Checkmate

Don't you know that time is not my friend
I'll fight it to the end
Hoping to keep that best of moments
When the passions start

Heaven help my heart

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

* * *

A flurry of thoughts and emotions swirled through Harry's mind as he hurried quietly down the myriad shifting staircases that led from the Gryffindor tower toward the entrance hall. Last night, after Ron and Seamus had finally left him alone, these same thoughts had kept him awake. For one thing, he'd given serious thought to Draco's question - the one he hadn't really answered - the one about marriage and children.

With the war, and the personal threat of defeating Voldemort hanging over him, thinking about such things might have seemed pointless and self-indulgent, yet Harry had once had hopes for a future. If there could be a future for him, if he survived, that imagined future had included a family. His imagined partner had once worn Cho's face; the children he had hoped for had been hers. But that future had suddenly been snuffed out at the beginning of last summer like a candle abruptly dropped and drowned in a well of dark water, and Harry had been left with nothing, with no hopes at all. Until now.

That bleak, empty, lonely future which had followed in the wake of Cho's leaving was filling up again with the possibility of love and partnership, and though Harry was much more cautious now, knowing how uncertain it was that this new future might come true, he had found a starting place for hope again. Hope, this time, had been discovered unexpectedly, looking back at him through silver-gray eyes. It was this new hope that had given wings to his imagination last night and had inspired plans - perhaps even for having a family - that he was anxious to talk to Draco about tonight.

There were other important things he wanted to talk to Draco about too, but because he hadn't been able to stay with Draco the night before, they hadn't had a chance. In fact, Draco was the only one he could talk to about most of the things that were happening in his life right now. They needed to find out what was happening to them with their magical auras; particularly, Harry wanted to know how he had unintentionally transfigured that snowball without even casting a spell. He also still hoped he could convince Draco not to leave.

And there was a chess game to finish.

The chess game was starting to become something of a mild annoyance to Harry. In the beginning, it had been a much-needed catalyst for the relationship they were building, and Harry acknowledged with pride how clever Draco had been to devise it. It had made them talk, had made them open themselves to each other, taking turns at being vulnerable, trading opportunities to ask or reveal the things they most wanted to know. Given their history, such a game could have become nasty very quickly, perhaps even violent, but Draco had taken a chance, and Harry could not help but admire him for it. Still, it seemed unnecessary now, a framework they had outgrown, and especially since Draco had started using it to delay a physical relationship between them, Harry was tired of it. He wanted it to be finished.

On the other hand, he was not going to try to push Draco into that physical relationship either. That was something else he had decided last night - even if he didn't completely understand. If Draco needed more time, then Harry was sure Draco must have his reasons, and he was determined to respect that. He'd told Draco several times that he could wait - the relationship meant far more to him than getting sex, and tonight he was going to make every effort to prove he could keep his word. He grinned a little to himself. The way he felt around Draco was not going to make that easy.

All through the day, today, he'd had moments when he'd missed Draco intensely, an abrupt almost-pain that clutched his heart and threatened to leave an empty, longing ache behind. Yet, each time, as his thoughts had focused on Draco, that feeling had resolved into something very different, something that spoke to him in the words of Draco's soft, low voice on a window ledge in the dark snowy night, something like what he'd felt when they'd flown together and his heart had been full of sunlight and cold wind and ready to burst from the joy of it, something that filled up that empty longing to the brim and made him smile. In those moments, he felt as if Draco was right there with him, so close, so connected, that he could imagine he felt the echo of a second heartbeat pulsing with his own.

Then there had been other moments. Moments when his questions had taken hold, when his doubts and fears and insecurities had brought a different reality into focus. Draco was still determined to go home, and Harry couldn't quite shake the impression that Draco wasn't telling him something. The future was clearly not as simple as that whispered I love you.

The hallways and stairs were practically deserted as Harry, lost in thought, hurried along. Everyone was getting ready for the Yule Ball, and though he felt a great deal of excitement for the night ahead, by the time he got down to the entrance hall, some of his anticipation had turned to nervousness. He had to wait for a while at the bottom of the main stairs while Hagrid and Professor Flitwick maneuvered a giant Christmas tree into the Great Hall, one of many that would decorate the Hall tonight. Harry, momentarily distracted from his thoughts, grinned as the tiny professor, arms raised and wand swishing over his head, levitated the huge tree. Hagrid, gripping the trunk end, steered the great floating evergreen through the doors.

But climbing the spiral stairs in the Slytherin tower, Harry's nervous questions came back. What if Draco didn't give him a ring after all . . . and the pendant was too much, too personal? What if Draco didn't like it? God, he thought, it has my scar on it. It seemed silly now that he'd thought it would be a good gift. Why on earth would Draco want to wear something that looks like my scar?

Harry came to the top of the stairs and faced Draco's door with all his anticipation and questions tumbling over each other, unresolved. He took a deep breath, then smiled. Even with all the questions he had, he wanted more than anything to be back here with Draco. That something that was wild and exhilarating and happy took over his heart again and he knocked.

* * *

Draco was sitting in his room, curled in the armchair that faced the door, staring into the fire, his body tense and tightly strung. He was dressed in a plain white undershirt and the black trousers that went with the dress robes he'd picked out for himself and Harry. He'd already duplicated the robes for Harry to wear and had laid them out on the bed. The ring had been taken out of the potion and was now cradled inside the elegant black plush box he'd purchased in Hogsmeade; the potion had been disposed of, the jar washed and replaced in his Potions kit. Everything was ready, had been ready for ages it seemed, and Harry hadn't arrived yet.

Harry, of course, had been on his mind all day, and waiting through this long afternoon had made Draco nervous and tense. At times, when he'd thought of Harry, he'd felt as though, if he closed his eyes, he could believe Harry was right here with him, the sensation of the other boy's presence was so strong. The reassurance of that lasted a moment or two, but Draco's impatience quickly reasserted itself. There was so little time left. He wanted Harry here now. Not even sitting in the window calmed him - looking out at the Quidditch pitch only reminded him of Harry. He'd tried reading while he waited, but wasn't able to concentrate, and the book now lay discarded on the table next to the chessboard.

Thoughts from the night before came back to him now, and the jagged, fragmentary recollections of a dream, like broken bottle-glass, green and sharp, but incomplete, teased at the fringes of his memory. Last night, he'd sat up for what seemed like hours after that dream, the pounding of his heart loud in his ears, but even then he had only remembered slivers of it. And sitting awake, alone in the dark, wishing desperately for the comfort of Harry's voice and touch, doubts had crept out from the corners of his mind. Questions he'd thought he'd answered irrevocably whispered to him to reconsider. What if he stayed at Hogwarts and just didn't go through with his plan - what would happen then?

Clutching Harry's pillow, he'd tried not to listen to those impossible whispers about the future. He thought about the past instead and let himself relive the flying, the sunset and Harry's heart-stopping words. And then, perhaps because he was so tired, and needed Harry's touch so much, he allowed himself to imagine what could have happened if Harry had spent the night and they had made love. Release by his own hand was not what he wanted - he wanted Harry - but imagination could be consoling in its own way, and it did give him some comfort, at least enough to finally fall asleep.

But the doubts that had surfaced last night were still with him this afternoon as he waited for Harry; the fears he'd tried so hard to banish came back to him now, and when the soft knock came at last, he'd fallen so deep in thought, he was momentarily startled. And when he opened the door and no one was there, for a second he thought Pansy had played a trick on him. But then suddenly the door was pulled from his grasp and quickly closed, and he found himself enveloped in a slithery fabric hug. His arms went around this invisible hugger and he closed his eyes, feeling his pent-up tension melt away into the comfort of Harry's touch like ice under the caress of a warm spring rain. Then he wanted to see, wanted to kiss, and his hands were pulling at the Invisibility Cloak, desperate that there not be anything between them.

Draco felt Harry step away from him slightly, and in another second, Harry, grinning and tousle-haired, had the cloak off. He tossed it haphazardly onto the chair nearby, quickly shrugged off his bookbag and dropped that on the floor just inside the door, and then Draco had hold of him again, opening his mouth to Harry's eager kisses, pressing himself tightly into Harry's embrace.

"I missed you," whispered Harry between kisses.

"Missed you too," whispered Draco back, his heart going all to pieces with elation at Harry's words. This was real - being with Harry was no longer just a far-fetched dream possible only in his imagination - and oh God, he wanted this. He kissed Harry, one more long, lingering kiss, then drew back a little to look in Harry's eyes.

The green eyes were shining, beautiful and inviting, tempting him to go so much further than this kiss, yet all Draco had to do was to think of those eyes as he had seen them that first night in the corridor, desolate and filled with tears, to remember not to go too far. But it hurt to stop. He pulled away gently, saw the flicker of disappointment in those eyes, and that hurt too. "We should get dressed," he said, slightly breathless, his voice low. He stepped back, letting go, but Harry caught his wrist, and held him a moment.

"We have to talk," said Harry softly. "I thought about a lot of things last night . . . things I need to tell you."

Draco nodded. "Tonight," he said, "when we get back." Then he felt a second of uncertainty. "You will come back?" he asked. "To stay with me tonight?"

"I'd planned to," said Harry, tilting his head at the bookbag by the door. "If you wanted me to . . ."

There was so much hope and longing in Harry's voice . . . there were just some things that Draco couldn't resist, and he was suddenly back in Harry's arms, holding on tightly. With everyone else, he could easily preserve a cool distance, keeping the walls up, the barriers intact. But not with Harry. One look from those eyes, a certain soft tone of voice, and things inside him came undone, knots slipped loose, pretense failed.

"I couldn't sleep last night," he said, ". . . without you."

"It's okay," said Harry, rubbing his back. "I'll be here tonight. I'll help you sleep."

Draco turned his face in, against the side of Harry's head, his eyes closed. He didn't want to fight this any more. The thoughts he'd had last night had brought him to a precipice of indecision, and he skirted the edge of it now, again. Harry's hands were solid against his back, soothing and stirring both at once; how could he give up even so simple a thing as that. Harry's body felt so perfect and right . . . and Harry loved him. It was everything he'd wanted . . . everything he'd waited for. He could change his mind. He could give in. . . .

Without a word, but with a wrench of his heart, Draco pulled away from Harry, took his hand and led him to the bed. He didn't trust himself to speak, for if he did, it would surely be to tell Harry to sod the whole Yule Ball altogether and -

"Which one is mine?" asked Harry, seeing the dress robes laid out.

"That one."

Harry gave him a chagrined look as he started taking off his shirt. "You would pick a robe with so many bloody buttons," he teased. "It's going to take me an hour to get this on." Then he smiled. "But we are going to look stunning tonight."

And the moment of indecision passed - the reality of Harry's presence, his voice and smile, carried Draco past that cusp of uncertainty. He laughed lightly at Harry's last comment and felt his already chosen path settle solidly under his feet once more. His father had brought him inexorably to this, had shaped Draco's future with his unrelenting demands, and in response, Draco had made his choice. It was, perhaps, a choice forced to the point where one might consider it no choice at all, but rather simply the inevitable outcome of uncontrollable circumstances, the only possible thing he could do given who he was and how he felt. The turning in the road was far behind him, the path laid out quite clearly ahead. There was something he just had to do; pain was woven tightly in it, but he had already accepted that and could still go forward, determined again. He smiled back at Harry, wanting to cling to every one of these final minutes and slow time so that each moment might be savored. "Don't take too long," he warned, "or I won't have time to give you your Christmas present."

Harry hurried, and soon they were both dressed and ready to go, each admiring the other with smiles and affectionate glances. While Harry shrunk the Invisibility Cloak so that it fit in his pocket, Draco went to his desk and opened a drawer, then came to stand by Harry at the table in front of the fire. The small black plush box was in his hands. He nodded at the chessboard. "You have a piece to move," he said, "before I can take my turn."

"Oh, right," said Harry, suddenly nervous again, and excited. He moved his Knight to B4, the move he had made when they had been out in the snow. Then memory caught him as he looked up and met Draco's gaze, saw the firelight reflected on his face, in his brilliant gray eyes. That very first night he'd come to Draco's room, they had stood just here, together like this, before Harry had kissed him for the first time. And yesterday, flying high over a sunset-painted twilight world, Harry had said words that he hoped would mean his future. He felt breathless again, as he had during that wild and reckless flight, watching Draco now, as Draco reached out to pick up his King.

"King to F1," said Draco, moving the King diagonally back one space to the right. He looked up at Harry, blond hair spilling down over his forehead, his eyes revealing that rare, endearing shyness. "I didn't wrap the box," he said softly, as he held it out. "Since you'd already seen it. . . ."

Harry took it in slightly trembling hands. Was it . . . ? He opened the lid and saw a small, intricately wrought silver dragon tucked into the red satin lining. Ruby eyes winked in the firelight as he picked it up, and he discovered that he'd been right all along. It was a ring! Harry turned it around, awed by the detailing. "It's lovely, Draco," he managed to say. It was really so much more than lovely. "It's amazing."

