CHECKMATE

PART II – THE GAME

 

Chapter 11

 

 

Refugee, total shit

Is how I’ve always seen us

Not a help you’ll admit

To agreement between us

There’s no deal, partner

Who’s your real partner?

Could there be just a chance

That you’ve got some heavy clients?

 

Lyrics from “The Deal (No Deal)” from Chess by Benny Anderson, Tim Rice and Björn Ulvaeus

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Seamus’s pronouncement stunned everyone to silence.

 

“The Ice King?” repeated Hermione after a moment.

 

Seamus turned back to look at her with a gleeful smirk. “That’s what the Slytherin girls call Malfoy because he acts so cold to them.”

 

“And just exactly how do you know that?” said Hermione, frowning in disapproval.

 

“I . . . oh!” said Seamus, somehow managing to look both smug and sheepish at the same time. “Er . . . never mind. I just always figured it was because he couldn’t stand them. I mean who could?” Then he grinned over at Ron. “But maybe it’s because Malfoy just doesn’t like girls.”

 

“Have you gone mental now, Seamus?” said Ron with alarm. “What on earth are you saying?”

 

“That Harry told the truth last night when he said he doesn’t have a girlfriend! Just look at him.”

 

Ron looked at Harry’s smitten, still-smiling face and then across the room at Draco who was now grinning fetchingly at Harry. He turned a deep shade of red. “You mean. . . . ”

 

“I was right!” crowed Seamus. “Harry has a boyfriend. And it’s Malfoy!”

 

Ron turned back to Harry. He grabbed Harry’s shoulder and shook him slightly. “Harry!” he said, his voice desperate. “Tell me that’s not true!”

 

But Harry wasn’t listening, or rather, he was barely hearing the conversation going on around him because he was lost in a haze of entrancement. He was completely caught up in Draco’s adorable smile until Ron, losing his temper when Harry didn’t answer, shoved him, and Harry, since he wasn’t paying attention and was sitting at the very end of the bench, slid sideways, lost his balance and fell off onto the floor with a jarring thump.

 

“Ron!” Hermione jumped up to see if Harry was okay.

 

Harry looked up at his best friend with a surprised frown, his glasses knocked askew by his abrupt meeting with the floor. “What the hell. . . . Ron?” he faltered. “What’d you do that for?”

 

“Stop staring at that . . . that . . . snake . . . and answer me! Is it true? That talk we had? You meant him?!”

 

“Yes,” said Harry firmly. “I meant him.”

 

“You spent the night with Malfoy?!” said Ron incredulously, suddenly standing. He stared down at Harry, his whole body rigid with outrage.

 

“Yes, Ron,” said Harry in a tone that left no room for doubt. “I did.” He started to get to his feet, but then someone was there beside him and a hand was reaching down to help him up. He took Draco’s offered hand and stood up facing the Slytherin. Draco didn’t let go of his hand, twining their fingers together instead.

 

“You okay?” asked Draco in a low voice, concern and anger in his eyes as he reached up with his free hand to straighten Harry’s glasses.

 

“Fine,” said Harry. He turned to face Ron, his face becoming very solemn. “I know you’re shocked,” he said contritely, “but there wasn’t any easy way to tell you this.”

 

“You spent the night with Malfoy!” sputtered Ron. “Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel!”

 

“Ron,” said Harry, his tone grave, as he took in his friend’s furious, horrified expression. “I meant it when I said I was serious about this relationship.”

 

“But you can’t be serious about this,” said Ron, his blue eyes filling up with hurt and betrayal. “It’s mad!”

 

“I’m not asking you to like it,” responded Harry with quiet severity. “I’m only asking you to hear us out and try to understand . . . and respect that this is what I . . . what Draco and I both want.”

 

Draco had been watching Ron with an expression of cool disdain. He snorted scornfully. “I seem to remember you saying that Harry was free to see anyone he wants to.” He raised one eyebrow in subtle triumph. “I believe that includes me.”

 

Ron turned red again, his fists clenched. “The hell it does,” he spat.

 

“And,” Draco went on, his voice full of sarcasm, “I hope the irony of this is not lost on you, Weasley. That this is me protecting Harry this time – from you.”

 

“Draco . . . ” said Harry in warning, tightening his grip on the other boy’s hand.

 

“He’s not the one that needs protecting from me, Malfoy,” said Ron taking a threatening step forward.

 

Draco immediately stepped forward and stood slightly in front of Harry. “Back off, Weasley,” he hissed, fixing Ron with a full Malfoy death glare.

 

Ron stopped and glared back, then pulled out his wand.

 

“Ron!” exclaimed Hermione, instantly taking hold of his arm. “Stop it! This is not going to help anything.”

 

But Ron turned on her, his voice cold. “You knew! You knew it was Malfoy, and you didn’t tell me!”

 

“I didn’t tell you,” she retorted, “because Harry needed to tell you himself. And because I knew you’d act like this. Throwing a tantrum is not going to change things. If Harry and Draco want to be together, you’re going to have to accept it.”

 

Ron jerked his arm away from Hermione’s grasp. He took one last look from Harry to Draco, and down at their clasped hands. It was unthinkable that the person he despised most in the world had somehow slipped past his guard and was seducing his best friend. There was such a strong solidarity to the way they were standing there together, and that was perhaps the most shocking thing of all to Ron’s eyes. “I can’t even stand to look at them,” he said icily. Then he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

 

“That went well,” muttered Draco, still very aggravated, his low voice entirely too loud in the silence left by Ron’s angry exit.

 

Harry ran one hand through his hair. “No worse than I expected, I guess.”

 

Hermione turned back from watching the door swing shut behind Ron. “I should go after him,” she said. She gave Harry and Draco each a stern look. “That really could have been handled better . . . but never mind. I’ll see if I can talk some sense into him.”

 

“Ha,” said Draco, in an undertone. “Not bloody likely – ”

 

“Thanks, Hermione,” said Harry quickly, cutting Draco off.

 

“C’mon, Ginny,” said Hermione to the younger girl who was staring at Harry and Draco, her eyes wide as saucers and one hand over her open mouth. “I’ll explain it to you, too.”

 

“We’ll try to talk to him again later, after he’s had some time to settle down,” called Harry as Hermione walked away with a dazed Ginny in tow. He turned and gave Draco a quelling look. “And you,” he said, voicing his frustration, but quietly so only Draco would hear, “I thought you were going to try to stay calm and not react to him.”

 

Draco met Harry’s eyes with unflinching defiance. “If you think I am going to stand by and be calm while he shoves you onto the floor, you are very much mistaken.”

 

Harry had been annoyed with Draco for not controlling his temper, but looking at him now, with his flushed cheekbones and strands of flaxen hair falling over his forehead into those blazing gray eyes – eyes that were still sparking with indignation – Harry was struck by the startling realization that not only was Draco Malfoy simply stunning when he was angry, a fact he now wondered how he could have possibly missed all these years, but also that he, Harry, was holding hands with this amazingly stunning person, and that Draco had only been angry on his behalf. Harry had to admit, but with a twinge of guilt for Ron’s sake, that it felt really good, exhilarating even, to have been on the protected side of the Malfoy death glare for once. He was suddenly filled with an almost overwhelming urge to kiss Draco senseless.

 

Grinning, he squeezed Draco’s hand, then leaned close to the Slytherin’s ear. “It was a bit of an overreaction,” he said softly. “But you were wonderful.”

 

It took a couple of seconds for Harry’s comment to sink in, but then Draco relaxed. He tossed his head slightly to get the hair off his face and squeezed Harry’s hand back, giving Harry the merest smile to acknowledge the compliment. But with three more of Harry’s roommates to confront, he was still wary.

 

Harry sat down to finish his breakfast, and Draco, his manner somewhat guarded and cautious, sat down next to him in Ron’s vacated seat. Dean, Seamus, and Neville were sitting across from them, staring at Draco with nearly identical expressions of shock. Well, Seamus’s expression was more on the order of besotted awe. None of them said a word.

 

Looking at the three of them, Draco suddenly had to fight to maintain his cool, diffident demeanor and stifle a very strong urge to laugh. He looked sideways at Harry. Shocking these Gryffindors, now that Weasley was out of the way, was almost an irresistible temptation, but he wasn’t sure Harry would find it so amusing under the current circumstances. And he had promised to try to make this go smoothly.

 

“Okay, guys,” said Harry, spearing cold pancakes with his fork. “Have it out with me now, because I don’t want to hear about it later. This is what is, and while I expected Ron to act like a git, I’m hoping you three will give me a little more support.” He eyed them sternly. “Draco has changed and I would appreciate it if everyone would try to give him another chance.”

 

Draco looked down, sobered and rather touched to hear Harry taking this hard a line with his roommates for his sake.

 

After a long moment of silence, Neville spoke up in a nervous but determined voice. “It’s true,” he said. “I know he’s changed. He’s been helping me in Potions class when Snape wasn’t looking.”

 

Harry hadn’t known anything about this and turned to Draco in surprise.

 

The Slytherin was regarding Neville with narrowed eyes. “Bloody hell, Longbottom,” he said finally, irritably, “I have to sit next to you. Do you have any idea how tiresome it was to have you blowing up your cauldron every day.” He leaned closer over the table. “And besides that,” he added, his tone still reproachful, but now with a hint of teasing added, “who said you could tell that anyway – that was supposed to be our little secret. It’s bad enough that I’m seeing Harry, but if anyone else finds out I’m helping you, my reputation will be completely ruined.”

 

Neville looked worried for a second or two, but then realized that Draco was grinning slightly, that he was at least partly teasing, and managed to smile shyly back.

 

Dean spoke up next. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been acting differently this year too,” he said, nodding once at Draco. “So, if Harry says you’re okay now, that’s good enough for me.”

 

Draco looked at the tall black boy and nodded back. “Thanks,” he said quietly, realizing that he had unconsciously steeled himself inwardly to be snubbed by these boys, so their simple statements of support were meaning a lot to him. He turned to face Seamus.

 

Seamus was sitting with one elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, regarding Draco with a bemused, intent expression. When Draco looked at him, he tilted his head at an angle, his eyes half closed, a sly smile on his face. “And now I’m thinking I know what you’ve been on about all these years, Malfoy,” he said. “You and that nasty disposition of yours.”

 

Mildly insulted, but not certain he understood the intent of that statement, Draco glared a question at the towheaded boy sitting across from him.

 

“You just weren’t getting any,” pronounced Seamus with absolute authority. “Or,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows, his eyes sliding over to gaze suggestively at Harry, “not the right kind, anyway.”

 

Draco gave Seamus a dark stare for half a moment longer, then looked sideways at Harry too, and saw barely contained hilarity in those bright, green eyes. Harry was obviously struggling not to laugh. Their eyes met for a few suspended seconds and then Harry snickered. It was enough. Draco laughed. Suddenly all five boys were laughing.

 

“I may actually consider liking you, Finnigan,” said Draco, giving Seamus an appraising grin.

 

“Oh, Saints in Heaven,” whispered Seamus, stunned. He sagged sideways against Dean as if he had gone suddenly boneless.

 

Dean laughed at him and shoved him away, but he had gone so limp, he almost fell off the bench onto the floor.

 

Draco rolled his eyes to the ceiling and turned back to Harry with a smile. He was struck then by the approval and deep affection in Harry’s eyes. “I should be going,” he said quietly.

 

Harry nodded. “You’ll meet me later – in Hogsmeade?”

 

“Is one o’clock, at The Three Broomsticks, okay?”

 

“Yes.” Harry smiled, and put his hand over Draco’s, another question in his eyes.

 

In answer, Draco leaned forward and kissed him.

 

They heard a stifled squeak and then a distinct thud. When they pulled out of the kiss, Neville had his hands over his eyes, and Dean was grinning and shaking his head, looking down at the floor where Seamus was, because this time the silly twit really had fallen off the bench.

 

Draco stood up. “See you this afternoon,” he said to Harry, and with an amused smirk, walked out of the Great Hall.

 

Seamus scrambled back up onto his seat, and watched Draco until he had disappeared out the door. Then he turned to Harry, that awe-struck look back on his face. “God, Harry,” he said, practically breathless. “You slept with Draco Malfoy. I want to know bloody everything!”

 

Harry turned a bit red, but he grinned. “That,” he said cryptically, “is everything.” He stood up. “This isn’t meant to be known by anyone else. So would you please not talk about it to anyone except the people who were here this morning,” he asked, as he looked expectantly at his three roommates. “Thanks,” he added sincerely, when they each nodded agreement. “I know that Draco and I will have to face a lot of opposition eventually, but it helps . . . it helps a lot . . . to know I can count on you guys.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Draco got back to his room, he was gloating a little to himself. The bothersome telling-of-the-Gryffindors had gone better than expected. Except, that is, for Weasley – and no one had expected that to go well. Draco had been infuriated that the red-headed git had shoved Harry onto the floor. But then, hadn’t Draco, in their early days, wanted to do that so many times himself? And had found out, repeatedly, that when Harry Potter was shoved down, he got back up and got in your face about whatever it was with a fierce determination that had always made Draco both furious and incredulous. It was because of that, that Draco didn’t believe for one moment that Harry would refuse to stand up to Voldemort, regardless of his statements last night to the contrary. Draco’s mouth twisted into a wry, sad smile, a smile for the part he was going to be playing in that event, tainted by regret for the same reason. Harry might find fighting the Dark Lord a bitter, unbearable thing to do, but he would do it. Just as Draco would do the impossible, bitter thing he had to do.

