Checkmate

You could not give me
More than you gave me.
Why should there be something in me
Still discontented?

I've been a fool to allow
Dreams to become great expectations

But if you hear today
I'm no longer
Quite so devoted
To this affair,
I've been misquoted.

Lyrics from "You and I" from Chess by Benny Anderson, Tim Rice and Björn Ulvaeus

* * *

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, poking nervously at the remnants of a poached egg and toast on his plate with his fork. Across from him, Seamus was carrying on a loud, animated discussion with Neville and Dean about their Herbology project. They'd received their marks just minutes ago from Professor Sprout and, while not the top marks in the class, they had done quite well. Ginny was sitting with Seamus and seemed to find it interesting as the three boys expounded on the details, but Harry really didn't care what would happen if a bubotuber was crossed with a Mimbulus mimbletonia. Even if it did allow a pre-diluted form of valuable bubotuber pus to be collected with a single sharp prod to the plant's stem rather than the previously tedious method of squeezing each boil, the fact that the hybrid would spew revoltingly stinky sap in all directions - sap that smelled like a combination of petrol and rancid manure - was too disgusting to contemplate. Ron, who was sitting next to Harry, seemed to find it disgusting too, and turned away to talk to Hermione about plans for their stay at the Burrow. At that point, Harry tuned everyone out.

Earlier, when he'd first sat down at the table, Harry had been the center of attention. Everyone had oohed and aahed over his ring, and Seamus had teased him unmercifully. Ron had looked on resignedly and actually managed a slightly approving grin once. Feeling elated and pleased, Harry had watched impatiently for Draco while he ate his eggs and toast. But now the success of the Herbology project had taken over the conversation. More importantly, however, it had been over half an hour since Harry had left Draco's room, and Draco hadn't come down yet. Harry was becoming increasingly concerned and wondering if he should try to go back up to find him, to see that he was okay. If that owl had been from Lucius . . .

Then finally, the doors opened and Draco walked in, making his way to the Slytherin table with his head down, without even a glance in Harry's direction. This in itself was not that troubling, but Harry was already worried and therefore watched Draco intently, hoping to catch his eye, trying to interpret from his body language what was going on. But Draco only sat down, dished up his breakfast, and ignored everyone, including Harry.

* * *

At the Slytherin table, Draco picked tensely at his breakfast, one eye fixed surreptitiously on Harry and the other on Dumbledore. So far, he had managed to avoid meeting Harry's questioning glances directly, even though he could practically feel Harry's growing concern and curiosity from across the room as the Gryffindor tried subtly, and unsuccessfully, to get his attention. He heard Pansy clear her throat meaningfully and he turned to give her an even more meaningfully stifling glare. If he had to make a scene with Harry, he wasn't about to do it in front of Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers. Even Pansy, he thought with annoyance, should be able to figure that out.

But he didn't have long to wait. Dumbledore drank the last of his tea and rose to leave the table. McGonagall stood up too, continuing her conversation with the headmaster as she accompanied him out of the hall. It was only a matter of moments before the rest of the staff finished eating and filtered out. Draco got ready to move; he had to time what he was about to do perfectly, and he was going to have to be fast. The second the doors to the Great Hall closed behind the last teacher, he got to his feet, gave Pansy a very perfunctory and patronizing glance, then strode boldly and purposefully around the House tables to where Harry sat with the Gryffindors. He didn't have much time - so he was counting a lot on Harry being quick on the uptake. Please, Harry, he thought, taking the last few steps to Harry's seat. He took a deep breath as Harry, smiling, turned to face him. Please get this.

"Bishop to F1," announced Draco in his most sneering tone. His voice was loud enough for Harry's friends to hear, but not as loud as he'd implied to Pansy he would be. Harry's friends already knew about them - he had no intention of outing them to anyone else outside that circle, and Pansy could see Harry's reaction well enough from across the room. It was all he would give her.

There was about half a heartbeat before Harry's smile faltered and confusion drew his eyebrows into a puzzled frown as he registered the chess move Draco had announced. "Wait," he said haltingly. That's not poss - "

"I'll have that ring back now, Potter," demanded Draco, cutting Harry off, his voice still loud enough for Harry's friends to hear. He held out his hand for it. "You didn't think I would really give you something like that, did you?"

A very troubled hush settled over that section of the Gryffindor table as Harry's friends, shocked to silence, waited for Harry's reply. "But you did," said Harry quietly, evenly, though his heart was suddenly pounding in his throat.

"Ha!" Draco tossed his head back and laughed contemptuously. "You're such a fool, Potter," he said, his voice mocking, full of scorn. "I only wanted to see what it would be like to shag The Boy Who Lived." He looked down on Harry with all the old infuriating hauteur of their early years plastered across his face. "And now that I have . . ." he drawled, wrinkling up his nose in disgust, "I find I've . . . lost interest." Draco sniffed, his expression shifting into frosty condescension, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Of all the shagging I've done Potter," he added with disdain, "you by far were the worst."

"But we didn't . . ." said Harry very softly, mostly to himself, thinking furiously now. And you haven't! He stood up to face Draco, questions in his eyes, searching Draco's eyes for answers. And his breath caught at what he saw in Draco's eyes, just as it had once before. Memory of another day came flooding back, of the afternoon in the birch grove by the lake, of that moment when Harry had realized that no matter how cool, or aloof, or annoying Draco appeared to be on the outside, in his eyes was the truth. Now, in spite of the words and the tone of voice and the expression on Draco's face, in those gray eyes Harry still saw everything he loved, everything he trusted, the complete opposite of what Draco was just telling him. Something wasn't right . . . and suddenly it hit him. Nothing Draco had said was true! Now - if he could just figure out what it meant -

Ron jumped up, directly behind Harry, his face turning bright red with anger. "Why you bloody . . . slimy . . . little bastard!" he hissed. He tried to lunge past Harry, going for Malfoy's throat. But Hermione, her face pale, looking aghast and betrayed, caught his arm. Harry blocked Ron, too, throwing one arm out in front of Ron's chest to hold him back.

"Don't bother, Ron," said Harry, feigning indifference, playing along now, hoping anxiously that he was guessing right about doing that, his eyes still locked on Draco's to watch for any clues. "He isn't worth it," he added coldly, pretending thinly veiled anger. The momentary spark of approval that Harry read in Draco's eyes at that, told him most of what he needed to know. He hesitated for a second, then let go of Ron and pulled off the ring. He sensed Ron bristling behind him and heard someone else's sharp intake of breath. With a feeling like the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach, he set the ring on Draco's outstretched palm.

Draco closed his fingers over the ring, but caught Harry's fingers in his grip, and for the briefest second held, and squeezed.

That fleeting pressure told Harry even more.

Then Draco brushed by them all and made his way swiftly to the doors. Once outside the Great Hall, the very instant he hit the corridor, Draco ran for the stairs. He had to catch Dumbledore before the headmaster disappeared into his office.

* * *

Harry stood quite still, immobile with shock and bewilderment, watching Draco stride from the room. It was only after Draco had vanished through the doors out into the entrance hall that Harry finally turned away. But as he did, he noticed that Pansy Parkinson was staring directly at him from the Slytherin table, smirk written all over her face. Suddenly another piece of the puzzle fell into place as Harry remembered that Pansy knew the truth about them. Judging from her gloating, self-satisfied expression, she had been watching Draco's performance and was clearly reveling in Harry's troubles. It was almost as if . . . she had known what was going to happen.

Harry sank into his seat and put his head in his hands. He had to think. And it probably wouldn't hurt, he guessed, for Pansy to think he was upset. Well, she wouldn't be wrong, he thought, I am upset. But there had to be an explanation. . . . Harry remembered what Draco had asked him the night before - "Whatever else happens, Harry . . . promise me you won't forget that I love you." And despite Draco's actions this morning, he'd seen that love in Draco's eyes just now, had felt it in that fleeting touch of their fingers on the ring.

Harry felt another gentle touch now on his shoulder.

"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Hermione in a stricken voice.

"Something's wrong," said Harry in an undertone.

"I'll say it is!" said Ron heatedly, dropping into his seat. "You stopped me from killing that slimy bastard!" Then he shuddered. "God, Harry," he groaned, "he danced Ti'kira with you! I was actually going to apologize to him! I should have known it wasn't real - "

"No!" said Harry urgently, from behind his hands. "You don't understand." He paused to take a deep breath. He had to be right about this - nothing else made sense. "Is Pansy Parkinson still sitting at the Slytherin table?" he asked.

"She's just going out the door . . . with Crabbe and Goyle and Zabini," said Hermione slowly, perplexed by Harry's question. "Why? What does that matter?"

"Just listen," said Harry, raising his head to look at his friends. His expression was taut and worried, but determined. "What happened last night was real. Draco didn't mean anything he said this morning - I'm certain of it." He gazed around at the circle of worried faces surrounding him and tried to explain. "What Draco said about us . . . shagging . . . wasn't true." Harry felt his face go warm, but he ignored that, as well as Seamus's owl-eyed reaction, and pressed on, thinking out loud. "And that chess move he made - it wasn't possible. I just took that Bishop . . . and his King is on F1 - so it wasn't a real move. That means taking back the ring wasn't real either."