Draco stepped closer. "It's one of my favorite things," he said. "I wanted you to have it." He reached out and gently took the ring. "You shouldn't wear it on your wand hand," he said, taking Harry's left hand and slipping it onto his fourth finger.

Harry felt the ring shiver and stir on his finger, adjusting itself magically to a comfortable fit. He looked down in wonder at the little silver dragon that now delicately encircled his finger. It was undoubtedly a Malfoy treasure. He looked back up at Draco, quite awed and rather tongue-tied.

"It's a dragon with red Gryffindor eyes," said Draco. "I wanted it to mean that we . . . belong together."

Harry leaned in and kissed Draco, his heart turning over. "We do," he whispered.

Draco smiled, the kind of smile that always made Harry a little weak in the knees. "It's your turn," he said.

Harry straightened his glasses, and took a minute to study the position of his pieces and the move Draco had just made. Draco hadn't had a lot of options for his last move; Harry was progressively tightening the threat to Draco's King on one side, and predictably, Draco had moved his King away toward the only possible escape. But that didn't matter - Harry's strategy was to press Draco's King hard on the one side now, get Draco to run from it and then catch him on the other side. He almost had everything in place - and judging from Draco's last move, it looked like Draco was going to fall right in with this plan. The game couldn't last much longer. And Harry was becoming increasingly confident he was going to win it.

Looking up from the board, Harry couldn't quite hide his excitement. "Bishop to D3," he said, moving his piece and capturing Draco's Bishop. Grinning at Draco, he set Draco's Bishop off the board and announced, "Check." Then his exultation changed partly back to his earlier nervousness as he met Draco's expectant eyes and remembered what he was going to do with this move. "I have something to give you, too," he said, his words coming out a bit shaky. Oh, God, he hoped Draco would like it. He retrieved his bookbag from the doorway where he'd dropped it coming in, and pulled out the blue velvet box.

"I didn't wrap mine either," he said. "I thought the box was too pretty to cover up."

"It is," said Draco, taking the box from Harry and admiring the deep blue velvet. He felt his face go warm. He wasn't sure what he expected, but whatever it was, it was a gift from Harry and it was going to mean the world to him. Then he opened the box and caught his breath, completely astonished.

Lifting the pendant carefully from its box, Draco let it lie in the palm of his hand. The silver picked up warm glints from the fire; amber highlights shimmered over the pale, polished surfaces, rosy sparks flared through the clear crystal and the cool, smoky-blue gemstone. Draco gazed at the pendant for a long, long moment, then without a word, looked up at Harry and lifted his other hand to brush back the hair from Harry's forehead. He studied Harry's scar for a moment more, before dropping his gaze to meet Harry's anxious green eyes with eyes that had gone a misty, velvet gray. "You found this . . . at that jewelry shop?" he asked.

"Not exactly," said Harry. "I had them make it." He paused, blushing slightly at his next words. "I picked out the blue stone - the color somehow . . . reminded me of you."

Slowly, Draco held the pendant out to Harry, gave it back, and for a second Harry was sure his doubts about his gift were right, that Draco didn't like it. But then -

"Will you put it on me?" asked Draco softly.

Harry undid the clasp and reached around Draco's neck with both hands to fasten it. "I was afraid you wouldn't like it," he admitted.

"God, Harry, it's exquisite. I love it. It's like . . . both of us . . . together." He laid his hand over it for a second, then unbuttoned the collar of his robe and tucked it inside. "I want to keep it close to me," he said, as he did the buttons back up. "I want it to be private, just for us to know about. Do you mind very much, if I don't want to show it off?"

"I don't mind at all," said Harry, smiling. He was pleased. The pendant had felt intensely personal to him, and the fact that Draco felt that too, and wanted to preserve it as something special just between the two of them, meant a lot to him.

Draco smiled back and pulled Harry close, then kissed him ardently, smile and all.

In fact, Harry was still smiling when Draco finally let him go. Their eyes met, a deep unspoken understanding in the gaze they shared, then Harry turned, blushing slightly, to look at the chessboard. "We probably have time for you to make your next move," he said, teasing a little, "considering you have such limited options." Draco had only two possible moves, and since only one of them, King to G2, gave any possibility of escape for Draco's King, there was no question of what Draco should do. "You're in check," said Harry smugly. "Again."

Draco was also studying the chessboard, but gave Harry an amused glance. "I can see that," he said. He reached out slowly, picked up his King and moved it to the left one place. "King to E1," he said, but he held onto the piece, still considering his move, keeping it incomplete.

Harry inhaled and bit his bottom lip. His pulse quickened with sudden hope. He couldn't believe it! That was the wrong move. If Draco made that move, the game was over. Harry could checkmate him on the next move by taking Draco's Pawn with Knight to C2. For one incredible moment, he let himself think of what could happen tonight if the game was over. . . .

But then Draco moved the King back to its original position at F1 and took his hand away. He looked up at Harry and raised one eyebrow.

Harry exhaled. "That would have been quite . . . fatal," he said, still somewhat stunned that Draco had even contemplated that move.

"Indeed," said Draco, giving Harry a shrewd, calculating glance. "It would have been practically . . . suicide."

Harry reached out and touched Draco's arm. "I can't believe you almost made such a bad move," he said. "But I wish you had. The game would have been over." He let his fingers slide down over Draco's wrist until he took Draco's hand. "I want the game to be over, Draco. I don't really care who wins."

"I care," said Draco seriously. "And it seems my strategy is working perfectly."

"How can you say that?" Harry laughed. "I've had you in check twice now." He studied the chessboard for a moment, then shook his head. "If you've got some secret strategy that you think will win this game for you, I can't see it."

Draco shrugged slightly and turned away, his expression enigmatic.

"Wait," said Harry. "There's only one other move you can make. You might as well do it."

"No," said Draco, turning back with a bit of an impish grin, "it's getting late. I want to get downstairs so we can be ready to go in at the exact moment when we can make the most shocking entrance," he added archly. Then his expression took on an air of pretended martyrdom. "And we need to leave now, since I have to walk all the way down to the Slytherin common room to get those girls you've inflicted on us."

* * *

Harry waited near the bottom of the Slytherin tower stairs while Draco went down to the dungeons to get Natalia and Violet. And Harry had to laugh when they came up the stairs, for as much as Draco had complained about going with these girls, he was the epitome of the charming escort now, coming up from the dungeons with a girl on each arm. Natalia, her dark blonde hair sleeked back into a shining pony-tail, was wearing deep blue robes that accented her eyes, and Violet, her dark hair set in shoulder-length ringlets held back from her face by amethyst clips, wore robes the color of her name.

When she saw Harry, Natalia smiled and came forward to take Harry's arm. "Thanks," she whispered, "for talking him into it. Violet and I wouldn't have come otherwise."

Harry blushed. "And neither would we," he whispered back, "if you girls hadn't thought of this."

They all walked to the main entrance hall, arriving just as the doors to the Great Hall were thrown open and the students who had gathered and waited outside in suspense were finally allowed to go in. But Draco made them hang back and wait until everyone else had gone in, and then he made them wait five minutes more. At last, with a grin and one raised eyebrow at Harry, he decreed that the time had come.

Oh my God, thought Harry as they stepped through the doors, this is it!

Harry and Draco walked into the Great Hall, side by side, the girls on their outside arms on either side, and paused just inside the doors. The Hall, decorated for Christmas, was a marvelously festive sight. Twelve huge evergreen trees stood at the back of the room, each covered with golden tinsel, sparkling glass balls and icicles, and twinkling, brightly-colored faerie lights, while garlands of mistletoe and ivy decorated the rafters. Banks of floating candles illuminated the room with a soft glow, and in the ceiling, the night sky was full of stars that drifted down and turned into glittering snowflakes that disappeared just over everyone's heads.

The students, all arrayed in colorful dress robes, filled the Hall with smiles and excitement; some were standing together in sociable groups, but most were being seated at the small tables that were set up throughout the room, getting ready to order their dinners. It was a moment before anyone noticed Harry and Draco's entrance, but then startled gasps were followed by a shocked silence that rippled outward through the room like a wave. Someone knocked over a goblet, and a couple of people dropped forks that skittered across the floor, the clatter of silver on stone loud in the stunned quiet that possessed the room.

Harry looked up to the Head Table and saw that Professor McGonagall was watching them with thin-lipped concern. Snape looked like he had bitten into something sour and unpleasantly pithy. Harry was suddenly glad that both their Heads of House already knew about their relationship, as both of them were immediately set on with questions by the other professors. Hagrid, however, was staring open-mouthed and Harry felt a momentary pang of guilt. He should have warned Hagrid about this, but things had happened so fast. He promised himself to take time to talk to his old friend over the Christmas holidays and explain. Dumbledore was watching with a mildly amused, but also somehow solemn expression.

It seemed that the air had become quite unexpectedly warm, and Harry turned to Draco to see if he was ready to let them finish this grand entrance and find a table. But before they could move, Dumbledore rose to his feet and faced Harry and Draco across the expanse of the Great Hall. "If I may have everyone's attention for a moment," he said, raising his arms out as if to embrace the room, "I have an important announcement to make." There was a brief rustling of robes and shifting of chairs as students tore their gazes from the boys standing in the doorway to turn to look at Dumbledore. He waited until the noise settled.

"The very real possibility of war is something we all must face right now," he began. "It would be easy to let suspicion and mistrust rule us, to imagine enemies everywhere we look." The long cascading sleeves of his robes glinted with gold thread, reflecting the candlelight as he raised his arms. "But Christmas is a time when we celebrate peace and the spirit of goodwill. It is a time of giving gifts, forgiving old hurts and making new friends." He paused and gazed over the top of his glasses in a way that seemed to take in every student in the room. "Sometimes," he said, resuming his speech in a low confidential voice, "it takes a great deal of courage to do this." He looked around the room again, then smiled at Harry and Draco. "Therefore, I am very pleased to congratulate two of our students for putting aside their long-standing differences. Twenty-five house points each to Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy for Gryffindor and Slytherin, for setting such an excellent example of Christmas spirit!"

Dumbledore began to clap his hands quietly, and after a second or two, Professor McGonagall rose from her seat at the Head Table and began to applaud also. Snape stood up then too, so as not to seem less magnanimous than McGonagall, but he didn't bother to clap. That sour, pithy thing it appeared he'd swallowed earlier, now seemed to have sprouted spines and lodged in his throat. The rest of the staff stood a moment later and Harry was relieved to see that Hagrid now looked proud of him instead of shocked. Heads all over the room turned back to look at Harry and Draco as the students picked up the applause.

This applause from the students was not particularly enthusiastic - except perhaps, from some of the Hufflepuffs - since, though Christmas spirit was a good thing and all, most of the students were rather sorry to see this development, especially the Slytherins. The rivalry between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had afforded some good entertainment over the years and would certainly be missed.

Harry had started blushing long ago, but Draco's reaction was mixed. He wasn't really sure if he should be pleased by the attention and the house points, or irritated that his fun of shocking people had been somewhat spoiled by Dumbledore's public acceptance. It was Harry's wide grin that finally won him over to being pleased, and when their eyes met a moment later, Draco gave Harry a breathtaking smile.

Harry's knees went a little weak; Draco was smiling at him like that, and everyone's eyes were on them, and it was remarkable that he could think at all. But with a sudden leap of inspiration, Harry knew what he should do at just this moment - an opportunity was being given to him here that he might never have again, to make right something he had done, not wrong for him at the time certainly, but that had hurt Draco. Harry turned to Draco and in front of everyone, held out his hand.

There was a moment then, when everything in the room seemed to fall away from the two of them, the sounds of clapping hushed as if into a great distance, and time seemed to go still like a startled, held breath, as Draco looked down at Harry's outstretched hand. In their first year, on the train, Harry had refused this gesture from Draco, and set in motion an escalating series of hurt feelings and retaliations that had followed them through their first six years at Hogwarts. Slowly, his face turning just a slight shade pinker, Draco reached out and took Harry's offered hand. Their palms pressed together firmly, warmly, and held, and their eyes offered apology and gave forgiveness in the space of a heartbeat. And time and the noise and the room came back.

The applause went on for a few seconds more, then it died away as the staff sat down and everyone went back to ordering their dinners. Harry let go of Draco's hand with a squeeze and then gestured out into the bustle of the room. "I see an empty table," he said. "Over there, near the back."

They made their way through the room, speculating whispers and a few giggles following in their wake. Harry would be glad when they finally got to their table and could sit down. Draco might like being the center of attention and shocking people, but Harry didn't - he'd just wanted to do this to show the whole school that they were friends, and have it over with at once. And that, thanks also to Dumbledore's little speech, had certainly been accomplished. He was immensely grateful for that - it set a public tone for their friendship that would hopefully keep some of the worst teasing away.