 

But he resolutely chased those thoughts from his mind. There was nothing to be gained by being foolish about things he couldn’t change. He relit the fire absent-mindedly, then walked to his desk and opened the drawer where he had hidden the ring and the library book on gem transfiguration. The ring felt cool, a slight weight in his palm, as he carried it to the table in front of the fireplace. Pushing the chessboard carefully to one side, Draco laid the ring on the table and sat down in the chair, one foot tucked underneath him, to study the transfiguration spell. He opened the book and began to read.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Walking alone to Hogsmeade gave Harry time to think. Maybe it was something about the serious, intent expression on his face, or the way he walked with his head slightly down, hands jammed into his pockets, that kept other students from inviting themselves into his company, and Harry was glad that no one did. He nodded at a few acquaintances and went on, lost in the jumble of emotions and thoughts and worries that clamored for attention in his mind. A lot of things had happened last night and this morning, things he had not had time to think through or sort out until now.

 

There was, of course, Ron’s reaction this morning to finding out who Harry was involved with. Ron had acted just as Harry had expected, but in truth, he had hoped for better, and felt let down. Ron was his best friend after all. It felt a lot like the time Ron hadn’t believed that he didn’t sneak his name into the Goblet of Fire at the last Triwizard Tournament. But maybe things would go better this afternoon after Ron had had time to calm down and Hermione had talked to him. Harry was determined not to let Ron come between him and Draco, or Draco come between him and Ron. He wasn’t holding onto any false hopes that they might like each other, but he was simply not going to put up with them openly fighting with each other. What he was hoping for was that Draco would agree to come with him to talk to Ron this afternoon, that Ron would talk to Draco, and see that he had changed.

 

Then there was his relationship with Draco himself. So much had happened last night. Harry had talked about things he hadn’t told anyone else, had had one revelation while standing in a shower stall, another about Cho, and had almost made love to a boy who, a week ago, he’d thought he hated. Almost made love, he thought, frustrated by not understanding what had happened. I would have, if he hadn’t stopped it. Why? What had caused Draco’s startling change of mind? That event most certainly had to be related to their talk about Cho, but Harry was at a loss to know how.

 

And Cho. What Draco had told him about Cho had changed everything he had previously believed about her. He had thought he had it all worked out, that what he felt now for Draco was so much more powerful than what he had experienced with Cho because she hadn’t really cared about him, had not loved him, and had held back from being deeply involved. But if Draco was right about what had happened, that wasn’t true.

 

Yet the fact that he did feel different with Draco was undeniable. Even from that first brief kiss, he’d felt it. Felt it strong enough to reverse everything he had believed about Draco for six years. Strong enough to fall in love. To want to make love. With a boy. Harry mulled this over for a while. Did it mean he was gay, after all? Was that the explanation? Was it only different because he felt more desire for boys than girls. Or did the difference lie in something specific about Draco?

 

It didn’t take much thought for Harry to conclude that he’d never felt attracted to any other boy, and that what he felt for Draco encompassed a great deal more than desire, or a need for sex. From that night he had stood in Draco’s room, had first held him and kissed him, had melted into those warm gray eyes and felt that sense of completion he had never felt with Cho, there had been an irrefutable bond between them, something deep that was growing with a speed that might have been frightening except for the feeling of rightness lying sure and certain at the center of it. There really was no question that he wanted to be with Draco because of Draco himself.

 

Harry was smiling now as he walked, recalling his feelings of the night before while he had stood in the shower stall with Draco. Draco’s woeful silliness over the wet shirt and his achingly genuine fear for Harry’s safety had been so endearing, had touched his heart so completely, that he had fallen over the edge – plummeted was more like it, he thought, laughing to himself – and was now, without a doubt, very much in love with the mercurial, enigmatic creature that was Draco Malfoy. Suddenly, the memory of holding and kissing Draco as the other boy lay beneath him last night washed over Harry in a wave of desire so intense that he had to stop walking and stand still for a moment, rooted to the spot as vivid sensation rushed over him. Harry had wanted to make love, wanted Draco to be his so dearly. And it had been very clear that Draco had wanted that too. Which brought Harry’s thoughts full circle. Why had Draco changed his mind?

 

With a small shake of his head, Harry pulled himself back to reality, and started walking again. Maybe he’s worried that I have experience and he doesn’t, he thought. But he dismissed that idea – Draco had known his story about being a virgin was a lie from the beginning – and had been candidly willing, excited and impatient even, to sleep with Harry right up until they’d talked about Harry’s break-up. No, it definitely had to have something to do with what he’d said about Cho. The last thing he remembered being said, before he realized Draco had changed his mind, was Draco asking about it meaning forever. But no, that had happened after Draco came back to bed. Damn. What had Harry said that had made Draco get up in the first place?

 

Harry thought hard, trying to remember, but he’d been much too caught up in his own emotions about Cho to have any clear memory of exactly what had been said. Very vaguely, he remembered Draco asking him a question, something about regrets maybe, and answering that he wished he hadn’t slept with her, then another question about if that’s what had hurt him so much. That had to be it, but try as hard as he could, Harry couldn’t reason out why in the world that would have caused Draco to change his mind.

 

He sighed again, and kicked at a stone in the road. Then he shrugged and stopped worrying about it. It didn’t matter, really. At most it meant waiting a couple of days, and Harry didn’t mind that. The chess game couldn’t last much longer, and they would have all of Christmas holidays to spend together. Harry grinned at the thought. No, waiting a day or so didn’t matter at all. Especially not, he realized suddenly, when you intended to spend a lifetime with someone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Draco began reading the book from the beginning. He skimmed through several paragraphs of the history of gem transfiguration and biographical information about the author, concentrating instead on the sections that dealt with the magic involved. At the very end of the first chapter he read, then reread, this warning:

 

The complexity of a gem transfiguration spell lies in the necessity of transfiguring not only the elements that make up the fabric of the stones themselves, but in altering their energy forms as well. It is not simply a matter of changing the color of a given stone; a complete change of the inert mineral properties and active vibratory essence must be accomplished. This transfiguration must be done correctly on the first attempt. Failure will cause the gemstones to disintegrate, their inner structures disrupted beyond repair.

 

Draco swore softly. He didn’t have time to have the ring reset – he would have to be very careful. He flipped back to the table of contents. The book only covered about ten different transfigurations, each with its own chapter. He scanned down the list, finding Emerald to Ruby about half-way down the page. He turned to that section and read on:

 

Emerald and ruby are both gems of the heart, so are similar in vibration, yet there are differences in their influence. Because of its clear bright hue, the emerald is the stone most perfectly associated with the highest green vibration of healing, acting to balance and purify the wearer. The ruby stimulates the emotions, strengthening the will and giving courage, also acting to balance and purify the wearer.

 

He paused for a moment, thinking. The description of the emerald made it seem more appropriate for Harry than he had originally thought. He considered, briefly, leaving the ring as it was. But the influence of the ruby, given the purpose he intended for the ring, fit even better. He skipped down to the next paragraph, making a decision to follow his original plan to transfigure the gems, and read again:

 

The transfiguration from emerald to ruby is considered to be of only moderate difficulty because even though the two stones are of different structural compositions, their vibrations and influences have similarities.

 

At least he hadn’t chosen one of the most difficult spells. It involved a series of three incantations, each working at a different aspect of the gem’s properties. He read the spell through several times, then closed his eyes, reciting softly from memory. Checking himself, he read the spell again, and was gratified to find he had remembered it flawlessly. Well, there was no point in delaying any longer, if the ring was to soak in the potion for the required 24-48 hours, he had to do this now.

 

Draco retrieved the ring from the table and took out his wand. He closed his eyes again for a moment, steadied his breathing. Then in a clear, confident voice he spoke the words of the spell, giving a circular, twirling flourish with his wand over the ring at the end of each part. After the last pass of his wand, twin sparks of blue-violet light ignited in the emeralds and they glowed with an eerie incandescence for a few seconds before turning a deep red. Draco grinned, and closed his fist around the ring, squeezing it tightly in silent triumph and relief. He set his wand back on the table and uncurled from the chair. Still smiling to himself with satisfaction at his success, he went to his wardrobe, pulled the jar of potion from the top drawer and dropped the ring into the light blue liquid. There was a faint fizzing sound as the metal touched the potion and sank to the bottom of the jar. Draco held it up and examined the ring through the glass, then, feeling assured that it was okay, he replaced the lid tightly and returned the jar to his drawer. He checked his watch and found that he still had an hour before he had to meet Harry, plenty of time to walk into Hogsmeade and find a nice gift box for the ring for when he gave it to Harry.

 

Harry. . . . Draco turned and took the couple of steps that brought him to the foot of his bed. The bedclothes were still disarrayed, the way they had left them in their hurry to get ready this morning. He should straighten them, but didn’t want to, their abandoned twisting, wrinkled chaos holding an eloquent evidence and testimony of Harry’s presence that he would not willfully erase. Memory engulfed him for a moment and he gripped the bedpost to steady himself against the surge of emotion that took him. He remembered the touch of Harry’s hands, the night before last, so calming and steady, a touch he felt reverberate through his skin, echoing deep within him, the healing warmth of those hands coaxing comfort all the way into the heart of him.

 

And last night. . . . He could recall with startling clarity, Harry’s body pressing him down as if into the most perfect place he could be held, a place of complete safety, where life and time might be spun out endlessly, lost in the long weightless moment of eternity contained in a kiss. The absence of that touch, that missing presence, was becoming a sharp emptiness that consumed him with need and want. So new, these feelings, so achingly familiar too, as if they had been embedded in him for always, but coming to the surface now with a raw freshness that staggered the mind and sent sense reeling. He was in love and knew it with absolute certainty.

 

And what I love. . . .

 

He turned to glance at the drawer that held his only hope in the grim future he foresaw. What he loved, he would keep safe. At any cost.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry had found presents for everyone on his list but Draco, and was beginning to worry that nothing seemed quite right. He’d looked at books while shopping for Hermione, and Quidditch collectibles while shopping for Ron, but Draco already seemed to have so many books and Harry hadn’t seen any evidence that the other boy was interested in any particular Quidditch team. He had almost bought an elegant quill and parchment set, but finally decided it was too impersonal. He wanted something that was unique, something that would express his feelings, that would be meaningful to just the two of them.

 

It was close to half-past twelve, which meant he was to meet Draco in half an hour. Harry stopped in the middle of the walk, shifted his shopping bags from one hand to the other and looked around, beginning to feel a little desperate. Where else could he go? His attention was drawn then to a small shop across the lane with a sign above the door that read, The Polished Stone – Magical Jewelry and Gems, that he had never noticed before. Jewelry? Harry hadn’t considered that. But yes, perhaps that was just what he wanted – something Draco could wear that would mean they were together. He blushed a little at the thought of that; he’d never given anyone jewelry before, not even Cho, and it surprised him now, to realize he had never wanted to. But Draco. . . . Harry felt excited at the idea, so with renewed enthusiasm and a deep breath, he set out across the street to the shop.

 

A small bell chimed pleasantly as he opened the door. Inside, there were many brightly lit glass cases that held shelves of scrying stones, crystal balls of various sizes, and many-colored faceted gemstone points made into pendants and other pieces of jewelry. Harry looked hurriedly over all of these, then noticed a small display of rings. One ring in particular, a gold band with three deep blue stones set in a row, caught his attention. It was lovely, but after studying it for a few moments, he decided it wasn’t what he was looking for. Next to the rings, however, in another small case set up on the counter, their prismatic luster vivid against the black velvet lining of the case, was a grouping of delicate quartz crystal pendants with twisted silver wire filigree settings on fine silver chains. The crystals had been magically shaped into ancient runic symbols, some of them had colored gemstones set into the silver bands. They were simple, yet elegantly made, clear crystal and smoothly curling silver, with a spark of color here and there; beautiful with a cool brilliance and inner fire that reminded him of Draco. All of them seemed perfectly suited, so Harry had no idea how to choose between the different symbols. Then his eyes fell on one, and he felt a rush of recognition. It was almost like . . . not quite the same . . . but if they could do that. . . . A thrill ran through Harry as he remembered Draco gently tracing his scar. Only Draco had ever touched it in affection like that. He looked up expectantly as the shopkeeper came over.

 

“Decided on something, young man?”