"I don't understand," said Hermione, now even more confused. "What does a chess move have to do with it?"

"Never mind," said Harry. "It's just the way we've been playing - each move has a . . . meaning." He ran one hand through his already unruly hair. "But it must be some kind of a hint," he said, gazing earnestly first at Ron and then at Hermione. "Draco told Pansy about us last night and just now, after Draco left, I noticed she was watching. It looked like she was gloating, so I think she knew what was going on. Maybe she even had a hand in it. But Draco also got an owl just as I left his room this morning . . . that might have been from his father." He paused. "Something is definitely wrong, but not between me and Draco. I'm afraid he might be in trouble."

"That's rubbish, Harry!" protested Ron. "I don't know how you can still believe - "

"I know what I know," insisted Harry, cutting Ron off. "Maybe I can't explain it well enough, but I know he was faking everything he did this morning." Harry rose decisively to his feet. "I've got to go find him."

"We'll come with you," stated Hermione, standing up too. "In case he is in trouble and you need help. Won't we, Ron?"

"I'll say we will," said Ron vehemently, shooting to his feet. "In case someone needs to be killed."

"Let us know if we can help," volunteered Seamus, still looking rather startled and upset but giving Ron a disapproving look. Dean and Neville nodded in agreement. Ginny was biting her bottom lip and looked troubled, but also nodded.

Harry smiled at his friends, feeling somewhat reassured. "Thanks," he said simply, grateful for their support and willingness to believe him.

They all left the Great Hall, Harry in the lead. At the main stairs, they split up - Ron and Hermione went with Harry to the Slytherin tower, while the group with Seamus went back to the Gryffindor common room, promising to look for Malfoy on the way. But as Harry and his two friends approached the entrance to the Slytherin tower, they could see Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle loitering inside the alcove, blocking the stairs.

"Wait!" whispered Hermione, urgently. She took hold of Harry and Ron and dragged them back against the wall before the Slytherins could see them. She ignored Ron's muttered complaint and turned directly to Harry.

"I should go talk to them, Harry," she said, pleading a little, but definitely taking charge. "They probably won't let you go up there and you don't want to start a fight. I'm Head Girl and Draco is a prefect. They'll have to let me go up. Let me see if I can find out what's going on first. Maybe I can talk Draco into coming down."

Harry reluctantly agreed, but only conditionally. "I've got to talk to him, Hermione," he said firmly. "Regardless of what you find out, if he won't come down, I'm going up. I don't care who is standing in the way."

Ron's eyes lit up again with the possibility of a confrontation with the Slytherins and he grinned at Harry. If he couldn't punch Malfoy, he didn't mind finding a nearby substitute.

Hermione gave them both stern looks, but she knew she couldn't stop Harry from trying to go up to talk to Draco. Ron, however, was another story, and she fastened her most stern look on him. "Both of you go back and stay out of sight until I find out what's going on," she said. "I'll come find you as soon as I know something." She watched them until they were out of sight down the corridor, then turned and marched resolutely toward the alcove, ready to face the Slytherins. She could overhear their conversation as she walked up.

"How much longer do we have to stand here?" whined Goyle. "I wanted to go to Honeydukes to get stuff to take home to eat over the holidays."

"Yeah," agreed Crabbe. "So did I."

"Just until Pansy comes back down," said Zabini irritably. "She wanted a chance to talk to Draco and doesn't want to be interrupted by -" He cut his words off in mid-sentence when he spotted Hermione. Aiming an arrogant smirk at Crabbe and Goyle, he crossed his arms over his chest and planted himself dead center in the middle of the alcove doorway. Crabbe and Goyle did the same on either side of him, effectively blocking any way in. "Look what we have here," taunted Zabini, as she came to a stop in front of them. "Something mangy strayed over from Gryffindor."

Crabbe and Goyle snickered.

Hermione felt her cheeks go warm, but she looked Zabini straight in the eye, undaunted by his heckling. "I have Head Girl business with Malfoy," she said tartly.

"Well now, isn't that just too bad," drawled Zabini. "Malfoy is busy and doesn't want to be disturbed."

Crabbe snickered again, but Goyle looked puzzled and leaned forward and whispered loudly, "But, I thought it was Pansy that didn't - "

Zabini jabbed backwards with his elbow, giving Goyle a swift and very effective memory adjustment straight to the gut.

"Ooof," said Goyle, his fat cheeks puffing out and his eyes bulging like an inflated fish.

Hermione cleared her throat loudly in annoyance and put her hands on her hips. For a long moment, she just stared at the three of them in silence. Then in her best, most threatening and most intimidating Head Girl Voice, she said slowly, "Unless you three want to spend the rest of the afternoon scrubbing out all the toilets in the Gryffindor dorm . . ."

Zabini's eyes crossed slightly and his upper lip curled up, but he didn't budge.

"With . . . your . . . toothbrushes," added Hermione, enunciating each word, "I suggest you let me by. Now!"

Somebody stifled a gag and Zabini's confident stance visibly drooped. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to shrink back, slinking away into the shadows of the alcove. But before Zabini could actually move out of her way, footsteps were heard coming down the stairs behind them.

Pansy, obviously quite put out, flounced into the alcove, saying loudly, "I walked all the way up those bloody stairs and he's not even up there!" She saw Hermione and stopped short. "What do you want?" she demanded huffily, pushing past Zabini to confront the other girl.

"To see Malfoy," repeated Hermione in her most authoritative tone. "Important Head Girl business."

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "He's not in his room. I just checked." She glared at Hermione. "And I don't know why you have to keep pestering him all the time - after all, he's not the only prefect in the school."

"I 'pester' him because by rights he should have been Head Boy," said Hermione caustically. "And because I trust his judgment a great deal more than that big-headed Ravenclaw idiot who is Head Boy."

Something shifted in Pansy's eyes at that, a softening from dislike to grudging approval. "You'll have to look for him then, if it's so important. He isn't here." A faint expression of concern crossed Pansy's face. "I don't know where he went."

Hermione studied Pansy's face thoughtfully a moment longer. "If you see him, tell him to come find me," she said. "I'll be in the Gryffindor common room, waiting." She turned on her heel and walked away to find Harry and Ron. Harry was not going to be happy about this.

She found them sitting on the bottom step of the main stairs. Harry jumped up anxiously and came to meet her.

"Did you talk to him?" he asked immediately.

"No. According to Pansy, he isn't in his room."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "And you took her word for it?" he asked in disbelief.

"I heard her say so before she knew I was there," said Hermione, explaining patiently. "And she was worried herself - I saw it in her face. She didn't know where he was, either."

Harry sighed. "Bloody hell," he whispered, disappointment and concern flooding through him. He looked up at Hermione and Ron with distress and then stubborn determination in his eyes. "I have to go look for him, then."

Hermione nodded. "I asked Pansy to tell Draco to come find me in the Gryffindor common room if she sees him. So I'll go wait there." She paused for a second as if making up her mind about something, then spoke firmly to Harry. "I think you should take Ron with you. I know you trust Draco, and so do I, but you still need to be careful. Maybe he is in trouble and he was trying to warn you with all those false statements this morning." She looked up at Ron, put a hand on his arm, and took a deep breath. "Just promise me you won't get into a fight."

"I'll do whatever I have to," protested Ron hotly, "to protect Harry. If that includes killing Malfoy, then . . ." He trailed off at Hermione's furious, disapproving stare. "Okay, okay," he said, relenting slightly, "I'll only kill him if he doesn't make up with Harry!" Then he turned away mumbling to himself. "God, I must be going mental. I can't believe I just said that . . ."

Harry hesitated. He really didn't want to chance another angry confrontation between Ron and Draco, and if they found Draco, he most definitely wanted the conversation to be private. But Hermione, as usual, was probably right. If Draco had been trying to warn him about some kind of trouble, he shouldn't walk into it alone. He nodded at Ron. "Okay," he said. "I think we should start with the dungeons."

Ron groaned at the thought of having to go traipsing around in the dank, gloomy dungeons. "You know," he grumbled, "if you still had the Marauder's Map, we wouldn't have to go through this - looking all over for that . . . that . . . two-faced ferret."

"Ron, don't call him that!" said Harry, offended.

Ron made an annoyed, but repentant face. "I just think it's really rotten that Dumbledore made you lock it up in Gringotts last year," he said. "We could have used it."

"That map was dangerous!" declared Hermione angrily. "I thought so from the first. If someone in league with Voldemort had gotten hold of it . . . no one, particularly Harry, would have been safe. The headmaster was absolutely right to have it locked up! If you ask me, it should have been turned in ages ago and -"

"Stop," said Harry, exasperated. "Please. There's no point in arguing about it now." He looked at Ron. "I've got to go. Are you going to help me or not?"

"Yes," said Ron firmly. "I'm not letting you go off alone."

"Please, both of you, just be careful," said Hermione quietly, as the boys headed down to the dungeons.

By lunchtime, however, there was no sign of Draco. Ron and Harry had searched the dungeons, even creeping very cautiously down to listen outside Professor Snape's office. They'd searched all the other classrooms upstairs and the Astronomy Tower. At noon, they'd finally given up and come to the Great Hall to meet Hermione for lunch, hoping Draco would show up there. But to Harry's increasing distress, the Slytherin never appeared.