There were a couple of faces in the crowd, however, that were more than just simply shocked or surprised. Ron, now properly healed of all his potion burns, and sitting at a table with Hermione, Seamus and Ginny, looked quite appalled and put out. And truly, it would be hard to say what bothered him the most - that Harry had actually had the nerve to show up with Draco, or that Seamus was grinning from ear to ear.

"Told you he would do it!" gloated Seamus. He poked Ron hard in the ribs with one elbow. "See, even Dumbledore says it's good - in keeping with the spirit of Christmas and peace on earth and everything and . . . oh, Saints in Heaven!" He gave Ron a huge grin. "Look at them! Did you see? I can't believe it! They're dressed exactly alike!" He turned back to watch as Harry and Draco escorted their dates through the crowded Hall, and drew in a sharp breath. "And Harry looks . . . oh my God . . . Harry looks gorgeous!"

"Oh, do shut up," muttered Ron. He rolled his eyes as Hermione swatted him mildly on the arm. "Well, it's bad enough that Harry has to make a spectacle of himself," he mumbled defensively, "without him rubbing it in."

Ginny smiled uncertainly at Seamus, then gave Ron a look of sympathy. She liked Seamus and enjoyed his teasing, especially when he teased her brother, but in this case, like Ron, she still felt a bit bewildered by Harry's apparent betrayal. Then she turned back to look at Harry and forgot all about that. Good lord, Seamus was right! Harry did look stunning! God, so did Malfoy for that matter. She grinned at Hermione, who mouthed wow back at her, which caused Ron to roll his eyes again and Seamus to laugh.

At a different table, Pansy, sitting with Blaise, watched Draco walk through the room with another girl on his arm and was simply incensed; the cold, unforgiving grip of jealousy took violent hold of her heart and squeezed until it hurt. The fact that he was also with Harry Potter was not lost on her, but mattered a great deal less to her than the fact that this little twerp of a girl, this Slytherin sixth-year, had not only usurped her rightful place at the Yule Ball - but had undoubtedly spent the night with Draco too. Pansy had hardly ever even been allowed in his room, much less to spend more than five minutes there. It was too much.

Pansy glared at Draco from across Hall while he and Potter and those two insufferable girls sat and ordered dinner, then she glanced around the room. The commotion was over now, the rest of the students caught up in their own affairs - everyone was busy and seemed to have, at least momentarily, forgotten all about Draco and his party. Blaise was discussing Quidditch with another member of the Slytherin team at the next table and was not paying any attention to her. No one was going to notice, she decided, if she paid Draco a little visit. Slipping quietly from her seat, she got up and headed for Draco's table.

She stood behind Draco for a moment, her hands on her hips, watching him laugh and clink his raised goblet of Yule punch against Potter's. It was infuriating. The jealousy that had clutched her heart gave it a nasty twist and she stepped boldly forward. "Oh, isn't this cozy," she said, oozing sarcasm. "Harry Potter . . . sitting with the Slytherins. Next thing we know, the Devil will be wanting ice skates for Christmas."

Draco turned and fixed her with a level stare - not at all amused. "What do you want, Pansy?" he asked, a biting edge to his voice.

Pansy dismissed Draco's question with a sniff, then gazed angrily past him at the girl seated beside him. "So this is the little tramp you've been bedding," she sniped, looking Violet up and down. "God, Draco. Scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren't you? Surely you could have done better than this, even for a quick shag."

Draco gave her a glance of undisguised animosity then turned his back on her. "If you mean I could have looked under a rock and come up with you . . ." he retorted over his shoulder, ". . . no, thank you."

Pansy stood perfectly still for a moment, her face burning as those two stupid sixth-year girls sniggered behind their hands at Draco's words, then in a blind rush of fury, she snatched up Draco's full goblet of punch and poured it in one great frothy torrent right over his arrogant blond head.

"Gaaaahh!" Draco gasped as he was drenched in the icy pink liquid.

Harry stared in disbelief for a half a second, but then he couldn't help it. It was bad of him, he knew, and he really tried not to, but he laughed. Draco had that drowned-rat look again. A stream of pink punch ran off the end of his nose, while other little rivulets spilled and dripped from the ends of his hair and trickled down his neck into his collar. Bits of the froth and bubbles sat like a crown on top of his head. His face was a perfect picture of shocked outrage.

Pansy turned on Harry next, saw him laughing, and was far too angry to care why. "Oh, shut your bloody mouth, Potter," she snarled, and she grabbed up Harry's goblet and poured punch all over his head too.

Draco came to his feet instantly and seized Pansy's arm. By that time everyone at the nearby tables was watching this spectacle in stunned, but very amused, silence. Quite a few of the students, especially those who had been a bit disappointed by the truce, were now pleased to discover that even if Potter and Malfoy were friends, they could still be counted on to provide a wonderful source of entertainment.

Ron had stood up to rush over, but both Hermione and Seamus caught hold of him and made him sit back down. Hermione quickly pointed out that Professor Snape, his long black dress robes sweeping out behind him, was headed straight for Harry's table. And, she reminded him, after this afternoon's fiasco in Potions class, Ron had best not go near Professor Snape. Ron sank resignedly into his seat, relegated to watching along with everyone else.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Snape's slow, cold, condescending voice from behind Pansy and Draco. "Explain this at once. What is going on here?"

The professor gave Harry a cursory glance, and Harry thought he saw the corner of Snape's mouth twitch. It might have been just the merest hint of amusement, this twitch, but then again, it might just as easily have been spiny-pithy-thing-induced-heartburn.

Pansy was twisting her arm in Draco's grip, but he held on to her. "She attacked me with my own punch," declared Draco hotly. "And Potter too. It was completely unprovoked, sir. We were minding our own business."

"Miss Parkinson," said Snape, turning on Pansy, eyes glittering dangerously. He drew himself up with his arms inside his robes like a big black bat. "This is twice today you have lost control of yourself. If you have nothing better to do than this, perhaps you'd like to spend the holidays here . . . working for me?"

"No, sir," said Pansy sullenly. She jerked her arm out of Draco's grasp.

"Then I suggest you refrain from creating any further disturbances," lectured Snape. "Immediately." He gave her a withering stare. "Before I'm forced to deduct points from my own house."

Pansy put her pug nose in the air, and with one last scathing look at Draco, slunk back to her table without another word.

Draco turned around and then had to grin at Harry, who was trying to wipe punch off his glasses with a dinner napkin. "You look ridiculous," he said.

"No more than you," grinned Harry back, squinting through his now dry, but sticky-streaked glasses. "Your hair is pink. And bubbly."

The girls they were with had gotten over being astonished and were giggling rather uncontrollably.

Snape gave them all a disgusted look. "Malfoy," he commanded, pulling out his wand, "turn around and stand still." With a quick, well-practiced swish of his wand, he used the same spell he employed in his classroom to clean up spilled or exploded potions and erased all traces of the spilled punch from Draco's person and clothing.

"Thank you, sir," said Draco, quite surprised, and very pleased. The evening and his robes were not ruined after all. Except. . . .

With a slight nod of his head, Snape acknowledged Draco's thanks and turned to go back to the Head Table.

"But, Professor," said Draco urgently. "Wait. What about Potter?"

Snape turned back and looked Harry over, rather disdainfully. "What about him?"

"Can't you clean him up, too?"

"I don't know why I should," he said, his lip curled in distaste. "He's not in my house."

"But he's my date," insisted Draco in a low whisper. "You can't leave him like this!"

The professor hesitated for a long moment, black eyes narrowed at Draco. "Oh, very well," he drawled acidly, giving in. "Stand up, Potter," he said, eyeing Harry as if that prickly, spiny thing was lodged in his throat again.

Harry stood and a moment later, was clean too, and Snape swept himself and his billowing robes away to his own dinner.

The rest of the meal was uneventful and very soon the tables were pushed close to the walls and the music and dancing began. The Weird Sisters were unavailable this year but the new band, The Shrieking Banshees, met with quick approval when they started their first set with a rousing, wailing beat. Harry and Draco asked the girls to dance and the four of them formed a tight foursome on the dance floor.

A short while later, Ron, whose watchful eye had never strayed far from Harry all this time, suddenly tugged at Hermione's sleeve. "Look!" he said in a low, urgent voice, with every appearance of being shocked again. "Harry is dancing with Malfoy!"

Hermione, who was not nearly as tall as Ron and couldn't see as well over everyone's heads, still tried to look to where the two boys and their dates were dancing. The drummer was pounding out a very compelling rhythm, and the room was full of students wiggling about with complete abandon in time to the music. Even a few ghosts were swaying or spinning delightedly in place amongst the crowd. From what she could see, however, it appeared that Harry's group were all dancing together rather than being paired off as couples. It wasn't at all clear that Harry was dancing with the girl who was supposed to be his date, nor Draco with his. It did look a little like the two boys were turned more toward each other, and so were the girls. But, she noticed with approval, it looked like Harry was having fun. She shook her head and turned to Ron, who was still craning his neck to watch, and consequently nearly stepped on her toe. "Will you please let Harry worry about Harry," she said, a little annoyed, "and pay more attention to the fact that you are dancing with me?"

"Oh, sorry," he said, and he did try to stop watching Harry every minute, but it was hard.

When the first set of songs ended, Harry and Draco, with Natalia and Violet in tow, left the dance floor to check out the glorious sweets table that was set up near the doors. It was covered with golden dishes and platters full of scrumptious bite-sized desserts and a vast array of candies. The girls tried some of the salamander-shaped chocolate-marshmallow-and-caramel truffles, but Draco pulled Harry aside. A slow dance song was just starting up. "You promised to dance with me," he said softly, reminding Harry of the second condition he'd set for coming.

Draco was standing very close, close enough that his fingers were able to find Harry's hand under the cover of their robes. Harry's heart beat a little faster as he looked out over the Hall for a place that would give them some privacy. He had the Invisibility Cloak, but even if they couldn't be seen, it wouldn't do for people to bump into them. Other couples had already tucked themselves into most of the corners . . . then Harry saw the perfect place.

"Tell the girls we'll be gone for a while," he whispered to Draco. "Then meet me behind the third Christmas tree from the end over there."

Draco looked where Harry was indicating and nodded. He drifted off toward the two girls and Harry started off through the crowd of dancers. On his way, he spotted Hermione and Ron sitting at their table and detoured in that direction.

"Hey," he said, sitting down in Ginny's empty seat. "I can only stay a second. Isn't this grand this year?" he grinned, gesturing at the Hall.

"You certainly look grand!" said Hermione, smiling back. "And it looks like you're having a good time."

"Yeah," said Ron, his mouth screwed up a little crookedly. "That was some entrance you made. It nearly gave me a heart attack."

Harry laughed. "That, and the robes, were Draco's idea, I'm afraid." He leaned closer and laid his left hand out on the table in front of them. "I just wanted you guys to see my Christmas present."

It took a moment, but then Hermione gave a quiet gasp of surprise. "Oh, Harry," she said, reaching out to touch his hand. "It's gorgeous!"

Ron's mouth dropped open, speechless.

"It is, isn't it?" said Harry proudly, standing up. "But, I've got to go. I'll let you see it better later."

Ron slumped down in his chair. "You don't think he's gone and got himself engaged to that git, do you?" he moaned, watching Harry walk away.

Hermione had the good sense to laugh at him.

But Ron kept his eyes on Harry and saw him do the most curious thing - saw him wander over to the Christmas trees and stroll slowly around for a moment as if admiring the ornaments, and then suddenly slip around the back of one and disappear. Ron sat up straight. What was Harry doing? He watched to see if Harry would come back out, but in another minute or so, instead of Harry reappearing, Malfoy sauntered over and did the same thing. Then Hermione asked him to dance again, saying the music was so slow and nice, and Ron decided not to mention anything yet and see what would happen. After all, Harry was safe enough at the moment. What could Malfoy possibly pull in a room full of people like this. . . ?

* * *

Behind the trees, with the faerie lights casting twinkling spheres of many colors over them, Harry drew Draco under the Invisibility Cloak. The music had a haunting lilt to the melody and a rhythmic, subtly seductive beat. Draco's arms came around his neck, and Harry allowed the other boy's surer, more graceful movements to guide him as they leaned together, circling slowly in place. Harry closed his eyes, letting the music and Draco fill his world, letting everything else slip away. He felt Draco nuzzle his ear, and turned his head so that Draco's fine blond hair tickled and caressed his face.

"You're not so bad a dancer," said Draco in a low voice in Harry's ear.

"You're not expecting me to lead," whispered Harry, smiling.

Draco pulled him closer, and they relaxed into each other, their bodies rocking together in time to the music. Draco's hips were swaying against his and Harry felt the first flush take him. Oh. His arms were around Draco's waist and suddenly he wanted. . . . He hesitated a moment, then slowly slid his hands down lower over Draco's hips. He felt Draco's soft intake of breath against his cheek, and flushed again.