 

“Yes,” said Harry, hesitantly. “That is, I like these, but I was wondering if you could make one just for me? A certain shape.” He pushed the hair up off his forehead, blushing slightly. “Can you make it look like this – with one of the other small stones on it?” Harry smiled bashfully. “And I know it’s short notice, but can it be delivered by Monday? I can pay extra for the rush. It’s meant to be a Christmas present.”

 

The man broke into a wide grin, beaming at him. “For Harry Potter, we can do anything!” he said jovially. “Now just step over here for a moment – and let me take a closer look at that forehead of yours. . . .”

 

Harry stood still while the jeweler made an exact sketch of his scar. He was quite grateful that no one else came into the shop, but it didn’t take long. Then Harry picked out the gemstone he wanted for it, a pale blue-gray stone that seemed to glow with an inner light that reminded him of Draco’s eyes. After an enthusiastic handshake, he was on his way again, a little embarrassed but also greatly pleased with his purchase. The jeweler had assured him that the pendant would be ready and delivered first thing Monday morning.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry walked as quickly as he could from the gem shop to the Three Broomsticks, knowing he was running a little late. He found Draco outside the entrance to the inn holding one very small shopping bag. “Been here long?” asked Harry, sorry to have kept the other boy waiting.

 

“Not long,” replied Draco, noting all the packages Harry was carrying with curious interest, one eyebrow raised. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”

 

Harry followed Draco into the pub, neither of them noticing the dark-haired boy who was watching them from across the street. They edged their way through the bustling lunchtime crowd and found a small table near the back of the room. As usual, there was a roaring fire laid in the great hearth and Madam Rosmerta had festively decorated the area next to the fireplace with a beautiful lighted Christmas tree and holly branches draped over the mantle.

 

Harry and Draco ordered sandwiches and hot butterbeer, then sat back to relax. Draco eyed Harry’s bags again and grinned deviously. “Rook to D1, Harry. Tell me what you have in your packages. Anything for me in one of those?”

 

“Nope,” answered Harry with a teasing grin back. “Nothing for you.”

 

“Nothing?” Draco looked deeply disappointed.

 

“Not in these packages,” said Harry. “I’m having yours delivered.”

 

“Ooh, then you did get me something?”

 

“Of course, I did,” said Harry with a laugh.

 

“Hmm,” mused Draco. “What could it be that has to be delivered? Give me hint, Harry,” he begged.

 

“It’s something nice.” Harry laughed again. “Not underwear, and that’s all I’m saying.” Then he sobered a little. “I hope you’ll like it.” He looked down at Draco’s small bag leaning next to him on the bench. “Um, Rook to E4,” he said, after thinking for a moment to be sure he remembered where his chess pieces were. “What have you been buying?”

 

“I got you something this morning,” said Draco, reaching into the bag to pull out a small package. “This isn’t your present. Just something to put it in.” He handed Harry a small tissue wrapped item.

 

Harry unwrapped it and felt the color rise up in his face. It was a lovely little plush box, black with a decorative silver clasp, and very obviously meant to hold a ring. “Oh,” said Harry, touched and rendered rather tongue-tied by the implications of that. “It’s . . . great.”

 

Harry looked up at Draco, who was smiling at him, but before he could think of anything else to say, their food arrived.

 

Draco quickly gathered up the box and tissue and tucked them into his pocket, leaving the bag on the table. He picked up his tankard of foaming butterbeer and held it up. “A toast,” he said, an amused glint in his eyes. “To Christmas presents that aren’t underwear.”

 

Laughing, Harry raised his tankard and clinked it against Draco’s. “To Christmas presents,” he said, and they both drank. When Harry set his tankard down, he happened to look toward the front of the pub and saw a familiar dark-haired figure loitering in the doorway, looking directly at them. “Draco,” said Harry quietly, after a moment, when the boy continued to linger, “I think we’re being watched. Isn’t that one of your housemates, just inside the door there?”

 

“Yes.” Draco shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I see him.”

 

“Is that okay?” persisted Harry. “I mean, maybe we shouldn’t be here like this. Now that my friends know, I wasn’t worried about being seen here with you, but I forgot about the other Slytherins. I guess they’re not going to like seeing us together.”

 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what they think,” said Draco flatly. “What I do, or who I see, is none of their business.” He turned to Harry, his expression serious. “That doesn’t mean I intend to parade up and down the halls holding hands with you either. What happens between us is private and I don’t want it talked about all over the school. I would prefer that as few people as possible know.”

 

“I’ve told everyone I want to know,” said Harry earnestly “so as far as I’m concerned, no one else needs to know at all. But . . .” he paused, hesitating a second before voicing his other concern. “Draco, I meant what I said yesterday, about not being able to fight with you now. I don’t even think I can pretend to fight with you, to keep up a pretense that we’re still enemies. And I’m not going to be able to just ignore you and act indifferent.” Harry sighed. “I’ve been through this before with Cho, sneaking around, not letting anyone see us together, and it gets old fast – I don’t want to do it again. We have to be seen to be at least friends, so we can talk in public or do things together, even if we keep what our real relationship is, a secret.”

 

“What?” protested Draco, a small teasing smile on his lips. “I can’t kick you in the shin now and then outside the Great Hall?”

 

“No!” said Harry with a laugh. “No kicking or kissing in public.”

 

“Doesn’t sound like much fun to me.”

 

“You’re the one who’s insisting on keeping things private – therefore no kissing.” Harry looked up and saw that their watcher was gone. He relaxed. “But I must insist on no kicking. My shin is still sore.”

 

Draco chuckled and saluted Harry with his tankard of butterbeer. “It was a moment of sheer brilliance – if I do say so myself.” He took a drink, then said, “But even us being friends will cause talk.”

 

“Well,” said Harry philosophically, “as much as I hate it, that’s nothing new. Neither of us can hardly move an inch without causing people to talk.”

 

“That’s true.” Draco nodded. “Okay, friends it is, then. And damn the consequences.”

 

Harry laughed. “Agreed,” he said, pleased that Draco had given in. And with that settled, they both got down to the business of tackling the huge sandwiches set in front of them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry and Draco left the Three Broomsticks, they set off at an easy pace for Hogwarts. The walk back through the forest was quiet, almost no one else was on the road. They passed a couple of Hufflepuff sixth years walking into town who gave them a curious stare, but then it seemed they had the road and the forest to themselves. Large evergreen trees towered above them on either side creating a hushed, insulated feeling; and here and there a few trees with brightly colored leaves, still tenaciously hanging on despite the late season, cheered the forest edge, contrasting sharply with the dark elegance of the spruce and fir. Overhead, the sky was clouded, a soft gray so pale as to almost be white. The air was cool and crisp but felt good to Harry after the crowded heat inside the Three Broomsticks.

 

Harry looked behind them, and finding the road deserted, shifted his packages to one arm, then reached over and snagged Draco’s hand. “This isn’t a hall at school,” said Harry when Draco looked over at him, one eyebrow lifted in surprise.

 

Draco grinned, but any retort was cut off by the sudden sound of girls giggling. The voices came from just around the bend in the road ahead.

 

Harry froze, pulling Draco to a halt as well. “Wait,” he whispered. “I know those giggles.”

 

Draco looked disgusted. “So do I,” he growled. “It’s those two girls.”

 

Harry looked around, panic rising, but the forest surrounded them on both sides. There was only one thing to do. “Quick,” he said, “in here!” Still holding Draco firmly by the hand, Harry plunged into the woods, dragging Draco after him. The underbrush was thick and they had to fight their way through it. Finally, Harry emerged into a circular clearing. He looked behind them and stopped, satisfied that they couldn’t be seen from the road.

 

Draco yanked his hand out of Harry’s grasp and fixed Harry with a questioning glare. “And what was the meaning of that?” he demanded, brushing dead leaves and twigs from his cloak. “I know I said you should stay away from those girls, but that doesn’t mean you have to go running off into the woods, dragging me through the bushes and weeds with you.”

 

“I’m sorry,” said Harry in a breathless rush, setting down the packages he was carrying. “It’s just that . . . I have something to ask you, and I didn’t want to run into them before I did.”

 

“Ask me what? And what does it have to with them?” Draco asked irritably, picking burrs out of his shirt sleeves.

 

Harry bit his lower lip for a second. Draco looked rather cross and this was probably very bad timing, but he’d let it slip his mind and it really shouldn’t wait. “I was wondering . . .” he said hesitantly, “if you would go to the Yule Ball with me.”

 

Draco just stared at Harry for a moment. “Harry, are you crazy?” he asked finally, incredulous. “We can’t go with each other as dates. I thought we agreed to keep our real relationship private.”

 

Harry grinned shyly at him. “We can go if it looks like we have other dates.”

 

“But we don’t have other dates.”

 

“Yes, we do.”

 

Draco frowned. “Harry, what did you do?”

 

“I forgot to tell you,” said Harry very quietly. “I said we’d go with them.”

 

“WHAT?!”

 

“Shhh!” said Harry, anxious that they not be heard. “I can explain.”

 

Draco crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded Harry with narrowed eyes. “So you talked to those girls after all. Even after I asked you not to.”

 

“They had a very interesting plan.”

 

“I don’t care what they planned! I am not going to encourage some girl I don’t have the slightest interest in by taking her to a dance!” He turned his face away. “Shit,” he swore under his breath, remembering what he had promised last night – about not denying Harry anything else. He turned back to face Harry after a second. “They’ll think we like them,” he tried to explain in a quieter, but still urgent tone. “We’ll never get rid of them – they’ll be expecting – ”

 

“No, they won’t,” interrupted Harry. “That’s just it. They’re like us. They want to go to the Ball with each other and want us to be decoy dates.”

 

Draco’s eyebrows flew up, sudden comprehension rolling over him. “Like us,” he repeated, very annoyed. “Just how in the hell do they know about us?”

 

Harry made a wry face. “They were in the hall that morning, remember? They hung around behind us and listened. They heard you say you liked boys and that you had kissed me – and er . . . that I had liked it.”

 

Draco’s breath hissed out in white vapor. “God, I hate Slytherin girls. They are the lowest, sneakiest things on the face of the earth.”

 

“Draco, think about it,” persisted Harry. “This is the perfect way for us to be seen together, to show everybody that we’ve stopped fighting, that we’re friends. We can get it over with in front of the whole school at once instead of having rumors trickling around for weeks.”

 

Still frowning, Draco said, “When we agreed we could be seen together, I was thinking of something a lot more casual.” He regarded Harry soberly. “Don’t you see the difference between us being friendly in the halls and showing up at a dance together? Even if we go with those girls, it will still look funny for us to go together. You do realize you’ll be going with three Slytherins. Everyone will be horribly shocked.”

 

Harry shrugged. “Everyone will just have to get over it. Besides, I rather thought you enjoyed shocking people.”

 

Draco couldn’t deny that. “True,” he said, thinking it over. Finally, he looked up at Harry with a devilish light in his eyes. “I admit,” he said, “it would be funny.” Then he grinned. “Pansy will be livid.”

 

“Then you’ll go with me?”

 

“Maybe,” said Draco, giving Harry a sly look. “Will you dance with me?”

 

Harry laughed. “Now who’s being crazy? Don’t you think that would be just a little too shocking, not to mention blatantly obvious. What happened to all that privacy stuff?”

 

“I haven’t given that up. You’ll just have to find a way for us not to be seen,” said Draco suggestively. “I’ll go – if you promise to dance with me. And if you let me pick what you wear. That green thing you wore last year was dreadful – I refuse to be seen anywhere near that.”

 

“I think I can agree to those terms,” said Harry, smiling and patting his pocket. He kept his Invisibility Cloak shrunk down and with him at all times now since he had started seeing Draco. “Those green dress robes are too short for me now anyway.” Then the fact that the dance was only two days away suddenly occurred to Harry. “But wait, Draco,” he said urgently. “I won’t have time to shop for new dress robes before Monday night – unless we go back to Hogsmeade right now.”

 

“Don’t worry about that,” said Draco. “You can wear something of mine. You and I are pretty much the same size – it won’t be hard to find you something.” He turned his face up to the sky as something soft and cold brushed his cheek. “It’s starting to snow,” he said. He turned around noticing their surroundings for the first time. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “You know what this is?”

 

“Er,” said Harry, looking up at the sky too, then at Draco, puzzled by the sudden changes of subject, “a clearing in the woods?”

 

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s a Portkey hub! And an old one, from the look of it. I never knew there was one here, on the way to Hogsmeade.” Draco came to stand very close to Harry. “You know what that means don’t you?”

 

“No,” said Harry, tilting his head back again to watch the tiny flakes of snow that drizzled down here and there from the pale, round patch of sky overhead. “I have no idea.”

 

“It means,” said Draco with exaggerated patience, “that there’s a path! It means that we didn’t have to come crashing through all the underbrush to get here and we won’t have to repeat that tiresome, dirty ordeal on the way out!”

