CHECKMATE

PART II – THE GAME

Chapter 10

One of these days, and it won’t be long, he’ll know more about me

Than he should

All my dreams will be understood

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

* * *

A short time later, Harry was sitting in a very companionable silence with Draco, a cutting board balanced on his knees, slicing blackcap mushroom gills into tiny pieces. The two boys were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, next to each other but facing away at a slight angle, so that they could lean with their backs together for support. Harry was in his stocking feet, Draco had bare feet, and their two pairs of shoes were lined up, side by side, by the door. Draco’s portable potions set was spread out all around them. The low fire crackled pleasantly, and it felt comfortably warm and very welcome to Harry after the cold tower stairwell.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Draco, highly amused by the situation, and his misunderstanding of what Draco had referred to as “something more fun.” Draco was seriously studying a massively thick, heavy book he had gotten off his bookshelf in the corner. It was titled Potions Through the Ages: A Historical Encyclopedia. Harry suspected, judging by the soft expression of rapt pleasure on his face, that Draco really was reading it, as he had said, for fun.

Harry studied that face for several more moments, relishing the chance to watch the other boy in a rare unguarded moment. The firelight painted such delightful rosy and gilded flickering splashes of color on his skin and hair. “Hey,” said Harry with a teasing air, as he nudged Draco with his elbow, “I don’t think using your chess move to ask me to cut up potions ingredients quite adheres to the rules of the game.”

Draco looked up after a second and smirked at him. “You know I never play by the rules, Harry. And besides,” he added, “we have N.E.W.T.s coming up, and I’m sure Snape is going to test us on this potion Monday.”

“Oh crap, Draco,” moaned Harry. “That means I’ll have to do this all over again on Monday. And Monday is the last day of classes before the holidays.”

“Which is exactly why,” Draco replied smoothly, “I’m sure he’s going to test us. You know he always does. And this Hex Mirror Potion is the hardest one we’ve studied, so it’s certain to be the one he picks.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re starting to remind me of Hermione now.”

Draco raised one brow in a vaguely affronted expression. “I’m not as insulted at that as I would have been once, but you can just plan to keep that opinion to yourself,” he sniffed, as he returned to his reading.

Harry chuckled. “It’s just that this is hardly what I expected we would be doing together on a Friday night,” he said. “When you said ‘something more fun’ this isn’t exactly what came to my mind.”

Draco turned a page in the book, then looked back up at Harry with an alluring smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t say I was planning for us to do this all night,” he said. He regarded Harry with amused curiosity kindling in his eyes. “I’m sure I’d be interested in what you had in mind. We can quit this for tonight, if you want to.”

Harry looked around at all the stuff Draco had pulled out. “No, it’s okay,” he said with a regretful smile. “As long as this won’t take too long . . . and,” he added in a resigned tone, “if you think Snape is going to test us on this Monday, I could definitely use the practice. I’m just teasing you about calling it fun.” Harry stopped for a moment to consider what he was feeling now – and was surprised to find he was enjoying himself. “But this isn’t really so bad,” he said. “I always hated it when Snape made us work together, and you would try make me cut everything up for you, but now, it’s . . . well . . . it’s rather . . . nice, actually.” Harry felt his face go a bit warm at this confession.

Draco gave a low laugh. “Don’t let Snape hear you say that – he might have a seizure or something.” He paused for second, his head tilted slightly, thinking. “You have a point, though,” he said, “about the chess move. I asked you to do something, but it wasn’t something personal. Maybe I should change my question.”

“Oh no you don’t,” said Harry with a grin. “You used your turn, however badly. It’s my turn now.”

Draco smiled slightly as if he had expected that and was rather pleased. “Go on then,” he said lightly, turning back to his book. “We can keep playing while we work on this.”

Harry set the cutting board aside, turned around and got up on his knees so that he could see over the edge of the table behind him. Very carefully, he lifted the chessboard down and set it on the floor between them. He settled himself back into his original cross-legged position, this time facing Draco across the board. Draco was still facing the fire, so was sitting sideways to Harry, and had obviously gotten absorbed in his reading again.

Harry studied the positions of his chess pieces for a few minutes, hesitating. He hadn’t really decided on something to ask yet; there were still so many things they needed to talk about. But as his eyes scanned the pieces, his attention was caught by the sight of Draco’s bare foot, which was peeking out from under Draco’s knee, not far from the edge of the chessboard. Those pale perfect toes and half-a-foot filled Harry with a sudden irresistible inspiration. The serious stuff could wait. He moved his King and Rook together, and switched their places in the back row. “Castle,” he announced. He eyed that exposed foot again for a second, then looked up with a smirk. “Draco,” he asked, trying to maintain an air of complete innocence, “are you ticklish?”

Draco glanced up from his book and snorted derisively. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he responded, turning back to his reading as if the matter were far too inconsequential to be discussed. “You just wasted your move now.”

Harry almost laughed though, when Draco shifted subtly and his foot disappeared under his knee. “No one’s ever tried to tickle you, have they?” persisted Harry.

“Of course not,” replied Draco in an insulted tone. “No one would dare.”

Harry smiled a sly smile. “I would,” he said. “I suspect you are.”

Draco looked back up from his book to stare at Harry, scandalized. “And I’m quite sure I’m not. I would never let myself be something so . . . so . . . undignified.”

That made Harry laugh out loud. “Well, we’ll just see about that, now won’t we?”

“Oh hey, wait a minute!” said Draco, slamming the book shut. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Harry, still grinning. “I definitely plan to test my theory . . . but not right now. You’re safe enough – for the moment.”

“You’re just going to make me angry, you know, if you try,” said Draco. He quickly turned back to his book, opening it randomly to the middle.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Harry. He watched Draco duck behind the pages of his enormous book, but not before he’d seen the blush that crept over that pale face. He got up on his knees and carefully placed his hands on the other side of the chessboard, so that he could lean forward, close to Draco. He gently nuzzled Draco’s earlobe and felt a tremor run through the other boy. “You might like it,” whispered Harry into that now very pink ear. “You might like it a lot.”

Draco used one arm to push Harry away. “Aren’t you supposed to be cutting up mushrooms?” he said, trying to sound annoyed. But he was smiling now in spite of himself.

Harry sat back with a wide grin, pleased that he had made Draco smile. “I’ll leave you alone for now,” he said, laughing. “But when you least expect it . . . then we’ll see who’s not ticklish.”

Draco grinned back, now seeming to enjoy the joke. “All we’ll see is who wasted their time,” he countered.

Harry just laughed and picked up the cutting board again. “Yeah, we’ll see,” he said. He poked at the pile of diced mushroom gills with the knife. “How’s this?” he asked.

Draco took a quick look at the pile, nodding his approval. “That’s fine,” he said. He passed Harry one of the empty bottles from his kit. “Put them in this for now. We have to have all of the ingredients prepared before we start.” He flipped through the pages of the book for a moment, until he found his place again, while Harry scraped the gills into the bottle. “Hmm,” he said, reading down the page, “we need dried Billywig stings next. I have some in this kit, somewhere.”

They sorted through the packets spread out on the floor until they found them. “There isn’t much here,” said Harry. “Will there be enough?”

Draco examined the packet critically. “Yes,” he said, “but barely. So be careful with them.”

Harry dumped the contents of the packet out on the cutting board, eyeing the sharp stingers on the sapphire blue insects warily. “I hope they will be careful with me,” he murmured.

“Here,” said Draco, reaching over to demonstrate. “Hold them by the head up where the wings are, like this . . . and cut the stinger off the other end. Use the knife to push the stinger to one corner of the cutting board so you don’t have to touch it. Just be careful where you put your fingers and you’ll be fine.”

Harry sighed. Some of the ingredients in this potion made him decidedly nervous. “Okay,” he said, cautiously taking hold of one of the bright blue bugs. “But if you find me floating up by the ceiling later, it’ll be entirely your fault.”

Draco laughed. “Now that,” he said, “would be funny.”

Harry chuckled. He had to admit, it would be pretty funny. But . . . he wasn’t planning to experience it if he could help it. He bent over the cutting board, concentrating on his task. After successfully cutting off four or five of the stings, he relaxed. It really wasn’t so hard. He paused for a moment and glanced over at Draco and was surprised to find Draco watching him, his grey eyes soft. Harry smiled at him. “What?”

“Just thinking,” said Draco. “It’s my turn.” Draco pushed the hair back from his forehead with one hand before reaching down to the chessboard. “Queen to G4,” he said, as he moved his Queen and took Harry’s Knight. “I know I promised I wouldn’t ask, but since you told me about it this morning . . . I would like to know more about this healing thing you can do.”

Harry frowned, more at the loss of his Knight, than at the question. Actually, he found himself quite willing to talk about his favorite subject, now that Draco knew about it. “I guess it started when I decided to take Magical Medicine from Madam Pomfrey last year,” he began. “I’m not sure why I did, because I had never thought much about that subject, except I didn’t want to take Advanced Divination or Arithmancy and there wasn’t much left to choose from. But when I did think about it, I was interested in it. It seemed like something useful I might do, something really needed, with the war coming and all, instead of – ” Harry paused briefly, as if reconsidering something he had been about to say. “I thought maybe I could find a different way to be involved,” he continued softly. “About half-way through the term, Madam Pomfrey had all of us tested for magical healing potential. I guess it’s an ethical standard thing, because she said anyone who was going to practice magical medicine had to have a valid classification.”

Draco nodded as if none of this was new to him.

“I tested out at class-seven,” said Harry, uneasily, still embarrassed to say it.

“On the first test?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

Draco whistled softly, genuinely impressed. “I bet that knocked her knickers off. That’s as high as you can get, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Harry again, then grinned sheepishly. “She called me in privately to tell me my score, and Professor Dumbledore was there, and they both looked so serious. I thought I had failed it entirely and they were going to tell me I had to drop out of the class. When they said my score was a seven, I thought that was bad.”

Draco tilted his head slightly and gave Harry a teasing smile. “You are such a Muggle sometimes, Harry.”

Harry grinned back and shrugged. “How was I supposed to know? I’d never heard of any of this stuff before.” He bent down over the cutting board and cut off two more stings before continuing. “I finished last year doing pretty much what everyone else did, but this year Madam Pomfrey is working with me alone.”

“Not many people can do wandless healing, you know.”

“Madam Pomfrey says that wands are tools, or focal points,” replied Harry, “and make doing magic easier. When you’re first learning magic, they’re very important and necessary. If you can learn to focus by yourself, you don’t need them. Most people don’t try to learn and always stay dependent on their wands.”

“Is that what you’re working on then?” asked Draco, looking down, idly ruffling the corners of the pages in his book. “Learning how to do wandless magic?”

“Only with healing,” said Harry quickly. “I doubt I could do it with anything else. But right now,” he added, his voice full of quiet enthusiasm, “I’m studying magical auras and how to see what’s wrong with a person by recognizing the patterns of light and color in their aura.”

Draco looked up at Harry, avid interest lighting his eyes. “You can see magical auras?”

“Yes,” said Harry, feeling self-conscious again. “When I concentrate in a certain way I can. But Madam Pomfrey has an instrument called an Aurascope. It looks a lot like a pair of Omnioculars. With that, anyone can see them. Mostly I work with that, but she is making me practice seeing them on my own.”

“And nobody else knows about any of this?” asked Draco. “Not even Weasley and Granger?”

“No,” said Harry. “Only Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore – and now you.” Harry met Draco’s eyes, suddenly serious. “I don’t want anyone else to know, Draco.”

“Harry,” said Draco, in a tone that implied he had been mildly insulted. “Not even torture with rusty Muggle spoons could drag it out of me.” Then he laughed quietly at Harry’s still earnest expression, reached over the chessboard to rest his hand on the back of Harry’s neck, and gently stroked the soft spot behind Harry’s ear with his thumb. “I told you once before,” he said levelly, sincerely, “whatever you tell me is just between us. I’m not going to talk about anything we say to each other. It’s . . . well . . . very private to me. And I’m trusting you will do the same.”