Harry kissed the side of Draco's face, in front of his ear. One of Draco's hands came up to tangle in Harry's hair, and Harry drew back a little, turning his head to find Draco's mouth with his own. Then they were kissing and there was heat in it, taking Harry's breath and sending shivery waves of desire running through him. Draco broke the kiss with a sigh, and Harry bent his head to press one more lingering kiss on Draco's neck, in the tender spot just below the angle of his jaw. Draco was so warm in Harry's arms, his skin under Harry's mouth was hot. Harry felt as if his heart was pounding in time to the music, felt the echo of it in Draco's pulse beneath his lips, the touch of Draco's hands filling him with both need and a sense of completion.

"Let's go outside," whispered Draco.

* * *

"I can't believe he came with that sixth-year, and Potter!" seethed Pansy, as she danced with Blaise. "Sitting there together as cool and chummy as you please, when everyone knows they hate each other! What would his father say?"

Blaise shrugged noncommittally. "I saw Draco with Potter in Hogsmeade a few days ago at the Three Broomsticks. They didn't look like they hated each other at all." He frowned down at Pansy. "But Draco told me later that it's part of a plan he has, and he doesn't want anyone interfering. You should stay out of it, Pansy."

Pansy smiled up at him innocently. "What kind of plan?"

"I don't know," said Blaise slowly, uncertainly. "Draco doesn't want me to talk about it. He was pretty clear about that."

"But you've already talked about it, love." She batted her eyes at him. "You can tell me. . . ."

Blaise looked down at her, considering. He'd been quite intrigued when she'd asked him to the ball. She flirted outrageously with anything male, but all the Slytherins knew she only had eyes for Draco, and her flirting was no more than vain attempts to get Draco's attention or make him jealous. Blaise assumed this was no different, but it did present him with an opportunity he was only too willing to take advantage of. And her interest in Draco's plan now might be just the thing he could use. But Draco had made a rather fearful impression on him, had hinted of connections to powers that Blaise had no intention of bringing down on himself. All the flirting in the world that Pansy might do was not worth that. "No," he said. "And that's final," he added, seeing her face screw up into a pout. "I promised not to talk about it."

They danced in silence for several minutes. Blaise was plotting several schemes for how he might get Pansy down a deserted corridor later to see if he could kiss her, and if so, wondering how far that might go. Meanwhile, Pansy was wondering if she could maneuver Blaise into making out with her in an empty classroom and if so, how far she might have to go to get him to tell her Draco's plan. Then something brushed unnoticed against them. Suddenly Pansy screeched, and was hopping on one foot, the other raised painfully.

"Bloody hell, Blaise!" she gasped. "That was my foot you just stomped on!"

"I did not!" protested Blaise, taken aback. "I know I didn't."

"Well, who else could have!" she seethed. "I sure as hell didn't stomp on it myself!"

"It wasn't me!"

"It was too!"

Blaise glared at her, all thoughts of dimly lighted corridor assignations abandoned in a heartbeat. "Oh, that's just fine," he said, indignant. "If you're going to be stomping on your own feet, you can bloody well dance with yourself, too!" He marched off to join Crabbe and Goyle who were happily gorging themselves on mini mince pies, candy cane wands, and pumpkin pasties over at the sweets table.

Pansy watched his retreating back, angrily rubbing her throbbing foot. She limped back to their table and sat down, craning her neck to see Draco's table. The two girls were there, heads bent together in a cozy chat, but Draco and Potter were not. She scanned the crowd, looking for them, and couldn't find them anywhere. She slumped back in her chair, momentarily defeated, but determined to wait. If the girls were there, they would be back.

Pansy certainly didn't hear the disembodied voices snickering out in the entrance hall, as the main doors were opened by invisible hands.

"God, Draco," said one of the voices in a laughing whisper. "You're going to cripple somebody one of these days."

"Oh, she asked for it," replied the other smug voice, the tone full of righteous indignation. "No one pours punch on my date - " Then the doors closed and there was only silence in the hall.

* * *

Ron, still ever watchful despite Hermione's disapproval, had maintained a constant vigil since he'd seen Malfoy disappear behind the Christmas trees. Now, alerted by the fuss Pansy made, he saw something suspicious happen between where Pansy was standing with Blaise and the doors to the Great Hall. Students were dancing, but they seemed to shift to the side a bit and make way, unconsciously sensing another couple brushing against them or behind them but not noticing that no one was there. From Ron's tall vantage point, as he danced with Hermione on the other side of the Hall, it seemed as if something invisible was making its way unnoticed through the crowd, creating a wake of empty space for a moment that progressed on a clear line to the doors. If he hadn't been so very familiar with Harry's Invisibility Cloak, he probably would never have noticed it himself or would have dismissed it entirely. However, given that he did know, and given that Harry and Malfoy were still nowhere in sight, he came to a quick conclusion about what was going on, and an even quicker decision about what to do about it.

He stopped dancing and stepped back just a little, not quite letting go of Hermione. "Do you mind if we go outside," he said, when she looked up at him, questioning. "I . . . er . . . need to get some air."

* * *

This year, a magical garden of arches and small arbors covered with flowering vines - yellow jasmine and honeysuckle and blue wisteria, moonflowers and red trumpet vines, deep violet clematis, pink mandevilla and climbing roses - a profusion of trailing blossoms, had been conjured up just outside the castle doors. Winding pathways of white stone meandered through the maze of hanging flowers, and a few couples, escaping the crowded dance, could be seen dimly, sitting on ornate benches or leaning together within the archways. The air was laden with sweet fragrances and the darting lights of hundreds of tiny faeries.

Most of the snow had melted during the day, though long, glittering moonlit patches lay in the hollows under bushes and against the walls of the castle where shadows had sheltered it from the sun. Harry and Draco walked slowly around the lake, holding hands, invisible under the cloak, letting the silent beauty of the night envelop them. They stopped in the small grove of birch trees on the other side of the lake.

The little clearing was full of slanting moonlight and curving treeshadow; the air was cold and stirring, exhilarating with a taste of snow still lingering on it. The cloak shimmered with refracted moonlight in Harry's hands, sparking pinpoints of color into the frosty air as they emerged from under it into the milk-pale light and deep blue shadows.

Draco shook back his hair, and breathed deeply. "Much better," he said. "It was stifling in there."

Harry smiled and carefully laid the cloak aside. He stepped through the trees to stand in the moonlight at the edge of the water. Across the lake, Hogwarts was lit up from the inside, golden lamplight from the many windows spilling across the dark water to lap in quiet, gilt-edged ripples at Harry's feet. He felt Draco behind him and closed his eyes, waiting for that first touch of Draco's hands on him, all his senses focused on the expectation of it. Something that was now part of him was subtly missing until that touch came, until that connection between them was restored. Draco's hands slid around his waist from behind, arms coming around to pull him close, and Harry leaned back into that embrace. "Much better," he echoed softly.

They stood like this for a moment or two, gazing out over the water, a lilt of music carrying over the lake as someone opened the entrance doors to the castle and came out, a couple silhouetted for a moment in the light that flooded out from behind them, then lost to shadow again as the doors closed.

Draco kissed the curving edge of Harry's ear. "I'd like to teach you something," he whispered. "If you will."

"Sure." Harry turned and took Draco's offered hand. "What is it?"

"It's called Ti'kira," said Draco. "It's a ritual dance that's part of the traditional wizarding wedding rites." He paused for a second, then explained further. "The steps and gestures of the dance create a pattern spell out of the old magic, a binding spell to seal the couple's vows and complete the ceremony." Draco studied Harry's face, his eyes intense, bright in the moonlight. "I will never dance this with anyone else," he added softly. "Will you . . . dance with me?"

Draco's voice held a solemn gravity that made Harry shiver as he understood the serious nature of what Draco was telling him, and what he was asking. "Yes," said Harry, equally serious though excitement began to well up inside him for what it seemed they were about to do, what Draco would teach him and make of them tonight. And Harry knew without any other words needing to be said that this would be real for them, that two hearts could bind themselves to each other just as surely by mutual consent and the magic of a moonlit dance as in a real wedding, even if only they themselves were witness. "I will dance with you," he said.

* * *

Ron and Hermione came out of the castle and paused for a moment just outside the doors - Hermione taking in the loveliness of the hanging gardens, Ron scanning the grounds for any sign of Harry and Draco. He was sure he'd been right about what he'd seen, sure that they had left the Ball under the Invisibility Cloak. It was only a guess that they'd come outside of course - they might have disappeared into the castle, or gone back to Draco's room. Then he spotted a flash of movement across the lake, moonlight on blond hair, and saw a dark-haired figure turn and follow that blond head back into the trees on the far side of the lake. He'd been right!

At this point, Ron decided that honesty was his best, and really only, option. Hermione was far too smart to believe they had just happened to find Harry and Malfoy on the other side of the lake if he insisted they walk over there. He took a deep breath and confessed what he had seen.

At first, Hermione refused to go with him, but he was adamant - he didn't trust Malfoy and absolutely had to see if Harry was okay. She quickly realized that he was not going to give up, and she was not going to have a moment's peace unless they went. And she didn't dare let him go alone - no telling what he might do then. With a sigh, she agreed, and they set off to walk around the lake. Hermione had a pretty good idea of what they would most likely be interrupting, having walked in on Harry and Draco up in Draco's room the other night, and with a sudden sense of perverse justice, she thought it would serve Ron right if he got a good eyeful.

* * *

Draco drew Harry back into the ring of trees so that they stood close together in the center of the little glade, bathed in the moonlight. "I'll go slowly at first," he said, taking a step back and letting go of Harry's hand. "All you have to do most of the time is mirror what I do."

Harry nodded, then gave Draco a teasing smile. "You're making me dance the girl parts, aren't you?" he asked.

"One of us has to," said Draco with an answering grin. "And since I'm leading. . . ."

"Okay," laughed Harry. He was excited, from the moonlight refracting in the cold air, from Draco's warm presence, from the anticipation of this new kind of magic. "What do we do?"

"It's an old dance," said Draco, "and very serious. The movements are meant to be slow and reverent. So. . . ." He bowed gracefully, one arm bent across his waist, the other extended straight behind him.

Harry imitated the movement, though he had to suppress a brief, amusing impulse to curtsy instead. It was a fleeting thought and he was able to straighten up and face Draco with the proper degree of seriousness and respect for what they were doing. Especially since Draco looked so beautiful in the moonlight, pale and ethereal, almost as if he were made of the moonlight himself. Another shiver washed through Harry - he could feel magic stirring at the edges of his awareness, could sense that they were beginning the invocation a very powerful spell, a spell that would be woven of the love they felt and bind that love between them.

Draco held out his hands and stepped forward. Harry did the same, and they joined hands. From this position, Draco began to teach Harry the dance. The actual basic step used throughout the dance was simple - however, the sequences of forward and backward steps and turnings, combined with the hand motions needed to create the pattern magic, was much more complex, and in this Draco showed that he could be a very skillful teacher.

Harry followed Draco through the whole thing once, very slowly. Their hands, either clasped or pressed palm to palm, were almost always touching. They circled, turned and circled back, stepped close together and out to arm's length, while their hands drew slow symbols and lines and circles between their bodies and in graceful sweeping arcs over their heads.

They practiced the entire pattern twice, and Harry had it mastered by the end of their second time through. Starting the dance the third time, he felt almost as if he was floating in a moonlit dream. This time it was real. He felt the magic rising, flowing with them, their matching, graceful movements tracing the patterns between them, weaving the spell perfectly. Magic vibrated in the air; a hush of power encircled them. Harry looked into Draco's eyes, bright silver in the moonlight, felt the touch of Draco's hands against his own, so warm and sure and gentled with affection, and his heart filled up with love for his beautiful partner. The magic filled him too, threading into his heart and Draco's, tying them together, a binding of heart with willing heart. Their hands met and moved together, and Harry saw the white and gold sparks shimmer in the air, following the path of the pattern they traced.

Then Draco spoke very softly so as not to break the spell. "Don't stop," he said, "but, we have company. It looks like Granger and Weasley."

"Ron," whispered Harry, "was probably worried. Sorry."

Draco grinned at him. "Oh, I don't mind," he said. "I'm quite sure he knows what we're doing. Which means he's probably having heart failure over there."

Harry smiled and Draco smiled back, that stunning real smile that always took Harry's breath away.

"Can you see the sparks, Harry? Between our hands, like the other night?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you can make them visible? If they're going to watch, we might as well make it spectacular."

* * *

Hermione followed Ron around the lake to the birch grove where Draco was leading Harry through the steps of the dance. They stood back in the shadows of the trees, where, hopefully, they wouldn't be seen. She felt quite reluctant to be here, watching, spying, but knew she couldn't trust Ron to be here by himself since this involved Harry and Draco. After watching for a few minutes, she was just about to point out that Harry was obviously fine and insist that they go back, when Ron gasped quietly.

"Good lord," he whispered in a shocked kind of hiss. "Look what they're doing!"

"What?" asked Hermione, puzzled and slightly alarmed, partly from his tone and partly from fear that he'd spoken in such a loud whisper. "It looks like Draco is teaching Harry some kind of folk dance. I don't see - "

"That's not a folk dance!"