 

Harry laughed. “Ah,” he said. “I’ll try to remember that. Always search for the path to a Portkey hub that no one knows is there when running away into the forest from girls you don’t want to see you.”

 

Ignoring that, except for giving Harry an exasperated look, Draco paced around, intently scanning the edges of the circle for a sign of a break in the virtual wall of bushes and branches that surrounded them. The trees around the perimeter stood close together with dense evergreen growth in between, but after a few moments, he spotted a clear space between two trees. “Here,” he called. “This might be it.”

 

Sure enough, when Harry joined Draco at the spot, he could see a narrow path running off toward the main road. “Good job!” said Harry, both impressed and amused. “Shall I go first and make sure there aren’t any weeds in your way?”

 

Draco raised one eyebrow and tried to look insulted, but he snickered instead because Harry was grinning at him, and it really was quite funny. No one in his life had ever had the audacity to tease him, and most definitely, no one had ever teased him affectionately the way Harry had been doing since last night. He was finding it quite novel and enjoyable. “You,” he said in an equally teasing tone, “are flirting with danger, you know.”

 

Harry chuckled and stepped closer to Draco, sliding his arms in under Draco’s cloak, pulling the blond against him. “I know,” he said softly. “I like it.” Draco’s arms went around his neck as Harry bent his head to kiss Draco’s mouth. Draco’s face felt cool, but his mouth was warm, and under his cloak where Harry’s hands lay pressed against his back, Draco was very warm. Harry snuggled deeper into that comfortable delicious warmth. He felt Draco shiver in his arms in response, and tightened his embrace, then gently ended the kiss. “Still mad at me?” he asked, looking into Draco’s eyes, finding no sign of it in the velvety gray gaze.

 

“Just a little,” said Draco, with a hint of a frown that looked more like a smile he was trying to hide.

 

Harry kissed him again, longer this time, stirring the beginnings of desire between them, a rush of heat melting them together. “How about now?” he whispered, finally.

 

Draco leaned his forehead against Harry’s, his eyes still closed. “Hardly at all,” he whispered back, his voice breathless. After a moment he pulled away. “Let’s go back,” he said quietly. “I’d much rather be doing this in my room.”

 

Harry reluctantly let Draco go, feeling the separation like a physical ache as the cold air reclaimed him from Draco’s encompassing warmth, but he smiled at the thought of continuing, curled up by the fire in Draco’s room, and went to gather up his packages. Going ahead, he ducked through the narrow opening between the trees and started off down the path Draco had found. Draco followed him through the opening, but then stopped, and turned to look back, studying the clearing with a critical eye. There was something about the layout of this place that was nagging at him . . . something he knew he should be seeing. . . . Then all at once, it struck him, perception coming fully in one swift realization, and the final pieces of his plan fell perfectly into place. Harry will have to be able to find it again, he thought, and I’ll need Dumbledore’s help with one part . . . but even as that thought occurred to him, he knew precisely what story he could tell the old wizard to get what he wanted. This place was exactly what he had needed. Here. . . . He turned away suddenly, shaking off the feeling of impending finality – the disconcerting shock of seeing the place where everything would end and knowing it for what it was – recognizing that which no man should see or have foreknowledge of. Quickly, he followed the path out, hurrying to catch up to Harry.

 

Where the path met the road, it was overgrown and difficult to see. Draco made Harry wait while he searched around the entrance, looking for something. Finally, he pulled several heavy, twining loops of ivy vines away from an old, battered post. “Ha,” he said. “I knew it.” The post had two weathered, barely readable arrows, one for Hogwarts, the other for Hogsmeade. “It was a Portkey hub once.”

 

“It obviously hasn’t been used for years,” observed Harry. “And was forgotten.”

 

“My guess is that it was closed during the war with Voldemort, and with the need for increased security for the school afterward, it was never reopened.” Draco studied the old signpost for a few moments. “Do you think you could find your way back here again if you had to?” he asked, being very careful to sound casual.

 

Harry looked around. “If I looked out for that old post, probably. Why?”

 

“I thought it looked like a good place to meet – a secret place, that only we know,” said Draco as they started off down the road to Hogwarts.

 

“In that case, I’m sure I could find it,” said Harry, smiling.

 

They walked a little further and Draco sighed. “Okay,” he said, his tone resigned, “if we’re going to this dance, I guess you’d better tell me who I’m going with – besides you, that is.”

 

“I’m going with Natalia” explained Harry. “She’s the blond one, and you’ll be with the dark-haired one. I think her name is Violet.”

 

Draco stopped in his tracks. “Oh, no,” he said, turning on Harry, indignation written all over his face. “I’ve changed my mind. I am not going anywhere – for any reason – with another girl with a stupid flower name. It’s getting ridiculous. Violet, Pansy, even my own mother is named after a flower!”

 

“Oh,” said Harry, a little startled, “so was my mother. And my aunt.” He paused for a second. “Come to think of it, Lavender Brown, one of the Gryffindor girls in my year is too.”

 

“See,” said Draco, obviously feeling his claim had just been indisputably proven. “It’s been dreadfully overdone.”

 

Harry shrugged, and continued walking for a while next to Draco, thinking. “Well,” he said noncommittally after a time, “I guess you’re right.” He looked sidelong at Draco. “You know, now that I think of it,” he continued, hiding a grin, “maybe it’s just as well you don’t go. I’m not that great a dancer. I’m sure you would have been disappointed. Probably the girls won’t mind too much, if they both go with me. The real shame is, though, I guess I’ll have to wear those old green robes again. Even though they barely cover my knees.”

 

Draco screwed up his face at the image that conveyed. He walked on, struggling with the alternatives. Snowflakes sifted down lazily from the pale sky, dusting his hair and shoulders and vanishing against his warmth while he wrestled with his decision, but picturing Harry going to the Yule Ball without him, escorting two girls and dressed in those dreadful clothes was more than he could stand. Finally, he had to acknowledge that he’d been outmaneuvered, and rather skillfully at that. “I’m impressed, Harry,” he said at last with reluctant admiration. “That was pure Slytherin.”

 

“So, you’ll go?” asked Harry with a victorious grin.

 

Draco sulked for a moment longer, then relented. “I’ll go,” he said. “But only because I can’t let you show up in those ghastly robes, now can I? And with girls. It’s just too horrible to contemplate.”

 

“Thank God!” said Harry laughing, enormously relieved. “I don’t think I could have stood it.” He caught hold of Draco’s hand again. “And it would have been entirely your fault, you know, if I’d had to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower afterwards.”

 

Draco had to laugh at that. “I refuse to be responsible,” he said with a toss of his head and a teasing grin, “for your gory, splattered remains. I told you not to talk to them. This whole scheme of going with them so you could ask me out was your own idea.”

 

Harry grinned back. “It was the girls’ idea, but I did recognize that it was a brilliant plan,” he said proudly. “There’s no other way we could have gone together.” They walked on a bit further, then a little apologetically, Harry added, “There’s something else I have to ask you, too.”

 

“It had better not involve girls,” warned Draco, quite seriously.

 

“No, much worse than that I’m afraid. It’s Ron. I need to talk to him when we get back, and I was really hoping we could go talk to him together.”

 

“You want me to come with you, after what happened this morning?”

 

“Yes,” said Harry firmly. He was determined that Ron and Draco would talk, and was not going to accept no from either of them on that issue. “And this time, will you please try to stay calm,” he asked, continuing with a bit of a tease in his voice, but quite resolute in his intent.

 

Draco made a face. “It’s not very likely he’s going to be calm with me.”

 

“I know, but he’ll settle down eventually,” asserted Harry. “In the meantime, all I’m asking is that you show him enough of your devastatingly charming side to convince him that I have not gone nutters by wanting to be with you.”

 

“Well,” said Draco, mulling that over, “if you put it that way. But you do understand that being charming for a Weasley takes phenomenal skill and effort? I expect to be greatly made over and petted later for the trouble.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “I can do that,” he said.

 

Draco shook his head. “Dumb girls and Weasleys,” he muttered, but with a mollified expression and the beginnings of a slight smile. “I used to have such a quiet life.”

 

Harry stopped walking and looped his arm around Draco’s waist. “And now you have me,” he said softly, pulling the blond close. “Want to change back?”

 

“No.” Draco smiled at the snowflakes that dotted and melted in Harry’s hair, leaving tiny glistening droplets of water. “Much too late for that,” he whispered against Harry’s mouth as he leaned in to accept Harry’s kiss. “But are you sure it can’t wait until after Christmas?” he asked, when they pulled apart. “We have only three more days until I have to go home. I don’t want to share you.”

 

“I don’t want to wait,” insisted Harry, then he stared at Draco in alarm. “But Draco, God . . . I thought you were staying here for Christmas. I didn’t think you were going to go home again. Dumbledore said you had asked if you could stay here at Hogwarts . . . to be safe. And Snape said. . . .” Harry pulled Draco closer, a wave of deep concern sweeping over him as he remembered exactly what Snape had said. If you really do care about him, then keep him away from his father. “I don’t think you should go,” he said desperately. “Please don’t. I . . . I wanted to spend Christmas here with you . . . we would almost have the whole castle to ourselves.”

 

“I have to go home Harry,” said Draco sadly, but firmly. “My father is expecting me most particularly. There is no excuse I could come up with that he would accept.”

 

Harry studied the other boy’s face with dismay, then withdrew slowly from Draco’s embrace and began walking again. After a moment’s delay, Draco caught up and fell into step beside him. They walked for a while without talking, Harry reeling from disappointment and worry, uncertain what to say. Surely there was some way to keep Draco here. Maybe Snape would talk to him. Harry balked slightly at the thought of having to ask the surly professor for help, but this was far too important to let his personal dislike of the man get in the way. Or maybe Dumbledore could do something.

 

“I really have no choice about this, Harry,” said Draco quietly. “If I did, don’t you know I’d stay here with you?”

 

“I know,” said Harry. “But what if we get Dumbledore – ”

 

“If anyone gets involved in trying to keep me here,” said Draco, cutting Harry off, “it will just make things worse. My only chance right now is to do exactly what my father expects, so he doesn’t get suspicious. And since this is probably going to be the last time I go home, there are some things I need to do. I want to collect a few personal belongings from my room . . . and say goodbye to my mother.”

 

Harry nodded grudgingly. It was going to be very hard to argue against that. He looked up and was surprised to find that they had reached the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. He stopped and set his packages down, his mind shifting gears reluctantly. Draco watched impatiently while Harry dug down into the pocket of his jeans. “If you’re coming up with me to talk to Ron,” said Harry, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak, “you’re going to have to wear this. And you need to put it on now, before we go in.”

 

“Well hurry up with it, then,” said Draco, as Harry took out his wand and spelled the cloak to his normal size. “If I have to talk to Weasley, I want to get it over with, so we can have the rest of the night to ourselves.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry slipped into the Gryffindor common room with his hands full of shopping bags and Draco under the Invisibility Cloak close behind him. Hermione jumped up quickly from the table where she was sitting studying for their last class of History of Magical Mysteries.

 

“Harry,” she called urgently, almost tripping over a group of first-years sitting on the floor playing Exploding Snap, in her rush to get to him. “Ron is up in your room,” she whispered when she reached him. “I talked to him, but he’s acting completely miserable. He would hardly say two words to me.”

 

“We’re going up to talk to him right now,” said Harry, looking down into Hermione’s troubled brown eyes. “Don’t worry,” he added gently. “I’ll make it up with him somehow.”

 

“We?” she asked, frowning. “What do you mean. . . ?”

 

“He means that I’m here too,” said a low voice out of the air right behind Harry.

 

Hermione stifled a small startled gasp, then turned back to Harry, her face suddenly flushed and disapproving. “That is not a good idea!” she whispered angrily. “He shouldn’t even be in here! Ron will be furious if you take him upstairs. You’ll just end up making him more upset and that won’t help anything.” Her expression softened just a little and she went on. “I know you want him to see that you and Draco are together, but I think you need to talk to him alone first.”

 

Harry acknowledged that she was probably right. Still . . . he really wanted Draco to be there. He felt the Slytherin leaning against him, one hand on his back, waiting to see what he would decide.

 

“Ron’s mad at you Harry,” continued Hermione before Harry could say anything. “But if you take Draco up there, he’ll blame Draco and take it out on him instead. That’s hardly fair.”

 

“I must say, I agree,” said Draco quietly, after a moment of silence.

 

Harry sighed, turning his head to look over his shoulder at the empty space behind him where he knew Draco was. “I want you to come up,” he said. “I think he needs to talk to both of us, but I guess Hermione is right. I should go up first and see how things stand.” He wished he could see Draco’s face. “Will you be okay? Do you mind waiting here very much?”

