what I feel with Draco except that I'm happy and in love and I don't want it to ever end - but I know, he and I both know - that a lot of things could happen that could end it. Please let me have this now . . . without losing your friendship."

Ginny looked down, and she looked a little ashamed. "Harry," she said softly, "you saved my life. I will always be your friend . . . and love you - no matter what happens." She looked back up, her eyes too shiny, tearful. "But, that's why I worry too," she whispered. "I can't bear to think of you being hurt."

Harry shifted toward her, put his arm around her. She leaned into him, her head against his chest, one hand coming up to rest lightly on his shoulder. He rested his chin on her head for a moment and tightened his arm around her. "I'll be fine," he said and hoped fervently that he was telling the truth.

She nodded, under his chin. "Okay," she said. She pulled back and looked up into his eyes. She wiped her cheek with the back of one hand, then gave Harry a crooked grin. "Just so you know," she said with a slight tease in her voice, but with dead seriousness underneath it, "if Malfoy so much as looks at you wrong, every Weasley on the planet will descend on him and exact a swift and terrible vengeance too horrible to describe."

"I know," said Harry, smiling at her, but also serious. "I'm counting on it. Now come on - it's late. I'll walk you up the stairs."

* * *

Harry slipped into his dorm room as quietly as he could. The lights were out, which he hoped meant that his roommates were asleep. He tiptoed to his bed, got undressed and slid under the blankets, pulling his curtains closed behind him. Lying on his back, he stared up into the darkness, thinking. He'd slept in this bed for almost seven years, but tonight it felt strange and wrong, like he belonged somewhere else. And he was alone, which felt strange too. His arms felt empty; he missed Draco's presence, his voice, his touch. With a sigh, he turned on his side, trying to find comfort that wasn't there, hoping he'd be able to fall asleep.

"Harry?" A soft whisper. There was a gentle rustling sound then, in the dark, and a head popped through the split in the bed curtains. "Harry?"

"Seamus?" Harry sat up, trying to see clearly. "Is that you?"

"Yes," whispered Seamus, then he was clambering onto Harry's bed, dragging his quilt, to sit at the end of Harry's bed. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone worried. "You and Malfoy didn't have a fight, did you?"

"No," said Harry, grinning wryly at his friend's concern. "Nothing like that."

"Hey, what's going on?" This voice came from Ron's side of Harry's bed, and a second later, Ron's head was poking in through the curtains. "Harry? You're back? Who are you talking to?"

"He's talking to me, Ron," said Seamus. "And I'm trying to find out why he's back."

"Oh," said Ron, turning to Harry. "Can I possibly hope that you've broken up with Malfoy?"

Harry sighed. "No, I have not broken up with Draco, nor did we have a fight," he answered. "We are perfectly fine."

Seamus was grinning. "God, you are so lucky!" he breathed. "Malfoy has to be the sexiest person in this whole school. He's stunning." He leaned forward. "What's he like, Harry . . . you know, in bed?"

"Oh, shut up, Seamus," hissed Ron. "Anyone would think you liked him that way too."

"And what if I do?" retorted Seamus. "I'm not planning to make trouble for Harry. I think they're great together. Nothing but the best for our Harry. Right, Ron?"

Ron groaned. "Malfoy definitely does not fit my definition of the best," he complained. He came in through the bed curtains and after just a second of hesitation, got under the covers with Harry.

"Er, Ron?" said Harry, surprised. Seamus stifled a giggle.

"What?" said Ron. "It's cold out there. Look, I figure if you'd fancied me you would have done something about it long before now. Besides, I'm taken."

"Ha!" snorted Seamus. "If you've been taken . . ." He gave a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. ". . . then I'm the Queen of England."

Ron glared at him. "Well, you're some sort of queen, all right," he muttered.

"But I'm all Irish, mate," countered Seamus with an impish grin, "and I'll thank you not to be forgettin' it."

Ron rolled his eyes and turned to Harry. "So why are you back?" he asked.

"That," said Seamus, "is exactly what I was trying to find out."

Harry knew there was no way he could get out of telling them what had happened. "I went on Draco's prefect rounds with him tonight," he said with another sigh. "And we got caught. McGonagall sent me back here."

"McGonagall caught you!" exclaimed Seamus in a loud whisper, one hand pressed to his throat dramatically. "Saints preserve us!"

"Geez, Harry," chimed in Ron. "Did you get detention?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted unhappily. "She said she would decide in the morning. But there's more." He ran one hand through his hair. "She saw us drawing a picture about Filch on the blackboard in her classroom. Now Filch will find out who did that, and he's going to be furious."

Seamus whistled softly. "I'm glad I'm not in your shoes, mate," he said. "Well, not about this anyway." He grinned again. "Now if we're talking about being all lovey-dovey with Malfoy, that's a different story."