Ron was clearly upset, and Hermione took firm hold of his arm, afraid that he was going to rush out and do something rash and impulsive. "What is it then?"

"It's a very old magic spell," said Ron, turning to look at her, eyes wide with worry. "The Ti'kira. Don't you recognize it?"

"No," said Hermione. "I've never heard of such a thing. What does it do? Why are you so upset?"

Ron groaned. "It's the wedding dance. We can't let Harry go through with it - he can't know what he's doing." He moved as if he was thinking of taking off to rescue Harry, and Hermione tightened her grip on his arm.

"What do you mean, the wedding dance? Ron, explain. What exactly is Harry doing? You can't mean he's . . . that he and Draco are . . . getting married somehow . . . right here, now."

"No, no, not married," moaned Ron. "But it's a kind of binding spell and quite serious, like a vow, all by itself," he whispered, very unsettled. "Not even Malfoy would take it lightly."

Hermione turned to watch Harry and Draco. Harry was catching on very quickly and starting to move smoothly with Draco through the steps of the dance. There was a lovely elegance beginning to show in the mirrored movements of their bodies, in the patterns drawn between them with their hands, and a feeling of deep intentionality in the way they faced each other. "You saw that ring," she said. "I'd say Harry probably knows exactly what he's doing." She squeezed Ron's arm in warning. "And we're not going to interfere," she added firmly.

Ron didn't answer, just sighed grudgingly in defeat, then stood, watching with Hermione while Harry and Draco finished their second practice and started the dance again, this time moving in perfect fluid synchronization with each other. There was a definite hush in the air now, as if magic were spinning a circle of love all around them, and reaching out, weaving the watchers into its spell as well.

"Will we do that at our wedding?" whispered Hermione, letting go of Ron's arm, slipping her hand into his instead.

"Yes. And I'm sorry. I would have told you before, but I forgot you wouldn't know it," answered Ron, contrite. "It's something that's been handed down only through wizarding families, not in books."

"You'll have to teach it to me."

"My mum can teach you - you aren't supposed to dance it with your intended beforehand."

Hermione nodded, and turned back to watch, mesmerized. "It's very beautiful," she said quietly.

Harry was smiling. Draco was smiling too, smiling back at Harry in the streaming moonlight with a genuineness that was stunning. Their movements were exquisitely matched now, the touches of their hands eloquent in affection. Suddenly, tiny sparks of gold and crystal light swirled around them and cascaded over them, following the movement of their hands. They seemed for a moment to be enveloped in light. Hermione thought they might incandesce.

Ron drew in a sharp breath. "I've never seen anything like that." He stood quite still, unable to look away, then he spoke very softly, more as if he were talking to himself than to Hermione. "Maybe he really does love Harry."

"Yes," breathed Hermione. "That's what everyone has been trying to tell you."

"But they're so different," he protested feebly.

"And we're not?" she asked with a quiet laugh.

Ron grinned down at her and shrugged, conceding that point without protest.

"Once I would have said they were completely different," continued Hermione, thoughtfully. "But now I'm not so sure. They are a lot alike in some ways too. I see them now, not so much as different, but as the two opposite halves of a whole. I'm not sure they can do without each other now."

Ron considered that and had to finally admit to the truth of it. "Will you come with me," he asked rather sheepishly, "when I have to go apologize to Malfoy?"

Hermione stood on tiptoe and smiling, kissed him, then stepped away. "C'mon," she said. "You can do that tomorrow. I think we've trespassed on their privacy long enough." She held out her hand to him. "Let's go back. I'd like to walk through the gardens."

With one last long glance at Harry and Draco, Ron took her hand and allowed himself be led off in the direction of the castle. "I'll bet some people will be getting everything they've been wishing for tonight," he said wistfully. Hermione gave him a stern look. "Don't worry," he added in a low voice. "I know I won't be one of them."

* * *

Draco brought the dance to an end with another graceful bow.

Harry returned the gesture and stood facing Draco. The air seemed charged with magic. "What happens now?" he asked quietly, his heart full, a bit intoxicated by the flow of power between them. "In the real ceremony?"

"The announcement that the couple are husband and wife. . . ." Draco paused, drawing Harry close again, ". . . and then this. . . ." For a second, he didn't move, just stood looking into Harry's shining green eyes. He lifted one hand to touch Harry's face, then bent his head to kiss Harry, gently, intensely, like a promise of things yet to be between them.

Harry's arms went around Draco's waist and he held on tightly, letting Draco claim his mouth and tell him things that words could never have said. Words could never hold the meaning of this warm breath against his cheek, or of the touch of this hand, or the beating of two hearts in time with each other.

Draco drew back a little and rested his forehead against Harry's. "I don't want to go back to the Ball," he said softly, "and all those people. I want to be with you, up in my room . . . just us."

"I'd like that," said Harry, breathless, excitement stirring at Draco's words. "Let's go find the girls. Maybe they'll be ready to go, too." He pulled reluctantly out of Draco's embrace and found the Invisibility Cloak. "Do you think we need this now?"

"No," said Draco. "You'd better shrink it and put it away. I don't really think anyone will notice us coming back." He laughed mischievously. "And if they do, and want to be shocked, well . . . that's all to the good, right?"

Harry grinned and did the spell. Then with the cloak hidden in his pocket, they started back to the castle.

"On second thought," said Draco, slowing and turning to Harry as they neared the gardens outside the entrance doors, "we may need that cloak. Even after tonight, you shouldn't be seen coming up to my room. After we get the girls, it would be best for us to split up at the top of the dungeon stairs. I'll take them back down to the Slytherin common room and you go up the main stairs as if you are going back to Gryffindor."

"And I'll turn around as soon as I get out of sight and sneak back down under the cloak."

Draco nodded. "There are too many eyes that may be watching us tonight." He raised one eloquent eyebrow. "We don't want any stray cats interfering this time."

Harry smiled ruefully. No indeed, they did not.

"And Harry," said Draco, his voice lowered, hushed. "If you happen to get up to my room before me, the password to my door . . . is your name."

* * *

Pansy came out of her room onto the landing outside her door and looked around. She was sure she'd heard footsteps coming up the stairs just now, but no one was there. She'd been listening from inside her room with the door slightly ajar for Draco to come back. Frowning, remembering how easily Draco had disarmed her alarm ward earlier this afternoon, and set his own to prevent her from doing it again, she sat down on the bottom step to wait. There was no way she could miss him this way. Draco had to be coming back any minute - and she was determined to talk to him.

She'd seen him leave the dance early, slipping out of the Great Hall with Potter and those two girls and had followed them. Followed them far enough to see that they went to the top of the dungeon stairs, and as she hung back watching, saw Potter say a polite goodnight and head back to the main stairs while Draco took the girls down to the Slytherin dorms. He'd had, she thought, more than enough time to get those girls back to their rooms, unless. . . . Belatedly it occurred to her that Draco might intend to stay with his date for a while - perhaps they were already making out in the Slytherin common room. She shivered, more from that revolting thought than from the frigid air in the tower.

She was wondering if she dared go down there to find him, and if she could stand to face what she might see, when she heard running steps coming up the stairs. In another second, Draco came around the curve of the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Her breath caught in her throat because she had never seen him look like he did now - flushed and smiling . . . obviously happy, stunning in his dress robes, hair swept back from running. And a moment later, as his face changed when he saw her, she felt that change like a slap, had to struggle not to let the tears come now, in front of him, though she already knew they would come later, relentlessly. Standing up, she wrapped her arms around herself and faced him, blocking his path. "I've been waiting for you," she said, lifting her chin.

"That much was obvious," said Draco evenly, keeping his distance, folding his arms across his chest. "Why?"

She broke a little at his tone - she had expected anger, especially after what she had done at the Ball, but instead his voice still held a hint of the excitement and happiness she had seen on his face a moment ago. She had no defense against him when he was quiet, almost friendly like this. "Draco," she started, fighting to stay calm, "I know you. And in spite of what most of the school believes, I know you've never had a girl in your room overnight before two nights ago." She took a step toward him, felt her control breaking even more just at the sight of him, that he could be so close and yet stay so far out of reach. "It's just that . . . I can't understand what you could possibly see in that silly, simpering sixth-year," she said, her desperation surfacing, the unshed tears sounding in her voice. "She's a . . . a nobody. I can't believe she got through that icy wall you hide behind . . . when I've been trying to for years."

"Ah," said Draco, as cool and infuriatingly reserved as ever, "but you see, you don't know me as well as you think you do." He tilted his head slightly, watching her intently. "And you wouldn't like the truth any better than what you've imagined."

She closed her eyes for a second, swallowing pride. "You think there's something worse you can tell me . . . than that you'd rather be with that little nobody tramp than with me?"

He paused, debating inwardly how much to tell her. "You're completely wrong about the girl," he said after a moment. "I've never had a girl in my room overnight - and never will. Not that sixth-year . . . or you either . . . ever."

She tried to ignore that last part, for though it was said quietly, it stung. "You can't keep denying that," she retorted, indignation giving her a momentary strength. "I know you had someone in your room all night, Draco. I may not be as good as you at spells, but I can set an alarm ward perfectly."

"I'm not denying it," he said flatly. "Pansy, think. If you know I had someone in my room and I said it wasn't that girl, not any girl. . . ." He sighed as she frowned at him, confused. "I spent the night with the person who was my real date tonight."

"Real date? But who. . . ?" Her eyes went wide as an entirely new and quite staggering thought occurred to her. "Potter!?" She looked at Draco in horror and saw that there was not a shred of denial in his cool gaze. "Oh my God . . . you mean you're - " She choked in disbelief. " - shagging Potter!?" She stared at him, huge-eyed, her hand going up to cover her mouth for a moment. "God, Draco," she said finally, "how can you stomach it? Blaise said you were with him because of some kind of plan, but that's taking things a bit too far, don't you think? I mean, to force yourself to sleep with a boy is bad enough, but Potter!?"

He stared at her for a second, incredulous at her refusal to understand what he was plainly telling her. "No one," he said, his lip curled up slightly, "forces me to do anything. You of all people should know that. If I'm sleeping with a 'boy,' it's because I want to, because that's what I like." His voice had that familiar angry edge now. "And I'm not 'shagging' Potter. Not that I would expect you to know the difference between that and what it's like to be with someone you love."

He quickly took a few steps forward so that he was standing very close, then brushed by her to go up the stairs behind her. Pausing, one foot up on the second step, he turned back. "Don't look so shocked," he said, a flicker of amused spite now in his eyes. "You don't fool me a bit with your pretended show of disgust. I happen to know you wouldn't throw Potter out yourself if he came to visit you." He leaned very close, his voice warm on her face. "But he won't," he whispered, and there was an undertone of triumph in his low voice. "He's with me." Then he was gone, taking the steps again two at time.

Pansy watched him go, the truth registering suddenly and slowly both at once, shock rolling in like ponderous waves behind swiftly peeling layers of realization, and the tears she had known would come began before she even reached her door. She shut the door behind her quietly and leaned against it, closing her eyes, letting the hot tears spill unchecked. Somehow . . . she should have known, or at least guessed, in all the years of rebuffs, that he was gay. But she hadn't. Had never even considered it, believing it was just Draco's nature to be cold, believing that she understood him better than anyone else. Believing in time that he would see that, would finally see her. Why hadn't he told her instead of letting her humiliate herself chasing him? He and Potter had probably had a good laugh over that.

Then her face flamed as she recalled what he had said last. There was something familiar about the words, as if she remembered them from somewhere, but the memory was thin and fleeting and impossible to catch. She tossed her head in denial, and dashed the elusive thought from her mind. So what!? she thought. Every girl she knew had a secret crush on either Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy, or both. So what if she had harbored a very small and far-from-serious crush on Potter. It was Draco she wanted, had always wanted. . . . Then the thought of the two of them together crashed in on her. . . .

Love, Draco had said, and she was forced to acknowledge that indeed, love was what she had seen in his face tonight coming up the stairs, and she knew now why she had never seen it before. And she knew something else too. She hadn't been mistaken about hearing those earlier quiet footsteps on the stairs. Potter was up there now, with Draco, and they . . . oh God, she didn't want to think about what they might be doing. Resolutely, she brushed the tears from her bitter face and walked to her desk to take out parchment and quill. Lucius Malfoy, she decided, might be very interested to know what his son was up to, and most especially, who he was with.

* * *

Draco slipped in the door of his room and closed it behind him. The lamps were out so the room was dark, the low firelight giving him just enough light to see. "Harry?"

"Here," said a quiet voice from the bed. "I got ready for bed while I was waiting for you."

"I just did something . . . unexpected," said Draco as if quite surprised at himself. He walked over to the bed, beginning to undo the buttons of his dress robe. "I just told Pansy about us - the truth."