At last, when the tables were about to be cleared, Harry, with Hermione's help, made several sandwiches out of the meat and bread on the table that he wrapped in napkins to pack in his bookbag. "I'm going back to the dorm to get some things," said Harry, "then I'm going to wait for him in his room. Alone." He was clearly upset and disheartened, but his voice, now that he'd made up his mind, was steady, and he held up his hand to forestall any argument. "He has to come back there sooner or later. If he shows up first to find you in the common room, you can tell him where I am."

Hermione silently nodded her agreement. She was quickly becoming ready to help Ron strangle Draco herself for putting Harry through this.

The three walked back to the Gryffindor common room together in depressed silence. When Harry had collected his things, Ron walked back down with him to the bottom of the main stairs in the entrance hall. "Be careful, Harry," he said quietly. "I'm going to wait here to watch for Malfoy - if he misses Hermione upstairs, I can tell him where you are."

Harry swallowed at a lump in his throat, very grateful for Ron's help today. "Thanks," he said softly. He looked up at Ron's still angry, but also very concerned expression. "Don't worry," he said resolutely. "If he does actually mean to break up with me, with no better explanation than he gave this morning, I'll kill him myself."

* * *

It was not quite an hour after lunch when Pansy's alarm ward went off. She rushed out of her room and called up the stairs when she didn't see anyone. "Draco?" No one answered and a second later, she called again, louder. "Potter? I know you're there!"

Harry, already around the turning of the spiral stairs where she couldn't see him, stopped. He'd passed her door hurriedly, but he was sure he'd been careful not to make any noise. . . . Then, too late, he remembered what she'd told Draco in Potions class yesterday morning. "I set an alarm ward on the stairs outside your door . . ." So, she'd obviously done it again.

"He's not up there!" shouted Pansy.

Harry, infuriated after the miserable morning he'd just spent, threw off the Invisibility Cloak, dropped his bookbag and marched back down the stairs, pulling out his wand. "Where is he, then?" he practically yelled.

"How should I know?" Pansy retorted as Harry appeared, jumping down the last two steps and striding wrathfully across the landing to face her. "I haven't seen him since . . ." She grinned cattily. "Not since that lovely little breakup scene at breakfast."

"Parkinson, so help me," threatened Harry, raising his wand, "I'll hex your hair to match your scheming green Slytherin heart. What do you know about that?"

Pansy shrank back a step at the sight of Harry's wand, but her chin came up boldly. "I know everything about it," she sneered. "He did it for me."

"Don't make me laugh," said Harry roughly. "I know he told you about us - I know you know the truth. What did you do?"

"Oh, nothing really," she said with an impudent little shrug and a sly grin, "- just a little mild . . . persuasion."

"Blackmail, you mean," said Harry curtly. He stuck his wand in her face. "What . . . did . . . you . . . do?"

She held her ground this time. He could threaten her all he wanted, she didn't care. She wasn't stupid enough to believe he would actually hex her, and she was certainly not going to be so easily intimidated. But she paused, stung by the situation. It was so terribly unfair. She'd lost Draco, and now Potter was trying to steal even this morning's little bit of triumph from her by being so belligerent about it. "He hurt me, Potter," she said defensively, suddenly quite angry herself. "I just wanted to -"

"What? Hurt him back?" Harry looked down at her, vastly aggravated and impatient. "Or was it me you wanted to hurt?"

"Yes, you," snapped Pansy, glaring. "Not him. Never him."

"Well, it didn't work," declared Harry. "I knew he didn't mean it."

"Oh, good for you," she said heatedly. "But you don't know where he is! You've been upset and worried all morning thinking something was wrong. Your friends are all stirred up. I'd say it worked just fine." She looked Harry straight in the eyes, meaning to be insolent and fierce, matching her anger to his, daring him to make good on his threat. But. . . .

Oh. . . .

Her breath caught suddenly and her heart tripped, stumbling abruptly into traitorous territory. Oh, God. . . . His eyes were so green, so clear and vibrant and vivid with anger, so . . . arresting. She felt a slow heat creep into her face . . . and understood in that moment exactly how Draco might have discovered love in the midst of all his furious sparring with this boy. Harry Potter, in a face-to-face challenge like this, was riveting, electric, thrillingly self-possessed, with an undercurrent of raw strength and power virtually sparking in the air around him - everything that would attract Draco.

Everything that she was not. Draco's words from this morning came back to her, the truth they contained undeniable. "Did you really think I could ever love someone as . . . ordinary . . . as you?"

Her angry words faltered and died and melted into something unexpected. "I just want to know one thing," said Pansy, swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat, conscious of the fact that if she'd intended to be defiant, she was failing spectacularly. "Do you really love him?"

"I love him," said Harry, his words precise, emphatic. "More than you could imagine."

Pansy turned her face away, biting down on her bottom lip. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "He was supposed to be with me," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

With a pained sigh, Harry let his arm fall, so his wand was no longer aimed at her. "That was never going to happen, you know. Even if he wasn't with me. . . ." He tried to say it kindly, but a world of exasperation was right under the surface of his words.

Turning back, she faced him, a desperate kind of curiosity in her eyes. "Is he different?" she asked hesitantly. "When you're alone together? When you and he . . . you know. . . ." She paused, looked down at the floor. "I always thought if he loved . . . someone, he would be different. Warm . . . maybe even . . . gentle."

Harry studied her downcast face for a moment, his anger slipping away at her words into the familiar aching emptiness of missing Draco, wanting to hold him, needing his touch. "He is," he said, his voice low, constricted. "He's exactly like that."

"I wanted that from him. . . ." She sighed. "At least I was right about something." She looked back up at Harry, then gave a short sarcastic laugh. "Ha! Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy," she taunted. "Lovers! God, who would ever have believed that! Last thing I knew you wanted to rip each other into gory little bits. How in the world did you manage it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm sure that someday we can all sit down and have a nice chat about how it happened," he said, annoyance surfacing sharply again. "But right now I need to find him. Don't you have any idea where he is?"

"None," said Pansy, telling the truth but inwardly pleased that she didn't know. She might have to concede defeat to Potter in this; still, it wouldn't do to actually help him.

"Bloody hell," muttered Harry, turning away. He walked across the landing and sat down on the bottom step of the stairs leading up to Draco's room, elbows propped on his knees, head in his hands. "Where could he be?"

After a moment, Pansy came over and sat down next to him. "I suppose," she said grudgingly, "if it couldn't be me, I should be glad it's you that he's with - I mean you are the bloody famous Harry Potter - at least I didn't have to give him up to a nobody. I couldn't have stood it if he'd really been with that sixth year."

Harry gave her a look of profound irritation and stood up. "I'm going to wait for him up in his room," he said decisively. He went up about three steps, then paused and turned around. "If you really care about him, Parkinson," he said, "you could try being his friend. And friends don't blackmail friends."

* * *

When Harry got up to Draco's room, he relit the fire in the hearth, and then found himself at a complete loss. It was snowing outside again, and Harry stood for a bit with his elbows propped on Draco's windowsill, watching as the fat, heavy, swirling snowflakes quickly covered the grounds. But the snow only reminded him of that wonderful day he'd spent with Draco flying over the forests beyond Hogsmeade. That thought made him suddenly remember that he'd left his Firebolt here in Draco's room. He turned around to look for it and found it leaning with Draco's Nimbus Two Thousand and One in the corner by Draco's bookshelf.

Wandering over there, he scanned the titles of the books on Draco's shelves. There was, of course, the massive Potions Through the Ages: A Historical Encyclopedia, that Draco had used the night they'd attempted to make the Hex Mirror Potion. Next to it was Old English Lybcraeft: The Secrets of Magical Herblore, and Poisons and Explosives: How to Avoid Deadly Mixtures in Potion-making, then Cockayne's Leechdoms, Wortcunning and Starcraft of Early England in three volumes. Harry had to admit that Draco had a very impressive collection of potions manuals and references on potions ingredients, including all seven years of their Potions class textbooks - but there was nothing there of much interest to him.

Finally, he cast himself down into the armchair by the fire and stared at the chessboard on the table. He studied the pieces again, reconfirming what he'd known this morning - that the move Draco had made was completely impossible. There was no way, he knew, that Draco would have made such a mistake, so it had to have been deliberate, had to be some kind of a hint. Harry also looked at the move Draco had almost made last night before the Yule Ball, and shook his head. What had Draco called it? Suicide? It was indeed.

So that gave Draco only one other possible move, a move that left Harry with a potentially long chase ahead to capture Draco's King. Harry realized now with an unsetting sense of foreboding and deep disappointment, that they probably wouldn't have time to finish the game before Draco left tomorrow morning. Maybe hidden within all those possible future moves, Draco did have some brilliant and clever strategy that he couldn't see yet, but it was pointless to stare at it. It was Draco's move, and not being able to do anything only increased his frustration. He leaned back in the chair, feeling tense and dejected, and gazed morosely into the fire. Where could Draco have possibly disappeared to so completely?