"Gah! Go back to bed, Seamus," moaned Ron. "Please!"

"I was here first!" protested Seamus.

"Ron. Seamus," said Harry quietly, but there was tension in his voice, a subtle indication that he was tired and not feeling very patient. He was sure he would not be able to stand it if another argument broke out between them. "I'd like to get some sleep tonight, if I can. So please, both of you, go back to bed."

"Sure, Harry," said Seamus, with exaggerated understanding, wiggling his eyebrows again. "I bet you didn't get much sleep last night . . ." He jumped up suddenly, off the bed, just avoiding Ron's foot which had shot out under the covers at him, then snickered. "You're just jealous, mate," he whispered to Ron. "Now that Harry's gettin' more than you." With a quiet, but amused good night to Harry, he disappeared back to his own bed.

Ron didn't move, however, except to lean his head back against the headboard and close his eyes. Harry waited, and was just about to say something, when Ron finally spoke. "I was worried," he said in a very low voice. "You've been gone since last night, before dinner."

Harry drew his knees up and rested his arms across them, his head bent down. "I was fine," he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone.

"I know," said Ron. "Hermione told me." He sighed, his mouth crooked up a little in a reluctant grin. "Boy, did she ever tell me," he added. Harry smiled and looked up at that, remembering the messages they had given Hermione, and their eyes met. There was a long pause. "Look," said Ron. "I'm sorry I got so upset the other day. But it's . . . well . . . Malfoy, you know. That's a lot to get used to."

"It's okay," said Harry softly, pleased and a little surprised at this admission from Ron. "I haven't forgotten there are things to be worried about, even if I trust him."

Ron nodded, willing to be moderately content with that. Silence settled around them for a minute or two, then Neville snored, stirred and turned over. "So," whispered Ron, after the quiet had reestablished itself, "did you do it? With him . . . last night?"

Harry groaned inwardly. "You're as bad as Seamus," he whispered back.

"No, I'm not," protested Ron, affront audible in his low voice. "I'm asking because you said you hoped you would, not because I'm going to get off on hearing about it."

Harry had to laugh at that. "Sorry," he said. Then he sobered. "No, we didn't yet," he answered. He paused, not sure he wanted to go into it any further, since he really had no adequate explanation for Draco's puzzling behavior. "He . . . wants to wait," he added finally.

Ron gave him a doubting look. "Wait? For what?" He snorted. "And I thought you said boys were a lot more willing than girls."

Harry shrugged slightly. "He says it's because he doesn't want to push me into anything so fast." Harry didn't want to say he suspected there was more to it than Draco was telling him.

Ron thought about that for a while. "I know this isn't something you want to hear, Harry," he said, at last. "But maybe he's stalling because he doesn't want to - "

"I know he wants to," protested Harry. "As much as I do."

"And he's just having you on with this relationship - while he's really plotting something else - "

"Stop!" whispered Harry irritably. "If there is anything I am sure of," he stated quietly but firmly, his thoughts filling with memories of the night before, of the stunning, absolute, soul-baring honesty in which their emotions had joined, "it's that he does love me." He looked at Ron, half wanting to tell his friend about last night, about the joining magic and the sparks, about how he felt and knew what Draco felt. But he couldn't. Ron didn't know he could do healing magic, and it was too personal and well . . . there just weren't words.

With a pained sigh, Ron slid his feet out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. "I can't be so sure, Harry," he said as he stood up. He turned to look at Harry in the darkness. "But I won't fight you - or him - about it any more. I just want you . . . both . . . to be careful."

Harry took a deep breath, relief and gratitude stirring in him at that. "Thanks," he said softly. "We will be."

I will be, thought Harry, as Ron disappeared back to his own bed. God, I hope Draco will.

* * *

Draco lay in his own bed, his thoughts not very different from Harry's. How was it that in only two nights, he'd become so used to Harry's presence in his bed that the space now felt far too big, far too empty and much too cold? He'd had a moment of weakness when he'd gotten back to his room and saw that Harry's things were still there, a moment when he'd almost given in and brought Harry's cloak from its hook by the door into bed with him. It was a pathetic, maudlin thing to do, and he didn't allow it - he'd never get through the next few days if he started being spineless now. Still. . . . He turned over and faced away from the room so he couldn't see the cloak in question, and found himself faced with the empty half of the bed instead. One hand moved, then stopped, then moved again, fingers trailing over the pillow that had been Harry's, then pulling it against himself. It was a compromise, but he couldn't help it.