“I will,” said Harry, feeling a rush of gratitude. All his life he had wanted privacy. Though he had endured many, many hours locked up alone at the Dursleys’, he had always had the feeling that he was being constantly watched. That feeling had only been magnified ten-fold when he had emerged into the wizarding world. Even with Ron and Hermione, there was nothing he could tell one of them without the other one knowing it almost immediately. It was true that for the moment, Hermione was keeping quiet about his relationship with Draco, because she understood that Harry needed to be the one to tell Ron. Still, Harry didn’t think she would keep the secret long if he failed to tell Ron quickly enough to suit her. But Draco was, in every way, different. Harry was delighted by this new concept – that there were private, confidential things meant to be known and shared only between the two of them. “Thank you,” he added in a hushed tone. “That means a lot to me.”

Draco leaned toward Harry, pulling him closer at the same time, and Harry met him halfway and the promise was sealed with a kiss right over the middle of the chessboard. Harry took his hand from the cutting board in his lap to hold onto Draco, but when he leaned forward a little further, the cutting board slipped off his lap and clattered onto the floor, scattering the Billywigs in all directions.

Harry pulled out of the kiss, took one look at the spilled Billywig stingers and swore. “Oh hell, Draco. I don’t know why you wanted me to do this in the first place.” He sighed deeply. “I was bound to ruin it somehow.” He ran his hand through his hair, making a section of it stick up in the back.

Draco just shook his head, but his eyes shone from amusement, affection, and the after effects of their kiss. Harry really was such an adorable git. He rummaged around in his box of miniature accessories and pulled out a pair of tweezers. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, handing them to Harry along with a small vial. “Just find the stings and pick them up.”

While Harry searched the floor for the Billywig stings, Draco busied himself getting some of the other ingredients prepared. By the time Harry had collected all the stings, Draco had measured out four more of the ingredients: strangling ivy sap, armadillo bile, flobberworm mucus and one eye of newt.

Harry added the vial of stings to the growing row of jars. “Okay,” he said with relief. “I found them all. What else do we need?”

Draco consulted his monstrous book, running his slim fingers down the list of ingredients on the page, before he closed it and set it aside. “Only four more things. I can do the runespoor eggs and the powdered manticore skin. The foxglove and the pickled Murtlap growth have to be cut up.”

Harry wrinkled up his nose at the anemone-like Murtlap tentacles, and was grateful they needed only a small amount. When he had that finished, he sat for a moment considering the position of his chess pieces, his hand hovering indecisively over the board. “Rook to E8,” he said at last. Draco glanced over as Harry moved his Rook. Harry looked up into curious, expectant gray eyes. “What are you planning to do after graduation?” he asked.

Draco’s eyes widened for a split second, then he turned back to measuring the runespoor eggs. “I don’t know,” he said after a short silence.

Harry waited for Draco to say more, but when Draco continued to work in silence, he sighed inwardly. There were still so many unknowns between them. Harry had hoped to get Draco to talk about the possibility that he might be staying to teach at Hogwarts, wondering if Draco knew that Dumbledore was considering that possibility for him. “What about – ” he started to ask, but Draco set the small jar of runespoor eggs on the floor and cut him off.

“I’m not planning to do anything,” he said coolly. And before Harry could ask him to explain that, Draco reached for the chessboard.

Harry studied Draco intently while Draco considered his next move, his hand poised over the board. Had Draco seemed anxious to dodge that question? Harry wasn’t sure why Draco wanted to avoid the subject, but he didn’t want to press him about it. Not yet anyway. Harry picked up the packet of foxglove spikes just as Draco selected his Bishop.

“Bishop to H6,” said Draco soberly, moving the piece diagonally two spaces. “Same question, Harry. What will you do when you graduate?” He turned to Harry, one eyebrow delicately arched. “Well?” he queried, a slight edge in his voice, when Harry just sat and stared at him. “Surely you have plans.”

Harry felt a tiny spark of bitterness flare up inside him. “No,” he said flatly, after a moment. “I don’t get to have plans, Draco.” Harry dumped a foxglove flower spike onto the cutting board and started slicing the flowers from the stem as neatly as he could, though it was hard because he felt quite unsettled, almost angry. Now that the tables were turned, he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer that question either. The truth was, he felt trapped in a very bleak future. Did Draco feel that way too? Is that why he had avoided the question? Harry remembered what Dumbledore had told him. “He has a very uncertain future.”

And so do I, thought Harry. So do I. It had been a stupid thing to ask. But when Harry looked up, intending to apologize for asking it, he found that Draco was gazing at him with gray eyes that were clouded over with unaskable questions, and suddenly there were words that he needed to speak to someone and never had.

Swallowing down the ache in his throat, Harry began to talk. “What can I do?” he asked in a taut voice. “Where would I go?” His knife made a jagged rip in a petal and he put it down, temporarily giving up on cutting any more. “As long as Voldemort is still in hiding and we don’t know his plans, Dumbledore won’t let me leave. So,” he said, “I’ll be staying here – working with Madame Pomfrey in the hospital and helping Madame Hooch with Quidditch and flying classes. I’ll be stuck here indefinitely until they trot me out to play the Great Hero of the Wizarding World.” He paused for a few seconds, adding in a very low, tense voice, “They think that’s what I want, too.” Just saying these last words left an almost acid taste in Harry’s mouth. He looked up from the cutting board and stared into the fire for a moment. “But they’re wrong, Draco,” he continued. “They’re all wrong. I don’t want to do it. And I’m not going to – not if I have anything to say about it.” Harry picked up the knife again and began slicing the flowers he had cut off the stem. His cuts were slightly jagged, but determined.

Draco finished pouring out the small measure of powdered manticore skin they needed into a jar, and set it in line with the other ingredients. Then he turned around so that he faced Harry, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers interlaced loosely together. “Don’t want to do what?” he asked quietly, his eyes studying Harry’s face.

“I don’t want to fight Voldemort again,” came the subdued, but firm reply. Harry kept his eyes down. He seemed intent on his knife work, but his voice wavered slightly when he continued speaking. “What happened after the Tri-Wizard Tournament was too . . . too horrible. I was alone out there . . . after Cedric died. . . . ” Harry stopped talking again for a moment, seeming to be concentrating on his cutting. “I watched him die, Draco,” he said finally, continuing in a hushed tone. “I don’t think I can go through anything like that again – it still haunts me.”

Draco bit his lower lip and said nothing. He dropped his head, looking down at his hands. Fiery highlights reflected in his blond hair as it spilled down over his forehead and hid the fleeting expression of pain that flickered over his face. “So that’s why you wanted to study healing?” he asked at last.

“Yes,” agreed Harry, solemnly. “But only because I was – am – hoping I could be allowed to play a different role. Not because I think I could have saved Cedric. No one can heal someone from the Killing Curse, not even a class-seven mediwizard.” Harry paused, and looked over at Draco for the first time since he had started talking, his green eyes sparking with a kind of hopeless anger. “Have you ever seen him, Draco? Have you ever seen Voldemort?”

Draco raised his head and met Harry’s eyes. “No.”

“He’s like a walking nightmare. Hideous. And do you know what he said? He said, ‘Kill the spare.’ Cedric’s life was just . . . nothing . . . to him. It makes me sick to think of it. And the worst part of all of it is. . . .” Harry trailed off.

Draco waited, but when Harry didn’t continue, he asked softly, “What?”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out in a ragged sigh. “The worst part is . . . that no one is going to ask me what I would choose, and I won’t say anything about it. I’ll just do what they want, because even if I don’t want to do it, I won’t be able to face letting them down. I’ll be the bloody brave Gryffindor they want me to be, and I’ll go out there on cue and die.” Harry got the last jar that Draco had set out and poured the foxglove petals into it. “I don’t want to fight in this war, Draco. It scares me to death – the expectations people have – because I can’t do what they want – not by myself. Sometimes I just want to scream at them to leave me alone.” Harry looked up at Draco again and their eyes met. There was something elusive, like mist, in those gray eyes. Harry glanced down, breaking the eye contact. “I know that must sound terribly childish,” he said apologetically. He absently picked up the foxglove stem, now stripped of its flowers, and tossed it on the fire.

“No, it doesn’t,” said Draco. He studied Harry’s troubled profile for a moment, then looked away into the fire, watching the flower stem curl and twist in the heat and finally burst into flames. “I understand what you mean,” he said softly. “Neither of us has been given much choice in our lives.”

They were both silent for a few minutes. Harry reached out, and laid his hand over Draco’s where it lay on Draco’s knee. Draco turned his palm up, their fingers interlaced, and they held hands with each other for a moment, a small gesture of comfort for both of them.

“That was a stupid question,” said Harry, “considering both our situations. And I don’t know what made me say all of that – I usually keep those thoughts to myself.”

Draco just shrugged. “I asked,” he said. “You must have needed to talk.”

With a gentle squeeze, Harry released the hand he held and waved at the long line of potions ingredients they had prepared. “Don’t we have everything ready now?”

“Yes, we do,” said Draco, brightening considerably. “We can start the mixture now.”

Harry smiled at that, feeling cheered himself by Draco’s obvious enjoyment of this project. “What’s first?” he asked.

“First,” said Draco, retrieving his book and leafing through the pages to the right place, “is . . . let’s see . . . to combine all the liquid ingredients.” He propped the book up against the side of the chair behind him to make it easier to refer to. “This will be tricky, Harry,” he continued, as he moved closer to the fire and placed the small cauldron in front of him. “Everything has to be added in an exact order, so it will take both of us to do it right.”

Harry nodded, and joined Draco next to the cauldron, ready to follow instructions. There were three liquids, the ivy sap, the flobberworm mucus and the bile. Harry took two of them and Draco took the third.

“Ready,” whispered Draco, when their three hands were poised over the cauldron. “Pour!” Draco stirred as they poured in unison. When it was done, he looked up at Harry and smiled his approval. “You did that exactly right,” he said.

Harry smiled back and knew he must have colored slightly. He wondered if he would ever get over the lightheaded heat rush effect Draco’s unexpected praise always had on him.

They carefully added four more ingredients and Draco used the tongs to hang the cauldron over the fire. “We let that boil, then take it out of the heat, before we add the rest,” he explained. Draco sat back and turned to Harry. Without a word, they moved to sit beside each other, putting their arms around each other’s waists, watching the flames in the grate dance and lick at the bottom of the cauldron. After a few moments, Draco leaned his head against Harry’s and spoke. “What if there was no war,” he asked quietly, “– no Voldemort? What if you could do anything you wanted to? What would you do then?”

It was several more moments before Harry answered. “I . . . well, I guess I’d want to continue studying to be a mediwizard, and when I was good enough, I’d start my own practice.”

Draco raised his head and gave Harry a questioning look. “And how is that different than what you’re going to be doing if you stay here and continue studying with Madam Pomfrey?”

“Er,” said Harry, slowly. “Well, I guess it’s not much different.”

“Idiot,” said Draco softly, a hint of an entrancing smile on his lips.

Harry smiled back self-consciously, feeling a bit foolish, as that smile of Draco’s always seemed to do that to him. But he also felt suddenly lighter, as if he could breathe more freely. He realized he no longer felt quite so trapped. “I never thought about it like that,” he said. Then he grinned. “Draco, that was brilliant.”

Draco just grinned smugly back at him and shrugged. “Of course it was,” he said.

And with a rush, Harry knew exactly the next question he wanted to ask in the game.

Draco took his arm from around Harry’s waist and picked up the tongs. Carefully, he removed the hot cauldron from the fire and set it on the stone floor. He started slowly adding the runespoor eggs two at a time, while he stirred the mixture.