 

He felt Draco shrug, then heard a low chuckle. There was suddenly warmth near his ear and a low whisper. “I’m in the Gryffindor common room wearing an Invisibility Cloak. I think I can easily manage to keep myself entertained.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione watched Harry disappear up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory, then realized with a small shock of annoyance and dismay that she now had no idea where Draco was. He might be standing inches away or across the room for all she knew. “Draco?” she whispered very softly, urgently. No answer. Or wait . . . was that a low laugh over by the sofa? She felt her face flush. Conscious that she would soon be making a spectacle of herself if she continued standing in the middle of the room now that Harry was gone, she walked cautiously back to the table where she’d been studying and sat down. She expected to brush against an invisible body at any moment, was half-fearful for a second that he would be in her chair and she would sit in his lap and scream, but nothing happened. Pretending to read, she let her eyes scan the room. Where was he? Even if Hermione believed Draco had changed, she didn’t think that he would be able to resist this golden opportunity for trouble that had been so graciously handed to him by Harry’s poor judgment.

 

Luckily the common room was fairly empty. Lavender and Parvati were sitting at a table on the other side of the room talking quietly while working on a project for their Advanced Divination class. That group of three first-years, the ones she had almost tripped over, were still sitting on the floor nearby playing Exploding Snap. All of them were intent on their own pursuits. Hermione sighed and relaxed a little. Then a movement on the other side of the room caught her eye. She tried not to stare, but sure enough, a book was slowly sliding off the shelf of the bookcase right behind where Lavender was sitting. Hermione tensed, expecting it to drop to the floor with a bang, but instead, it hovered in mid-air, opened, pages turned, then it closed and slowly floated back, slipping into its spot on the shelf.

 

Well, at least I know where he is, she thought.

 

Then Lavender twitched and looked around puzzled, rubbing her arm as if she had been touched by something. Hermione was watching openly now, making no pretence of trying to study. What next?

 

Suddenly both girls sat back, wide-eyed and startled, as the cover of one of their library books abruptly flipped open and pages started to turn. After watching for a shocked moment, suddenly Parvati reached over and grabbed Lavender’s hand. Hermione heard her whisper excitedly, “Lavender! This is it – what we’ve been waiting for! A mystical visitation!”

 

Lavender’s mouth dropped open, then she squeezed Parvati’s hand back. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “What do we do? The spirits are right here!” That last came out as something of a whispered squeal.

 

Hermione had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing.

 

“Shh, just watch!” said Parvati. “I think they’re trying to tell us something!”

 

When the pages finally fell still, the girls grabbed the book. “Ooooh,” said Lavender, reading the page where it lay open now. “What do you think it means? Do you think we should use it in our report?”

 

“Oh, yes! Yes! Look at this!” said Parvati, pointing reverently to something on the page. “This is exactly what we were looking for! I can’t believe we missed it before.”

 

“Wow,” said Lavender, awed. “I can’t wait to tell Madam Sibyll about this.” She shivered, and pressed her hands over her heart. “To think – the spirits found us worthy. It’s just so . . . so . . . inspiring.” The girls bent over the book, intent on the new spirit-revealed text.

 

Hermione grinned in the direction of her classmates. Had Draco actually shown them something they could use? It wouldn’t surprise her if he knew things like that. But just as she started to turn back to her reading, a bottle of ink that had been left on the table behind Parvati, rose slowly into the air. Hermione caught her breath. It floated right over Parvati’s head and ever so gradually began to tip. Oh God. Both girls were too intent on their book to notice. Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth. Should she call out? The bottle of ink began to dance in the air, swinging back and forth in merry arcs, bouncing up and down, tipping ever further. Hermione was horrified for a second, then the realization hit that Draco knew she was watching. She raised one eyebrow and frowned in what she hoped was a good imitation of a stern Head Girl. It was a weak attempt and she knew it, but the bottle of ink stopped its dance and slowly sank back to its place on the table. Hermione sagged in her chair in relief. Oh please hurry, Harry! she thought desperately.

 

Just then, a quarrel broke out among the card players. But before Hermione could say anything, the cards were suddenly plucked up into thin air from each of the players hands. The three boys were instantly silent, their eyes round in surprise. While they all watched, the cards shuffled themselves and were dealt into four neat piles. “Miss Granger,” said one of the boys in a tremulous tone. “What . . . is it?”

 

Hermione sat back, grateful for Draco’s astute handling of the situation and smiled. “It’s just a friendly, invisible ghost,” she said encouragingly, thinking quickly. “Guess he wants to play cards with you.” She felt her heart turn over. Draco was mischievous, but somehow he was managing to be endearing at the same time. It seemed she could trust him after all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry slipped into his dorm room and closed the door quietly. The room was dim and very still; the cool afternoon sunlight slanting in through the windows was the only light. “Ron?” he called softly. There was no answer. Then he heard a pained sigh and the sound of a book snapping shut. He walked past the foot of Ron’s bed, glancing between the curtains to see Ron toss aside his well worn copy of Quidditch Through the Ages and run a hand through his red hair. “Hey,” said Harry with hopeful friendliness, as he paused at the foot of his own bed to set his packages down on his trunk. Then he came to stand between his bed and Ron’s.

 

Ron, sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, was looking steadfastly down at the coverlet and said nothing.

 

Taking a deep breath, Harry forged ahead in spite of Ron’s unresponsiveness. “I’m really sorry for not telling you about Draco sooner,” he said earnestly. “It’s just that I had to be sure myself before I said anything . . . considering who it was. It was so sudden and surprising – and it wasn’t an easy thing to talk about, knowing how much it would upset you.”

 

Ron glanced up and shook his head, his blue eyes alight with anger. “Sudden and surprising?” he echoed in disbelief. He gripped the bedclothes in his hands. “No bloody kidding. I knew he was up to something with you – but not . . . this!”

 

“I did try to tell you yesterday, out by the lake.”

 

Ron flushed, hurt replacing the anger in his eyes. “I get the jokes, now, Harry,” he said in an injured tone. “I bet you and Malfoy had a good laugh afterwards.”

 

“No, we didn’t,” said Harry simply. Ron looked away and Harry gazed at his roommate in silence, as the other boy seemed to struggle with what to say. “I’m sorry we teased you,” said Harry finally.

 

“I’ve done my best,” said Ron suddenly, turning back to face Harry, “to try to understand how you could do this, but I just can’t. Malfoy! We’ve always hated him. We may have had our differences about things in the past, Harry, but never about that. And now you’re telling me . . . you’re in love with him.” Ron’s voice broke from an overload of emotion. “Don’t you see? This makes me doubt . . . everything . . . I thought I knew about you!”

 

Harry shifted his gaze, looking down at the floor. “I haven’t changed, Ron,” he said firmly, after a moment.

 

Ron snorted and wrapped his arms around his knees. “If you haven’t changed, then I’ve never really known you,” he accused bitterly. “You never even told me you were gay, Harry. Is that why you and Cho broke up – why you wouldn’t tell us what happened? How many other things have you kept secret?”

 

Harry looked up at that, dismayed. Many things came to mind that he had kept to himself recently, not wanting to talk to Ron and Hermione about them. But you told Draco, said a small voice in his mind. Guilt flared, burning the back of his throat. “I was . . . very upset . . . after Cho and I broke up,” he said, faltering. “There have been some things lately that I just didn’t want to talk about,” he continued, not entirely sure of the explanation himself other than he had wanted it that way. “I didn’t mean to be keeping secrets.”

 

But he had told Draco, had opened up to the Slytherin, poured his heart out in fact, in a way he not done with Ron or Hermione in a very long time. It wasn’t just the chess game – that they had to ask and answer questions. He’d told Draco things the other boy had never asked – had told him about not wanting to fight Voldemort again, for example. Harry couldn’t imagine telling Ron or Hermione that. Maybe it was the way Draco listened to him, quietly and intently, as if he really wanted to know what Harry-the-person thought, instead of only wanting to hear a litany of what famous-hero-Harry-Potter was expected to think. Often, both Ron and Hermione seemed reluctant to hear things from him that didn’t fit the preconceived image of what that Harry Potter should be and do. So he had stopped talking about those things.

 

And the healing – that was just one more thing, like being able to speak Parseltongue, that made Harry different, that made him stand out when he longed to fit in. So even though it was the one subject he felt most excited about and engaged in, it had seemed somehow that revealing this newfound talent would be like adding fuel to an already out-of-control fire, and he had been unwilling to tell them that, too.

 

Feeling like he couldn’t stand up any longer, Harry sat down on the end of his bed and tried to pull his thoughts together to answer Ron’s question. “What happened with Cho had nothing to do with Draco . . .” he said finally, “or with me being gay – if I am – which I’m not sure about. I had no idea of it . . . then.” Harry stopped talking, at a loss for words to describe the rightness he felt with Draco, a rightness that had nothing to do with gender. Before he could frame words to try to explain that, Ron spoke.

 

In a small, tight voice, Ron said, “I understood when you wouldn’t talk to us about Cho at first. It was obvious how upset you were about breaking up with her. And then, even when you never did talk to me about it, I tried to understand. But this – I just can’t understand this. I don’t know how you can stand to touch . . . him.”

 

“You can’t understand it because you don’t know him,” said Harry, his voice rising a little in irritation, feeling hurt by the resentment in Ron’s tone. “But I know him a lot better now, and he’s not at all like we thought. I mean, in some ways he’s still the same, but there’s another side to him that we never saw.” Harry paused, not sure from Ron’s expression that his words were getting him anywhere. “I just know that it feels right when I’m with him,” he tried again. “You said yourself that I looked happy – and I am. More than I’ve ever been with anyone else.” He broke off again, feeling frustrated, as Ron continued to watch him without understanding. How could he explain all the things that had taken place in the last few days? There was so much, he didn’t even know where to begin, and many things were Draco’s private feelings that he had no right to tell. “Look,” he said quietly, resolved to stay calm, “I’ll try to tell you everything that happened, but I want Draco to be here too.” He paused. “He’s downstairs in the common room. Will you let me bring him up?”

 

Ron hissed. “You brought him in here?”

 

“Yes,” said Harry, defensively. “I want you to talk to him yourself. See for yourself that he’s different now – since you won’t believe me or Hermione.”

 

“That’s insane. You left him down there in our common room? Alone!?”

 

“Hermione is down there and knows where he is.”

 

“God, Harry. Am I the only one who can still see that he shouldn’t be trusted? Even Hermione has turned against me over this.”

 

“No, she hasn’t,” protested Harry, suddenly appreciating the awkward position Hermione had put herself in for him. “She’s not against you, Ron. It’s just that she has talked to Draco too, has seen how he’s changed.” Harry sighed. “We’re only trying to make you see that.”

 

“Don’t you see, Harry. That’s exactly what worries me! It would be just like a Malfoy to pull this kind of trick – to pretend to change to make us lower our defenses. Think about it!” Ron seemed to be beyond caring what he said. “He’s a rich, spoiled, arrogant, pure-blood Slytherin – what the bloody hell does he see in you? But oh yeah – his father is a known Death Eater who would do anything to get his hands on you. Maybe it’s not so hard to figure out what he sees in you after all!”

 

Harry felt the blood rush to his face. “You think everything he’s done with me is fake – just part of a plan to trap me for Voldemort?”

 

Ron flinched at the name, then glared at Harry. “Yes! He’s a Malfoy!” he said, as if that alone was explanation enough. “I’m sure he’s involved in some plot with his father. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. I’ll bet he’s never actually said that he loves you.”

 

“I think I can tell the difference between someone who loves me and one who was just pretending to,” protested Harry, rather offended.

 

“You were wrong about Cho,” retorted Ron. “You said so yourself. That was the only thing you would say when Hermione and I asked you about it.”

 

That really stung. Harry, for a fraction of a moment, was cast back in time, into that self-doubt he had felt for so long after Cho had left. Was he wrong now about Draco? Was Ron right, that Draco was just acting a part with him? Was none of it real? Harry closed his eyes, searching his heart for the truth, and to his surprise, felt Draco’s presence surround him, almost as if the other boy was there with him now. Like threads of reassurance weaving themselves into a whole cloth of certainty, memories of Draco came to him; his gentle, almost reverent touches, the way he trembled at Harry’s own touch, the way he melted into Harry’s kisses, the kindling warmth in those clear gray eyes, the caring in his words. The truth was in his eyes and voice and hands. It was real. And, he remembered with an upsurge of confidence, he hadn’t been wrong about Cho after all.

 

Harry opened his eyes and looked straight at his roommate. “I didn’t know the whole story about Cho then,” he said quietly, “and I was trying to make sense of it – of how she could seem to love me one night and then break things off the way she did the next morning. The only thing I could think was that it had all been wrong. I’m pretty sure now that wasn’t true.” He paused briefly. “I guess you can’t tell that Hermione cares about you. Without her saying so.”

 

“That’s ridiculous, Harry. Of course I can tell.”

 

“How?”

 

“Little things. Like her tone of voice, and how she . . . well, you know, Harry . . . private things.”