His thoughts drifted back over the events of the previous evening and today. Their time together had gone by so quickly, the time remaining to them much too short now. The Yule Ball was tomorrow, then the next day was the last before he would be on the train back home. And what about tomorrow - what was McGonagall going to say, or Filch? If he ended up with detention, what would Dumbledore do? He gave up thinking he would sleep - too many worries and memories tugged at his mind, too many emotions warred inside his heart.

Flashes of vivid memory raced through his thoughts. First, there was the startling question Harry had asked about the summer - a question that had caught Draco off guard, one he'd had to struggle to answer without disclosing what Lucius had demanded. Luckily, Harry had been distracted by the issue of Draco going home and hadn't pressed the matter further. Harry's insistent question about why Draco wanted to postpone their lovemaking until the end of the chess game had also made Draco scramble for an answer. He didn't want to lie to Harry - and he knew with a sharp feeling of regret that he was bordering on being dishonest with Harry even now by giving only these partial explanations, but he couldn't tell him this. The truth would reveal far too much.

He buried his face in the pillow he held, remembering how desperately he'd wanted to make love with Harry the night before, how he had almost given in, his need becoming so overwhelming that he'd had to ask Harry to put him to sleep - how hard, but how necessary it was to not give in to this, to not make things worse. For Harry's sake, he had to be strong. And tonight, as much as he hated being alone, and in spite of his anger at McGonagall for interfering and separating him from Harry, he didn't know if he would have been able to spend another night with Harry without breaking.

I can't let that happen.

But something else was happening too, had happened last night when Harry had done the magic. Draco had felt himself in Harry as if Harry was part of himself. And this afternoon, when Harry had accidentally, or instinctively, done the wandless magic that transfigured the snowball, Draco had felt that too. It had made him drained and dizzy for a moment. This was definitely something that they should find out about. . . .

But there will be no time, Draco thought sadly.

The mysterious beauty of the glittery sparks their hands made together was, in and of itself, enough to make Draco desperately sorry that things were certain to end between them. Harry had given Draco so much more than Draco had ever expected, and at the same time, so much less than he wanted. Harry had said 'I love you' - had given him that, the wish he had kept secret so long come true at last, this one incredible thing to treasure before it all ended.

Thinking of this, Draco missed Harry intensely - the absence of the arms that had kept him secure, even if that security was fated to be short-lived, the touch that had brought such comfort, now missing, filled him with a deep longing. Harry loved him - and now that this wish had come true, Draco found he had one other wish - that Harry would understand, would forgive him for the thing he had to do. He wrapped his arms tighter around Harry's pillow, his breathing ragged. But the sleep he craved as respite from his fears eluded him, torn to tattered remnants of fitful drowsiness by his restless thoughts or unraveling in dark, bewildering dreams.

* * *

Draco opened his eyes and all he saw was green. At first, he thought it was the vivid green of his bed curtains surrounding him, as it did sometimes on sunny mornings when the light from the window illuminated the green curtains like stained glass, but as his vision cleared, the shades of green focused finally into a canopy of leaves that arched over him and surrounded him on all sides.

Forest.

And it was raining. Warm drops of water rolled off the ends of leaves and splashed to the forest floor, warm droplets dripped from his hair onto his shoulders. He tried to raise one hand to wipe the rain from his face and found he couldn't move. Looking down, his heart pounding, panic rising, he saw that he was on his knees on the forest floor, bare to the waist, stripped of shirt and robe and wand. His arms were stretched out at an angle from his sides, vines tightly entwined around his hands and wrists, holding them in place; his feet and lower legs were also bound with vines, pinioning him to the ground, a helpless sacrifice. Muscles tensed, he strained futilely against the living green that held him captive, but finally gave up, dropping his head down, eyes closed, panting with effort and fear.

A sudden rustle in the leaves, a footstep through the trees, made him hold his breath; he lifted his head, raindrops running down his face like tears. A white unicorn dappled in leafy patterns of green light stepped from the forest to stand in front of Draco. Its long white mane fell in wavy wisps, like tendrils of ivy, to its cloven feet.

"Help me," whispered Draco, his throat dry and aching. He licked his lips and the rain tasted bitterly of salt. The unicorn lowered its head at his words, looked into Draco's gray, rain-filled eyes. Draco saw that the unicorn's eyes were green, and that liquid emerald gaze caught him, held him as tightly bound as the forest.

Taking a step forward, the unicorn lowered its head more, the sword-sharp point of its long ivory horn pausing only an inch from Draco's heart.

Why should you live?

The words were softly spoken, mind to mind, but seemed to reverberate through the forest, resonating around and through Draco. The drops of rain turned cold, as the forest echoed with a whispered . . . why?

Draco fought against the twisting vines that held his arms, fear closing his throat so he couldn't speak.

The unicorn thrust its head forward and its horn pierced Draco's chest. Think why!

Draco arched back in agony. The pain was icy fire, searingly cold. Tears ran down his face.