Harry turned around so that he could reach the chessboard behind him. He moved the Pawn in front of his King forward one space. “Pawn to G6,” he said quietly, hiding his hope and anxiety. This question might mean everything. “Draco,” he said, starting hesitantly, “I . . . I know how uncertain everything is . . . but, if we can win this war, if Voldemort can be defeated. . . and if . . . we survive. . . .” God, so many ifs. . . . Harry swallowed hard – this was so important. “Would you consider . . . would you work with me?”

Draco finished stirring the runespoor eggs into the cauldron and didn’t respond. Harry’s words fell and melted away as if into a distant space of time, leaving a suspenseful silence filled only by the low hiss and sizzle of the fire.

After several seconds of this agonizing silence, Harry spoke again, rushing in his nervousness to fill the suspended emptiness. “You said last night that mediwizards have to be good Potions masters, or have to work with one. And you know I’ll never be good at this stuff,” he said, waving his hand to indicate the potions supplies that surrounded them. “We could be partners. It would be great. . . .” Draco looked up at him then, and Harry was startled speechless by the shaken look on Draco’s face. Harry didn’t know what to think. Had he been so wrong to believe that Draco would like the suggestion?

Draco stared at Harry for another long moment of stunned silence. “You would really want to do that?” he asked finally. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “With me?”

“Of course, with you,” said Harry, quietly, puzzled. “Now who’s being an idiot?” he added gently.

Draco looked down, breaking the eye contact between them. He sat with his eyes closed, his hands balled into loose fists on his lap.

“Draco?” questioned Harry very softly. He reached over and tentatively touched Draco’s shoulder. “What?”

Draco took a deep breath, glancing back up to Harry’s face for a moment, then away again. “It’s just that . . .” he said slowly, “. . . it was only a few nights ago that I was sure you would never want any kind of future with me, and now . . . I. . . .” He looked up and this time met Harry’s very concerned gaze steadily. “So many ifs, Harry,” he said, echoing Harry’s own thought only a moment before. “You know it isn’t likely to happen.”

“I know,” agreed Harry in a low voice. He searched deeply into the sadness that filled Draco’s misty eyes. “But, if it could,” he asked, “would you?”

“If it could,” said Draco slowly and solemnly, “it would be the most perfect thing I would ever want to do.”

Harry’s heart turned over. “For me too,” he whispered.

Draco looked down for a moment, studying the chessboard. When he looked back up at Harry, his eyes were shining. “Actually,” he said, in a hushed voice, “it would be the second most perfect thing I can think of to do.”

“The . . . second?” said Harry uncertainly, caught off guard by Draco’s seeming change of mind.

But Draco didn’t give Harry a chance to say anything else, as he moved his remaining white dragon. “Knight to F3,” he said. Firelight was casting his features in a warm golden glow, as his eyes held Harry’s in a mesmerizing gaze. “There is one thing that would be even more perfect,” he said. He hesitated, then reached out and laid his hand over Harry’s. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Oh. Harry almost forgot to breathe. There was no mistaking Draco’s intentions this time. Harry gulped a shallow breath. His heart was pounding now, and he knew that the heat that flushed his face was not because of the fire. “Yes,” he said softly. “I would love to.”

There was a heated pause, then Draco broke into an adorable grin, and Harry found himself grinning back, and for a moment nothing existed for either of them but this smiling elated understanding and the pulsing anticipation that was running like wildfire through their veins. “Come on then,” said Draco with unfeigned enthusiasm, still grinning. He gave Harry’s hand a squeeze before he let go and motioned at the half-completed potion in front of them. “Let’s get finished with this. Like I said, I don’t want to spend all night doing Potions practice.”

“So, tell me what goes in next,” said Harry with a laugh. “I’m more than ready to pack this mess up.”

“The manticore skin, I think.” Draco fumbled for a moment with the book, which had fallen shut, turning pages, trying to get back to his place. He found it and shook his head. “No, wait,” he said. “I was wrong. The eye of newt is next.”

“Too late,” said Harry, kneeling over the cauldron, holding up the now empty bottle that had contained the powdered skin.

Draco stared at him, a look of growing alarm on his face. “Harry!” he shouted. “Get back!”

But Harry didn’t have time to react. The potion gave one shuddering, bubbling heave, then FOOMP!! The potion exploded, splattering Harry’s head, the side of his face, one shoulder and his chest with gloppy green liquid.

“Bloody hell, Draco! Yuck! Get this stuff off me!”

Draco shot to his feet in an instant. Harry was reaching up to wipe the gooey mess off his face, but Draco grabbed his hands. “No! Don’t touch it, Harry. And don’t open your eyes. Just get up and come with me.” He tugged Harry to his feet, and pulled him away from the fireplace. “There’s only one way to get that stuff off.”

“I can’t see where I’m going,” protested Harry. “And it’s burning.”

“I know,” said Draco. He was trying to stay calm, but the goo was beginning to smoke. “Harry, you have to hurry. Just come on!”

Draco urgently half-guided, half-dragged Harry across the room, into the bathroom. Quickly, he shoved the shower curtain aside, pushed Harry into the shower stall and turned on the water.

Harry gasped violently as the full force of the shower hit him. He tried to jerk away, but Draco had a firm grip on him. “Draco!” he sputtered, as Draco forced him back under the water. “The water’s like ice!”

“Shut up and stand still!” yelled Draco back. “We don’t have time to wait for the hot water! We have to get this off you now!” Draco took hold of Harry’s chin and tilted his head back into the stream of water, and was vastly relieved when Harry didn’t fight him or argue anymore. He just stood there, rigid from the shock of the freezing water, his eyes squished tight and his teeth clenched, and allowed Draco to turn him this way or that. When Draco was certain he had washed all the potion off Harry’s skin and hair and clothes, he removed Harry’s glasses, rinsed them in the stream of water, and laid them carefully on the edge of the sink. Finally satisfied, Draco said, “Okay. I think I got it all. But you need to wash your hair properly, as soon as the water gets hot.”

Harry ducked out of the water, which was just barely beginning to get warm. He leaned back against the opposite side of the shower stall and wiped the water out of his eyes with one hand. Then he wrapped his arms around himself and fixed Draco with a dark stare.

Draco tried not to, but he couldn’t help it, partly from relief that Harry was okay, and partly due to the spectacle that was Harry standing there, black hair flattened against his skull and dripping water down his face – he started laughing. “Lord, Potter,” he said between giggles, “you look like a drowned cat!”

Harry glared at him. “Is that so?” he retorted. With no warning, and a Snitch-quick grab, Harry lunged forward through the water and seized the front of Draco’s shirt.

There was one split second when Draco realized Harry’s intent. “Oh no, Harry,” he gasped, horrified, “not in my – ”

Harry hauled him in under the water.

“ – clothes,” finished Draco, lamely, as the pouring water drenched him from head to foot.

It was Harry’s turn to laugh, as Draco stepped out of the water, his hair also now flat and dripping from long spiky tendrils that hung over his eyes. “I say, Malfoy,” said Harry, greatly amused and imitating Draco’s previous tone, “you look like a drowned rat!”

“It’s not funny, Harry,” said Draco, shutting off the water, pulling the front of his soaked shirt away from his chest. “I really liked this shirt. Now it’s probably ruined,” he added mournfully. “It’s all . . . wet.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “And what do you think happens to it when it gets washed, you silly git?”

Draco looked up at Harry and frowned. “Washed?” he repeated with disbelief. “As in wet and soapy? Don’t be daft. You know as well as I do that the house-elves take our clothes away and spell them clean. I’m quite sure they don’t get them wet.”

Harry leaned his head back, closed his eyes for a second, and was only partially successful in trying to stifle a laugh, remembering the tons of laundry he’d done for Aunt Petunia. But when he looked back at Draco, he felt sorry as well as amused, his annoyance at being shoved into the icy water forgotten. Draco was frowning at him through a fringe of dripping hair and looked quite disconsolate. “Hey,” he said contritely, taking hold of Draco’s wrist and drawing him closer so he could reach Draco’s buttons, “c’mon, let’s get this off you and hang it up. It’ll dry, and the house-elves will take care of it. I’m sure it will be fine.”

Draco still looked skeptical, but he let Harry unbutton him and help him get the shirt off.

Harry had to admit it was a very nice shirt. He hoped he was right that it would be okay. Belatedly he remembered that there were some nicer things that his aunt had always had dry cleaned.

While Harry carefully squeezed the excess water from the fabric and draped the shirt over the shower curtain rod, he was aware that Draco was watching him closely, as if the shirt was a favorite pet undergoing a life-threatening operation. But when Harry had gotten the shirt all arranged, he was relieved to see that Draco was looking much less forlorn, evidently reassured by Harry’s apparent expertise in dealing with such traumatizing and delicate things as wet shirts.

Draco moved closer to Harry and gently touched Harry’s face where the potion had splashed. The skin was a little red, but not noticeable. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Not really, just a very slight burning feeling.”

Draco nodded. He looked very serious. “Do you know what would have happened if we hadn’t gotten it off as quickly as we did?”

“No,” said Harry.

“It would have burst into flames,” said Draco bluntly. “It was starting to smoke when we were walking in here.”

Before Harry could react to that, he found himself suddenly being forced gently but very firmly against the back wall of the shower stall as a pair of insistent hands started on the buttons of his shirt, and tugged his shirttail out. He looked up into Draco’s eyes and blushed at the intensity in that gray gaze. Harry felt Draco’s hands slip inside his shirt, slide around his waist, and up his sides to rest behind his shoulders. Then Draco was leaning into him, pressing against him in a way that made Harry catch his breath.

With a deep sigh, Draco rested his forehead against Harry’s. “Dammit, Harry,” he said in a very low voice, “you scared the hell out of me.”

The caring implied in those words and implicit in Draco’s tone of voice went straight to Harry’s heart, melting him from head to toe. A lump formed in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muted by emotion. “I had no idea. . . . ” He wrapped his arms around Draco, held him tightly. “And I’m sorry . . . that I got your shirt wet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Draco softly, with a small shrug, his face still serious. “You’re okay . . . that’s what matters.” His eyes closed, his long tawny lashes clinging together in damp spikes against his skin. He relaxed against Harry, content for a time just to be held and rest within the comfort of that embrace. After a few moments, he lifted his head, and with his mouth only a breath away from Harry’s face, touched his tongue to a droplet of water on Harry’s cheek.

It was the merest touch of wet on wet, but a thrill tremor shivered through Harry, his attention riveted by the sensations he felt as Draco’s mouth moved down, still not actually touching him, only breath whispering warm over the cool wetness of his skin, moving down until Draco ran his tongue slowly over Harry’s lower lip. Harry opened his mouth slightly, let his tongue touch Draco’s and retreat, an invitation. The silky contact filled his stomach with fluttery sparks and he tightened his arms around Draco in response, just as Draco accepted that invitation. Draco kissed him deeply, possessively, but with an intense gentleness that left them both trembling.

Draco pulled back to look at Harry, his eyes taking on a dreamy quality.

Harry looked up into Draco’s eyes, which were only a mere inch from his own, and got lost in the gray velvet that gazed back at him. And he knew without the slightest doubt that he was, in that moment, slipping irrevocably, effortlessly, and earth-shatteringly from falling in love to being in love, and that he wanted this person in every way possible. “Draco . . . ”

“Shh,” said Draco softly. “Hurry and come out. Come to bed.”

Oh, thought Harry, but. . . . Harry reached up and brushed the wet blond tendrils out of Draco’s eyes, memory surfacing unbidden once more. He hesitated for a moment because his heart was hammering, then said quietly, solemnly, barely above a whisper, “We have to talk about something first.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” was the equally quiet response. Draco tilted his head and kissed Harry again, a light, fleeting kiss. “The shampoo and soap are up there,” he said, indicating with a nod, a small shelf on the wall above their heads. “Hurry up.” He delayed a moment more, his eyes reflecting back the warmth and desire that were in Harry’s eyes, before turning and stepping out of the shower stall, pulling the curtain closed behind him, leaving Harry alone.