 

“And I know the same way about Draco,” said Harry firmly. “He doesn’t have to say it in words, and I’m not going to pressure him to either.” Harry leaned back against the bedpost at the foot of his bed. “I doubt he will ever let you see him the way I have these last few days, so I know how hard it’s going to be for you to understand what’s happened between us.” He paused, thinking. “About the only way I can explain it is that I feel something . . . amazing, something right . . . when I’m with him. It’s always been there between us, we just didn’t know, or probably weren’t old enough to see, what it was. I think it was the reason we were always fighting and couldn’t leave each other alone, and why this change has happened so fast. But now that we know how we feel, I don’t think I could ever be with anyone else . . . and I’m sure he feels the same way.”

 

Ron looked away at this and said nothing.

 

Harry sat silently, wanting to give his roommate a chance to think about what he’d said, trying to think, too, of some example of how Draco had changed that Ron might understand. Memories surfaced, things Draco had confessed to him, of Draco lying in his arms, sobbing from the horror of what his father had done to him, the intimacy of touches and kisses shared. But he couldn’t say any of that to Ron. “There’s a lot I can’t tell you that he’s told me, because it’s personal,” said Harry at last, when Ron still said nothing. “But I will say this. You’re the spoiled one, Ron, not him. You’ve never been alone or abused. You have no idea what it’s like. All your life you’ve had family around you. All your life you’ve been loved.”

 

Ron seemed to shrink down at that, as if his anger had partly deflated.

 

Seeing that, Harry made an effort to soften his next words. “Draco and I are, in a lot of ways, more alike than you and I are.”

 

“You can’t mean that, Harry,” said Ron mournfully, finally turning back to look at him.

 

“I don’t mean that you are less of a friend to me,” said Harry quickly. “It’s just that there are things about me that you will never quite understand as deeply as he can because you’ve always had a family that loved you,” he explained. They sat in silence for a long moment. “And even if you thought he could trick me, do you really think Hermione would be fooled?” continued Harry quietly, desperately trying to find a way through Ron’s stubborn determination not to believe them. “She’s not in love with him.” He looked at Ron’s taut, strained face and suddenly Ron just seemed tired and young and confused. He felt the strong bond of friendship he had with this boy reassert itself. “I happen to know that she’s very much in love with a certain stubborn red-headed git. If you can’t believe me, won’t you try to trust her?”

 

Ron propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands, his long fingers splayed through his hair. “Okay,” he said at last. “I’ll talk to him. Once.”

 

Harry stood up. “Thanks,” he said in a subdued voice. He hesitated a second, then crossed the space between their beds to stand close to Ron. He half expected the red-head to flinch away, but he didn’t. “You’re my best friend,” he said softly. “I know this is hard, but you have to believe that I don’t want that to change.”

 

Ron sighed without looking up. “Okay,” he said again.

 

“I’ll be right back,” said Harry, heading for the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione watched Draco playing cards with the younger Gryffindors. Or rather, she watched his cards moving. But even that was enough to tell her that the boy who held them, and whose voice she could hear in an occasional soft snicker, was not the same sad person who she had talked to at the beginning of the year. And Harry. This morning, Harry had practically glowed. Seldom, since she had known him, had he ever looked like that. Most often he had been troubled, worried, sad. There had been something tense and missing in both of them until now.

 

At breakfast, she had been too puzzled by what Harry was up to and then too exasperated by Ron and Draco’s behavior to really think about it. Now though, she smiled into her book, and glanced up again in the direction of the floating cards. When Draco had smiled at Harry across the Great Hall this morning, it had been electric. No, she certainly had never seen Draco smile like that. Harry had told her, “It almost makes my heart stop when he does,” and she could well believe it. She could imagine Draco right now, grinning under the Invisibility Cloak, as he was clearly winning the game.

 

When Harry appeared at the foot of the stairs, Hermione looked up. Their eyes met and Harry gave her a shrug that seemed to indicate that things with Ron were still unresolved.

 

“Harry! Harry!” called one of the boys in the game. “Come see! There’s a ghost playing cards with us.”

 

Harry came down into the room and Hermione saw him grin at the scene before him. Just then, the invisible player slammed the winning card down with an ear-splitting snap. Then every card in the deck gathered together in a pile and suddenly flew up into the air, pelting down in all directions. The boys fell back laughing in delight, trying to catch them.

 

“Some ghost!” said Harry, with amused skepticism. “It acts more like a great invisible imp if you ask me!”

 

Hermione laughed, and thought she heard another soft easy laugh. A whisper of displaced air swept past her. A second later, Harry rocked back as if something had pushed him, and she saw his arms come up slightly and then fall as if he had naturally started to put them around someone and realized he shouldn’t. She watched Harry make a subtle motion to Draco to come with him, then turn and walk slowly back up the stairs. That had to be a good sign, she thought, that Ron had agreed for Draco to come up. Just before Harry was up out of sight, she saw his arm go around an invisible waist as he leaned in to whisper in an unseen ear. And she found herself hoping against hope that there would be nothing to come that would ruin what they had found with each other – that nothing, not the war, or Lucius Malfoy, or worse, would ever come to tear them apart now – for it was as if neither had been quite whole in spirit without the other.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Draco pulled off the Invisibility Cloak just as soon as the door to Harry’s dorm room closed behind them. Harry watched him reappear, anxious to see his face, to know what he was thinking. As the cloak came off, Draco gazed curiously around the dimly lit room, then turned to Harry, one eyebrow arched up slightly, his expression calm but somewhat guarded. Harry reached up to smooth down some pale, fly-away wisps of hair and Draco favored him with a wry half-grin. “Come on,” said Harry softly, taking Draco’s hand and starting across the room. “We can sit on my bed.”

 

“Ron?” Harry came around the end of Ron’s bed and stood for a second looking at his roommate. Ron didn’t look at him, instead his eyes were locked over Harry’s shoulder – on Draco. Harry turned and took the Invisibility Cloak from Draco and laid it next to the packages on his trunk, then sat down near the middle of his bed, pulling Draco to sit by him.

 

“Before you get any ideas, Malfoy,” said Ron in a hostile tone, “the password will be changed just as soon as you leave.”

 

Draco looked around the room with patent disinterest. “You needn’t worry about it, Weasley,” he retorted coolly. “There’s only one thing in here that I have any interest in. And he’s staying with me tonight.” Draco slipped his hand out of Harry’s grasp and put his arm around Harry’s waist and leaned against him. It was definitely a possessive gesture, but Harry suspected it was partly for Draco’s own sense of security and comfort, too. Harry glanced at him and noted with a sinking feeling that Draco, far from being charming, was staring back at Ron, a mixed expression of barely masked antagonism and defiance in his eyes.

 

“If you don’t mind, Malfoy,” said Ron scathingly, “I don’t care to see that kind of stuff.”

 

“I do mind,” said Draco softly, refusing to move away from Harry.

 

The following silence stretched out, filled with unspoken conflict, and the room suddenly became oppressive to Harry. “I think I should start,” he said in a low voice, “since I said I’d try to explain things.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. “First, I guess I should tell you about Cho.” He felt Draco’s arm tighten around his waist in support, and found that he was decidedly glad for it. It had been hard to tell the first time, and didn’t feel any easier now. Leaning against Draco, with his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, he said, “She broke up with me because she was getting married right after graduation.” He heard Ron gasp quietly in surprise, and looked up at him. “She told me the morning we were supposed to leave for summer break last year. That’s why I didn’t go home – I was too upset to get on the train.”

 

“God Harry,” said Ron, his eyes sympathetic for the first time that afternoon.

 

“I thought at first that she had known about it all along, that she’d been playing some kind of cruel game. I didn’t know about arranged marriages then, or that it’s most likely that she wasn’t even told herself until she was eighteen, which was only three weeks before the end of the school year.”

 

Ron nodded, his face stern. “Her family would be just the type to go in for an arranged marriage and all that stupid, outdated, pure-blood, traditional stuff.” His eyes shifted over to Draco, perhaps hoping that his words would be an insult to Malfoys as well as Changs, expecting to get a rise out of the Slytherin. But Draco wasn’t really paying attention to Ron anymore, he was looking down, smiling slightly, and when Ron’s gaze followed Draco’s, he saw that while Harry had been talking, he had quite unconsciously laid his hand on Draco’s leg in a rather familiar and intimate way. While he watched, Draco reached over and placed his free hand over Harry’s. At the touch, Harry and Draco both looked up at each other. Their eyes met and locked, and Ron saw an unexpected, unguarded softness suffuse Draco’s features as Harry smiled. Ron got the distinct impression that the universe had suddenly excluded him, that they had forgotten he was even there. It was maddening.

 

“Harry,” he said abruptly, angrily, “listen to me. Cho really hurt you, and you’re not thinking straight. Malfoy’s just taking advantage of that – that you’re on the rebound and don’t know what you’re doing.” Ron felt a small surge of triumph. He had their attention now. Both Harry and Draco were staring at him. “I don’t understand,” he continued doggedly, “how you can have been with a beautiful girl like Cho and then want to be with . . . with him.”

 

“Ron, are you upset that I’m with Draco, ” asked Harry evenly, a trace of the smile still lingering, “or that Draco is a guy?”

 

“Both – maybe – I don’t know, Harry. I never thought you would be the type to want to be with boys.”

 

“Oh, grow up, Weasley,” interrupted Draco with an impatient, irritated air. “Just because you and Harry are friends and it isn’t your cup of tea, doesn’t mean Harry has to feel the same.”

 

Ron gave Draco one cursory glance, then ignored him. “Harry, I just think that if you had . . . well, you know . . . slept with Cho, if you knew what it was like with a girl, he wouldn’t be able to . . . you wouldn’t be interested . . . in him.”

 

“And you’re an expert on that now, Ron?” asked Harry, put out. “You and Hermione?”

 

Ron felt his face go hot. “No,” he said grudgingly.

 

Harry looked at Draco for a second, then back at Ron. “Well, I did sleep with Cho,” he said bluntly.

 

Ron’s jaw dropped. “You never told me that!” he gasped. He looked at Draco, to see how he had taken that news, but Draco was sitting calmly, his eyes on Harry. Suddenly Ron was furious. “But you’ve obviously told him!” he seethed.

 

“Of course, I did,” said Harry firmly. “If you’d been involved with someone before Hermione, wouldn’t you have told her?” Harry paused, then said, “Cho never made me feel the way I feel with Draco.”

 

Ron winced at that, the implication unavoidable, but for a moment he held that knowledge back as if he could deny it, the moment of awful irrefutable realization delayed by a mere heartbeat, as if it were a great weight hanging overhead, suspended only by one rapidly unraveling thread. . . .

 

“Look, Weasley,” said Draco, speaking seriously, his gray eyes stern and unwavering, “I’ve wanted to be with Harry for a long time.”

 

And the truth, the reality of the situation, crashed down on Ron with brutal force. He hadn’t believed it. Until now. That Harry was holding hands with Malfoy, who had one arm around him, that Harry had told that git private things that he hadn’t told Ron, that they had spent the night together. That they were lovers. And he didn’t want any of it to be true.

 

“So you finally got what you’ve wanted all these years,” said Ron acidly. “That is just so touching. Don’t think I haven’t known. Ever since that first day on the train, you’ve been after him – and jealous of me being his friend. But that you would go this far – I find it completely unbelievable. I think it’s more likely that this is all just a nasty plot. How do I know you’re not just getting his guard down and then planning to turn him over to your Death Eater father!”

 

“Ron!” exclaimed Harry, aghast.

 

Draco had paled, and now regarded Ron from narrowed eyes. They studied each other in cold steely silence for several seconds. “You don’t,” said Draco finally in a taut icy voice.

 

“What, no declarations of innocence and undying love?” sneered Ron. “I should have known – I doubt you have it in you to love anyone.”

 

“Ron, stop it,” snapped Harry. “That’s going too far!”

 

“You don’t know anything, Weasley,” snarled Draco, pulling away from Harry and coming suddenly to his feet. “But no matter how I feel about Harry, I am not going to take shit from you about things when you have no clue. . . .” He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed down at Ron with cold disdain. “I came up here because, even as absurd it may seem to me, your friendship means a lot to Harry.”

 

“I will never be friends with you, Malfoy!”

 

“How gratifying,” replied Draco coolly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s hardly the point. Are you too petty to set aside this childish feud even for Harry’s sake?”

 

“This isn’t just between us and you know it,” retorted Ron heatedly. “You’re involved with things . . . with people . . . who want Harry dead. How can you possibly expect me to trust you? Because you say so? Well, that’s not good enough. I’ll tolerate this idiocy if I have to, because Harry is asking me to. But I’m going to be keeping a close eye on you.” Ron paused and crossed his arms over his chest, his face hard. “And no matter how this turns out,” he said defensively, “I’m keeping my bouncing ferret memory – I’m not giving that up, not even for Harry.”