Why should you live?

"I don't know," he rasped in desperation, while the forest echo whispered . . . live!

The horn plunged deeper and Draco screamed.

He struggled, frantic to escape. For a moment, the bed linens were wrapped tightly around him, trapping him, then he sat straight up in the bed, cold sweat pouring from his skin, his breath coming in sobbing gasps. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, put his head down and didn't move for a very long time.

* * *

In the morning, Hermione loaned Harry one of her extra bookbags when she found out he'd left his in Draco's room. She also gave him a toothbrush. "My parents send me new ones all the time," she assured him, rolling her eyes slightly. "Dentists recommend that you replace your toothbrush every three months," she quoted by rote. "But my parents can't seem to remember that I can use a version of the Reparo spell to make my old one like new again, so . . . " she sighed, "I have several spares."

And Seamus was happy to loan Harry a comb. "Can't let Malfoy see you with your hair all mussed from sleeping," he laughed. "Oh, wait - he's already seen that!" Harry thumped him on the head and gratefully borrowed the comb.

At breakfast, Harry stared across the long tables, trying to see Draco clearly, wishing Draco would look at him. Unless he was mistaken, Draco was not eating much and looked pale and tired and cross, as if he hadn't slept. Harry felt another pang of regret that he'd insisted on going with Draco on his prefect rounds, an impulsive act which had resulted in them being separated for the night. If only he'd been with Draco last night -

Suddenly, Filch burst through the doors of the Great Hall. Heads all over the room looked up to see what was going on. Oh, God! Harry had forgotten about the drawing they had done on the blackboard in McGonagall's classroom! Filch's face was purpling in anger, his eyes popping, as he marched down the length of the room, muttering threats. Straight up to the High Table he stomped, straight to Dumbledore. Harry looked at Draco, and his heart caught in his throat. If possible, Draco appeared even paler, and was watching Filch's progress through the room with an expression of dread. Harry wanted to sink into the floor. McGonagall had seen them, and if Draco got in trouble with Dumbledore over this, it would all be Harry's fault.

When Filch reached the table, Harry could hear his furious voice raised in complaint. Words like "shameful" and "vile" and "punishment" leaped out at him, and he looked across the room at Draco, feeling sick. Draco looked positively ill and was watching Filch as one might watch the blade of a guillotine descending upon one's own neck. Then Professor McGonagall, who was sitting next to the headmaster spoke up. Harry could hear that she was speaking in a very low, severe voice, and though he strained to hear what she was saying, he couldn't make out the words.

"Doesn't look good, does it," whispered Ron on his left.

"No," said Harry, slumping down to wait for the inevitable. Draco, too, he saw, had stopped watching the staff table and was staring disconsolately at his plate. Harry wanted desperately to go sit with him.

Just then, Filch growled loudly and turned away from the High Table. He paused for a moment to cast an evil eye over the room full of students before storming out the way he had come. Harry saw Dumbledore and McGonagall talking closely together, and then realized their expressions didn't seem right. McGonagall looked perplexed, and Dumbledore . . . was he . . . smiling?

Harry watched them, but still couldn't hear anything to give him a clue what was going on. Then Dumbledore got up and left and after a moment or two, Professor McGonagall stood up too. She looked right at Harry and signaled him to come talk to her. Harry exchanged a quick, hopeless look with Ron, and went to meet her.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was just about to speak to the headmaster, having decided she should let him finish his tea before she revealed the scandalous events she had witnessed the night before, when Argus Filch burst into the Great Hall. The grizzled caretaker stumped up to the staff table, muttering to himself, his eyes bulging with fury.

"An outrage, that's what it is!" he seethed, jowls quivering, barely managing to keep his angry voice down so that the students behind him wouldn't hear. "There's a drawing about me and Mrs. Norris . . ." he snarled, stabbing a finger at Professor McGonagall, ". . . on the blackboard in her classroom. It's shameful!" His face was nearly purple.

McGonagall suddenly realized that she had been so completely taken aback by seeing how Potter and Malfoy were acting together that she had scarcely paid any attention to what they had been drawing on the board. She thought back, trying to remember, and then had to fight to school her features to remain stern-faced as a brief memory of a heart and a ridiculous cat face came back to her.

"Now, now, Argus," Dumbledore was saying. "Surely no one has seen it yet." His mustache twitched a little. "You have erased it, haven't you?"

"Of course I erased it," hissed Filch.

"There," said Dumbledore, soothingly. "You see, no harm's been done."

"That's not the point!" argued Filch. "They're a vile, cheeky lot - every one of 'em! In the old days, I could have taught 'em a lesson. Given a proper punishment." He leaned over the table, one corner of his mouth drawn up to reveal his nasty teeth. "I still have those chains in my office . . ."