Harry was sitting up, leaning back against the headboard, his knees drawn up under the blankets. The dress robes he'd worn were laid neatly on the end of the bed. "I was afraid she'd be waiting for you," he said. "She came out of her room just after I passed her door - I think she heard me coming up the stairs. I had to stop and take off your boots before I could go the rest of the way up."

Draco sat on the edge of the bed, his robe partly unbuttoned, and grinned at Harry conspiratorially. "She actually thought I was serious about that sixth-year - I couldn't let her go on believing such a revolting thing."

Laughing lightly, Harry said, "I thought that was the whole point of going with those girls - so people would think we were with them." Then he smiled wryly. "I'm sure she was even less pleased to find out you were really with me."

"Yes," laughed Draco, glad to have gotten the proper degree of shock out of at least one person. "She wouldn't believe it at first."

"I wish I could have warned you she was out there."

Draco stood up and pulled the robe off over his head. "Doesn't matter," he said, unconcerned, as he went to hang it up in his wardrobe. "I can handle Pansy." He came back to the foot of the bed and gathered up the robes Harry had worn, then stood still for a moment. "There's something else I didn't expect . . ." he said, hesitating. "It felt really good . . . to tell her about us."

Harry smiled at Draco. Then an unsettling thought occurred to him. "Do you think she'll tell anyone else?" he asked. "My friends have all agreed to keep our secret."

Draco shrugged slightly and went back to the wardrobe to hang up Harry's robes. "This situation would embarrass her too, if she told." He grinned at Harry. "After all, she's been hounding me for four years, and just found out she was barking up the wrong kind of tree. She's angry right now, but I don't think she'll tell anyone." He finished getting undressed down to his boxers, then walked to the bathroom door and paused there. "Anyway, I don't care so much now . . . about who knows," he said, his expression thoughtful as he looked at Harry. "I'll be back in a minute."

The bathroom door closed behind Draco and after a moment Harry heard water running. He leaned his head back against the headboard and stared at the closed door, mulling over Draco's last words. That was rather surprising, he thought, that Draco didn't mind if people knew about them now. But it was nice. Harry smiled and looked down again at the ring he was wearing.

While he'd waited for Draco to come up, he'd sat here turning it around and around on his finger, marveling at how amazingly fine and delicate it was, at the incredible detail, at the startling fact that he was wearing it in the first place. The ring, and the magic spell they'd cast with the dance tonight, added up to something quite serious in Harry's mind - that same question, in fact, that he'd thought so hard about last night. Now, more than ever, he wanted to talk to Draco about their future.

And he wanted to know too, what these things had meant to Draco. He remembered well what Draco had said the first night Harry had come up here - "I wanted to wait until I loved someone, until someone loved me." That was true now - the words had been said, they had danced a binding spell of the old magic together, and Harry wore Draco's ring - what more was he waiting for? Tonight, Harry wondered, after all of this, would Draco still want to wait for the end of the game?

So when Draco came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Harry was full of questions and important things to say. But when Draco slipped into bed to sit beside him, wearing only boxers, his bare shoulder and knee brushing against Harry's, skin soft on skin, the words seemed to evaporate into a hush of expectation and wonder and anticipation. He felt particularly keyed up tonight by Draco's presence - an aftereffect of everything they'd done tonight - so he sat still, trying to suppress his nervous excitement, and waited to see what Draco would do.

Draco turned to Harry, gazed at him for second and shook his head slightly. "These have to go," he said in a low, teasing voice as he reached out and took Harry's glasses off. He folded them carefully and put them on the night table behind him, turning back to face Harry with approval. "That's better," he said, tucking a wayward strand of hair back behind Harry's ear.

Harry felt his face go warm, from the touch and the intensity in Draco's eyes. He wanted to lie down with Draco to talk, the way they had before, holding each other, sharing that deep sense of comfort, but the way Draco was making him feel tonight, he didn't think that would be a good idea. Not if he was going to keep his promise. He broke the eye contact, and noticed the glimmer of silver around Draco's neck, and saw with a small inner thrill that Draco was still wearing the pendant. It hung below the hollow at the base of his throat, just above his heart, like a gathered gleam of reflected light, elegant against his skin. Harry touched it gently, found it was warm. "This looks nice on you," he said, a bit of a catch in his voice.

"Yes," said Draco softly, taking Harry's left hand, lacing their fingers together on the bed between them, turning Harry's hand up so that the ring showed. "And this looks nice on you."

"It's beautiful," said Harry. "I can't stop looking at it." And it wasn't just the physical beauty of the ring that entranced him - each time he looked at it, he could hear Draco's voice saying, "I wanted it to mean that we belong together." "It means a lot to me," said Harry seriously, recalling the important things he wanted to talk about tonight. But Draco was leaning into him, and Harry turned his face to meet Draco's kiss. It was a kiss very like the kiss they had shared at the end of dancing the Ti'kira, tender and intense all at once, with a promise of something more that sent an excited shiver through Harry. But there was a hint of reservation in it that Harry felt too, and that reminded him of other questions, and of what they needed to finish. He pulled slowly out of the kiss and met Draco's eyes. "It's your turn in the game," he said.

"That can wait," Draco demurred, gently but firmly, giving Harry's hand a squeeze. "You said you wanted to talk."

"I do," said Harry, a vague sense of perplexity stirring in him again at this evasion. "But, I want to finish the game too. Before you go home. We only have tomorrow."

"I know," said Draco noncommittally, looking down, breaking the eye contact.

And Harry was left hanging, face to face with another of Draco's inexplicable avoidances, and with a promise he'd made to himself last night not to press this issue. A long moment of silence stretched out between them while Harry waited to see if Draco would say anything else.

"I'm too tired for any more chess tonight," said Draco finally, looking up again at Harry. "But we don't need to play the game to talk - not anymore."

Harry searched Draco's mist-gray eyes, not sure what he was looking for, finding only sincerity. "I know," he said with an inward sigh, knowing he had to give in and let it go, hoping they would still have time to finish the game tomorrow. He looked down at their clasped hands, trying to hide his disappointment and gather his previous thoughts.

When Harry didn't say anything else for a moment, Draco spoke again quietly. "You said you did a lot of thinking last night . . ."

"Yes," said Harry, but now that it was time to tell it all, he was unsure where to start. Draco was rubbing his thumb lightly over the back of Harry's hand, and Harry could see the glitter of tiny white sparkles glowing faintly against his own skin. "Well, for one thing," he said slowly, "I thought about this." He leaned over and stroked Draco's arm lightly with his other hand, watching with renewed awe as a shimmer of golden sparks followed his fingers. "These sparks," he said, "must mean something. Something important maybe." He looked up, met Draco's eyes. "And it's never happened with Cho or anyone else," he added. "Only with you."

"Maybe you just couldn't see it yet," suggested Draco. "And now that you've been studying auras, you can."

"No, I don't think so - it's not something I've studied about. This is something about us. I saw our magical auras joining when I did the healing spells with you the last time . . . and that's not supposed to happen."

Draco's brows furrowed slightly in thought. "Auras joining might explain what happened to me when you transfigured that snowball," he said. "I felt it, like my strength was drained for a few seconds."

Harry frowned, suddenly worried. "You didn't tell me that."

With a slight shrug, Draco dismissed Harry's concern. "It was only a second or two, then I was fine. We didn't have a chance to talk about it until now."

That was definitely something they should not ignore. "We need to find out why this is happening," said Harry decisively. "After the holidays, I think we should go to Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey and tell them what's going on."

"What's happening with us isn't as important as you finding out about the wandless magic you can do," Draco pointed out. "I think you should talk to them about that."

Harry nodded. "I will. I'll talk to them about both." He lapsed into silence for a moment, still worried about what Draco had told him, and not quite sure how to begin the next, and much more important question he wanted to talk about.

Silence stretched between them for a moment, shifting shadows from the low fire flickered across the foot of the bed. "You said that was one thing," said Draco finally, his voice low, warm. "So there must be something else."

"There is," said Harry, and paused. "I thought about . . . what you said the other night," he started hesitantly. "You asked me a question. About getting married . . . and having kids. . . . You asked if I had thought about what I would be giving up to be with you. I never really answered you."

"You don't have to. . . ."

"I want to," insisted Harry. "You told me to think about it . . . and I did. I thought about it a lot." He paused again, seeking the right words. "What we did tonight . . ." he said after a moment, "that dance . . . was real for me. You said you would never dance that with anyone else . . . and I can't believe," he stated with quiet certainty, "that I ever will either." Then anticipating Draco's protest, he added, "I know what you said I should do, and I know we can't really plan anything yet, but I've thought about what I hope will happen. . . ."

He looked down at their hands, fingers laced together, the ring he wore now a symbol of what they felt together. "I don't want to be with anyone else, Draco," he said softly, looking back up. "Getting married doesn't matter so much to me, and I don't care what other people's expectations are, or if people think I should be with a girl, or not be with a Malfoy. I just want us to be together . . . live together . . . if we can, if you agree. And I still want to work with you, like I said before." He squeezed the hand he held, felt the firm warmth, the reassurance of Draco's fingers tightening on his in response. "Do you think you might . . . want to do that . . . live with me, I mean?"

Draco had his head turned to the side, to look at Harry while he spoke, but now he faced forward and closed his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. He really shouldn't answer, shouldn't encourage Harry in these impossible hopes. "We already agreed how unlikely that would be," he said quietly, sadly.

"Yes," said Harry in a low voice. "I know." He studied Draco's withdrawn expression for a second, then sighed and turned away too, to face his knees. With his right hand resting on his upraised thigh, he traced the seam in the quilt with his thumb. "I just wanted to know if you would . . . want to," he said finally.

The forlorn tone in Harry's voice went straight to Draco's heart, and wrung the truth from him in spite of his intention to discourage this. "Harry," he said with a tenderness he couldn't hide, "I just danced Ti'kira with you . . . and for me, it was absolutely real. Of course I would want to live with you. I can't imagine," he added solemnly, "I would ever want anything else." He turned his head, facing Harry again, his eyes serious, intent, contrite. "It's just that I try not to think about the future."

Harry looked up, his heart filling, elated at Draco's words, and then saddened a little by the last statement. "I'm pretty sure Professor Dumbledore is going to ask you to stay here and teach," he coaxed, refusing to be discouraged. "If we both have to stay here after graduation, do you think they'll let us share a room? This room, maybe?" He reached back over and laid his hand on Draco's arm. "I like this room."

Draco smiled at that, lured for a moment into Harry's wishful thinking. "You continue to impress me with your shocking ideas," he teased back. "We'd be quite the scandal, you know. Unmarried teachers living together right here at the school." He gave a short laugh. "I'd like that."

Harry grinned briefly at Draco's amusement, glad to have gotten a more positive reaction finally, then spoke again, more seriously. "And when the war is over . . . and if it's possible . . ." he said, adding the emphasis for Draco's benefit, "we could get a big house together. . . ."

Draco sighed to himself. If things were different, he would have loved to hear Harry talk like this, with himself included as a definite part of Harry's future, but he also remembered that Harry had told him he'd talked like this to Cho, the night they'd slept together, and had felt like a fool afterwards, when she'd left him. He really shouldn't let it go on. Harry had trailed off just now, as if he were thinking, or finished talking. "Was that all you wanted to talk about?" asked Draco hopefully.

"No, there's more," said Harry softly. He took a deep breath. "I don't know how you'll like this next bit, though." He shifted down a little in the bed and leaned against Draco, wanting to be closer, though still mindful of the promise he'd made.

Draco let go of Harry's hand and threaded his arm around behind Harry's waist, leaning into Harry too. "Go on, then," he said, his mouth now right beside Harry's ear.

Harry closed his eyes, just for a second; it felt so nice to have Draco's arm around him, the comfort of being held bolstering his confidence for what he was about to say. He would just have to try to ignore the warm allure of Draco's body pressed all along his side, and the slender hand that lay against the bare skin at his waist like a sliver of fire. He took a deep breath and paused, gathering his thoughts. "The reason we need to get a big house," he said quietly, "is . . . I want to have kids." He felt Draco tense in surprise against him, but went on, determined now. "I thought about this a long time. I don't want to give that up - can't give that up." Turning his head, he met Draco's startled gray eyes and explained. "I never knew my parents, never had a family that loved me. I've always looked forward to having my own family - to having children of my own. It's just something that's very important to me . . . and I thought, maybe, of a way we might do that."

Draco looked askance at Harry, a little shaken by this rather unexpected revelation. He wasn't at all sure he was ready to know how Harry thought they might have children. "I am not going to agree to share you with some girl just so you can make babies, if that's what you had in mind," he said.

"No, of course not," said Harry, a little taken aback himself that Draco had jumped to that conclusion.

"How, then?" asked Draco, completely mystified, and if truth be told, a little horrified, since this was not something he'd ever considered.

"Well, if we're together," said Harry, "we can't actually have kids of our own . . . so I want to adopt. I was an orphan myself - so I know what it's like. And I'm sure that there will be children who need homes after this war is over. If I can . . ." his voice trailed off for a second. ". . . if I'm still around . . . I want to find the ones that have no where else to go, and give them a home . . . with us." He paused, then went on, his voice holding out a tentative hope. "Do you think you could want that, too?"