* * *

Draco was running again, taking the steps in the Slytherin tower two at a time like he had after the Yule Ball the night before. It was mid-afternoon and he hadn't seen Harry all day. If it hadn't been for his father's damn interfering and that bloody spell on the ring, he thought angrily, they would have had all morning together. Instead he'd had to spend the entire morning waiting for Dumbledore to see him, and then had to explain everything, and after that had to wait for the spell on the ring to be carefully taken care of, and finally, he had to talk Dumbledore into giving him what he needed to carry out his plan for his father, and then wait for that. It had taken hours.

Dumbledore had been very understanding, very helpful and concerned - had in other words played exactly into Draco's scheme. The headmaster had even gone so far as to order lunch for the two of them up to his office. Draco felt more than a little guilty over deceiving the old wizard, but he reminded himself yet again that he had no choice. And all the while, he'd been worried about Harry - about what Harry must be thinking as the hours dragged slowly by. Draco was almost sure that Harry had understood him this morning, but doubt and anxiety kept creeping in to torment him.

After he'd finally left Dumbledore's office, he had gone directly to the Gryffindor common room looking for Harry. At least, he had thought, the friendship they'd declared at the Yule Ball had given him the right to do that. But the Fat Lady in the portrait over the entrance had flatly refused to let him even poke his head in to ask for Harry. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, she informed him indignantly, had left well over an hour ago and had not returned, and unless he knew the password . . .

"Then let me talk to Hermione Granger," he'd insisted, trying not to lose patience and make some wild, embarrassing and vain attempt to jerk the portrait off the wall in frustration. "She's Head Girl and I'm a prefect," he added, grasping at anything that might convince the obstinate portrait. "I've got to ask her something - it's important!"

He'd looked so desperate at that point that the Fat Lady gave in, opening up just enough to allow him to look into the common room.

To Draco's profound relief, he'd found Granger there waiting for him. Harry, she told him acerbically, had gone to Draco's own room to wait, having spent the entire morning searching for him, believing that Draco hadn't really meant what he had said that morning. Draco assured her that Harry had been right and that he would go back to his room immediately to straighten things out between them. It was then that he'd started running again, racing headlong down the long shifting staircases, only to be brought up short by Weasley at the bottom of the main stairs outside the Great Hall.

He'd shaken the angry redhead off with a rough explanation: he'd been to see Dumbledore about going home; yes, he and Harry were fine; he hadn't been trying to warn Harry about anything dangerous; it was all Pansy's fault and could he just go and see Harry now . . . please. That please had practically stuck in his throat, but Weasley had let him go. Draco had taken off again, running flat out down the corridor to the Slytherin tower alcove. As he sprinted up the stairs past Pansy's door, he heard it open, but he was already four, then six, steps up, around the turning, and she didn't call out. He wouldn't have stopped anyway.

* * *

Harry still sat in the chair in Draco's room, his eyes closed, tired from staring into the fire. He pulled his glasses off for a moment, to rub the bridge of his nose. It was nearly two-thirty in the afternoon and no one had seen Draco since he'd left the Great Hall after breakfast. Harry was on the verge of becoming distraught, and alternative plans were beginning to form in his mind. He was just about to convince himself that waiting here was not a good idea after all, and that he should let the headmaster know that Draco was missing, when he heard running footsteps and the door flew open behind him. For a second he was frozen, afraid to believe - he'd waited so long. . . . "Draco?" he called, his voice breaking a little. Then he bolted up from the chair to see.

Draco was standing just inside the open door, his hand still on the latch, pale hair falling into his eyes. "Harry?" he said, a little breathless from running. They stared at each other for about a second, then Draco, letting the door swing shut behind him, stepped swiftly across the space between them and threw his arms around Harry's neck. Harry's arms came up around Draco's back and they held each other tightly for several long minutes, just hanging on, until Draco, finally catching his breath, said, "You understood my hints? You knew I didn't mean what I said at breakfast?"

"Yes," said Harry pulling back and brushing the hair away from Draco's eyes. "I got the hints." And I saw the truth in your eyes, he thought to himself.

"They were good hints, weren't they," said Draco with a relieved smile, pride in his own cleverness clear in his tone of voice. "But I was worried all day," he added seriously, "afraid that you might not have understood."

Harry laughed, exasperated. "You were worried! Draco, I've been out my bloody mind with worry. No one knew where you were!" All the frustration of the long morning's search and the afternoon spent waiting washed through Harry. "I might have understood this morning that you didn't really mean to break up with me," he went on, voicing his pent-up questions, "but I still don't know why. And when you disappeared like that . . . and we couldn't find you, I was afraid all kinds of things had happened to you!" He paused and took a deep breath. "I want to know what's going on."

"I know," said Draco, leaning in to kiss Harry. "I'll tell you . . . in a minute." He managed to steal a short kiss before Harry pulled away again.

"Now," said Harry, but his tone had softened from the kiss. "I know it had something to do with Pansy - I saw her on the stairs, but why? What did she do? And where have you been all day? I've been looking all over for you." His voice quivered slightly. "I thought we'd have the whole day together. I was afraid - that the owl this morning was from your father - that you were in trouble."

Draco shook his head. "The owl was from my father, but it's okay - he was just angry because I hadn't written to him like he'd asked me to, so I had to answer it before I came down to breakfast." He paused for a second, meeting Harry's questioning green eyes unwaveringly. "As for Pansy, she came up here," he explained, "just after you left, and threatened to tell my father about us. She'd written a letter to him and wanted a scene in exchange for her silence. So I gave it to her." He smiled a quick mischievous half-smile. "Though I'm afraid I quite neglected to tell her about the hints." Then his expression turned solemn as he pulled the ring out of his pocket and held out his hand for Harry's hand. "I'm sorry for taking this," he said softly. "It's still yours."

"She was going to tell your father!" breathed Harry, startled and alarmed. "Oh God," he said, remembering the conversation he'd had with Pansy in the stairwell. "She said she'd wanted to hurt me and I . . . I told her it didn't work - that I knew all along you didn't mean it. She said she thought it worked just fine . . . but do you think she'll send the letter now anyway," he asked anxiously, "because of what I said?" He put his hand in Draco's hand almost absently and let Draco slide the ring back on his finger.

"No," said Draco with certainty. "For one thing, I don't think she really meant to send it at all. She just wanted to cause trouble, and if she knew you were running around upset and looking for me, she got what she wanted. Besides," he grinned smugly, "I took the letter from her and burned it. She'd have to write it all over again and knowing Pansy, that would be too much bother." He squeezed Harry's hand. "But now," he added, urgency surfacing in his voice, his grin fading quickly again into deadly seriousness, "promise me you won't ever take this ring off again. Not for any reason . . . no matter what happens."

"Okay," said Harry, looking down at the small ornate silver dragon that encircled his finger. "I promise. But, why?"

"It's very important to me, that's all," said Draco earnestly. "To know you have it on, while I'm gone."

"I'll wear it every minute then," said Harry with a reassuring smile.

Draco smiled back and drew Harry into his arms to kiss him again.

This time Harry didn't pull away for some time, allowing the kiss and the comfort of Draco's body pressed against his own to soothe the tension he still felt from the morning's stress.

"To answer your second question," Draco continued, slightly breathless after they parted, "I've been with Dumbledore all morning. I talked to him about me going home. I told him how worried you were."

"Finally!" exclaimed Harry, very pleased with this news. "And . . . he told you to stay here, right?" he asked hopefully.

"No. But I asked him to make me this." Draco stepped back, pulling gently out of Harry's embrace and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small coin that resembled a silver sickle. "It's a Portkey to that old hub we found on the way to Hogsmeade," he said. "Dumbledore made it with a trigger word to activate it - if anything happens, all I have to do is hold on to it and say the word. I'll keep it with me every minute, Harry, I promise."

Draco took a deep breath, knowing that the next thing he was going to say was pivotal, the first step in actually bringing Harry into what he had planned for his father. He met Harry's vivid green eyes with an expression he hoped would pass convincingly for honesty and said, "But, since I have it, I've decided not to stay home for the entire holiday, even if nothing happens. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to get away on the day after Christmas, late in the afternoon, maybe as early as three o'clock."

"Won't that make your father even more suspicious?" asked Harry, surprised. "That you go home for two days and then vanish suddenly to come back here?"

"He expects me to be home for Christmas Day," explained Draco, "but then, I hope, he'll be leaving. After that, it won't matter. If I have to, I'll think of an excuse to tell him, about coming back early - that I have to study or something." Draco put the Portkey back in his pocket. "Will you meet me there?" he asked, practically holding his breath. "At the Portkey hub?" Harry's answer to this was critical.

"Yes, of course I will," Harry assured him. "But Draco, why there? Why didn't Dumbledore make a Portkey to bring you straight back to the castle?"

"Because we can't trust my father," Draco said gravely. "If this Portkey fell into the wrong hands somehow . . . and they forced me to tell. . . ."

Harry nodded, understanding. ". . . they could get inside Hogwarts."

"Right."

Harry sighed. It wasn't what he would have preferred, but it was much better than having Draco gone for the entire holiday. "Okay," he said. "Unless I hear otherwise, I'll be there to meet you," he promised. "The day after Christmas, at three o'clock." He smiled. "Then we'll have the castle almost all to ourselves for days."