McGonagall cleared her throat. "I should interrupt here," she said. "I caught the boys who did it last night."

Filch turned to her and grinned evilly. "Who was it, eh?"

"You will be glad to know that the guilty parties . . ." She paused and looked out in the Great Hall to see that both Potter and Malfoy were watching, their faces worried and miserable. She remembered the stricken look they had exchanged when she had made them separate. ". . . have already been punished," she finished.

Filch scowled and started to protest, but Dumbledore held up one hand, his voice taking a firmer tone. "We will let the matter drop, Argus. It was Professor McGonagall's classroom and she has dealt with the problem."

With a growl and a lip curled in grudging deference, Filch nodded at the headmaster, muttered something more about the old punishments and marched back out of the Great Hall.

Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. "And who were our late night artists, Minerva?" he said, keeping his voice low.

"It was Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy . . . together," she said, her amazement at this startling fact clear even though she spoke very quietly. "But Albus," she continued in an undertone, "I don't know when I've been more shocked. Not only were they together, when I caught them in my classroom last night, they were kissing!"

"Kissing," repeated Dumbledore, looking over the rims of his glasses with amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I assume from your startled tone that you mean . . . kissing each other?"

"Yes!" whispered McGonagall loudly. "And young Potter stated to me that he was sure you knew about it." She looked back at him reproachfully.

"Kissing. Oh, my stars. Now that is quite surprising," he said, while somehow managing not to seem surprised at all. "I assure you, I knew nothing about it." Then his eyebrows went up and he raised one finger in the air, hesitating a second before speaking. "Although . . . perhaps Severus did mention something similar to me a few days ago - it quite slipped my mind. But then again, Fawkes suspected something all along . . . amazing birds, phoenixes." He drifted off into contemplation, stroking his beard.

"I don't understand," persisted McGonagall. "They were fighting each other in the hall just last week. And now . . . are you telling me that Severus caught them kissing days ago . . . and Fawkes knew about it!?"

"Fighting? Oh, you mean the game that looked like a fight," said Dumbledore, picking up his teacup and finding it sadly empty, set it down again. "I don't remember the details, but I do remember it was delightfully funny at the time." He pushed his chair back and stood up, ready to leave. But then he smiled down at McGonagall, merriment dancing in his eyes. "Fawkes suspected a great deal more than kissing, my dear Minerva," he said, as he walked away from the table. "But we shall see . . ."

"What!?" gasped Professor McGonagall after a moment of mute astonishment, but it was too late. Dumbledore was already too far away to have heard. She watched the headmaster walk out of the Great Hall, then turned to look at the Gryffindor table. Potter, she saw, was watching her intently, a look of apprehension on his face. She sighed and rose from the table. She straightened her tall pointed hat and drew herself up into a more dignified bearing than she felt, then motioned for him to come speak to her.

She stepped away from the other tables so no one would overhear the conversation and waited for Potter to join her. His worried face reminded her of their conversation last night, and because of that, she knew he wasn't worried for himself. In fact, she had been reluctantly impressed with Potter's offer to accept all the blame and absolve Malfoy from any punishment. She had also found herself unaccountably touched by their goodbyes, though she hadn't meant to watch. These things had softened her disapproval, and although the boys had been disrespectful, Albus had been right. No real harm had been done, and she had decided to be lenient.

"Mr. Potter," she said in a low, firm voice, when he arrived, "I have decided not to give you and Mr. Malfoy detention - this time." Harry's anxious expression turned to a smile of relief and she saw him glance across the room toward the Slytherin table. "However," she warned seriously, "I expect a solemn promise from you that there will be no repetition, or I will reconsider."

"It won't happen again," said Harry. "I promise. Thank you, Professor."

McGonagall gazed at Harry's earnest young face and couldn't help voicing her concerns. "Potter," she said, her tone softer but still distressed. "You must know that I cannot approve of this . . . relationship you've formed with Draco Malfoy. You are putting yourself in a situation that could be very dangerous. I urge you to exercise the utmost caution."

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry seriously. "But I'm a lot more worried about Draco. I don't think he should be allowed to go home over Christmas."

"I'm afraid you may be right, but we can't keep students here over the holidays against their wishes. You'll have to convince him to stay voluntarily."

"I'm trying to," said Harry with a sigh. "He insists he has to go."

McGonagall put her hand on Harry's shoulder. "Under the circumstances, that may indeed be foolish." She paused. "But we will hope for the best," she said. "And don't you do anything foolish, too," she added, giving him a stern but affectionate look before she walked away toward the doors of the Great Hall.