The sudden absence made Harry close his eyes and stand motionless, overcome with longing for a few seconds. Then he heard a zipper unzip on the other side of the curtain, followed by the sound of wet jeans being pulled off, and his face went hot. “Hurry up.” Harry turned on the tap. The water was not icy this time, but still not warm enough for comfort, so he stood back from the water while he struggled out of his own wet, clinging clothes, wringing them out and hanging them one by one over the shower curtain next to Draco’s shirt.

The water was hot by the time he had finished undressing, and with an annoyed sigh, he reached for the shampoo. His hair was always such an unruly pain after he washed it and this would be the second time this evening he had done just that. When he finished rinsing, he turned the water off, raked the wet hair out of his eyes, and it suddenly occurred to him that everything he had worn or brought with him tonight was wet. Shirt, jeans, socks, boxers – all soaking wet. He had nothing at all to put on, and no towel. “Draco,” he called faintly.

“Hmmm?”

The reply was slightly muffled. A second later, Harry heard water run and then the sound of a toothbrush being tapped on the edge of the sink. Harry cautiously moved the shower curtain back just enough that he could poke his head out. The somewhat blurry sight that met his eyes was so unexpected that he couldn’t help smiling, and completely forgot his own predicament. Draco was standing by the sink, just putting his toothbrush away in the medicine cabinet, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, with a second towel wrapped around his wet hair like a turban. And as Harry’s eyes traveled down, even though he didn’t have his glasses on, his vision wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t tell that Draco had stunning legs. Every day Harry was finding himself more and more attracted to Draco; even so, he had never imagined that the mere sight of someone’s legs would have this kind of effect on him, as if it was hard to inhale around the warm liquid longing that was filling his chest, making his heart constrict.

Draco turned around and looked at Harry. “All done?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Harry, finding his voice after a few seconds.

“Well, come on then,” said Draco reaching up to undo the towel on his head. He bent over slightly and rubbed his hair vigorously with the towel, then straightened up, shook his head, and his hair fell neatly into a part, perfectly in place.

Harry was stunned. “That’s all you have to do?” he asked, amazed. “Mine takes me forever and it still won’t behave.”

Draco glanced up at Harry’s hair, both amused and intrigued by this bit of information, having decided at one point years ago that Harry must not ever comb his hair at all. “You probably mess with it too much then,” he said. “Come out.”

“Er . . .” said Harry, hoping that his face wasn’t flushed, knowing that it probably was. “I need a towel. And may I . . . borrow a pair of boxers, or pajama bottoms? Unless you know a drying spell – everything I have is soaking wet.”

Draco eyed all of the clothes draped over the shower curtain and suddenly smirked. “The only spell I know like that is the one I use to dry stuff for potions ingredients,” he said with a mischievous light in his eyes. “It tends to make things wither up, so I’m sure it wouldn’t be good for clothes.” He took a clean towel off the shelf by the sink and held it out. Just out of Harry’s reach. Just long enough to watch Harry turn a lovely shade of red. Then he stepped closer and hung it over Harry’s head. “There’s the towel,” he said, as a relieved Harry disappeared with it back behind the shower curtain. “But there are two things I’m not sharing,” he continued seriously. “Toothbrushes and underwear.”

“I’m not asking to borrow your toothbrush,” said Harry after a few moments, as he stepped out of the shower stall, the towel around his waist. “But, there must be something you can let me wear until my clothes are dry.”

“Hmmm,” said Draco. “I don’t know.” He tilted his head and gave Harry an appraising look. “I kind of like this outfit.”

Harry wasn’t sure if Draco was joking or not, and he was beginning to think he was going to acquire a permanent blush. “Draco, please – ” he started, then Draco grinned at him.

“I’m not promising anything,” he said archly, one eyebrow raised speculatively. “But I’ll go have a look.”

While Draco left to find him something to wear, Harry took his jeans off the curtain rod, fished his small toothbrush and comb from one pocket, and his wand out of another. Luckily the Invisibility Cloak was still out on the chair in Draco’s room and hadn’t gotten wet. “Draco,” he called, as he stepped over to the sink. “May I borrow some toothpaste?” He said the spell to return his comb and toothbrush to their proper size, then set his wand and comb down on the edge of the sink next to his glasses.

Draco appeared in the doorway wearing loose, dark gray, knit pants, carrying something made of black fabric bunched up in one hand. He walked in just in time to see Harry open the medicine cabinet. For a split second, he felt a fleeting stab of alarm, until he remembered that he’d hidden the jar of potion somewhere else.

“Toothpaste?” repeated Harry. “Do you mind if I use some of yours?”

“I don’t mind sharing toothpaste,” he said, quickly recovering his composure over the potion, and just as quickly losing it a little again when he saw that Harry had brought his own toothbrush. “It’s on the second shelf,” he added with a slight catch in his voice as he realized just what that implied – that Harry had come prepared to spend the night, had wanted to stay even before Draco had asked. He stood back and watched Harry squeeze out toothpaste and start brushing his teeth. Then he couldn’t contain the grin that broke out on his face. Harry be-still-my-heart Potter was standing in Draco’s own bathroom, brushing his teeth, wearing nothing but a towel. The sheer familiarity and intimacy and wonder of it made him a little giddy. When Harry bent to spit toothpaste out in the sink, Draco laughed.

“What?” said Harry, looking over his shoulder with a questioning glance at Draco.

“Nothing,” said Draco, still grinning.

Harry turned back to the sink to rinse his toothbrush. “Sounded like you were laughing at me.”

Draco stepped forward to stand close behind Harry. “No, I wasn’t,” he said. His fingers brushed across the nape of Harry’s neck and out over cool skin, following the curve of his shoulder, then trailed down his back, coming to rest lightly for a moment just at the top of the towel. Then his hand slid around Harry’s waist and he leaned into the other boy, resting his forehead against the back of Harry’s head, burying his face in the mop of still damp, black hair. “I wasn’t laughing at you,” he whispered. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Harry turned around within that one armed hug, comb in hand, a glimmer of doubt in his green eyes. But the gray gaze that met his held no ridicule, only warm affection. “You’re sure you weren’t laughing at my skinny ar– . . . er, legs?” he asked with a shy grin.

Draco choked slightly, and grinned back, finding it hard not to laugh at Harry now. “I wasn’t,” he repeated. “But I might be now.” He pulled his arm from around Harry’s waist and plucked the comb out of Harry’s hand. After taking a couple of expertly executed swipes through Harry’s damp hair, he set the comb down on the sink and stepped back to survey his handiwork. Still grinning, he shook his head, then reached up and tousled Harry’s hair with his hand. “Impossible,” he said. “Leave it alone,” he added with a chuckle, when Harry reached for the comb. “I don’t think it matters what you do to it.” He held out the black item he’d been holding in his other hand. “Here,” he said, “this is all I could find.”

Harry took the offered article of clothing and held it up. It turned out to be a pair of black silk boxers with the Malfoy crest on the hem of one leg. Harry rolled his eyes. But he was in no position to be picky, and judging from the amused smirk on Draco’s face, Draco knew that very well.

“I hardly ever wore those,” said Draco. “My mother bought them – God knows what she could have been thinking – they’re horrible. So I don’t want them back. Keep them if you want – you can consider it an early Christmas present.”

“That is just so touching, Malfoy,” said Harry, balling up the atrocious boxers. “Exactly like the presents I get from home. Ugly . . . used . . . unwanted . . . underwear.”

That was too much even for Draco. He snorted, then broke down laughing. Harry joined in a second later, and in another moment, Draco put his arms around Harry’s neck and they were hugging each other, still laughing. Then Draco was kissing Harry’s face, and Harry turned his head to find Draco’s mouth with his own. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it snuffed out their silliness and rekindled the wanting they had both felt so strongly in the shower. Draco pulled away slightly first. “I can’t give you your real present for a couple of days yet,” he said, speaking softly against Harry’s mouth.

Harry was taken completely by surprise. He drew back so he could look at Draco. “You got me a Christmas present? A real one?”

Draco smiled. “Of course I did,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss Harry lightly again. “And it’s something nice . . . not underwear.” He let go of Harry and took a small step back. “I’m going to go clean up the potion stuff,” he said, one eyebrow up and a hint of teasing command in his voice, “and you . . .” He walked to the door, then turned around. “You are going to get dressed and – ” He snickered. “You are going to get that skinny arse out here in five minutes.” He ducked out of the door as Harry threw the boxers at him.

Harry was grinning as he scooped the boxers back up off the floor. Draco had gotten him a Christmas present! Years of receiving next to nothing had left him continually surprised that other people actually wanted to give him presents, but the fact that Draco had, made him feel quite stunned. And touched. And thrilled. He suddenly felt like a five year old getting excited over Christmas gifts. Now he was quite looking forward to Christmas, to spending it with Draco. Ron and Hermione were spending the holidays first at the Burrow and then at the Grangers to announce their engagement, and his other roommates were all going home as well. There was a good chance that they would practically have the whole castle to themselves.

Smiling, he hurried over to the sink and retrieved his glasses. He checked his hair in the mirror and was amazed to find that whatever Draco had done to it had worked – it wasn’t sticking up outrageously anywhere. Finally he held up the offensive boxers, gave them a wry look, pulled off the towel and put them on. At least they fit. That was a definite improvement over the underwear he got from his family.

He found Draco by the fire picking up the last remnants of the ruined potions experiment, the charred ashes and scorch marks left on the stone hearth from the spilled potion that had burned there giving grim testimony to Harry’s narrow escape. Draco had already put the chessboard back in its place on the table, and his huge Potions book had been returned to its proper spot on the bookshelf. “Need any help?” Harry offered, though the truth was he would much rather stand and watch the deft movements of Draco’s hands and study the way the fire made his skin glow. The drawstring of Draco’s pants was loosely tied, letting the waistband slip a little down toward his hips, which in turn made the hems puddle slightly around his feet, something that Harry found utterly charming.

Draco glanced up, his hands full of packets of potions ingredients. He put them in the box and closed it. “No,” he said somewhat sadly. “It’s a shame about this, though. We almost had it.”

“At least we’ll know not to make that mistake in class,” said Harry wishing he could think of something better to say to lighten Draco’s disappointment.

“It was my mistake,” said Draco as he stood up, the kit box in one hand and the little cauldron in the other. He gave Harry a sidelong look and a small, regretful, yet somehow evocative smile, the color in his face a bit pinker than usual. “I was . . . well . . . rather distracted . . . by certain plans for tonight.” He grinned when Harry colored slightly too. “It’s your move, Harry,” he said, indicating the chess game. “I’ll be right back.”

Harry watched Draco pad off toward the bathroom, then turned back to study the chessboard, the light tone of the last few minutes suddenly lost to him, as the seriousness of what he was about to do rushed over him. He heard Draco open and close a drawer in his wardrobe, heard him a moment later, run water in the bathroom sink to rinse out the cauldron. Harry really didn’t need any time to think. He knew his move, and he knew what needed to be said. But even though he had already tried to say this to Draco once, somehow it had gotten a lot harder tonight. Somehow this afternoon, outside under the vast cold winter sky, it would have seemed a small thing. He could have said it cleanly, let it rush out of him on the bitter wind and blow away. Now, here, in the intimacy and warmth of the firelight, now that they were close and alone, there was heat in it, and pressure, and it seemed a huge thing to say. He could feel the smothering unspoken weight of it constricting his throat.

Harry took a deep breath when he heard Draco’s soft footsteps come padding back. There was no way he could delay this any longer, and truly didn’t want to. It was just that . . . God, he knew it was going to be so hard. An arm slipped around his waist, and a warm body leaned into him as he put his left arm around Draco’s back. “Pawn to E5,” he said, then moved one of his black fairies ahead one space. “Draco,” he said softly, turning his head to look at the other boy, meeting the expectant gray eyes with resolution. As evenly as he could, he said, “When you asked me if I was a virgin that morning in the hall, and I said at first that I wasn’t . . . that was the truth. I’m not.” He dropped his gaze from Draco’s eyes and swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “I lied later . . . because I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to have to tell you who it was.” He paused again, then dared to look up at Draco’s face. “She hurt me a lot . . . and I . . . I just couldn’t tell you then.”