Draco smiled too, and moved close to hold Harry again, but the smile disappeared as soon as they embraced and he knew Harry couldn't see his face. His heart was aching - from hiding the truth, from knowing the truth. He wished he didn't have to let Harry believe they would be together after Christmas. He wished it could be true. He wanted to promise Harry they would have those days after Christmas, and all the days after that, together for the rest of their lives, but in reality, it would all be over on the day after Christmas at three o'clock. Their future ended precisely then. And every minute that passed brought them closer to that end, every minute that passed made it harder for Draco to shut out the thoughts that tormented him. He laid his head on Harry's shoulder, feeling tired and hurt. Harry now expected to spend the holidays with him, and Draco, knowing what would really happen instead, shivered.

"Draco?" asked Harry softly, feeling that shiver. "Are you okay?"

"I missed you," said Draco in a low voice. "I'm sorry I was gone so long - I didn't know it would take so long," he added, suddenly sorry for a thousand other things as well. He lifted his head to meet Harry's concerned gaze. "Now most of our last day has gone."

"Never mind," said Harry, kissing him lightly, one hand reaching up to touch his face. "We have all of tonight, and then in two days you'll be back."

Draco didn't reply; he just kissed Harry back, ardently.

Harry's arms went around Draco, holding him close, melting into this kiss. He felt secure and comforted again; all his questions answered. Suddenly, just knowing that Draco would be back so much sooner than expected, knowing that they would have time alone together over the holidays, made him feel so much better. If they could just get through the next two days of separation. . . .

He felt Draco's tongue gently teasing his lower lip and he opened his mouth, welcoming that soft invasion, deepening the kiss. Little sparks and shivers thrilled through him - and his arms tightened, pressing Draco closer. Oh God, he wanted this, wanted Draco so much. He remembered what he had been thinking the night before as he'd held Draco asleep in his arms. Draco would only be gone for two days, but he still might not be safe, and Harry couldn't accept the thought of parting from him, even for that short time, without making love to him.

Harry pulled slowly out of the kiss and opened his eyes to look at Draco's face. For a few seconds, Draco kept his eyes closed, then he opened them, velvet gray kindling with warmth and desire, and Harry sighed softly. "Let's please finish the chess game," he said, his words a breath across Draco's cheek as he bent his head to kiss Draco again. "We only have tonight before you leave. And it's your turn."

Draco closed his eyes again and took a deep breath, pausing for a long moment before he answered. "No," he said quietly. He looked up then, meeting Harry's eyes squarely. "I want to save my next move . . . until I come back."

Harry was caught completely off guard by this. "What?" he said, shocked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We'll finish the game when I come back," Draco reiterated, still quietly, a wash of pain in his eyes.

All the times that Draco had avoided this issue, evading Harry's questions or giving reasons that didn't really explain anything, came suddenly rushing back; all the frustration of wanting Draco and not knowing why the other boy was stalling welled up again inside Harry, and he pulled out of Draco's loosened embrace, hurt. He had known there was a possibility they couldn't finish the game tonight, but now Draco was saying he wouldn't even take his next turn! A memory surfaced unbidden - Ron's voice saying: "Maybe he's stalling because he doesn't want to - and he's just having you on with this relationship - while he's really plotting something else - "

Harry turned, took a step away, and for a second he was close to picking up his bookbag and walking out. But Draco touched his arm and he knew that leaving was really the last thing he wanted to do.

"Harry, I just need to wait."

"When you started this, Draco," said Harry in a low voice, "you said you would be honest with me." He glanced back at Draco, not willing to be put off any longer for an explanation. "You keep saying you want to be with me, but then you keep finding reasons to avoid it. Now you say you need to wait. Was all that talk of wanting to wait so I wasn't rushed just a lie - "

Draco hesitated, but seemed to sense that Harry would not accept his evasions any longer. "Not exactly . . ." he murmured.

"Then what, exactly?" Harry asked, his anger rising. "That it was all a lie? That you had no intention of making love with me?"

"No! I can barely think of anything else," said Draco, his voice tight, constricted with emotion. He turned away and walked to the window. "I've wanted you for so long," he said in a hushed voice. "You have no idea."

Harry came to stand several steps behind him, his anger vanishing as quickly as it had come at Draco's words. The air seemed to tremble from the depth of emotion running between them, and Harry felt it, like a fluttering quiver against his heart. "I think I have a very good idea," he said softly. "So why?" he asked again, his voice quiet, but desperate. "All this time, there's been something you haven't told me. Just tell me. Please."

"What if something does happen when I go home?" asked Draco, staring out the window. Swirling snowflakes brushed against the window pane and melted without a sound. He turned his head to look at Harry over his shoulder. "Even with that Portkey, something could go wrong," he said, his voice taut. "What if I don't come back, can't come back?"

"Draco, that's exactly what I'm afraid of," said Harry, his fear and frustration instantly flaring up again. "That's exactly why I don't want you to go!"

"And I thought we had settled that!" replied Draco, his gray eyes flashing, a reflection of the same frustration Harry felt. "I told you. I have to go!"

"But now it sounds like you're fairly certain something will happen!" accused Harry. His voice shook.

"You know what my father is," said Draco in an aggrieved tone, turning away to look out the window again. "I can't be sure of anything," he added bitterly.

Harry sighed inwardly, torn between not wanting to hurt Draco or argue with him and needing to know why Draco was determined to postpone the intimacy they both wanted so badly. The pain in Draco's words touched him deeply, but he couldn't stop his questions. He had to understand this. He walked to the window to stand next to Draco and in a gentler voice asked, "But what does that have to do with what you told me before - that you wanted me to be sure?" He paused and took a deep breath. "I think there's still something you're not telling me, and that scares me," he said, pressing Draco for an answer. "What are you trying to protect me from? And don't bother denying that - I felt it last night."

There was a long silence as Draco struggled with an answer.

Harry waited him out.

"I didn't want to be like that girl you were with," said Draco finally, still staring out the window. "I didn't want to hurt you like she did. You said you regretted being with her. Then you said you wanted it to mean forever with me." He took a ragged breath and his head dropped a little, his hair falling forward to hide his eyes. "I couldn't bear it if something happened to me so that I couldn't come back . . . and what you remembered about us was that you regretted it." He turned his face to Harry, brushing his hair back with one slender hand, his troubled eyes as gray and cloudy as a stormy sky. "If we make love, I wanted to be sure it really could mean forever."

Harry remembered Draco's soft words from that night they had talked about Cho - "If that happens between us, Harry, I promise it will mean forever for me," and was stunned and touched to the heart.

"I just wanted to be sure I came back before. . . ." Draco's words trailed off and he looked away.

With a feeling of relief and then affectionate exasperation for the fact that only Draco could possibly find a way to needlessly complicate something this much, Harry moved closer to Draco. "But I understand why she did it now," he said earnestly. "I don't regret it now." His heart turned over at the anxious tension evident in the straight stiff line of Draco's back. "God, Draco, how could you imagine I would regret making love with you?" he asked softly. "I know how uncertain things are." He laid his hand lightly between Draco's shoulder blades, rubbed gently at that tension with his thumb, and felt Draco stir at his touch. "Don't you know that if anything happened to you now, what I would regret for the rest of my life would be the future we never got to have, all the things we never got to do together?"

Draco dropped his head down on his arms on the windowsill, heartsick. He'd known this deep down, but had selfishly ignored it, even while believing he was trying to prevent it. He'd wanted to keep Harry from being too involved, from getting hurt, and had failed. He had wanted everything that Harry would give him, and because of that he had allowed Harry to get far closer than he should have. Now it was much too late to stop it. Nothing was going to save Harry from being hurt now.

"Draco, love," said Harry, his voice low, full of warmth. "I understand now why you wanted to wait, and if you still do, that's okay." He lifted his hand and gently stroked the soft, blond hair down the back of Draco's neck. Then he said the words that finally shattered Draco's resolve. "But what if this is all the time we have? What if the only memories I will ever get to keep of us are the ones from this week? Please don't make this something else we never got to share with each other."

Draco lifted his head and turned to face Harry, and in Draco's eyes Harry saw pain and desire and a desperate hope so strong that Harry needed no words to tell him what Draco was going to ask, or what answer he needed to hear.

"You wouldn't regret it, then . . . if we did?"

"Never," whispered Harry. "I've been telling you that for days."

They stared at each other for a long suspended moment. Draco dropped his eyes, the color in his cheeks high.

Harry took a deep breath, knowing that everything depended on his next question . . . and on Draco's answer. He drew Draco to him, his hands resting lightly on Draco's shoulders. "What do you want to do?" he asked.

"Make up for lost time," replied Draco softly, looking up, his heart in his eyes. He reached for Harry and Harry was right there, in his arms, his, all his, with no more reservations.

Harry's arms went around Draco's neck and they stood holding each other for a long time, faces pressed ear to cheek, just breathing, just knowing. Then Harry kissed and nuzzled Draco's ear and asked in a whisper, "Now what?"

Draco smiled against the side of Harry's face. "Why are you asking me?" he whispered back. "You're the one with experience here."

"With a girl, Draco," said Harry with a bit of a laugh. "Which you are not." He pulled back just enough to see Draco's face, and his heart skipped a beat at Draco's soft, amused smile, at the anticipation shining in the light gray eyes.

"Most definitely not," agreed Draco with a low sultry laugh, his arms tightening around Harry's waist, pressing their bodies closer together, his head tilting as he leaned forward to kiss Harry.