* * *

Harry went slowly back to his seat. He caught Draco's intensely questioning gaze and gave him a small smile, shaking his head slightly to say they hadn't gotten detention. Draco's eyebrows went up, but his tight, anxious expression relaxed, and some of the color came back to his face. Harry just had time to sit back down in his seat and whisper to Ron that they were not in trouble, when a large barn owl swooped in overhead and dropped a small package in his lap. Turning it over, Harry found the words - The Polished Stone, Hogsmeade - stamped on the top. He looked up at Draco, held the package up where he could see it and grinned. And for the first time that morning, Draco smiled back.

* * *

Harry dashed back to his dorm after breakfast to put Draco's present safely in his room before classes started. By the time he got back down to the dungeons for Potions class, he was almost late, but Draco was waiting for him in the corridor, leaning against the wall. Close up, even though Draco looked better than he had at breakfast, Harry thought he still seemed tired. Another pang of regret that he hadn't been with Draco last night washed over him. "You okay?" he asked quietly. "How did you sleep?"

"I didn't," said Draco, but dismissed that with a gesture, laying his hand on Harry's arm. "What did McGonagall say?" he asked softly, urgently. "Did we really not get detention?"

"No," said Harry. "She didn't say much, but we don't have detention, and I'm pretty sure she didn't tell Filch we did the picture on the board."

Draco sighed with relief. He leaned back against the wall and then tilted his head a little, eyeing Harry appraisingly. "Maybe you would have made a good Slytherin," he said with a slight smile. "I don't know anyone who can get in more trouble and then manage to slither out of it better than you."

Harry gave him a wry grin, then turned his head to see Professor Snape just coming around the corner at the end of the corridor. "Speaking of trouble," he said.

Any kissing was out of the question, but Draco gave Harry's arm a squeeze. "Your Firebolt is still in my room, but I brought your other stuff down," he said, as they hurried into the classroom. This time Snape was not so close behind them, and Harry had plenty of time to get to his seat. There was an air of excitement in the snatches of conversation he overheard as he passed through the room. Everyone was talking about the Yule Ball, and he found suddenly that he was excited too. He and Draco were going to make quite a stir tonight.

When he got to his seat, he found his own bookbag there, the edge of a note sticking out of the side pocket.

Come early tonight, it read, in Draco's slanting, elegant script. I want to give you your Christmas present before we go to the Yule Ball.

Harry's heart quickened. The ring! he thought, wondering if he was right about that, sure that he was, and wondering too, how it would feel to wear it, what it would mean. He sat down quickly, hiding the smile he couldn't contain by digging his potions stuff out of Hermione's bookbag. This also kept him from actually seeing Snape sweep into the room, though the sudden hush announced the professor as certainly as lightening before a storm.

He looked up to find Snape scowling at him and gulped, his smile disappearing in a flash.

"It has been decided," said Snape in his quiet, acidic tone, "that your afternoon classes will all be shortened so that everyone can get ready for the Yule Ball." He glared around the room, his black eyes glittering with disapproval. "To make up for this foolishness," he said with a sneer, "there will be a practical exam this morning." Soft groans filled the room. "Get out your books and turn to page two-hundred and fifty-six."

Harry groaned along with everyone else, though inwardly he was slightly amused - Draco had been right about the test. He opened his book, hoping fervently that Draco would also be right about the potion they had to do. When he found page 256, he breathed a small sigh of relief. It was, indeed, the Hex Mirror Potion, a difficult concoction to brew, but at least he had practiced it. Draco glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised as if to say, "I told you so."

Harry was partnered with Dean, who sat behind Neville, so Harry moved up and was therefore only a seat away from Draco. Draco was looking miffed and disgusted, having been paired with Pansy. Hermione was paired with Parvati, because Snape, believing she would want to be partnered with Ron, made sure to split them up. However, Hermione had long ago declared she would never work with Ron on potions no matter how much she loved him, and this suited her just fine. That left Ron to be partnered with Seamus, and Neville with Lavender.

Dean was a good partner, and he and Harry, along with everyone else, fell to work cutting up all the ingredients, since they all had to be ready before starting. Draco, Harry saw, was angrily cutting up foxglove flowers, in much the same way Harry had the night they'd made the potion in Draco's room. Dean worked carefully, without talking much, so Harry clearly heard Pansy's furious whisper a few minutes later.

"Who is she, Draco?"

Harry paused, shocked for a second, his knife hanging over the sting of a dried Billiwig, but had to choke down a snicker when he saw Draco's eyebrow go up as if to imply Pansy was an escaped mental patient.

"Don't look at me like that," she hissed. "I know you had a girl in your room night before last. I saw Granger coming down the stairs and she told me you wouldn't want to be disturbed - that you had company. And that you weren't studying."

"So what?" replied Draco with an air of disinterest that Harry could tell was only a thin veneer over a rising tide of irritation.