“I know,” said Draco quietly, tightening his arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him closer. “Or I guessed it was something like that.”

For a couple of heartbeats, Harry was speechless. “You know?” he said at last. He stared at Draco, the sense of stifling pressure he’d felt evaporating as relief and puzzlement flooded through him. “How?”

Draco gave him a small, indulgent, but affectionate, smile. “You’re a terrible liar, Harry. The first thing you said was so obviously a gut reaction that it had to be true, and because of that, I believed your made-up story about all those girls at first. But after you said you didn’t sleep with any of them, and I asked for your answer again, I could tell you were lying about it the second time. That’s when I made up the penalty rule.” Draco paused, studying Harry for a few seconds before continuing in a slightly more serious tone. “But I also thought it must have been something you wanted to avoid talking about very badly, if you felt you had to lie about it.”

“It was,” said Harry, feeling a little embarrassed that Draco had seen through him so easily, but also pleased and grateful – because Draco had understood so much, even why he had lied, and had never pressed him to talk about it. It really shouldn’t have surprised him, that Draco would have been so perceptive, but. . . . “God, Draco,” he said. “I wish I’d known. I’ve really been worried about telling you this.”

“So is this the ‘something important’ you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes,” said Harry. He searched Draco’s eyes, looking for blame or hurt and found only calm. “You don’t mind, then?” he said finally. “That there was someone else first.”

Draco shrugged slightly. “I do,” he said softly, “ . . . a little. But I also understand about not wanting to talk about things.” He looked down at the chessboard. After a moment’s hesitation, Draco moved the white Queen backwards one square. “Queen to G3,” he said, as he turned back to meet Harry’s eyes with a question. “I want to know the whole story, Harry. Are you ready to tell me everything? Who it was, what happened?”

Harry nodded. “I think so . . . I think I need to talk about it now.”

With one arm still firmly around Harry’s waist, Draco reached up one-handed and carefully pulled Harry’s glasses off and set them on the table, before he slipped his other arm around Harry’s waist too, drawing him into a full embrace. His eyes closed for a moment as the other boy’s arms slid around his shoulders and their bodies came together. His mouth brushed Harry’s ear with a light kiss. “Then come to bed with me,” he said, in a hushed voice. “We’ll talk first, but I want you to stay all night. I want you to be here with me in the morning when I wake up.”

Harry turned his face against the side of Draco’s head and closed his eyes, deeply affected by the strength of the needs he felt, needing to console and protect, to touch, to love. Wanting to be consoled and protected in return, wanting to be touched, and more than anything, to be loved. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, as he kissed the side of Draco’s face.

Draco smiled and moved out of Harry’s encircling arms, catching hold of Harry’s hand and tugging him with gentle insistence away from the table, across the room.

Harry couldn’t help but smile too, even if he still had concerns about the conversation that was about to happen, because there was no doubt at all about how Draco intended for the evening to end, no doubt that Draco still wanted him. And Harry wanted Draco too. So very, very much. He allowed himself to be led to Draco’s bedside, and when Draco pulled back the blankets, Harry slid in, scooting over to the far side to make room so that Draco could get in too. Draco paused for a moment to do the spell to put out the lamps, then returned his wand to the bedside table and climbed into bed, leaving the hangings open so that they could see each other by the low firelight that still burned in the grate.

They lay on their sides, facing each other for a minute, a momentary awkwardness coming between them. Then Harry sat half-way up and leaned toward Draco. “Draco, may I . . . will you . . .” He started the sentence before he thought, then stopped, realizing he felt rather embarrassed to actually say what he was going to ask.

Draco waited, but when Harry seemed too tongue-tied to continue, he turned onto his back, and reached for Harry, pulling the other boy down to lie by his side. He put his arms around Harry, his hands sliding lightly over the smooth skin of Harry’s back. “Will I what?” he asked quietly.

Harry sighed, settling into Draco embrace, then whispered, “Let me do this.”

Draco chuckled softly as Harry snuggled up against him. A second later, he nearly sat straight up in shock. “Good God,” he gasped. “Your feet are freezing!”

It was Harry's turn to laugh. “Not my fault,” he replied, holding tightly to Draco, as if he was afraid Draco might try to get away. “You're the one who turned ice water on me, then made me stand around so long in nothing but a towel, and even longer in nothing but these horrible Malfoy boxers. The least you can do is help warm me up.” Harry nuzzled into Draco's neck. “You are always so warm. . . .”

“Oh, I get it," said Draco, pretending insult. "This was all just a ruse to use me as a foot warmer.”

Harry gave one more short, subdued laugh. “No,” he said, then continued in a more serious tone. “This is going to be hard for me . . . I didn’t want to talk to you from over there.”

Draco ran one hand up Harry’s back until his fingers were weaving gently into the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I didn’t want you to be way over there either.” He trailed his fingers slowly down again, over Harry’s shoulder and all the way down his arm, eliciting another sigh from Harry. “C’mon, Potter,” he said in a low, tender, but teasing tone. “Don’t get too comfy here. I’m not warming up your feet for nothing.” He paused a half-second for effect. “So who was this vile seductress who robbed me of your virtue?”

Harry smiled at the presumption of that, then caught Draco’s hand when the trailing fingers got to his wrist, and held on to it, lacing their fingers together. He took a deep breath. “Cho Chang,” he said softly. “I’d had a crush on her for a long time.”

“I remember her,” said Draco thoughtfully. “Ravenclaw Seeker. Not too bad on a broom. Graduated last year.” He paused. “Didn’t you take her to the Yule Ball last Christmas?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “I asked her to the first Yule Ball, in fourth year, during the Triwizard Tournament, but she was going out with Cedric. And after he was killed . . . I wasn’t sure I would be able to talk to her again, that I could stand to face her after that.

“But when we came back to school for fifth year, she acted friendly, going out of her way to talk to me. We did some things together – everything was really awkward at first, and not much happened that year. She went out with some other guys too, and I started thinking we were going to end up as just friends. Finally, right at the end of the year, we talked about Cedric, and she cried a lot. When we left for the summer I was convinced that that was all she wanted from me – someone to talk to about what happened to Cedric – and I knew that wasn’t what I wanted.

“Then she sent me a letter over the summer, and that was what changed things. She said she really wanted to be with me, but didn’t want the attention that being my steady girlfriend would bring. And I understood that and didn’t mind it – in fact I agreed with it. I didn’t want the attention either, so we kept our relationship quiet. Only my close friends and hers knew about it. Knowing what I know now, though, it seems she had another reason for wanting to hide it.”

Harry turned onto his back, his head pillowed on Draco’s shoulder, and crossed his arms over his chest. This was where the telling got harder and he felt that now-despised-but-oh-so-familiar ache start in the back of his throat. Draco shifted slightly against him, leaning his head against Harry’s and putting his arms around him, his arms and hands laying over top of Harry’s. The comfort of this made the ache in Harry’s throat recede a little and he went on. “We would meet different places,” he said, continuing the story in a tighter voice than before, “places where we wouldn’t be seen, or just spend time together in her room. Her roommate knew about us of course and left us alone most of the time. We talked, and kissed a lot, but she never let me go too far. And I was totally caught up in the whole game she was playing. She said she loved me, and I was stupid enough to believe her.”

“Did you love her?” asked Draco very quietly, when Harry stopped talking and didn’t continue.

“I don’t know. I thought I did,” said Harry with a sigh after a moment. “I thought about a lot of things, like getting married, kids even. But it doesn’t matter now. She didn’t love me – it was all a lie . . . all of it was . . . just wrong. She knew we couldn’t stay together. God, Draco, I don’t know how she could have done what she did. None of it makes any sense.

“The last few weeks of school, I was upset that she was graduating, that we would be split up for the summer, and I wanted to know when I could see her again, but she got really distant then, like she wasn’t sure about us anymore, and wouldn’t answer my questions. On the last night before summer break, she asked me to come to her room, and I was hoping she would finally talk to me about it. Instead, there were candles lit everywhere and she said her roommate would be gone all evening. Then she locked the door, and . . . I thought . . . I thought it meant we’d be together . . . that she was sure. And afterwards, she let me lie there with her like an idiot and talk about all my plans for us.

“I left about midnight and said I’d come back in the morning to help her take her trunk downstairs. She kept kissing me goodnight and acting like she didn’t want me to go, and I was so happy that night.” Harry paused and sat up, drawing his knees up to his chest, his arms crossed over the tops of his knees, his head down. “In the morning,” he said bitterly, “when I went back, she told me the truth. That she could never see me again.”

Draco sat up too. “Did she tell you why?”

“Oh, yes,” said Harry, lifting his head so that he could look back at Draco over his shoulder, “she told me why. She was getting married.” He turned away, put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head down into his hands.

“Married?” repeated Draco. He looked stunned for a second, then his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a straight, thoughtful line, as if something had just occurred to him and made sense.

“Right,” said Harry. “The very next week.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I was so shocked, I don’t know, I think I ran. Somehow I ended up in Dumbledore’s office. All I could think of was that I wasn’t even seventeen yet and my life was wrecked, that I’d always be alone and I couldn’t bear it. Right then I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. I felt so betrayed and stupid. I ended up begging Dumbledore not to make me go home for the summer. I couldn’t get on the train. Couldn’t face anyone. He finally agreed to let me stay. So you see, she made a complete fool of me, pretended to love me, slept with me, and all the time she knew it couldn’t be.”

Draco was silent for several minutes. “I think you’re wrong, Harry,” he said finally.

Harry lifted his head and turned around to look at Draco again, his green eyes dark and overflowing with a mixture of hurt questions and anger. “What do you mean, I’m wrong?”

“I mean I saw her on the train that morning,” said Draco evenly. “I went down, like I always have, to see where you were on the train, and Dumbledore was there instead, explaining to Weasley and Granger that you were going to stay the summer at Hogwarts. He said that he had decided at the last minute that it was too dangerous for you to go stay with your Muggle relatives. I turned around to leave and she was standing right behind me, evidently she had heard everything too. For a couple of seconds, she seemed frozen, like she didn’t even see me, and then she realized I was staring at her, and she turned around and ran back down the corridor.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” said Harry, turning his face away from Draco.

“She was crying, Harry,” said Draco softly. He put one hand on Harry’s shoulder, rubbed his thumb against the tension there. “Maybe you ran off before she could tell you everything.”

“I don’t know what more she could have said that would have made any difference. She was getting married for God’s sake.”

“And maybe she didn’t know about it,” persisted Draco. “Have you ever heard of an arranged marriage? They’re still practiced in the oldest wizarding families, and the tradition used to be that the bride wasn’t told until her eighteenth birthday.”

Harry turned around in shock, struggling to understand this appalling new concept, searching Draco’s eyes for the truth and finding it in the steady gray honesty that gazed back at him. It was a very long moment before he could speak. “Oh God, Draco,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. “Her eighteenth birthday was about three weeks before school got out for the summer. She got a long letter from her parents, and right after that she had a huge fight with them. That was why I was upset with her – because after that she acted so distant, but she wouldn’t talk about it.”

“There,” said Draco. “That must have been what it was about. She didn’t know when you started seeing each other.”

“But how could she . . . she should have told me! I wouldn’t have . . . done what I did.”

“And I’m guessing she knew that. Did it ever occur to you that maybe she wanted you to be her first lover, not some stranger? Maybe she even thought she could get her parents to change their minds, so she put off breaking up with you until the last moment. I think she did love you, Harry, and wanted to be with you as long as possible before she . . . had to give you up . . .” Draco trailed off and his face went suddenly very pale, his expression transfixed for the merest moment by realization.