 

Draco’s chin came up slightly as if he’d been slapped, his jaw tightened and his fists clenched at his side. “Fine,” he said through his teeth. “You do that.” He glared at Ron for a second more, then with one swift agonized look at Harry, then turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

 

“Oh hell, Ron,” gasped Harry, as he jumped up and ran to the door. “Did you have to say that! Draco! Wait!” Half panicked by concern for Draco’s feelings, and the urgent need to stop him from going out through the Gryffindor common room without the Invisibility Cloak, Harry rushed out after the other boy, expecting to have to chase him down the stairs. Instead, he almost tripped over him. Draco was standing just outside the door at the top of the stairs, his back to the wall, head down, holding his arms tightly crossed over his chest. “Draco!” said Harry, both surprised and relieved as he caught hold of him.

 

Then Draco looked up. His eyes were burning with shame. “Does everyone remember that . . . that ferret thing?” he hissed in a taut whisper.

 

“No,” said Harry, putting his arms around Draco’s tense body. “I’m sure they don’t. But Ron sort of thinks of it as a . . . well . . . a cherished memory. I’m afraid he won’t ever forget it.”

 

“You have no idea how humiliating that was. Being turned into a nasty, low, weaselly, little animal like that.”

 

“Shh,” said Harry. “Don’t think about it now.”

 

“A ferret of all things.” Draco shivered at the memory. “It was disgusting. And it hurt.”

 

Harry didn’t know what to say. At the time, he had been furious and thought Draco had deserved what he got – after all, the Slytherin had tried to hex Harry while his back was turned. But Harry had promised now to try to forget the past. “I thought you made a nice ferret,” he said finally, grasping at straws for something positive to say. “I meant,” he continued quickly, when Draco looked up at him with a hurt expression, “that you were a very pretty ferret – all white.” Harry reached up and gently stroked Draco’s hair, tucking it behind his ear. “Soft too, I bet.”

 

Draco’s eyes met Harry’s doubtfully. “You really thought so?”

 

“Well, not at the time,” said Harry honestly, a slightly apologetic grin catching up one corner of his mouth. “But . . . now I might.”

 

Draco smiled a little, then his expression hardened again. “I tried, Harry,” he said flatly. “I tried to do what you wanted me to. But I refuse to go back in there and talk to him again. I don’t think he’ll ever change his mind about me, no matter what I say.”

 

Harry couldn’t blame Draco for that after the things Ron had said. But he still believed Ron would eventually accept it. “It’ll take time,” he said after a moment. “He’ll come around – you’ll see. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but years from now, I’m sure we’ll all look back at this and laugh.”

 

“Years from now,” whispered Draco, his eyes softening into something sad and wistful and over-bright. He finally unwound from his tense stance enough to put his arms around Harry’s neck and pull Harry close. “I just want to be with you now – have you to myself for the next few days. I don’t want to think about anything else. Can’t we worry about Weasley after the Christmas holidays?”

 

Harry intended to talk to Draco again about this insane idea he had of going home. But now was not the time. He sighed.

 

Draco turned his face and kissed the tender place under Harry’s ear. “Let’s go now.”

 

“I think I need to stay,” said Harry regretfully, apology in his green eyes. “I don’t want to leave things with Ron the way they are now.” He touched Draco’s face gently. “Just a little longer. I could come up to your room right after dinner,” he suggested hopefully.

 

Draco hesitated a minute, then shrugged. “That’s fine,” he said, hiding his disappointment. “But tonight and tomorrow, Harry. . . .” He looked up, gray eyes luminous with need. “No one else, okay?”

 

“Okay,” said Harry softly. “But there’s the Yule Ball on Monday night – it won’t be just us then.”

 

Draco’s hands came up to frame Harry’s face and pull him into a kiss. “It’ll still be just us,” he murmured against Harry’s mouth, “because I won’t notice anyone else there.”

 

Harry smiled. “Mmm. Neither will I.” Then Draco was kissing him intensely. Harry clung to him and pressed him back against the wall, overcome with the desire to stay lost in this kiss for a very long time.

 

Suddenly the door to Harry’s dorm room opened. Ron started out the door in a rush and nearly ran right into Harry and Draco, still kissing. “Oh, good God,” he exclaimed, as if the breath had been knocked out of him. Though Harry had talked about kissing Malfoy, Ron hadn’t been able to credit it, and the last thing he wanted to see was his best friend and worst enemy snogging, but it was too late. He had seen it, had gotten a good look, in fact, at the eloquently ardent expression on Malfoy’s face, at the way the Slytherin’s hands were cradling Harry’s face. As if he meant it.

 

The two pulled apart reluctantly, but Ron was already ducking back into the room. “Let me know when it’s safe to come out,” he groaned as the door slammed.

 

“Oh, what a bloody shame,” said Draco, in an amused, sarcastic drawl. “I didn’t even get to see his face. I’m sure it had to be as good as Snape’s.” He slipped his arms around Harry’s waist and pulled Harry back tightly, just in case Harry was thinking of letting Ron know the coast was clear. He wasn’t ready for it to be. “Where were we?” he asked, one eyebrow raised mischievously.

 

Harry grinned. “Here,” he said softly, leaning back into that wonderful kiss that had been so rudely interrupted.

 

Only a few seconds later, though, there was a loud sudden crashing on the stairs behind them, as if several very heavy things had fallen to the floor. Harry and Draco broke off the kiss abruptly and Harry turned around to see what had happened, Draco looking over his shoulder. On the landing of the stairs below, stood Harry’s other roommates, each holding a stack of books. Or rather, Neville had his hands over his eyes and a huge pile of books scattered around his feet. Dean was stooping down to pick up the books, while Seamus was beaming up at them, grinning like an idiot.

 

“Oh, geez, Neville!” laughed Seamus, turning to look at his shy roommate. “You saw them do that this morning! Are you going to hide your eyes every time?”

 

“Here, you,” said Dean, shoving Neville’s stack of books at Seamus. “You can carry his the rest of the way since you’re obviously immune to it.” He glanced up at Harry with a smile after making sure Seamus had a good grip on the armload of books, then turned to Neville. “It’s okay,” he said, tapping Neville’s shoulder. “You can look now.”

 

Neville peeked out between his fingers, and let his hands drop. “Hi, Harry,” he said with an embarrassed smile. “Hello, Mal- . . . er, Dra- . . . Draco. We’ve been to the library . . . for our Herbology project,” he added unnecessarily.

 

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry from behind, hugging him for a moment. “I should go,” he said quietly.

 

“Oh, I say, Harry,” crooned Seamus. “Keepin’ him in a good mood now, I see!”

 

Harry felt a light kiss on the back of his neck, then Draco was off down the stairs.

 

Draco stopped when he got to Seamus, put a hand on his shoulder and leaned close to Seamus’ ear. “And he’s going to go right on keeping me in a good mood . . . all night,” he said in a low seductive voice. Then he was gone, the sound of books crashing to the floor following him down the stairs.

 

Seamus looked up at Harry, one hand reverently touching the ear Draco had brushed against, oblivious to the pile of books at his feet. “Dear Mary Mother of God – he touched me,” he whispered, awestruck. Dean and Neville burst out laughing at him. Harry grinned and shook his head.

 

It wasn’t until the screams erupted from the common room a few seconds later that Harry remembered that Draco had indeed walked out without the Invisibility Cloak. He heard Draco’s amused low voice say, “Afternoon, ladies,” and then Hermione was talking, taking over, shooing him out, trying to explain. Harry grinned. For once he was perfectly content to let Hermione handle things. Then he looked at his roommates apologetically. “Do you guys mind studying in the common room for a little while? I need to talk to Ron.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Harry came back in the room, Ron was leaning on the window casement, arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring out the window between their beds.

 

At Harry’s approach, Ron turned to look over his shoulder, past Harry, then looked back at Harry. “Is he gone now?” he asked. The tone was still quarrelsome, but a lot of his anger seemed to have been spent.

 

“Yes,” said Harry, tiredly. “I think you owe him an apology. He acted a lot better than you did. He didn’t do anything to deserve the insulting things you said.”

 

Ron faced the window again, the truth in Harry’s words increasing his dismay at the situation. Draco hadn’t given him cause, except for the past they shared, to have acted the way he had, nor had Draco fought back, rising to the bait in anger, returning the taunts the way he always had before. The words “childish feud” had rung in his ears long after Draco had left the room. Was that all it was – all it had been all these years? Maybe Harry and Hermione were right, that Draco had changed, but Ron was far from ready to admit it.

 

“I don't like him,” he said stubbornly, defensively, remembering things his father had told him about Lucius Malfoy.  “And what’s more important, I don't trust him. What do you want me to do, Harry? Lie?”

 

“You, more than anyone, know how hurt I was over Cho. I had hoped you would be glad I've found someone to be with – that I’m happy.”

 

Ron was silent for a long time. “I could be glad for you, Harry, if it was just a matter of me not liking him. But there’s a lot more than that going on here. How can you be so sure that you can trust him? Even if he’s serious about this . . . relationship . . . with you, which I’m not convinced of yet, he’s still a danger. He could be playing you right into his father’s hands.”

 

“I have to trust him, Ron. And I can’t believe he would do that. I know he wouldn’t.”

 

“Harry,” said Ron, turning to face his roommate, “I don’t think you get it. Even if he didn’t want to, don’t you realize that they could make him do it? You’re not safe with him. And I hate to say it, but if he’s not on their side, then he’s not safe with you either. What do you think they’ll do to him, after they’ve used him to get to you?”

 

This was uncomfortably close to what Snape had said. Harry sank down to sit on his bed. “I know,” he said very quietly. “And I’m worried sick about it. He’s determined to go home over Christmas, and even Snape said he shouldn’t – that I shouldn’t let him get near his father.”

 

Ron sat down suddenly across from Harry. “Snape knows?” he asked, incredulously. “About the two of you – that you’re . . . you know. . . .” Words failed him.

 

“Romantically involved?” supplied Harry. He flopped back on his bed. “Yeah, he knows, and he’s made it very clear that he doesn’t approve. For the exact same reasons you just said.” Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Then a small grin broke on his face, and after a second he started laughing. “Oh Ron, you should have seen his face when he found out! He was yelling at Draco because he thought we were fighting in the hall, and wouldn’t believe that we weren’t – that we were kissing instead. So Draco kissed me to prove it. It was brilliant.”

 

“Holy shit, Harry! He kissed you in front of Snape!?”

 

“He did!” said Harry, sitting up. He put his glasses back on and grinned at his roommate. “And Snape looked all puffed up and green and shocked, like he had swallowed something nasty and it got stuck in his throat. I thought Draco and I were going to die laughing!” Harry couldn’t help laughing again at the mental image that conjured.

 

Ron looked half scandalized and half dubious, first at the idea of Draco and Harry kissing in front of Snape of all people, and then at the idea of Draco laughing for fun, an image he had difficulty visualizing.

 

“I wanted to tell you, then,” continued Harry sincerely. “The first thing I thought was ‘God, Ron would have loved to have seen that.’ But then, the second thing I thought was that you would have looked just like him. Seems like you and Snape have something you agree on after all.”

 

Ron grimaced in feigned horror, then sobered. “I hate to say this, Harry, but I do agree with him. You and Malfoy are not good.”

 

“And I’ll tell you exactly what I said to Snape,” said Harry with quiet determination in his voice. “That I’m serious about this and that I don’t intend to stop seeing him. We know how impossible everything is – how uncertain.” He paused, regarding his roommate, a candid plea for understanding in his eyes. “Even if I knew for a fact that being with him was dangerous, I couldn’t stop it. I love him, Ron. Like you love Hermione.”

 

When Ron didn’t say anything, Harry stood up and walked to the end of his bed. “I have to pack now,” he said. “I’m planning to stay with him again tonight.” He moved his Christmas packages aside and opened his trunk. “What would you do,” he asked quietly after a moment, “if it was you and Hermione in this mess? At least you guys can be open about how you feel – ”

 

“Oh God, Harry,” said Ron suddenly. “Hermione. I completely forgot.” Ron looked despairingly at the packages Harry was putting away inside his trunk. “I meant to go to Hogsmeade today – to find a ring for her. I worked all summer for Fred and George to save up the money for it, and I wanted to give it to her for Christmas, to make the engagement official after we tell our parents when we’re at the Burrow. But it’s so late now and I don’t even know where to go shop for something like that.”

 

A ring. Harry bit his bottom lip for a second to contain the small thrill shiver the thought stirred in him, then he remembered the rings he had looked at that afternoon, especially that lovely gold one with the blue stones. “I know a place,” he said. “It’s just a small jewelry shop, but I saw a lot of rings there today.”

 

Ron looked up, desperation in his eyes. “Can you tell me how to get there?”