For a moment, Draco hesitated. But Harry was not asking him for promises, or if he believed their future would be like this. Draco didn't have to resort to a half-truth to answer Harry's question - he could give Harry this answer with complete honesty. For even though he couldn't possibly see himself living with a houseful of kids, he believed it would never happen, and he was glad that Harry had a dream for the future to hold onto that didn't depend on them being together. He wanted Harry to keep this dream, hoped with all his heart it would come true for him, that Harry wouldn't be alone. "More than anything," he said softly, sincerely.

"You do?" asked Harry, surprised and touched to the heart. He shifted, turning so that he was facing Draco more directly, and laid his hand over Draco's hand that rested on the quilt over Draco's stomach. "I didn't think you would," he said.

"I would want you to," Draco clarified. "Whatever plans you have, that's what I want."

"No, not plans," Harry sighed. "Just wishes."

There was a long moment of silence. "Harry, love," Draco said very gently, trying again to get Harry off the subject of their future, "it all sounds wonderful, but . . . it's been a long day and I didn't sleep well last night. . . ."

"You didn't have more nightmares about your father, did you?" asked Harry, all other thoughts, for the moment, abandoned in concern. But, oh God, did Draco just call him "love"? His heart had skipped a beat at that.

"I had dreams," said Draco. "One in particular was very upsetting and strange - I couldn't get back to sleep afterwards. I don't remember much of it, but it wasn't about my father."

"I wish I'd been here last night," said Harry, still regretting the impulsiveness that had resulted in their separation the night before. "But I can do the sleep spell for you tonight, if you want me to."

"Would you do both of them?" asked Draco.

"Sure." Harry still felt keyed-up, but Draco, he noticed now, did look tired. Doing the spells would be good for both of them, relaxing Harry and making Draco feel better. "C'mon," he said, his voice quiet, caring. "I'll do them now, so you can get to sleep." He moved away, sitting up, to give Draco room to lie down. "We can talk more tomorrow."

Draco settled himself on his back, arms crossed loosely over his stomach, flaxen hair fanned out, golden in the shadowed firelight that fell across his pillow. With relief and then anticipation in his eyes, he watched while Harry lay down next to him, facing him, and readied himself to cast the spells. This magic that Harry could do thrilled Draco. It was so rare, so extraordinary, and to be part of it, to feel it fill him, running through him like sunlight on clear water, was incredible. It made him forget that darkness had ever existed. It made him more than willing to give up his heart, his life, and offer them with humble gratitude to the wondrous magical being who was Harry Potter. And there would never be anyone else, Draco knew with irrevocable certainty, no one else who would ever make him feel something like that. Not ever. It was only Harry, and Harry alone, he had ever wanted.

Closing his eyes, Harry turned his awareness deep into himself, attuning to his steady heartbeat, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing, finding and centering himself in the magic within him. Awareness altered around him. Outside of him the room vibrated with energy seen and unseen: fire and flickering shadow, light and air and heat and magic weaving subtly together. Magic coursed through him, filling him, streaming out in all directions from the center below his heart, up through his throat to the top of his head, down to his groin, and out through his arms to his hands, like the gently shining rays of a star.

Harry opened his eyes, ready to cast the first spell, and found Draco gazing back at him. He raised up on one elbow and looked down at Draco. Love and anticipation were kindling in the gray eyes, and Harry's heart skipped and raced, a thrill of exhilaration shivering through him. Placing his hand on Draco's chest, he said the words of the calming spell, and immediately felt the auras of their magic blur, linking, melting together. And deep within that connection, he sensed a new bond between them, the binding of a heart-spoken vow, and knew it to be the Ti'kira magic they had done.

A feeling rose in him then, both sad and joyful, and he wished fervently that the future hopes he had for them would come true somehow, that nothing would happen to separate or keep them apart. Wishes were all they had right now . . . but . . . then he remembered what Draco had said . . . that he tried not to think about the future, and Harry was moved to ask one last question. "Don't you ever wish for anything, Draco?" he whispered.

Draco felt the magic stirring inside him, a deep sense of calm and peace filling him. He looked up and met Harry's eyes at the question, felt the magic flow between them like a silken current of electricity. "The only thing I ever . . . truly wished for," he said, his voice muted by emotion, "was for you to love me."

Magic flooded through them both, the peace of the spell that Harry cast, the love of the Ti'kira binding, the emotions welling up in both of them at Harry's question and Draco's answer, spilling, pooling together, overflowing.

"I do love you," whispered Harry. "Very much."

Their eyes locked, vivid emerald and velvet gray, and they were one . . . together . . .

"Whatever else happens, Harry . . . promise me you won't forget . . ."

. . . barriers down, boundaries crossed, hearts joined . . .

". . . that I love you."

. . . magic surging and blending between them, their senses and emotions united in one mutually shared reflection and echo of each other.

Harry leaned close, his hand trailing up to trace a shimmering caress over Draco's cheekbone, his gaze unwavering. "I promise," he said.

Then Draco's arms were pulling Harry down, a tide of need greater than his self-imposed abstinence taking him over, and Harry bent his head, his mouth finding Draco's. Their eyes closed, and the focus of their bonding became this kiss, and in it was every promise and hint of promise they had given and found in each other. Magic ignited in their touch, set them on fire.

Desire swept through Harry like the slow shiver of heat lightning across a breathless summer sky. And almost instantly, he felt Draco shiver in answer beneath him. Both hearts pounded together, pulse sang in resonating counterpoint, and Harry fell, heart-first and anchorless, into the whirlpool of Draco's emotions, awareness swimming in a deep spinning vortex of love and desire. Harry felt that desire tremble through Draco as if through his own body, throbbing along every nerve ending, crying out for him not to stop here. He pulled out of the kiss, shaken, overcome with his need and Draco's and began to press urgent kisses, like warm insistent questions, down the side of Draco's face and neck. "Draco?" he whispered. Love? Oh, . . . please . . . will you let this happen now? Will you let me love you? And he felt Draco's low, answering hum of pleasure vibrate through them both.

Draco moaned softly and arched up under Harry, pressing hard against him, wanting this, responding to Harry's desire, for a long, searing, timeless moment lost in the power of their shared passion. Then memory surfaced, struggled up, recalling Draco to himself, until regret and his bitter, but determined need to protect Harry from this reclaimed him, and one word, a breath only, escaped as if in answer to Harry's unspoken thought.

"No."

And everything shattered.

Harry rolled away from Draco and laid on his back, not touching him, eyes closed, biting down on his lower lip, reeling from the abrupt reversal of Draco's emotions - emotions he had experienced as if they were his own. He was completely aroused. Molten liquid seemed to be swirling through his gut. He could hear Draco's quickened breathing so close, could still feel their hearts racing fast together. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, searching for the peace they had lost in passion, waiting for the arousal to subside.

They lay next to each other for a few minutes, not talking, not touching, both stunned by the feelings they still shared, both speechless in the aftermath of what had happened. Gradually, the connection between them began to fade as the magic dissipated.

Harry felt Draco move then, and a hand slipped into his, lacing fingers, squeezing.

"Harry?" Draco's voice shook slightly. "Are you okay?"

There was a hint of worry in the tone that should have reminded Harry of what was important here. He took another deep breath. "I'm okay," he whispered back, but there was a distinct overlay of angry dismay in his voice.

Harry let go of Draco's hand and sat up, legs pulled up to his chest, his arms folded across the tops of his knees, his head bowed. He felt disoriented and upset. How can you ask me if I'm okay? he wanted to shout. I was okay . . . until you. . . . But he wasn't exactly sure what had happened, or whose fault it was, except that he'd been fine until Draco had pulled him down and the magic he had started to do had gotten far out of his control. He was sure of one thing though - that Draco was definitely not telling him something. He'd briefly caught a strong impression from Draco, just before Draco had stopped them - a deep sense of regret and . . . protectiveness perhaps. Protect me from what? He looked over at the other boy.

Draco had thrown one arm over his eyes when Harry sat up, and the line of his mouth looked thin and taut and hurt.

Harry's heart constricted at that, and he realized that he had lost the connection to Draco's feelings now, and that the separation hurt more than the hurt feelings had. Suddenly he remembered that he had promised two things, to wait until the end of the chess game and not to press Draco about it. No matter whose fault it was, he had come very close to letting Draco down on both.

"Draco," he called quietly. He gently pulled Draco's arm away from his eyes. Draco kept his eyes closed and Harry felt another heart-wrench at that. Leaning over, he kissed one eyelid, needing very much to see what expression was in those shuttered gray eyes. "P-K?" He kissed Draco's mouth, just a light feather touch of a kiss, and said the words he should have said earlier. "Are you okay?" he asked, then gazed down at the pale, tight face, waiting.

Draco took a deep breath and finally opened his eyes, looking back at Harry for a long moment before he spoke. "You were angry," he said. "I felt it." But along with the distress, there was a hint of quiet wonder in his tone.

Harry didn't answer right away, several thoughts and feelings circling through his mind. "If you felt that," he said at last, his voice constricted, fighting through the emotion, "then you also know why. Because if you felt that, then you felt everything else. And I felt how much you wanted to, but you still said no."

"And I told you, it's not that I don't want to."

"Draco, I danced Ti'kira with you. I'm wearing your ring. You know how I feel about you and that I am sure. What else are we waiting for?"

"We just can't - not yet."

Harry sighed. He wanted desperately to ask why again. But he couldn't. Because Draco had trusted him and he shouldn't be making an issue of it, after telling Draco he would wait more than once, after promising himself he would respect that. Because he'd said and done enough already, and still Draco hadn't changed his mind. And because this was not what he wanted to be happening. The incredible feelings they had shared seemed lost, in ashes now, and Harry wanted that back. More than anything else, he wanted back the feeling of comfort they could give each other, needed from each other.

He reached out finally and touched Draco's shoulder lightly, amazed again at the shimmer of sparks his fingers created. "Draco, it doesn't matter," he said earnestly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. The magic just got overwhelming - I lost control of it."

"No," said Draco, barely above a whisper. "It wasn't your fault. I'm the one who lost control." He closed his eyes again for a moment. "You had every right to be angry."

"I'm only trying to understand," said Harry, still hopelessly puzzled, but wanting to get past it. Draco looked back up at him, gray eyes contrite, and Harry accepted the unspoken apology, returning Draco's gaze with a small wry smile. "I guess we shouldn't kiss while I'm doing these spells . . . well, unless . . . we want this to happen," he said. He hesitated, then said honestly, and not a little wistfully, not able to give up entirely, "I hope we will . . . want this to happen . . . someday." Tomorrow, he thought.

Draco's eyes went misty and sad, as if he wished he could promise that but didn't dare. "Do you think you can still do the sleep spell," he said instead, "if I kiss you goodnight now, before you start?"

There was just enough of a teasing tone in Draco's voice this time to let Harry know things were all right between them. He smiled and laid down, leaning up on one elbow. "I think so," he said, leaning closer, kissing Draco once, lightly.

Draco took a deep, somewhat ragged breath and settled himself next to Harry. "I'm ready," he said, looking up expectantly at Harry.

Centering himself again, Harry prepared to do the sleep spell. "See you in the morning," he said softly, just before he laid his hand on Draco and whispered the words of the spell. Then he watched, fascinated, as Draco closed his eyes and relaxed into sleep under the touch of his fingers. Relaxed, Harry thought, studying the sleeping face before him. There was something missing now in that face, some ever-present hint of tension that he could recognize now only by its absence while Draco slept. He's never really relaxed except when I do these spells. And Harry felt a surge of gratitude for this gift he had, that he was able to give Draco this.

He lay propped up on one elbow gazing down at Draco's sleeping face for a very long time. He loved every line and curve of it, the bow-curve of the upper lip, impish even in sleep, the tawny arch and dusky curve of brow and lash, the straight line of the nose that curved under just so at the end. Slowly, and oh so lightly, he brushed a stray lock of pale hair back from Draco's forehead, his fingers casting little swirling sparkles of gold light into the shadow of his hand.

Shifting down a little under the bedcovers, Harry laid down on his back and stared at the ceiling, thinking. Tomorrow - they must finish the game. It had to be tomorrow - if he had to let Draco go home, he didn't want him to go like this - without making love to him. Somehow that seemed so important to Harry, and not at all for the sake of sex. He was very much in love. What if something did happen to Draco, and Harry never got to share that with him? It was a possibility he didn't want to consider. It would break his heart, he knew, beyond repair. And with that thought, he suddenly realized that this must have been what Cho had felt. For the first time, he could fully understand it, and forgiveness crept into his heart for what she had done.