But Harry didn’t notice. He put his face down on his knees. “Oh, no.”

There was an extended stunned silence. Draco sat very still, shaken by the insight initiated by his own words, and by the unexpected deep pain with which that insight had pierced his heart. “She did love you,” he said finally. Then he asked the question that he knew he didn’t want the answer to. “But you regret that you slept with her?”

“Yes.” It was the barest whisper. “Very much. I wouldn’t have, if I had known we couldn’t be together.”

They were silent again for a long, long moment. “That night I found you sitting in the hall, this is what that was really about, wasn’t it? And why you lied to me?” asked Draco, his voice ragged, constricted. “That hurt you so much?”

“Yes.”

Draco turned away and put his feet out of the bed. “I need to think,” he said, and got up.

Harry was jarred from his self-absorption. “Draco. . . ?” He watched Draco walk away from him, to go sit in the chair in front of the hearth. The room was dark, but Harry could see the other boy silhouetted in the firelight. Draco sat with his arms draped down the length of the arm rests, hands gripping the ends, his face turned away, looking into the fire. Harry watched him with a feeling of dazed emptiness, his heart in his throat, his mind reeling, seesawing first from Draco’s astute and very probably correct revelations about Cho to this very unexpected upset and abrupt departure. Earlier, when Harry had found out that Draco had known all along about his lie and had understood, he had thought that the worst was over, that things were going to be all right, but now . . . now, he didn’t know what to think.

Draco moved, drawing his feet up into the chair, and wrapping his arms around his legs. He put his head down on his knees, his face still turned away from Harry.

Harry felt sick. He sat back and for a moment stared up at the ceiling. Did Draco expect him to get up and come after him? He had consoled Draco last night, had chased after him again this morning to find out what was wrong, and was simply not going to do it again. Not this time, not when he was hurting so badly himself. He needed to know, and know it now, if this relationship was going to be one-sided. Was Draco capable of reaching out to comfort him if he needed it, or would it always be Harry that had to bend, had to take the first steps to close the distances between them? Harry slid down under the blanket and turned on his side facing away from Draco. Part of him intensely wanted Draco to come back to him this time, part of him acknowledged that it didn’t matter – that what he wanted most intensely was just to be with Draco. He wanted that more than he had ever wanted anything or anyone.

But, oh God, Cho. He could see her in his mind’s eye on the train as Draco must have seen her, her soft brown eyes spilling tears. Her pale golden face turned up, loosened wisps of hair curling around her face. Memories he had buried came flooding back. The long black braid that was so thick and supple in his hand. Her laughing smile as he used the tip of that long braid to tickle her nose. The way her head fit under his chin when he held her. The way she had leaned back into him when they flew on his broom together, the way she had pressed herself against him when he had loved her. He had never said goodbye. He wanted to hug her and wish her happiness. Wanted to know that she was okay. Grief welled up in him at the thought of how he had left things, of how she must have felt having to face her new life with someone else, and his eyes stung with tears. He sniffed and swallowed, fighting the ache in his throat. He should have been past this.

* * *

Draco gazed blindly at the fire, hugging his knees, thinking through what Harry had just said, trying to reason out what he should do. He heard the blankets rustle and looked up to see that Harry had lain down and turned away. Draco stared at him for a long time. Even the curve of bare shoulder and back that showed beneath the edge of the blanket, and the vulnerable dip in the nape of Harry’s neck where Draco hadn’t kissed him yet and wanted to, the curl of black hair that stuck up where his head met the pillow, all of these things filled him with a yearning so intense as to be painful. There were only four days left before he went home for Christmas, only four days left to be with Harry before he had to act on his plan for his father, and he was already denying himself so much. He felt heartsick when he thought of Harry asking him if they could work together. He honestly couldn’t imagine anything he would rather do than to be Potions master to Mediwizard Harry; it would have involved him on so many levels in the subject he loved most, with the person he loved. It would have been perfect.

And was perfectly impossible. He knew how doubtful it was that he could ever have that future, and had accepted the things he could never have. But he had not intended to deny himself everything. Do you regret that you slept with her? he had asked, and the answer had broken his heart. “Yes. Very much. I wouldn’t have, if I had known we couldn’t be together.” He did not want to deny himself this too. Oh God, not this too.

Draco had wanted Harry to love him without ever really believing that it would happen. After all, he was not inclined to indulge himself in flights of pure fantasy. Still he had wanted it. Wanted it intensely, wanted it selfishly, without thinking of the consequences to Harry. Nor had he envisioned the depth of his feelings now that they were involved. When he had first made his plan, with Harry only an unattainable desire, something never to be had, it had been easier to plan to give him up. To give up something you never realistically thought you would possess, how hard was that? Yet now, Draco felt it would wrench his soul apart to be separated from Harry. And it was clear that Harry felt the same, had said so that very morning. Draco had felt and accepted the indisputable truth in the words Harry had spoken. “What I want is for us to be together, more than anything.” It was unthinkable now, that what he was planning to do would almost certainly separate them forever, and that there was no way out. But the unthinkable was fact, and so, for Harry’s sake, he should not let the two of them get closer.

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, resolved to do just that. Harry hadn’t moved since he had lain down, so Draco thought he was probably asleep. Draco buried his face in his arms again. It was just as well, he could sleep in the chair, and they could talk more in the morning. Then Harry sniffed, and Draco heard it, and just as it had that first night in the hall, that soft sniffle melted his resistance, muddled his clarity about what it was he shouldn’t do. He was moved by concern, and couldn’t resist the compelling longing that brought him to his feet, drawing him inexorably back to Harry.

Draco got back into bed and slid over next to Harry to lie on his side behind him, slipping one arm around him to pull him close. Then he kissed that tender spot at the nape of Harry’s neck. “I thought you were asleep,” he whispered as he laid his face against the back of Harry’s head.

* * *

Harry lay still for a moment, relief and then quiet exultation pouring into him through Draco’s presence and touch. His fears that Draco wouldn’t be willing to comfort him seemed completely unfounded now. Draco had come back, was holding him, kissing him, obviously not upset. He turned over to face Draco, and one tear trickled down his cheek. He wiped it away impatiently.  “Sorry,” he whispered, and sniffled again. “Looks like it’s my turn for this tonight.”

“One tear, Potter,” said Draco with tender scorn. “That hardly counts as a turn compared to the flood I made last night.”

Harry smiled a small rueful smile. “I did that to Dumbledore. That's why he let me stay here last summer.”

“You cried in Dumbledore’s office?”

“Buckets,” said Harry with another small sniff.

“Good lord, Harry. I guess that counts.”

Harry wiped his eyes dry. “I really thought I was over this,” he murmured apologetically. He took a deep breath. “I am over this,” he said firmly. He put his hand on Draco’s shoulder and gently pushed the other boy down onto his back, then sat up part way on one elbow, leaning over him. “Please believe me,” said Harry earnestly, looking down into the velvety gray eyes of the boy who was about to become his lover, “I’m not sorry at all that it’s over with her. I don’t want her back. It was never right . . . not like this.” Draco’s arms came up around him, drawing him closer. Harry slid his hands beneath Draco’s shoulders, shifting his weight over and onto his elbows on both sides of Draco so that he was lying almost fully on top of him. “What I felt for her isn’t anything compared to how I feel with you – even the first time you kissed me,” he said softly. “I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

He paused. Draco was gazing up at him in a way that made it hard to remember what he still needed to say. “It’s just that after what you told me tonight,” he said after a moment, “I feel bad for leaving things with her the way I did. And what she did really hurt. I thought. . . . ” His breath caught as Draco’s hands trailed lightly up his back and arms tightened around him. “I thought it was supposed to mean forever,” he finished in an almost whisper. Then he couldn’t speak any more because Draco was pulling him down into a kiss and he could feel Draco’s heart beating beneath him like an echo of his own pounding heart. He’d said everything he could with words anyway. What was left to say between them, and there were still so many things he needed to say, were things that had to be said without words, with gentle hands and quickened heartbeats, with breathless sighs and kisses. There was nothing to be done then but give in and fall, give in to the soft warm mouth that was rising to meet his. He kissed Draco deeply, and lost himself in the rightness of it, in the growing passion he felt, in knowing that there were no more secrets now to come between them.

Draco held on to Harry tightly, letting himself be lost too for just this once, allowing himself and Harry this one long, almost timeless moment of loving, reveling in the feeling of Harry in his arms, of soft skin under his hands, of Harry’s weight pressing him down, holding him securely in the place he most longed to be. When Harry finally, slowly, pulled back from kissing him, Draco looked up into those emerald eyes and knew he could never let this happen again. They were too close, too near the edge of being able to stop even now. “Do you still believe what you said?” he asked in a low breathless voice. “About it meaning forever?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Harry. “I would wish it did.” Harry dropped his head and pressed his lips to the hollow of Draco’s throat. His tongue flickered out to taste the racing pulse that beat under Draco’s warm skin. “With you, I want it to.” He felt Draco’s arms tighten around him and one hand come up to stroke his hair.

“If that happens between us, Harry,” said Draco very quietly, “I promise it will mean forever for me.”

Harry kissed the delicate edge of Draco’s collarbone, then lifted his head in disbelief as the words Draco had just spoken registered. “What do you mean . . . if?” he asked haltingly.

Draco hesitated, feeling as though the next words he had to say would have to be torn unwilling from his mouth before he could utter them. But he had to. He reached up to brush the hair off Harry’s forehead, and ran the edge of his thumb lightly over Harry’s scar. Finally, he looked up again into those adored green eyes, eyes that were full of longing overlaid with confusion. “I mean I think we should wait,” he said at last.

Harry gazed back at Draco, struggling with the totally unexpected words that had just been said, not able to quite comprehend this complete reversal of Draco’s intentions. Those shadowed silver-gray eyes held something he couldn’t quite decipher. “That’s definitely not what you thought earlier,” he said, hurt welling up in his throat. He shifted as if to move away, but Draco’s arms tightened around him, not letting him go.

“I just want to wait,” Draco repeated, “until the end of the game.”

Harry stared down at him, still hurt and perplexed, trying to understand. “Will you tell me why – why you’ve changed your mind?”

Draco didn’t answer right away.

“Is it because I – ”

“No.” Draco cut him off, his voice subdued, but final.

Harry buried his face in the curve of Draco’s shoulder. The intense intimacy of how Draco’s body felt under his was interfering with his breathing. “I want you,” he whispered.

“I want you too,” was the whispered response against his ear. “But . . . we can’t . . . yet.”

Harry turned his face to the side, away from Draco and tried to breathe normally. Tried to think. Draco was stroking his hair again, and that was comforting and calming, unreservedly caring. He tried to think back through the things he had said about Cho – it had to be something he’d said that had caused Draco to change his mind. What had he said just before Draco had gotten up? He was too muddled with all the conflicting emotions he was feeling to sort it out right now. All he could do was respect Draco’s request, even if he didn’t understand why, and give him the same level of consideration Draco had given him such a short time ago by not pressing him to talk about it.

But there was no way he was going to go back to his own room. “I don’t want to leave tonight, Draco,” he said with determination. “I want to stay with you.” He felt Draco take a deep breath, as if with relief, and the arms that were holding him so tightly loosened.

“I didn’t say anything about you going, did I?” said Draco softly against Harry’s hair.

Harry sighed and shifted over off Draco and turned to face him, his eyes asking the obvious question, needing to be sure of the answer.

Draco cupped one hand behind Harry’s head and pulled him into a gentle kiss. “I want you to stay,” he said firmly.

“All night?”

“All night.”