Draco kissed Harry passionately, and Harry lost himself in it, feeling the difference immediately - there was nothing withheld from him in this kiss - Draco was offering him everything, and he willingly gave himself in return. His hands slipped down from Draco's shoulders to lie pressed between them, his palms against Draco's chest, then he slowly unfastened the buttons on Draco's shirt, one by one. Harry felt Draco sigh under his mouth, felt him tremble when his hands slipped inside Draco's shirt, skimming warm over skin.

"C'mon," whispered Harry, pulling away gently, almost unwilling to break apart. He took Draco's hand and led him to bed.

* * *

Dumbledore gazed over the tops of his half-moon glasses, his usually twinkling blue eyes quite solemn as he served tea to Professors Snape and McGonagall in his office. "I've asked you both here," he said, "because I fear that one of our students, and possibly two, may be in grave danger."

Neither of the teachers said anything, but Snape's black eyes narrowed and McGonagall's mouth set in a thin, tense line.

"I am speaking of Draco Malfoy," continued Dumbledore. "I spent several hours with him earlier today working on a ring that Lucius Malfoy sent him a few days ago. Draco had put a very strong and, I must say, expertly-done advanced version of a Hex-Off Potion on the ring," said the headmaster, nodding at Snape. "He said he was both practicing for his Potions class and trying to protect himself for his trip home over the holidays. It was only after he'd finished soaking the ring for the required time in the potion, he told me, that he suspected his father might have cast a prior spell on the ring. He asked me to test it and I found an extremely powerful will-sapping spell on it." Dumbledore stroked his beard and fixed the two professors with a somber gaze. "I don't need to tell you," he said quietly, "that it was Dark Magic of the worst kind. It would have rendered the wearer of the ring totally defenseless against the Imperius Curse."

Snape drew in a breath like a hiss.

McGonagall's hand flew up to press over her heart. "But you removed it, surely?" she asked, clearly alarmed.

"No," said Dumbledore seriously. "I feared that removing it would be too dangerous, and that it would leave Draco, even with his own spell on the ring, too unprotected. So I reversed it instead. That way, in a cursory examination, the spell will appear to be intact, but the effect will be the opposite than what was intended." He paused a moment, as both teachers nodded their approval, then went on. "But that is only the beginning of the problem," he said, his voice severe. "I'm sure you both are aware that with recent . . . developments, any danger to Draco could very well mean that Harry Potter is also in danger."

Snape's eyebrows drew down in a scowl. "I want it understood that I do not approve of this relationship between them at all," he said coldly. "I told them both," he added emphatically, "that they were putting themselves at considerable risk. Neither of them listened." His upper lip curled slightly in disgust. "In fact, when I talked to Potter, he was not only completely oblivious to his own danger, but to the danger he was putting Draco in as well."

"I warned Harry, too," said McGonagall, setting her teacup down, coming to Harry's defense. "But he was very worried. He begged me to stop Malfoy from going home."

"Which we cannot do if he is determined to go," stated Dumbledore firmly, cutting off any retort from Professor Snape. "But you should know that Draco did request my help. I have given him a Portkey that will transport him to a site between here and Hogsmeade if an emergency should arise. However," he continued, after a moment's hesitation, "I'm afraid that may be insufficient - which is why I asked you here."

Dumbledore faced the professors with deep concern in his light blue eyes. "Because of the excessive virulence of the spell Lucius Malfoy put on that ring," he said, "I suspect he has something planned. Draco seems to believe it is very important that nothing be altered in his routine that might alert his father, yet I definitely sensed that he is quite distressed about going home over the holidays. So although I went along with his requests this morning without questioning him too closely, I had the distinct impression that he may be in more trouble than he was telling me."

"Is there any possibility that Draco is . . . deliberately leading Harry on . . . for some purpose of his father's?" asked McGonagall, her voice shaking slightly.

"Considering the spell on that ring," protested Snape acidly, "Draco's willing agreement with whatever his father is planning seems irrelevant."

Dumbledore held up his hand, his eyes solemn. "I believe that Draco's attachment to Harry is quite genuine, but for safety's sake we can not disregard any possibility." He regarded both teachers soberly. "With that in mind, this is what I have decided to do. . . ."

* * *

Waking up the next morning, Harry was immediately aware that he was alone. Draco's warm presence was gone from the bed; the bed drapes on Draco's side were drawn back and left open. The room was far too quiet, with only the low, crackling whisper of the fire falling lonely and forlorn into the emptiness of the room. Harry sat up abruptly with a feeling of panic surging through him - his first alarming thought was that Draco had slipped out and left without waking him. He slid over onto Draco's side of the bed to get his glasses from the night table and then was able to see that Draco's travel bag was still on the chair by the door. Relaxing slightly, and looking around the room more carefully, he noticed that the window was ajar and that Draco's broom was gone from its place by the bookcase. He laughed a little to himself at that, wondering why in the world Draco would have gone out flying so early this morning, but felt reassured now, knowing that Draco would be back. Hopefully soon, he thought, wanting Draco back in his arms, and back in bed with him.

With that thought, he lay back down and pulled the blankets up, closing his eyes and smiling as a flood of memories from yesterday afternoon and last night flashed through his mind. Draco had embraced their first sexual experience with a mixture of enthusiasm, sensitivity and shy awkwardness that Harry had found irresistible and utterly charming. He grinned at the memory, not caring that he blushed. Nothing in his own limited experience had prepared him for the consuming waves of pleasure he had found in the other boy's intimate touches. And oh, God, he thought, blushing yet again, Draco was so beautiful. The deep warmth in those lovely gray eyes, the graceful, elegantly lean lines of Draco's body, the perfect way they had fit together, all of it had left him speechless, moved beyond words. But candid, steadfast eyes and soft searing caresses, tightly clasped hands and slow tender kisses, hammering hearts and sharp breathless sighs had said what words could never say. Harry could see Draco so clearly in memory, eyes closed in ecstasy, his neck arched back, responding to Harry's touch, trembling with release -

A sudden rustling noise at the window pulled him from his thoughts, and Harry, with a rush of anticipation, sat up again.

The window swung open, and a second later Draco flew in, managing his broom with careful precision in the tight space. As he landed, he immediately looked over at Harry and seeing him awake, grinned, one eyebrow arched provocatively. "I thought you were going to sleep all day," he said, teasing.

"And I thought you'd already left," said Harry, scolding gently, "until I saw your broom was gone." Then curiosity got the better of him, and relenting, he grinned back. "So, what were you doing out there, anyway?"

"I've been out to look at the snow," replied Draco with an impish smile. He put his broom back in the corner and came to sit on the edge of the bed by Harry. His clothes still held a breath of the frosty outside air and his face was flushed from the cold, but his hands and mouth were warm as he took Harry's hands and leaned in to kiss him. "You should definitely go out later and look for yourself," he said, still teasing, but now with a hint of excitement in his tone. "The view from here is spectacular."

Harry smiled, lacing his fingers with Draco's. "Last night was spectacular," he said softly, his eyes meeting Draco's. His heart turned over to see Draco's gray eyes kindle into warm melted silver at his words.

"It was," agreed Draco, his voice hushed with affection. He squeezed Harry's far hand and let it go, reaching up to pull off Harry's glasses and return them to the night table. "Lie down," he whispered against Harry's mouth as he kissed Harry again.

Harry lay back and closed his eyes, a quiet thrill shivering through him as Draco bent to kiss the hollow at the base of his throat. He felt Draco's hand rest lightly on his chest for a second, and then Draco's fingers curled under the edge of the blankets to pull them down, little by little, out of the way of his kisses.

Draco took his time, placing small, reverent, lingering kisses, gradually moving down, each one a declaration of feelings too vivid to be spoken, each one a message that melted into Harry's skin, each one a note of tender fire, until there were ardent chords and warm choruses of unspoken endearments singing down the length of Harry's body.

Harry's grasp tightened on Draco's hand that he still held, his heart pounding as the blankets were pushed gently aside and Draco's kisses went lower still. Draco was making love to him. It was very slow, Draco teasing him, holding him on the edge of forever with soft touches and kisses until Harry lost himself entirely to the warm silk of Draco's mouth. . . .

Afterwards, Draco pulled the blankets back up and sat next to Harry, leaning over to embrace him. Harry's trembling arms went around Draco's neck and he held on tightly; Draco's solid presence his only anchor as the world that had dissolved in an arcing crescendo of heat-rush gradually re-formed, becoming steady and solid around him again. Strength returned to his melted bones, his pounding heart and racing breath slowed.

"I have to go," whispered Draco finally. They'd been holding each other for a long, seemingly timeless moment; a moment now over far too quickly. "Don't," said Draco quietly, when Harry moved to get up. "Don't come down with me. I want to be able to think of you here, in my bed, when I'm on the train."

Harry looked into Draco's eyes; they were misty, sad, gray as falling rain. "I want to see you off," he protested weakly. "I don't want to say goodbye here . . . not yet."

Draco bit his lower lip and for a second looked away. Harry's fingers tightened on his, squeezing with reassurance and a question, and he looked back up. "I can't," he said very softly. "I can't say goodbye to you there, not in front of all those people on the platform."