He turned his head and looked at Draco, then very gently eased one arm under the sleeping boy's shoulders and pulled him close. Draco stirred in his sleep, turning over onto his side and settling closer against Harry, his hand coming to rest on Harry's chest, fingertips just below the hollow of Harry's throat. Harry closed his eyes and let the simple feeling of comfort and belonging that came from holding Draco in his arms wash through him. The now familiar low musical hum surrounded them, peaceful, lulling, and Harry felt it soothing the questions from his mind. He resisted it for a moment, then put his thoughts and hopes for tomorrow aside, and allowed the cherished solace of Draco's touch to drift him away from all of it into sleep.

* * *

They were affectionate, but subdued, with each other as they woke and got dressed for the day. Harry watched Draco when he wasn't looking, uncertain what to say. Today was their last day before Draco went home and Harry wasn't sure what to do. He desperately wanted to finish the chess game, but Draco was making no effort to do so and Harry was reluctant to push him - at least not before breakfast. Last night, it seemed he'd been much more certain what he wanted to do. After they ate, and came back, maybe he would then. . . . Pinning Draco down on anything, though, he was finding out, was like trying to catch a will-o'-the-wisp.

Harry was waiting by the door, ready to put on his Invisibility Cloak so they could go down to breakfast, when the tap-tapping came at the window. Draco, sitting in his chair by the fire, putting on his boots, looked up with an apprehensive expression that he immediately concealed.

"Sounds like you have an owl," said Harry.

Draco stood up and faced Harry, his face appearing calm, unconcerned. "I guess you should go ahead," he said. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

"Are you sure?" asked Harry, picking up something in Draco's tone of voice that worried him. "I can wait."

"No," said Draco, coming over to kiss Harry before he left. "It's fine. I'll see you down there."

* * *

Pansy was not as stupid as Draco thought. She had told herself so last night when she'd had her brilliant idea, and congratulated herself now again this morning when her little scheme worked perfectly. Draco may have set a counterspell so she couldn't put an alarm ward on the stairs outside his door, but nothing had stopped her from setting another alarm ward late last night on the stairs going down from her own door. And since Draco couldn't come down without going past her room. . . . She grinned deviously.

She intended to speak to him first thing this morning as he went down to breakfast, and wanted to catch him alone. There was, of course, the possibility that he and Potter would come down together, but she doubted it. Draco was still being secretive about this relationship or he wouldn't have pretended to go with that girl to the Yule Ball. Quite logically, Pansy had concluded that they would be cautious about being seen together. A moment ago, her ward had gone off - and just as she'd guessed, only one person had come down the stairs from Draco's room.

Pansy smirked to herself. If only one person had come down, that one had to be Potter. Draco wouldn't have come down alone and left Potter up there. She slipped outside her door, a rolled parchment in her hand. Draco would probably follow in a few moments, and when he did, she would be waiting.

* * *

Draco opened one side of the window and Lucifer stepped in, feathers ruffled from the cold. "Ah, a note from dear old Dad," he said scornfully. "And before breakfast. How touching." The owl blinked its huge, baleful, red-orange eyes resentfully at him and held out its leg. A smallish piece of parchment was attached, which Draco removed with unsteady fingers - fingers that betrayed his anxiety even if his words had not. He shooed the owl out, closed the window, and took the message over to his desk to read.

Draco,
Why haven't I heard from you? I gave you specific instructions in my last letter. Or did you forget how to read it? I expect an immediate answer.
L.M.

The contempt in that third sentence was so intense, Draco could practically hear his father's voice spitting it out. But it took him a pounding heartbeat or two to realize what his father was talking about. He'd only had one letter from his father, and then the ring had come without any letter . . . or had it? Oh . . . shit. Did you forget how to read it? Oh, God. Draco looked up. Lying discarded to one side of his desk were the two papers he'd taken from the ring. One of them had wrapped the entire packet and he ignored that one. The other, however, had been folded on the inside and had, he thought, been blank. But with a sinking feeling, Draco knew. His father had been absolutely correct. He had forgotten - not how to read a secret family message - he'd forgotten even to look for it.

A vague feeling of dread was creeping into his gut as he picked up the discarded paper and carried it over to the fireplace. Specific instructions. . . . He didn't like the sound of that. Taking out his wand, he held the paper over the fire, just above the flames, whispered a few words, and watched with grim dismay as his fears were confirmed. Letters and then sentences began to appear in a glowing, fiery script that flowed and flickered over the surface of the paper, as if fire itself wrote upon the page. Then the letters turned soot-black, burned into the paper, and Draco began to read:

This ring is a valuable Malfoy heirloom. I do not approve of your plan to give it to Potter and you will most certainly be held personally liable for its return. However, since you spoke of using an appropriate spell, I decided to ensure that this is done correctly - if we do this, there can be no mistakes. I have cast a will-sapping spell on the ring that will act to weaken Potter's resistance to us. It will not interfere with anything you intended to cast on the ring, but I believe this spell is the best, given our purpose, and is a spell you are not capable of casting. Let me know immediately by return owl when it is you plan to act - I need to make my own plans accordingly - and, of course, need I say, destroy this letter at once.
L.M.

Draco dropped the paper into the fire as if he'd been burned. He hardly noticed as it flamed and disappeared. He didn't care at all about Lucius's demands about getting the ring back. As far as he was concerned, it had been his to give, and he intended for Harry to keep it. But the will-sapping spell. . . . Draco closed his eyes as rage and despair rose up inside him. While it confirmed his guess that his father intended to use the Imperius Curse on Harry, a will-sapping spell was Dark Magic, and far beyond his knowledge to remove. Luckily, it was a slow-acting spell, so in one night the effects would not have been very noticeable, but he couldn't risk exposing Harry to it for long. And there was only one person he knew of who could help him remove a spell like that. Somehow, he was going to have to get that ring back from Harry and get Dumbledore to remove the spell without arousing their suspicions.

He had already realized he would need Dumbledore's help with some parts of his plan, and he'd carefully contrived how he could do that - in fact, he had planned to go to him this afternoon. What he'd planned to ask would have seemed reasonable and innocent enough, taken by itself. But what if Dumbledore suspected something now, because of the spell on the ring? Draco couldn't tip his hand to Dumbledore too soon, before it was too late for him to stop Draco's plan. Everything depended on that.

He sank down in one of the chairs and closed his eyes, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his hands gripping his elbows. It had been hard for him to go to Dumbledore at the beginning of the year. It had taken all of his nerve, and the amount of pride he'd swallowed had almost made him ill, but it had been necessary. There was no question in Draco's mind about the headmaster's power as a wizard. The man might act like a doddering fool at times, but his uncanny perception of things hidden and unspoken had convinced Draco otherwise. What if Dumbledore saw through him now, because of this?

Draco felt sick. Everything could fall apart. Damn his father to seven levels of bloody hell for interfering! It was a blatant insult to Draco's competence - it showed quite clearly that his father had no confidence in him or his ability to carry out his own idea. And, he thought bitterly, ironically it was now this spell on the ring that might jeopardize everything he had so carefully planned. He had to think . . . he could not fail in this. . . .

There was a knock at the door. Draco took a deep breath and willed himself to relax. It was probably Harry, coming back for something, or because he was worried, and Draco couldn't let him see that he was upset. The knock came again and Draco, hoping he could manage to look calm, went to answer the door.

But it wasn't Harry. As soon as Draco turned the knob, Pansy barged into the room. She had a piece of parchment in her hand; her face was angry and determined. "I knew you must still be up here," she said smugly. "But I got tired of waiting for you to come down." She waved the paper under Draco's nose. "This," she said imperiously, cutting off Draco's annoyed protest, "is a letter to your father. I thought he might be very interested in knowing how . . . involved . . . you've gotten with a certain Harry Potter."

Draco closed the door and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at Pansy with rising irritation. God, he didn't have time for this. He needed to figure out what to do about the ring. "Oh, so what," he snapped dismissively. "I was planning to tell him that tomorrow when I went home. Go on and send it," he challenged. "I'm sure he'll be just thrilled to hear from you."

For a second that brought Pansy up short. She'd fully expected him to want to hide this from his father. But she wasn't so easily defeated. Not yet. With Slytherin shrewdness, Pansy changed tactics. She might not have realized Draco was gay, but otherwise, she still believed she knew him very well. "Even if you plan for Lucius to know," she retorted, her chin going up defiantly, "I know you'll want to tell him yourself, not have him hear about it in a letter from me."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. He paused long enough for Pansy to fidget under his icy stare. "Tell me what you want, then," he said impatiently, cutting through all pretense. "I assume there's a price - for you not to send it."

"Of course," she said nastily. "I want to see Potter hurt and humiliated. Whatever you told Blaise about a plan for him, it can't be anything bad, since you say you love him. In fact. . . ." Pansy paused, a calculating look in her eyes. "I'm guessing you just made that up . . . as an excuse, after he saw the two of you together in Hogsmeade. But that won't work with me, Draco. I want to see you hurt Potter . . . the way you hurt me. Otherwise, I send the letter."

Draco stepped close to Pansy and touched her face. His touch was gentle but his eyes were cold, his voice when he spoke was soft and ruthless. "I never gave you any reason to think there would ever be anything between us. Did you really think I could ever love someone as . . . ordinary . . . as you?" He leaned closer, close enough to kiss her. "I never meant to hurt you, Pansy," he said. "Believe me, if I had wanted to hurt you, I would have done a far better job of it than this." His fingers trailed down her face, dropped to her hand, and calmly removed the paper from her momentarily unresisting grasp. With a disdainful sniff of a laugh, he turned and walked to the fireplace, Pansy's letter in his hand. He glanced back at her, a scornful smirk on his face, just before he tossed it into the fire.

"That won't stop me, Draco," she hissed, a flush of heat rising in her face as she realized how skillfully he'd played her, how he'd taken advantage of his effect on her. "I can write it again."

Draco considered, for a moment, the consequences of simply casting another memory spell on her, or better yet, punching her in the nose and then casting the memory spell. But he needed an excuse to get that ring back without Harry knowing the real reason why, and this might be just the ruse he was looking for - one he could blame on someone else. Leave it to Pansy to be the unwitting help he'd needed while she was trying so hard to get back at him with blackmail. It was laughable, really. But he didn't need her to know that.

He turned back to her, feigning surrender, his expression hard. "You won't have to," he said. "You're right. I want to tell my father this myself." Taking the couple of steps over to the table, Draco looked down at the chessboard for a long moment, studying it, giving himself time to think. "If I announce that I've been shagging Potter," he said finally, fixing her with a frosty glare, "and then dump him in front of everyone at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, will that satisfy you?"

Pansy grinned slowly, wickedly. "That would be perfect," she said. "Especially since afterwards, you'll have to go crawling to him to apologize and beg him to take you back." Then she frowned. "Wait a minute, "she said, a mixture of suspicion and faint hope stirring inside her. "You weren't already planning to break up with him, were you?"

"No, I was not," asserted Draco, firmly. "But they won't know that, will they?" One elegant eyebrow went up in silent conceit. "And like you said, I can make up with him later."

"You're awfully sure of yourself," sneered Pansy, her newly budding hope crushed. "What if he doesn't want you back?"

"You let me worry about that." Then he smiled at her insolently. "Who wouldn't want me back?"

She wanted to slap him. Or throw herself at him and kiss him. At the moment, she didn't know which was more tempting. But she let her anger give her the strength not to make a fool of herself again. "Fine, then," she said. "When will you do it?"

Draco glanced down at the chessboard again, studying the position of Harry's pieces. He picked up the white Bishop, the piece Harry had taken with his last move last night, and let it rest in the palm of his hand. It's my move. Then he looked up at Pansy. "I'll do it now. This morning at breakfast."

Pansy gave him another sly grin. "I'll be waiting," she said, gloating as she turned and went out the door.

Draco set the Bishop back down on the edge on the chessboard, his fingers lingering on it for a moment, then he turned and went to his desk. He picked up the letter he'd received this morning and read it again as he brought it back to the fireplace. Yes, he most certainly did want to tell his father himself. I want to see the look on his face when I tell him what I've done, he thought. He has completely underestimated me. . . . Slowly, deliberately, he crumpled the letter in his fist. He has never respected me, but now he will. Draco dropped the crushed parchment into the fire and watched it ignite, watched the edges wither and blacken and burn away until it fell into the ashes below the logs, the anger in his heart burning with it. Then he went to answer it.

Taking a clean sheet of parchment from the drawer of his desk, Draco wrote back:

Father,
Please forgive me for not answering your previous letter. I have rarely been alone and could not risk it. Things are going better than expected. I will explain everything tomorrow at home.
D.M.

Folding this letter, he walked to the window and pushed it open. Before he could whistle, Lucifer was there, silent wings outspread, bright eyes sharp. "Told you to wait for it, did he?" mocked Draco. He fastened the letter to the owl's leg. "Well, you can tell him something from me," he said under his breath, loathing bitter on his tongue, as the owl took off. "Tell him to go to hell."

With a vastly irritated sigh, he shut the window and turned to leave the room. God, he was tired of these games. He certainly didn't feel like eating now, but would have to go down to breakfast anyway. He had to go down and break up with Harry Potter.