With another small sigh to relieve his frustration, Harry accepted both invitation and limitation, and settled down against Draco’s side with his head on the other boy’s shoulder. Firm arms came around him, and after a time, the rhythmic rise and fall of Draco’s breathing began to relax and calm him. He could feel the tension in Draco ebbing away too, and the quieter, tranquil feelings he had felt when he had held Draco asleep the night before began to surface again. Draco’s hand was wandering idly back and forth along his arm, then over his shoulder, up his neck and down the back of his head – as if Draco were randomly tracing the lines and curves of him, as if every contour and every stroke was being committed into a memory of touching. The feeling was comforting and breathtakingly gentle. Harry could never remember being touched that way before.

He lay still, watching the movement of Draco’s hand through half-closed eyes, soaking in the pleasure of it, hating to fall asleep. But the soothing caresses and motion were making him drowsy, and he felt himself slipping, falling heart-first into that intimate sense of oneness with the boy who held him. The awareness of a low humming vibration and the dissolving of boundaries that he had experienced last night came back to him, familiar and welcome now, weaving him into an altered state of mind, a place of deep security, peace and openness. From this state, just before Harry drifted off, he saw the most enchanting vision. Tiny translucent crystal-white sparks of light flashed and faded, trailing halos and tails of soft glowing radiance, swirling, then misting away, following the movement of Draco’s hand. He sighed again, contented this time, and fell asleep with a soft smile.

* * *

Draco shifted a little, getting comfortable around the body that had suddenly gone heavy in his arms, and realized that Harry had fallen asleep. Damn you, Harry Potter, he thought, not for the first time, but never before had he thought it with this mixture of tenderness and sorrow. Why did you have to make this so wonderful? Why did you have to make it so hard? For a long moment, he studied Harry’s face, a face that in sleep seemed both childish and strong, and oh so lovely. He smiled a little as Harry’s words from that morning came back to him. I wonder if you have any idea how lovely you are when you’re asleep? he thought.

He’d been petting Harry, letting his hand run lightly over the other boy’s skin, up his back, through his hair, down his arm, not able to get enough of touching him. His hand stilled now, coming to rest on one smooth shoulder. Holding Harry like this was filling him with such a sense of completion, as if every barrier between them had melted away. It surprised Draco that he could feel this; it was entirely unexpected that he could feel satisfied, fulfilled even, just to hold this sleeping person in his arms, to know that he was capable of feeling joined in this way with someone else, that he could feel this intense level of belonging and love. He had wanted it, but had never believed it would come to him.

And he understood something about Harry now that he never had before, that Harry had been as desperate to belong to someone as he himself had been, that not all the adulation and fame in the world, nor even his friends, close as they were, would ever quite fill the empty place in Harry’s soul, just as no one had ever done for Draco. No one else made Draco feel the way Harry did, had ever touched him emotionally or physically the way Harry had. There was no one else he could accept as his equal, or give himself to without reservation. And just the same, Harry had told him so tonight – no one had ever made Harry feel the way Draco did. Draco knew, if things had been different, that he would have wanted to drown in the joy of that knowledge.

The sleeping boy stirred slightly in his arms and Draco reached up to smooth down a lock of tousled black hair. He loved touching Harry this way. He wanted every possible remaining moment with him – it was all he could have, all he had left, and he was still selfish, knowing there was only so much he could deny himself, even for Harry’s sake. He hated what he had done tonight, both for himself and for Harry. It had hurt so much, had taken every bit of his determination to hold back from loving Harry tonight. He ached inside from wanting him. But Harry had accepted his change of mind, and Draco was resolved to stand firm on this one thing. He had no intention of letting the chess game finish before he went home for Christmas, no intention of hurting Harry so much more by becoming his lover when he knew how things would almost certainly end. But he had seen the hurt in those emerald eyes tonight and couldn’t bear the thought of denying him anything else.

They had four days left. And Draco decided now, that for these four days, he would give Harry all that he could. He would put his worries for the future aside and live as if they would be together forever. He would give Harry that much and hold onto the hope that when it was over, Harry would somehow eventually understand and would not hate him, would maybe even forgive him. Deep regret tiptoed around the corners of his mind, but he ignored it. He would try not to dwell on these things, would not ruin their last days together with any other senseless attempts to keep them apart, or let Harry see his doubts and pain. If he was the one who hurt now, it didn't matter, because later it would be Harry, and that did matter. God, so soon, it would be Harry. And he wondered how everything could go so right and so wrong at the same time.

Draco laid his cheek against the soft black hair. No, he would not worry about anything bad now. Those things would come in their own time, soon enough. For now, Harry was his – was here in his bed, in his arms, and wanted him. He kissed the top of Harry’s head, pulled the blankets up around them, then closed his eyes and let himself slip into the vast sense of peace and belonging that always seemed to well up inside him when he quieted his mind and let himself lie still with this boy he loved. And if he had ever had the smallest doubt that he was in love with Harry Potter, there was no room for doubt now at all. The emotion that filled him in this moment, just before he fell asleep, was profound and absolute. He took a deep breath and pulled Harry closer, surrendering to it with all of his soul.

* * *

When Harry opened his eyes, he was looking down, and it seemed that a grim ghostly vapor, filled with hazy pinpoints of light, was swirling around his feet. After a moment, his vision cleared and he saw that eddies of tiny snowflakes were blowing on the wind, drifting past his ankles, tearing and raveling away into a gauzy white mist, glittering with icy uncertainty, reflecting the dim light that surrounded him. The wind was bitterly cold and Harry pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He shivered slightly, then started violently as the lowering, overcast sky split asunder with blinding light and a splintering sizzling CA-RACK! The air surged with the acrid smell of electricity. A deep, deafening rumbling rolled out of the leaden, darkening clouds. He looked around, his heart pounding, trying to understand where he was, trying to remember how he had come there, why he was alone.

The place where he stood was rough and craggy. Sharp, jagged rocks, dark and slick with ice, jutted skyward all around him. It was a place of some height, and he realized suddenly that he could see with increasing clarity, as if the snowy fog was receding from him, exposing the forbidding landscape below. And what emerged from that soulless white mist seized his heart as if a fist of ice had plunged into his chest. He gasped for breath, disbelief and horror threatening to overcome him.

Legion upon legion of dark forces spread out before him, the army of the Dark Lord revealed. The scar on his forehead throbbed with pain as one cloaked, hooded figure stepped to the fore, flanked on both sides by files of Death Eaters in their faceless masks. Ranks of dementors stood behind them, a tide of loathsome creatures following in their wake. The Dark Lord raised his arms and a haunting wail arose from the mass of hideous throats, rattling and keening, rising on the bitter wind.

Harry stood unmoving, numb and desolate, frozen to the spot with despair. There were so many and he was so, so alone. He could not, not ever, stand against this. How could they expect him to . . . even try? He choked back a moan. But he had to, didn’t he? They were counting on him. Him alone. Fighting his rising fear, gathering the rags of his hopelessness into a thin fabric of desperation, he reached for his wand . . . and a hand slipped into his, warm, slender, firm and reassuring. For the briefest moment he experienced a surge of power, an exultant in-flowing of strength and confidence –

“Harry. . . .”

* * *

“Harry. . . .” A slender hand slipped reassuringly into his, another hand grasped him firmly, but gently, by the shoulder and was shaking him slightly. “Harry, wake up. Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

Harry startled awake, still vaguely panicked, his heart racing, but knowing immediately from the now welcome familiarity of the touch of those hands that he was safe. He took a deep shuddering breath of relief as the warmth of the bed he lay in coalesced into reality around him, and he opened his eyes. It was still the middle of the night, he guessed, because except for the dim light of the dying fire, the room was almost completely dark. He could just see Draco, sleepy-eyed and tousled-haired, leaning up on one elbow, gazing back at him, his face clouded with worry.

“You were dreaming,” said Draco again, softly.

“I was having a nightmare,” said Harry in an undertone, scrubbing at the scar that still twinged uncomfortably.

“Does that happen often?” asked Draco lying back down.

“No,” said Harry. “Hasn’t for a while.” Draco was looking up at the ceiling and didn’t respond. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” Harry added, feeling miserable for disturbing the other boy.

Draco closed his eyes. After a moment he said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It was . . . ” began Harry, then stopped as he realized that most of the vision was fading, leaving a jumbled memory of cold and fear and dark cloaked figures. “It was . . . Voldemort’s army . . . I was alone . . . that’s all I can remember.”

Draco was silent for some time. Harry was beginning to believe he had fallen back to sleep when he spoke again. “I wish I could forget mine so easily,” he said quietly.

“You have nightmares?” asked Harry, his voice hushed.

“Not this year so much. Last year was pretty bad.” Draco turned his head so that he was looking at Harry. “That’s how Snape found out what my father was doing to me. Crabbe and Goyle ran to him the first night it happened. He made me tell him the dream. The next day, he gave me a dreamless sleep potion, and that helped, but it made me groggy so I didn’t take it every night.”

“Was it the Cruciatus Curse?”

“Yes.”

“Bloody hell, Draco,” said Harry in a low, taut voice. “I think your father should be locked up in Azkaban for doing that to you.”

“Yes,” said Draco, barely audible, his voice cold and hard as ice. “He should be.” And there didn’t seem to be anything else to say after that.

* * *

They woke up late in the morning, lying together in pretty much the same tangled-together position in which they had eventually fallen asleep after Harry’s nightmare. They had never closed the bed drapes, so sunlight was pouring in through the window next to the bed in a most annoying manner.

Draco disentangled himself and sat up, stretching. “Hey,” he mumbled, running one hand through his hair.

Harry squinted up at him and decided that morning-Draco, with no shirt on and his hair all rumpled from sleeping, was something he liked the look of very, very much. “Hey,” he said quietly, a little uncertain of how things stood between them this morning. “What time is it?”

“Late,” said Draco, seemingly unable to get out more than one syllable at a time.

“We haven’t missed breakfast, have we?” said Harry, rousing himself and sitting up too.

“No.”

Harry looked over at Draco, a small amused glint in his green eyes. “Are you always this cheerful in the morning?” he asked.

Draco looked back and gave Harry a half-smirk. “Not always,” he said. “Sometimes I can be rather cross.”

“Hmm,” said Harry, with a bit of a grin, feeling reassured by the teasing tone of Draco’s response. “Not a morning person, are you?” He leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes. “Well, that makes two of us.”

“Funny,” said Draco, turning around to sit cross-legged facing him. “I thought you would be.”

“No, not me,” said Harry with a sigh. “If it wasn’t for Ron, I might miss breakfast every day.” He opened his eyes, looked up at Draco and their eyes met in unspoken understanding. “You know I need to tell him about us,” said Harry. “This morning – at breakfast.” He paused. “And I want to tell my roommates too . . . if that’s okay with you.”

“I guess I don’t mind,” said Draco slowly, “if you think they have to know.”

Harry sat up. He reached out and gently brushed the blond fringe back from Draco’s forehead, smoothing it back behind the other boy’s ear. “It isn’t that they have to know,” said Harry softly. He let his fingers trail through that fine silky hair to the back of Draco’s neck as he leaned forward to kiss the blond lightly, sweetly, on the mouth. “I want to tell them,” he said seriously. “I want them to know I’m with you.” Harry paused, looking into Draco’s eyes. “I was hoping you would be with me when I tell them.”

“If you want me to be there, I will be,” said Draco quietly, returning the kiss with another, pleased and touched by Harry’s words. Then, with a small impish smile, he added, “I’m sure it will be very entertaining.” He kissed Harry again quickly, effectively cutting off any response to that last comment. “What else are we planning to do today?” he asked finally, when they pulled apart.

Harry gave him a slightly worried look. “I’ve been planning for several weeks to go into Hogsmeade today,” he said, then paused. “I need to go by myself, though,” he continued somewhat regretfully. “I’m going to be doing my Christmas shopping. But we could meet later – have lunch together at the Three Broomsticks if you want.”

“Actually, that’s perfect,” said Draco. “I have some personal chores to see to this morning myself.” Then his eyes lit up. “But hey – why can’t I come shopping with you?”