Harry understood, but it was hard, so hard, to let Draco go. He traced a faint shimmering line down the side of Draco's face with gentle fingers, wanting to remember this look in Draco's eyes, to save in memory the sadness, the desire and love he saw in them now. "Will you take a note to Ron for me, then?" he asked at last, giving in. "Otherwise, he won't understand if I don't come to see him and Hermione off for the holidays."

Draco nodded and brought Harry a piece of parchment, and a quill and ink from his desk. Harry sat up, his knees drawn up under the blankets to give himself support for writing, while Draco sat silently at his feet, his head down, his arms crossed over his chest.

Harry wrote:

Ron,

I'm sending this note with Draco instead of coming to the station myself. I'm perfectly fine - it's just that saying goodbye to him is hard and the station is very public. Neither of us wants to cause a scene. But I wanted to wish you and Hermione a very Happy Christmas and I hope everything goes as you planned with the ring and all. I'm sure Hermione will love it since, of course, she loves you. You should know too, that what happened at breakfast yesterday was not Draco's fault; he was being blackmailed by Pansy Parkinson. But he made up for it last night a thousand times over and made all my wishes come true. I've never been so happy.

Give my love and Christmas wishes to your family,

Harry

He folded the note up and handed it to Draco, his face flushed slightly from what he'd said at the end. But it was true. He'd never felt as happy as he did now, or so filled with sadness and longing. Draco stood up and turned to him, and their eyes met, green and gray, the balance of the world captured in that one lingering, momentary, heart-linked gaze. Harry's arms went around Draco's waist, drawing him close one more time, resting his head against Draco's chest. He could hear the beating of Draco's heart under his ear. Draco's arms encircled Harry's shoulders, his head bent down, his face buried in Harry's soft, tousled hair. They held each other again for a time that was far too short, then Draco pulled reluctantly away.

Their hands clasped and held for a moment longer, and Harry, looking up, said with a catch in his voice, "Day after tomorrow. Three o'clock."

Draco nodded, and squeezed Harry's hand. "See you then," he said softly, slipping finally out of Harry's grasp.

With a growing ache in his throat, Harry watched Draco walk across the room, gather his travel bag from the chair and go to the door. "Happy Christmas," said Harry, his voice breaking.

Draco stood in the open door for a second, turning to glance back one last time at Harry; the smile he tried to give Harry came out small and tight and heart-torn. "Happy Christmas," he said in a constricted, hushed voice, and then he was gone.

Oh, just please come back to me, love, Harry thought as the door closed. He hugged the tops of his knees and dropped his head down on his arms. Please be safe.

* * *

Draco found Ron and Hermione on the platform for the train. Walking away from Harry had left him aching inside, and he didn't want to talk to Harry's friends at all, but he had a message to deliver. He handed Harry's note to Ron without a word.

Ron took it from him with a scowl. "Where is Harry?" he demanded.

"In my room," said Draco shortly. "Still in bed."

"I think it's pretty strange that he didn't come to see us off," complained Ron. "But at least while you're gone, I don't have to worry about him."

That was almost more than Draco could stand. Knowing what he was about to do, knowing the hurt he would cause . . . while Harry's friends trusted that Harry would be safe. . . . He watched Weasley read Harry's note in stony silence.

Ron read the note twice, then looked up at Draco, red-faced. "I guess I owe you an apology after all, Malfoy," he said tautly.

That was more than Draco could stand. "Just shut it, Weasley," he said, turning abruptly away, his voice low and harsh, anger camouflaging the pain he felt. Without a backward glance and with anguish in his heart, he walked away and boarded the train.

* * *

Later in the morning, after he'd showered and dressed, Harry sat in Draco's window staring absently outside at the snow-covered grounds, his thoughts totally preoccupied. Draco was gone. The train was gone, and so were Hermione and Ron. Christmas was tomorrow and he was alone. The Gryffindor dorm would be deserted; he'd be alone there too, so he felt in no hurry to leave Draco's room. Here, he had memories to keep him company. He touched the ring on his finger and thought about Draco, and thought about how changed he felt since yesterday.

Making love with Draco had not been at all like the rushed, slightly guilty, and being-so-careful experience he'd had with Cho. No, thought Harry, it had been nothing like that. He and Draco been a bit awkward with each other at first, but their heartfelt bonding, their caring and desire, had quickly swept any self-consciousness away. Sitting in the window now, he knew with absolute certainty that he was deeply in love, and was loved deeply in return. There was a peaceful new stillness inside him now, and a strong sense of completion, as if every unrequited yearning within him had been profoundly answered and assuaged. Yet at the same time, he felt that he could never get enough of being with Draco, of holding and touching him, of the thrill of Draco's touch on his own body, like both fire and comfort at once. Each soft, smooth plane and curve of Draco's body under his hands had been exciting to explore; each embrace, each kiss had been both exhilarating and safe haven. With Draco, he'd discovered the intense pleasure of giving pleasure, and the abandoned freedom of receiving pleasure by surrendering to someone else in complete trust. He would, he felt now, trust Draco with his life.

Their first time, Harry remembered now with a bit of a silly grin to himself, had been over so quickly, it should hardly be counted at all. They'd been far too keyed up with each other, far too sensitive from waiting, and much too aroused from the newness of it all. They had barely lasted five minutes with each other before Draco had to Accio a towel from the bathroom to mop up the mess between them.

But that hadn't embarrassed them much. In fact, having gotten that out of the way, they were able to relax, take their time, exploring and gently teasing, affection evident in every smile, every touch, every lingering kiss. At first, Harry didn't do any magic - his experience with it the night before, even when they'd only been kissing, had been too overwhelming and his control too limited, and what he was feeling with Draco was incredible enough; loving him was magic in and of itself.

Still, even though he hadn't cast any spells, he was deeply aware that their magical auras were joining, that there was that wonderful low humming, musical vibration surrounding them, giving a deep sense of security and weaving them together in a way that made their bonding more than physical. Harry could sense their auras dissolving, flowing into each other, creating a powerful, fluid binding that connected him with Draco in a myriad of subtle ways. Sometimes Harry felt he scarcely knew himself from Draco; he felt their heartbeats like rhythm and counterpoint, song and echo. He felt Draco moan softly as if with his own voice, felt the heat of his own hands touching Draco as if against his own skin. It was as if all the pieces of himself found a perfect match in Draco, fitting together like the answer to an unsolved riddle or the key in a secret lock.

As the afternoon waned and twilight dimmed the room, each caress became beautiful and magical as the shimmering sparks from their hands became visible. Then Harry did enough magic to make them visible to Draco too, so that he could share in the lovely vision they created. And as passion took them over, sparks ignited wherever their bodies touched, golden and crystal white, flaring all together in the moment of their climax. There was also in that blinding moment, a surge within their auras that Harry felt, yet scarcely noticed, an irrevocable fusing of energy from heart to heart.

Later, as evening fell, filling the room with a peaceful enveloping darkness, and the dying fire cast a rich rose-amber glow across the floor and faint flickering shadows over the bed, Harry lay in Draco's arms drawing slow random designs of golden glitter over Draco's pale skin. He propped himself up on one elbow to look down at the other boy's face. Draco's eyes were closed, a bemused and happy smile softly turning up the corners of his mouth, and Harry couldn't stop looking at him. After a moment, Draco opened his eyes, the velvety gray suffused with affection and contentment and sated desire, and Harry, enchanted, bent forward to kiss him. It was a kiss almost exactly like that very first kiss that Draco had given him, so many days and so many, many changes ago; an exquisitely gentle, achingly slow, but only for a moment, feather-soft kiss, but this time it held the words I love you so clearly they might have been spoken aloud.

Draco sighed and pulled Harry down into his arms again, and Harry lay down, his head resting on Draco's shoulder. For a long time they held each other, and not another word needed to be said.

But then, someone's stomach rumbled softly and they laughed. "You know, I think we've completely missed dinner," said Draco lazily, smoothing a stray lock of unruly black hair down behind Harry's ear.

Harry grinned. "Doesn't matter," he replied. "I brought sandwiches up from lunch - I didn't know you'd eaten with Dumbledore."

Draco turned over on his side to face Harry. "You brought me sandwiches?"

"I did."

"Brilliant," said Draco, rewarding Harry with a smile and a kiss.

Eventually, they'd gotten up, dug their boxers out of the pile of hastily discarded clothes next to the bed, and unpacked Harry's bookbag. Draco relit the fire and they sat on the floor in front of the hearth unfolding napkins and laying out the sandwiches picnic style. They ate in the crackling warmth and light of the fire, wolfing down two sandwiches each, the chess game on the table behind them forgotten.

"Ron was all set to apologize to you this morning," said Harry, finishing the last bite of a roast beef sandwich, "until that performance you gave at breakfast."

"Oh, was he now?" laughed Draco.

"Yes, until you nearly gave him heart failure again. He was angry at me, because I stopped him from killing you."

Draco was silent for a moment. "He has nothing to apologize to me for," he said, suddenly turning serious. "I deserved every bit of his bad opinion."

"But now you don't," protested Harry softly.

"Maybe," said Draco, with a slight shrug, evidently unconvinced. "And maybe I still have a lot to make up for."