"So," said Pansy, as if playing a winning Exploding Snap card, "after she left, I set an alarm ward on the stairs outside your door, and no one left your room all night that night, or all day yesterday until late in the evening. And then there were two of you, and only you came back! So I want to know," her voice though a whisper was almost shrill, "who is she?"

Harry dared to glance over at Draco and saw him give Pansy a black, outraged look. The veneer was definitely slipping.

"That's just like you," Draco whispered back, "to do something so low and sneaky." Then he snorted and shrugged as if he didn't care. "Who I have in my room, or for how long, is none of your business," he said coldly, turning back to his cutting.

"And you told me you weren't going to the Yule Ball." Pansy's voice quivered slightly at the end of this sentence, though she was trying hard to sound accusing. "Are you?"

Draco frowned at her. "I never said I wasn't going," he declared in a low, derisive tone. "I said I wasn't going with you."

"Well," she said huffily, but Harry still heard the quiver in her voice, "it's a good thing you didn't think you were going with me. I'm going with Blaise."

Harry bit down on his bottom lip to keep from grinning, though he did feel rather sorry for Pansy. But Draco's expression, a combination of relief, exasperation, and an oh-God-please spare-me-this roll of his eyes to the ceiling, had been priceless.

"I'm thrilled for you, Pansy," said Draco, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Now if you don't mind, you're cutting that Murtlap growth all wrong."

Pansy stabbed the knifepoint down hard into the tentacled mass on the table in front of her so that it stuck straight up and stayed there. "Do it yourself, then," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

Snape had been walking up and down the rows of students, and happened to come to Pansy and Draco just then. "Miss Parkinson," he drawled disdainfully, "let me remind you that I am well aware that Mr. Malfoy can do this potion without your help. You, however, need all the help you can get. I suggest you get back to work before you find yourself scrubbing out burnt cauldrons tonight instead of going to the Yule Ball."

Eyes widening in horror at that prospect, Pansy jerked the knife out of the Murtlap growth and, without another word, resumed cutting, her continued frustration showing itself in intermittent wounded, reproachful glances that Draco ignored.

Harry, for half a second, was surprised that Snape had taken such a hard line with one of the Slytherins, but then Snape was standing right behind him inspecting the neat piles of chopped ingredients he and Dean had laid out on the table, and he had more immediate things to worry about. "Those mushroom gills are too coarse, Potter," Snape nitpicked, contemptuously poking at them with the point of his wand. "Do them over." There would be no mercy, Harry realized, for any of them that day. And he heard no more talk, except what was necessary to do the potion, from Draco and Pansy.

The class worked on, Snape's acerbic comments punctuating the students' whispered conversations with barbed criticisms and snide threats. Near the back of the room, however, another conversation was just starting up - one that would have disastrous results.

Ron and Seamus hadn't talked much - Ron was irritated somewhat that Seamus seemed to be more interested in watching Harry and Draco than in working on the potion, although he was doing a passable job, his cutting work as good as Ron's. It was the grinning that was getting on Ron's nerves. Sitting as they were, within hearing range of several of the girls, the conversation around them had been mostly about the Yule Ball - robe colors, hair-setting spells, and giggling over dates.

"Are you going?" Ron asked Seamus finally. They had almost reached the stage of the potion-making where the three liquid ingredients had to be added at exactly the same time.

"Of course," said Seamus with another annoying grin. "Didn't you know? Ginny asked me last week when we were going over our Herbology notes together."

"She what!?" choked out Ron. "My sister? Is going with you?" He stared at Seamus. "But you're . . . I thought . . ."

"That because I've had a crush on Malfoy, that I don't like girls?" supplied Seamus, with a taunting eyebrow wiggle. "And why would I be limiting my options like that, mate?"

Ron felt his face go beet red. "My sister is not a . . . a . . . bloody option!"

Seamus shrugged. "Don't get your knickers in a knot, Ronnie-kins." He grinned again. "Ginny calls you that, you know."

"I know!" Ron had given up all pretense of working on the potion. "I never said you could call me that!"

"Mr. Weasley!" Snape's sudden, sharp voice cut through Ron's anger like a razor through a flobberworm. "Is there a problem here? Mr. Finnigan?"

"No, sir," they both assured him, and hurriedly finished cutting the last of the ingredients they were working on. They went on in relative silence for a minute, Seamus grinning infuriatingly and Ron seething.

"Wonder if Harry is really going to the Yule Ball with that Slytherin girl," said Seamus idly, "or if that was all made up?"

Ron turned to Seamus, for a moment completely forgetting the situation with Ginny. "He said she asked him. We saw them talking. I don't think Harry would make that up."