“Well, because . . .” said Harry flushing slightly, “you’ll see. . . .”

“Aha!” said Draco, twining his arms around Harry’s neck. “So this shopping trip includes getting a present for me?”

“Yes,” said Harry with a laugh.

Draco smiled that full genuine smile that always made Harry’s heart skip several beats. “I’ll let you go then,” he said. “This time.”

Harry grinned back at him, marveling at the way that smile could turn his bones to jelly, and suddenly he had an idea. “Draco,” he said. “It’s my turn in the chess game, isn’t it?”

“It is. Why?”

“Save my place here,” said Harry, still grinning as he slipped out of Draco’s loose embrace. He got out of bed and tiptoed across the cold stone floor to the chessboard. “Pawn to D4,” he said as he moved the piece. He picked up Draco’s captured Pawn and held it up with a smirk so that Draco could see it. “Can you smile like that again?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Draco, tilting his head, puzzled. “If I’m looking at you.”

Harry tossed the fairy up in the air and caught it nimbly. He set it on the table, then hurried back to bed, sliding in under the blankets next to Draco. “Then I have a plan,” he said, and explained what he had in mind. “But we have to be very late to breakfast, so that everyone else besides my roommates has left. I don’t think we want any more of an audience.” He paused for a moment. “Will you do it?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Draco, mulling it over. “But if we’re that late, what makes you think your roommates will still be there?”

“I didn’t come back to my room last night,” said Harry knowingly. “They’ll be there.”

Draco chuckled and lay down on his back, stretching out with his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes. “Ah,” he said, understanding. “That’s why we. . . . They’ll be waiting to see who you come in with.”

“Exactly,” said Harry, laying down on his side facing Draco. “They really are quite predictable.” Very stealthily, he crept his hand toward Draco under the blanket.

Draco harrumphed softly. “I used to think that about you.”

Harry grinned. His fingers connected ever so lightly with the bare skin of Draco’s side just above the waistband of his pants. “Changed your mind then, have you?” Harry slowly trailed his fingers up Draco’s ribs.

“Yes.” The word was half sharp intake of breath and half squeak. But Draco didn’t move a muscle.

Harry grinned wider. That squeak might have been the most adorable thing he had ever heard. But now Harry was determined to make Draco admit he was ticklish. He trailed his fingers back down to Draco’s waist and then across Draco’s stomach.

Draco turned his face away, but Harry could see that he was biting his lower lip. Still, he was not letting any other reaction show. In fact, it looked like Draco was holding his breath. Harry realized that if he was going to win this battle, he was going to have to intensify the attack. With a bit of a thrill at his own daring, Harry’s tickling fingers traveled back to Draco’s side at his waist, then very slowly moved down over the waistband of Draco’s pants, down toward his hip bone.

Suddenly Draco shot up and grabbed Harry’s hand. “God, Harry,” he gasped. “Stop! I give in.”

Harry rolled onto his back, laughing. “Admit it,” he said triumphantly.

“Okay,” said Draco, placing Harry’s hand firmly, but playfully, onto Harry’s chest as if to get it far away from himself. “I admit I’m just the smallest bit ticklish.”

Harry laughed again. “And what else?”

Draco laughed that low sultry laugh. He lay down on his stomach next to Harry and propped himself up on his elbows. “I absolutely refuse to say I liked it,” he said with the tone of someone whose dignity had been deeply wounded, but the smirky grin on his face said otherwise. Then his voice and expression softened. “But I do like this,” he said. “Waking up with you.”

Harry studied the warmth in those gray eyes thoughtfully, hesitating to ask the question that had been in the back of his mind all morning, that Draco’s last words had brought to the fore. “Does that mean we can do it again tomorrow?” he asked quietly after a moment. “May I stay with you tonight?”

Draco returned Harry’s gaze seriously, a little surprised by the question. He’d actually been half-afraid that Harry was going to be angry with him this morning and wouldn’t want to spend the night a second time. “Even after the mess I made of things last night?” he asked finally.

Harry colored slightly but met Draco’s eyes steadily. “I wish you would tell me what happened last night. I know it was something I said . . . and I’m sure if we talk about it. . . .” His words faltered as Draco looked down, breaking the eye contact between them.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” said Draco very softly, sadly, “for what happened last night. I just want to wait a little longer . . . and I can’t explain it yet.”

“Never mind,” said Harry, still very puzzled by Draco’s attitude, but glad that they had at least talked about it this much. “I didn’t mean to push you. If you want to wait ‘til the end of the chess game, that’s okay. That doesn’t change how I feel, or that I want to be with you.” He laid one hand on Draco’s arm. “I would like to stay with you tonight – if you want me to.”

Draco looked up, his eyes clear and velvety gray, like rain-washed skies. “I want you to,” he said simply. “Very much.”

“Okay then,” said Harry, with a wistful, but warm smile. “But no more Potions practice,” he added, gently teasing, relieving the slight tension the previous conversation had built between them. “And no more ice baths!”

“But Harry,” said Draco, with a hint of a grin and a light laugh, “that was fun.”

Harry laughed too. “C’mon you,” he said. “If we don’t hurry up, we’re going to miss breakfast completely.”

They piled out of bed and got ready in a rush. Harry, thanks to the castle’s house-elves, found all of his clothes dried and neatly folded on top of Draco’s trunk at the foot of the bed. And Draco, to his delight, found his beloved shirt hanging in his wardrobe in perfectly restored condition. Harry retrieved his wand from the bathroom sink, then collected his glasses and the Invisibility Cloak from the table and chair by the hearth. “Ready?” he called to Draco who was in the bathroom, as he pulled on his shoes.

“Ready,” said Draco, coming out and meeting Harry at the door, nodding seriously in agreement to the unspoken question in Harry’s green eyes about what they were about to do. Then suddenly, his expression brightened and he broke into a grin.

“What?” said Harry, looking at him suspiciously.

“I just realized what a good morning this is,” said Draco archly. “First I get to wake up with you and then I get to torment Weasley and assorted Gryffindors at breakfast. And later I can try to guess what you got me for Christmas.”

“No, you can’t,” said Harry firmly. “And you’re not going to torment anyone.”

“Harry,” said Draco, raising one eyebrow, his expression the picture of innocence. “I won’t be doing it intentionally. But what do you think is going to happen when you tell them who you spent the night with?”

Harry made a wry face. “I know,” he said. “Just promise me you won’t make it any worse. Especially with Ron. If you’ll stay calm, and not react to him, things will go a lot easier.”

“Hmm,” replied Draco with a doubtful look. “I don’t know that anything will make this easier, but I’ll try.” He put his hands on Harry’s waist and leaned closer to kiss him. “For luck,” he said. “I’ll follow you down.”

“Okay,” said Harry, feeling hopeful and anxious and rather excited all at once. Draco let go of him and he pulled the Invisibility Cloak over his head. “See you down there,” he said with a grin, then slipped quietly out the door. And even though there was sure to be a scene, Harry was quite looking forward to this.

* * *

Harry walked into the Great Hall eager for the truth to be told. He honestly didn’t believe that any of his friends would be completely opposed to his new relationship with Draco, not even Ron. He did expect Ron to take it badly, but he agreed with Hermione’s assessment of his best friend, that Ron would eventually come around. If Harry was happy – and he was happy. He almost laughed when he saw that he’d been right – all four of his roommates, plus Hermione and Ginny, were sitting in a group at the Gryffindor table, waiting. The rest of the hall was practically deserted, as he’d planned. He sat down casually in his usual place next to Ron, trying hard not to grin, but failing completely, which spoiled the whole pretense of nonchalance he was trying to achieve.

Several voices piped up at once. “Harry!”

Seamus, seated across the table between Dean and Neville, gave him a sly pointed look. “And just where were you all night?” he teased. “And don’t try to tell us you were playing chess this time.” Everyone looked expectantly at Harry, even Hermione, though she had an I-know-the-secret smile on her lips. Ron was looking stern, and Ginny, Neville and Dean looked like they might break into giggles at any moment.

Harry shrugged and very slowly proceeded to dish up his breakfast. He wanted their undivided attention so that Draco could sneak in unnoticed. He was also stalling until the other few students in the room finished and left the Great Hall. “I was playing chess,” he said, after a minute of agonizingly drawn out syrup pouring. He took a bite of pancakes and chewed thoughtfully. “But not all night.”

Seamus rolled his eyes.

Ron folded his arms over his chest. “So are you going to tell us now or not?” he asked somewhat crossly.

Harry saw Draco edge in the door and slip over to his seat at the Slytherin table. “Yes,” he said, turning to face Ron, giving him a serious answer. “I’m going to tell you. I’ll tell you everything, but let me eat first.”

“Everything?” chortled Seamus, grinning, leaning forward over the table toward Harry. “This is going to be good – ! Ow!” He sat back and reached down to rub his battered shin. “Who kicked me?”

Ginny giggled and Hermione smiled innocently.

Seamus grinned at them. “You girls can’t fool me,” he said knowingly. “You want to hear everything too. Just like the rest of us.”

Harry ate a few more bites of his breakfast, and watched a pair of Ravenclaw fifth years get up from their seats. They were the last two other students in the room, so he waited until they had walked out, then gave in to all the impatient looks he was getting and cleared his throat. He felt a little fluttery in his stomach, nervous excitement and anticipation welling up in him now that the moment of truth had come. “Okay,” he said, trying to look serious but still not completely able to suppress his grin. “This is going to come as a bit of a surprise to everyone. . . .” He glanced around at the intent, expectant faces of all his friends. “I . . . well . . . I’ve just found out something about myself . . . something I would never have guessed. . . .” Harry paused again, then went on in a much quieter, more confidential tone. His friends leaned in closer to hear him. “It seems . . . I have a kind of secret magical power,” he said, “and I’ve been dying to try to use it all morning.”

They all stared at him, completely perplexed.

Hermione spoke up first. “What are you talking about, Harry?”

“Sounds like stalling to me,” complained Seamus.

“Yes, it does,” agreed Ron. “Or he’s gone mental on us again.”

“No, now listen,” said Harry. “This will be good. I just need someone to test it on.” He let his eyes stray over to the Slytherin table. “Aha,” he said in a low conspiratorial voice, gazing pointedly across the room. “Perfect.”

Dean, Seamus, and Neville all twisted around in their seats and everyone now stared at Draco Malfoy. The blond Slytherin was eating his breakfast, calmly reading the Daily Prophet, seemingly completely unaware that seven pairs of Gryffindor eyes were riveted on him.

“When did he come in?” muttered Ron.

“Harry?” questioned Hermione, obviously baffled by Harry’s behavior. “What’s going on?”

“Just a little demonstration,” replied Harry. “I believe that I can make Malfoy do something none of you have ever seen him do before – from clear over here.”

Hermione gave him a puzzled frown. “Harry, you can’t cast spells on other students,” she said in her best Head Girl Voice. “You know it’s not allowed.”

Harry simply grinned at her. “I said it was magic. I didn’t say it was a spell.” He turned back to look at Draco. “Just watch,” he said. “It may take a few minutes. I have to wait for him to look up – this takes eye contact. . . .”

A couple of seconds ticked by, as all the Gryffindors held their breath, waiting for Malfoy to stop reading. . . .

Draco turned the page. He scanned that page for a leisurely moment, then turned another, then a couple more. At last he closed and folded the paper. He laid it next to his plate and finally looked up. Straight at Harry.

Harry smiled at him.

Draco tilted his head to one side, a tiny smirk on his lips. Then he smiled back. His most real, most genuine, most heart-stopping smile ever.

There was a collective gasp of breath from the Gryffindor table.

“Is that not the most breathtakingly lovely thing you’ve ever seen,” said Harry softly, mesmerized.

“Holy Saints and Mother of God!” whispered Seamus.

“What?” demanded Ron.

“I don’t believe it!” said Seamus still awestruck. “Harry’s thawed the Ice King!”

End Chapter 10

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