"Not to me," Harry assured him, a tone of finality in his voice. Harry ran his hand lightly up Draco's bare back and ruffled the back of his hair.

Draco made a wry face. "I need a shower," he said.

Harry felt heat rush to the tips of his ears. "Could I. . . ?" he asked, then faltered. "I mean, would you mind," he started again, as Draco turned to face him, "if I got in . . . with you?"

Draco smiled in answer, that lovely, genuine full smile that always turned Harry's bones to jelly.

Remembering all of this as he sat in Draco's window, Harry blushed again now at the memory. Showering with Draco had been even nicer than he'd imagined. Draco wet, and steamy warm, and soft and slippery with soap and shampoo was . . . well, indescribable. Harry grinned to himself at the thought. After the shower, and after Draco had packed his bag for the trip home, they'd gone back to bed, lying in each other's arms, skin on clean skin like satin to the touch. Draco had asked Harry to work the sleep spell on him for this last night, and Harry had done it willingly, knowing that even though Draco hadn't said so directly, he was anxious about going home and upset by the impending separation.

Harry was upset about the separation too. He was still very concerned about Draco going home, although less so now that Draco had the Portkey to bring him back. But, he thought to himself, he had a lot of memories to get him through the next two days, a lot of memories that would hopefully keep him from worrying too much while Draco was gone. Only two days and they'd be back together, and Draco would be safe. Harry gazed out the window, wondering where Draco was now, wondering what he was doing. And thinking of him now, missing him intensely, he could almost feel Draco with him, could almost imagine he could feel the touch of those slender, gentle hands, the echo of that second heartbeat so close to his own.

He stared out the window at the snow, and finally something he'd been seeing all this time, but ignoring, began to make a conscious impression on him. The snow on the Quidditch pitch was strangely marked up. Harry squinted into the bright light reflecting from the snowy field and his heart suddenly jumped into his throat. Something was written out there! What had Draco said? "You should definitely go out later and look for yourself - the view from here is spectacular."

Harry grinned widely, jumped down from the window ledge and hurriedly found shoes, cloak, muffler, and gloves, putting them on as quickly as he could, then grabbed his Firebolt. He felt a shivery rush of anticipation as he opened the window and flew out into the brisk, cold wind. Hovering over the Quidditch pitch, he caught his breath in surprise and then his laugh echoed over the snow-laden stands. Drawn in the snow and covering the entire field was the outline of an enormous heart. And inside it, in huge letters, was written:

P-K LOVES D-W

He circled the pitch once, then hovered again, high over the center, smiling, his cheeks flushed red from the cold air and from the joyful constriction in his heart. It was while he was hovering there, that the owl found him. It was a small, pale cinnamon-colored barn owl, one of the types commonly used by public post offices like the one in Hogsmeade. It fluttered around him, until he held out his arm for it to land on. Then it stuck out a leg, presenting Harry with a sealed scroll that had no address written on the front, and flew away as soon as Harry had removed it.

Curious, Harry sped back to Draco's room - it couldn't be from Draco, and he didn't have any idea who else it might be from. Once back inside, he closed the window, dropped his wraps on the floor and leaned his Firebolt against the wall. He sat in the chair by the fire, broke the seal and unrolled the letter. Immediately, with a jolt of disbelief, he recognized the handwriting. Cho's unique slanting script filled the page.

Dear Harry, she wrote:

I can't tell you how sorry I am for how badly things ended between us, and for not telling you the truth - I know how much I hurt you. I wanted to explain everything on our last morning, but you didn't give me a chance. I hope you will believe that if I'd known that my parents had arranged for me to be married, I would never have gotten involved with you. But I'm not sorry for what I did, or what we did. Please try to understand that I couldn't bear the thought of giving myself for the first time to a man I didn't love, to someone I didn't know. I wanted it to be with you. And I guess I also hoped there might be a virginity clause in the marriage agreement and it would have to be broken. My parents were very angry when I told them what I'd done and wouldn't allow me to write to you. But they can't stop me from writing now, and I have something important to tell you that can't wait any longer. I'm hoping that by now you've had time to forgive me enough to let me back into your life.

Harry frowned and read on - but in another moment, he stopped breathing, his pulse pounding. He read it again, then leaned back in the chair, his eyes closed, totally shocked. It was a very long moment before he could read it again. Oh, dear God. How was he ever going to break this to Draco?

* * *

Draco sat in the train compartment staring unseeing out the window, the enormity of what he was rushing towards filling him with a numb horror. He was alone in the compartment, something he had easily contrived by finding a box with first years and simply ordering them to get the hell out. The snowy landscape streamed by outside, blurring into dizzying flashes of bright reflected light and intermittent deep blue shadows to his unfocused gaze. He closed his eyes then, feeling sick.

Everything with Dumbledore had gone perfectly. The old wizard had believed his story completely. He should be glad, he thought, so why did he feel let down? Had he really secretly wished that Dumbledore would be suspicious and stop him? Was he so much of a coward as that, after all? Too late now . . . whispered the rhythm of the wheels of the train on the tracks. Too late . . . too late . . . too late . . .

He pushed that out of his mind and thought instead about Harry. Waking up this morning with Harry sleeping in his arms after the wondrous afternoon and evening they'd had together had felt like nothing short of a miracle. He'd lain still for a very long time, just watching Harry sleep, while waves of tenderness and an ocean of regrets washed over him. Harry had been so right about the memories. What they had shared with each other last night would be something he would treasure with every waking thought for the next two days, and he fervently wished that after everything was over, Harry would be able to treasure it too. Harry had said he would never regret it, no matter what happened, and Draco hoped that was the truth.

He wondered what Harry was doing now - had he left Draco's room, or was he still there, curled up in the chair by the fire, maybe? Draco could picture that so easily; Harry just seemed so much a part of his room now, as if he belonged there. They belonged together, he and Harry. Draco knew this in every ounce of his being, down to the very marrow of his bones, and traveling away from him now like this, knowing the ending he would surely cause to come between them, was tearing him apart. He tried to concentrate on remembering how it had felt to be with Harry last night, and the rush of emotion was nearly overwhelming. He laid his hand over the pendant that hung secret and cherished inside his shirt, against his skin, and felt his own heart beating under his hand. Harry's heartbeat, he could imagine too, just as he'd felt it last night, racing with his own -

The door to the compartment slid open suddenly behind him, startling him from his thoughts and he tensed instinctively, but didn't move.

"Draco?" said Pansy's voice, confirming Draco's suspicions of who had come in.

"I don't feel like company," said Draco coldly, not bothering to turn to look at her. "Certainly not yours."

"Oh, come on, Draco," she pouted. "Don't be like that. You got back together with Potter, didn't you? I know he stayed with you all night." She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, her arms crossed over her chest. "You can't hold a little harmless revenge against me. If I'd really wanted to make trouble, I would have sent the owl to your father and not told you. I wouldn't have given you a chance to stop me."

"What you did doesn't matter," he said flatly, still staring out the window. "I just need to be alone."

"Crabbe and Goyle are in the other car with me," she said, pleading, trying a different tack, exasperation in her voice. "They miss you. I miss you, too. Come sit with us. We practically bought out the treat cart. I saved the Chocolate Frogs for you."

Draco turned to look at her then, his expression closed, tight. "No, thanks."

She stared at him, unwilling to give up. "So, it's going to be show and tell time with Daddy now, is it?" she teased. "I bet you don't go through with it. I mean," she said with a little snort of a laugh, "I can't imagine that you being with Harry Potter will sit too well with him."

"You're wrong," said Draco quietly, his voice hard, his eyes narrowed with barely concealed scorn. "I have nothing to hide. I've only done what he asked me to do."

Pansy moved to sit next to him, but the look in his eyes stopped her and she sat across from him instead, regarding him intently for a long moment. "Your father asked you to get involved with Potter?" she asked, incredulous. Then she thought this through and came to the inevitable conclusion. "So it was a plot all this time, like Blaise said. It wasn't real. You don't love him." Draco turned away from her to face out the window again, but not before she'd seen the flash of pain cross his face. "God, Draco, you do love him." She sucked in a sharp breath, taken aback. "You could do that? Love him and betray him like that? That's really sick! Even for a Slytherin."

"Get out," hissed Draco. "Just get the bloody hell out!" It was only after the compartment door had opened and slammed shut behind him that Draco allowed himself to slump down. I never meant for this to hurt him. He leaned his face against the cold window, his eyes closed against the blurring dazzle of snow outside, against the sudden prickling threat of tears. I never thought he'd love me too. His throat closed up with ache and for a long moment it was all he could do to breathe steadily. But after a few minutes, his determination relentlessly reasserted itself. There was something he had to do, and he was absolutely not going to fail.

Draco reached into an inner pocket of his cloak, took out the Portkey Dumbledore had given him and pulled out his wand. He laid the Portkey on the seat next to him, and cast the duplicating spell, the same spell he'd used to make Harry's dress robes for the Yule Ball. With a tiny blue-violet flash, a second identical silver coin now lay next to the first. Draco picked them up and held them for a moment, side by side in his hand, then pocketed them with grim satisfaction. At least that part of his plan was ready for when he had to talk to his father.

But whatever it was that Pansy had seen in his face, he was going to have to do a better job of hiding it. His father must never see it.