"Hmm," said Seamus, evidently not entirely convinced. They picked up the three vials of liquids they had measured out. Seamus held two, and Ron had the third and the stirring rod, their hands poised over the cauldron. "He said at dinner, though, remember, that he was planning to take both of them - the Slytherin girl and the person we thought was the girl he was seeing. But the person he was seeing turned out to be Malfoy." Seamus looked up suddenly at Ron, a huge, inspired grin on his face. "Aha! I bet he's going to show up tonight with Malfoy and that girl!"

"He wouldn't!" asserted Ron, aghast.

"I bet he does!" laughed Seamus. "Pour." Seamus tipped the two vials he held, spilling strangling ivy sap and flobberworm mucus into the cauldron. "Ron! Pour!" repeated Seamus urgently.

"He can't!" Ron was still holding the armadillo bile, looking shocked. A heartbeat later he realized what Seamus had said and panicked, dumping the bile in, but forgetting to stir it.

Seamus took one look at the swelling potion and turned to Ron, horrified. "Mother of God, Ron! Get down!" He gave Ron a shove, dropping to the floor himself to hide under the table. But Ron was too slow. With a sickening belch, the potion exploded, splattering fat globs of greenish muck all over Ron.

"Arrgh! yelled Ron, jumping up.

Snape was there almost instantly, though he seemed not to have troubled himself to hurry. With a wave of his wand he cleaned up the smoking goo, and fixed Ron with an icy, utterly scornful glare. "Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley . . . for being too dumb to duck." He eyed the destroyed potion with distaste. "And a zero on this assignment," he added sourly.

Titters of laughter broke out on the Slytherin side of the room, but before Ron could even sink into his seat in shame, there was another explosion. Snape, giving the great longsuffering sigh of one who must bear a bitter and undeserved affliction, went to spell the potion off of Crabbe and Goyle.

The rest of the class managed to complete the potion more or less successfully. At least no one else's exploded. As soon as class was dismissed, Harry and Hermione rushed back to see Ron, who insisted he was fine, though there were a couple of mild burns on his face and hands and singe marks in his red hair, and he was looking daggers at Seamus. Harry went back to his own seat to gather up his things - he had two bookbags now to carry - and turned around to look for Draco.

The Slytherin was standing just inside the door, waiting. When he caught Harry's eye, he raised one eyebrow in a question. Harry lifted the note, and nodded. Draco nodded back and slipped out the door.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Afternoon classes, as Snape had said, were shortened so everyone could get ready for the Yule Ball. Hermione insisted that Ron go be treated for the potion burns, and though he protested, she won the argument at last and the two of them went off to the hospital wing. An end of term party was going on in the Gryffindor common room, but Harry only stayed a few minutes, then went upstairs so he could have some moments alone before the flurry of his roommates' preparations and comments filled their room. He wanted to shower and pack, hoping that he'd be able to spend the night with Draco again, but not wanting to put himself in the awkward position he'd been in the day before by showering in Draco's room. And, most important of all, he wanted to wrap Draco's Christmas present to give to him tonight.

He hadn't had time that morning to unpack it and look at it, but he did so now, sitting on the side of his bed, ripping off the tan-colored parcel paper and opening the box inside. Within that box, nestled in shredded paper, lay a smaller dark blue velvet box that Harry lifted carefully out and opened. The pendant rested on a lining of white satin, and Harry stared at it for some time, caught up in the loveliness of the curling filigree silver wire settings that held the pale gray-blue gemstone he'd chosen and the clear crystal point that was perfectly shaped to match his scar. It was simply elegant, a work of excellent craftsmanship. Harry was very pleased and excited, anticipation bubbling up as he imagined Draco seeing it for the first time. He closed the lid of the little box, and stroking the soft velvet, decided not to wrap it. It was beautiful as it was.

Neville and Dean came up, Seamus following soon after. But Harry was nearly ready by then. Seamus didn't tease Harry - the main thing Harry had wanted to avoid - but instead only grinned at him and winked and said, "See you tonight, Harry! You and the girls." But there was a knowing look in Seamus' eye that made Harry suspect that Seamus knew exactly who Harry would be going with tonight. He didn't see Ron at all before he left, but walked out as the last stragglers from the party in the common room were coming up the stairs.

Stepping through the portrait hole, he found himself alone in the corridor and for a moment stood still, feeling poised on the edge of something he couldn't define. There were so many exhilarating possibilities tonight - that Draco might give him a ring, that they might end the chess game and so also end the waiting that Draco had imposed on their lovemaking. At the very least, going to the Yule Ball together, even if it appeared that they had dates, would announce to the entire school that the enmity and rivalry was over between them. It was a night of impending changes. Harry put on the Invisibility Cloak and set off toward the Slytherin tower and Draco with a grin, full of anticipation, ready and excited to face them all.