 

“I’ll do better than that,” said Harry with sudden resolve. “We have over an hour until dinner. If we hurry, we can get there before it closes and be back in plenty of time.” He grabbed up his bookbag and dumped the contents out on his bed. “Just let me pack my stuff for tonight.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

As Draco got to the third landing in the Slytherin tower, a lone dark-haired figure detached himself from the wall where he’d been leaning, waiting, and moved to block Draco’s ascent. “Blaise,” said Draco tautly, nodding a reserved greeting, his guard up. He side-stepped to get around the other boy.

 

“Wait,” said Blaise harshly, his hand coming up to grasp Draco by the upper arm, catching him up short. “You have some explaining to do.”

 

Draco gazed coolly down at the hand on his arm, then back up at the other boy’s face, his eyes narrowed. He stood up straight, somehow managing to seem taller, more powerful, without making any move to detach himself from the other boy’s grip. “Is that so?” he countered in a low, sardonic voice. “Do tell.”

 

“I saw you at the Three Broomsticks today. Sitting with Harry Potter.”

 

“So what,” said Draco with icy arrogance, flipping his hair back with a practiced unconcerned air. “How is that any business of yours?”

 

“So, a lot of people might be interested to know how friendly you were getting with him. Looked quite cozy, if you ask me. Some people might question your loyalty to the cause.”

 

Cold, calculating gray eyes studied Blaise’s face for a long moment. “And what cause is that, Blaise?”

 

“You know very well what I’m talking about. The Slytherin cause – following the Dark Lord.”

 

“Following?” Draco snorted softly, derisively. “Since when does being Slytherin mean acting like a bunch of mindless sheep?”

 

Blaise tightened his grip on Draco’s arm. “Those are dangerous words, my friend. If I tell – ”

 

Draco jerked his arm out of Blaise’s grasp, grabbed the front of Blaise’s shirt at the neck and straight-armed him back against the wall, hard. “Mind your place, Zabini,” he hissed. “You’re not my keeper.” He leaned close and spoke, his voice intense and menacingly quiet. “There’s a game being played here that you know nothing about. Right now, I hold the critical piece in the palm of my hand – but how I play that game is of my own choosing. My loyalties, my cause, are my own and always have been.” He fixed Blaise with a contemptuous glare. “You’d better pick your sides carefully, friend. I play to win.”

 

Blaise shook his head, nervous now. “I don’t get you, Malfoy.”

 

“Then let me make it easy for you to understand,” Draco snarled. “You breathe one word of this, or cause my plans to be screwed up in any way, and it will be your pitiful, pathetic carcass I take to the slaughter. Some people would be extremely interested in finding out exactly what you caused me to lose.” Draco twisted the fabric of Blaise’s shirt, tightening it around his throat. “Your life won’t be worth the air you breathe. Are you clear on that?”

 

Blaise’s eyes went wide for a second in belated comprehension, and he tried to get his breath. “You . . . ” he gasped, “you’re going to get Potter for the Dark Lord yourself!” He turned his head, trying to lessen the stifling stranglehold Draco had on him, and laughed uneasily. “Draco,” he said in a placating tone, “surely you know I would never do anything to upset you . . . or interfere with your plans?”

 

Draco gave him a look of pure loathing, then shoved him roughly away. “See that you don’t,” he spat, then turned his back and continued up the stairs to his room, closing the door behind himself with deliberate care, so that he didn’t slam it off its hinges. He’d come back up here to drop off the ring box and to pick up the gem transfiguration book, intending to return it to the library before dinner. He had walked to his wardrobe and tucked the box in the drawer where the jar of potion was, then gone all the way over to his desk to get the book, before he realized he was shaking. For a moment, he stood rigidly still, staring down blindly at the book on his desktop, seething with anger. How dare Blaise question him! And before that, Weasley. It was too much. Why did anyone else have to be involved at all? Why couldn’t everyone just leave him, and Harry, the hell alone?

 

With cold fury he swept the glass inkwell off his desk. The bottle flew wide, crashed against the wall and shattered, leaving a great black splatter that poured and dripped down the stones into an inky puddle full of sharp glass on the floor. He only wanted Harry to be his, alone and solely his, for just a few days. Was that so much to ask of the world? Was that so much to ask when Harry would never be his again? Draco watched the dark spreading stain with a bitter heart, then swore softly and pulled out his wand. That inkwell was an expensive antique, a gift from his mother. “Reparo,” he muttered. He picked up the restored bottle, set it on the desk, took the library book, cast one last glance at the weeping blackness running down his wall and left the room, his mood perfectly matching the color of that spilled, smeared pool of ink.

 

With a swift stride, he set off to the library. He met no one on the stairs, and that was a very good thing, he thought. The incident with Blaise had set him on edge, and he had no desire to have to talk to anyone. Other students he passed in the corridors ducked out of his way, but he barely noticed. What was going to happen if he went to the Yule Ball with Harry, how would the other Slytherins react? Was there any possibility that they could wreck his careful plans? He was confident he’d taken care of Blaise. He ticked off a mental list of his housemates and finally began to relax. Except for Pansy, there really wasn’t anyone else that concerned him. And he could handle Pansy. One corner of his mouth lifted up in disgust – he could handle her as long as she didn’t throw herself on him. The thought made him sick for a moment, but then he shook the feeling off and realized that he had nothing to worry about. The girls they were going with were Slytherin, so really it was Harry who was going to have to explain the most.

 

And curse it all, he decided, if Harry wanted to go to that bloody dance, then they were damn well going to go. He hoped everyone had a stroke from the shock of it. Picturing that, especially the irresistible mental image of that prim-cat McGonagall falling over into a dead faint when her precious Harry showed up in the company of three Slytherins, including none other than Draco Malfoy, made him feel much better. And oh, he couldn’t wait to see Pansy’s face when he showed up with those sixth year girls. In fact, he was starting to think that the whole thing might turn out to be quite enjoyable. He was almost grinning by the time he handed the book back to Madam Pince.

 

With an hour or so to kill before dinner, he didn’t want to go back to his room. So he walked back among the stacks of library books, running his fingers lightly over the spines, letting his anxieties about the future fade for a time into the absorbing hush of the ancient manuscripts, the reassuringly familiar, faint musty smell of aged paper as good as a soothing balm to his weary emotions. His thoughts turned to the coming evening, and the next day, that Harry had promised they would spend together, alone. Then Monday would come with final classes for the term and the Yule Ball, Tuesday would be spent in a flurry of packing as everyone prepared to go home for the holidays, and finally on Wednesday, Christmas Eve, he would be leaving early on the train with everyone else. Tonight and tomorrow would really be the only time they would have completely to themselves.

 

Such a short time to love someone for a lifetime, he thought.

 

He reached the end of the long bookshelves and turned left, walking along the barrier of the Restricted Section until he got to the far corner. There were high arched windows here that looked out over the front grounds of the castle. Outside, long indigo tree shadows striped the snow-dusted grass in the low late afternoon sunlight. The snow was still falling very slowly, small swirling flakes that spiraled up as often as down, floating wherever the wind took them. Draco could see his reflection dimly in the glass, a pale, tired and sober face he didn’t want to look at, so he leaned his head against the cold pane, too close then to see himself, and focused his attention outside – just in time to see two boys leave the castle and set off toward Hogsmeade. The sight of one of them made his heart catch, and the other made the bitter ache rise up in his throat again. There was no denying that he had always been jealous of Weasley’s friendship with Harry. He watched the black-haired boy walk away from him until he was lost to sight in the distance and the dancing snow flurries. Then he turned his cheek to the glass and stood for a moment with his eyes closed. Now that he was involved with Harry, Draco missed him intensely. Loneliness washed over him, and he felt bereft and hurt to the core.

 

But he’d known Harry was with Weasley – what did it matter if they were up in Harry’s room or walking to Hogsmeade. Harry had promised to be with him after dinner, to stay with him all night and all day tomorrow. He searched his heart, teasing at the ache, and was surprised to find the memory of Harry’s touch hidden there like a small warm comforting glow. And as he explored it, the feeling expanded, was suddenly so tangible, so there, now that he had found it, that he could almost believe Harry was right here with him, holding him, coaxing that world of heartache and hurt away with his gentle touch. Draco sighed, and for a fleeting second a small triumphant smile replaced the frown of a moment ago. Harry might be walking to Hogsmeade with Weasley this afternoon, but it was Draco he was going to be staying with tonight. He only had to wait until after dinner, and that was not so long from now.

 

But the image of the Great Hall, loud and buzzing with voices, his weariness of having to sit with the other Slytherins, particularly after his confrontation with Blaise, made the prospect of dinner tonight suddenly unappetizing. Emotionally, this day had worn him out. He’d kept the promise he’d made to himself not to deny Harry anything and had given in on quite a few things during the course of the day. Oddly though, he thought now to himself, instead of feeling like sacrifices, his concessions to Harry had made him feel secretly pleased and elated. Still, it had been an exceedingly trying day. He longed to just go to his room, to relax in Harry’s company. Harry had a promise to keep too, he remembered with a thrill, since Draco had agreed to talk to Weasley.

 

He wrinkled up his nose. Weasley. That had been a disaster. Just as he’d expected, Weasley hadn’t been able to see past the past, even with the truth sitting and glaring right at him in the present from Harry’s bed. Draco wanted to shrug it all off, but there was one thing Weasley had said this afternoon that had stuck in Draco’s mind, worrying at him, until he had resolved that there was something he had to tell Harry tonight. So he particularly wanted tonight to be special. If only they could. . . . And the beginnings of an idea blossomed slowly in his mind. A perfect idea. He stood up and grinned, then left the library, headed down to the lower levels of the castle.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ron and Harry walked to Hogsmeade, the situation and the tension from their talk that afternoon still making things awkward between them. Harry asked about Ron’s plans over the holidays, and Ron told him – a very short version. Most of the long walk was spent in uncomfortable silence. It was just before five o’clock, and almost dark, when they got to the Polished Stone. Golden light still spilled out of the front windows and Harry breathed a sigh of relief that the shop had stayed open. He ushered Ron in the door as the bell announced them with a lilting chime.

 

“Mr. Potter!” smiled the shop-keeper looking up. “Back so soon? Nothing wrong, I hope.”

 

“Oh, no,” Harry assured him. “I’ve brought a friend. He needs to find an engagement ring.”

 

“Well now,” exclaimed the man, beaming at Ron. “Excellent! We have lots to choose from. Take your time and just let me know if you want to look at anything.”

 

They spent several minutes looking down into the glass cases at the velvet tiers of rings until Harry tapped Ron’s arm. “Look at this one, Ron. I noticed it earlier today,” he said, pointing out the gold band with the three dark blue stones.

 

Ron’s face lit up and he whistled softly. “That’s perfect, Harry. Hermione will love it.” Then he whispered, “Do you think I can afford it?”

 

Harry bent down and squinted through the glass at a tiny tag attached to the ring by a thin string. “I think it says . . . er . . . sorry, I can’t quite make it out.”

 

Ron bent down too, and after a moment, he grinned, and stood up to signal the store-keeper. “I have just enough,” he said aside to Harry as the man unlocked the case.

 

Next to Ron, Harry watched the man put the ring into a dark blue velvet box. Suddenly he felt his face flush, his heart skipped, and he couldn’t help breaking out into a smile as he remembered that Hermione wasn’t the only one who might be getting a ring for Christmas.

 

Ron turned to him just then, glanced at his expression, and gave him a quizzical look.

 

Managing for a moment to hide his smile, Harry backed up a couple of steps. “I’ll wait outside while you finish up,” he said and fled out the door. The snow was still falling lazily, but the flakes were larger now, and the ground was beginning to show small drifts next to the walls. Standing in the lamplight outside the door, Harry turned his grinning face up to the sky and let the icy brush of the snowflakes cool his heated skin. What would it mean, he wondered, for Draco to give him a ring? He shivered, not from the cold, but from the happy thrill of anticipation.

 

Ron came out of the door a moment later. “What were you on about in there?” he asked, puzzled.

 

“I just remembered something nice, that’s all,” said Harry.

 

“No more secrets, Harry.”

 

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay then,” he said. “I think Draco is giving me a ring for Christmas, too.”

 

“Oh,” said Ron in a low voice. “Is he now.”

 

“He showed me the box this afternoon when we were at the Three Broomsticks.”

 

Something about that idea didn’t sit too well with Ron, but he was in far too good a mood at the moment to dwell on it. Instead, he grinned at Harry and changed the subject. “Speaking of the Three Broomsticks,” he said, “I have just enough money left to treat you to a butterbeer. I really have to thank you for this,” he said, patting his pocket.

 

Harry smiled back, glad that Ron hadn’t made an issue out of Draco giving him a ring. The butterbeer sounded good, but Harry was becoming impatient to get back to Hogwarts. He took another look at the snow coming down and shook his head. “I think we’d better be going,” he said. “This snow is getting thick.”

 

Ron scanned the sky and nodded. “I guess you’re right. But I’ll owe you one.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

In about three quarters of an hour, Draco was back in the library, feeling inordinately pleased with himself. As he headed for the window in the far corner, he wound his way through the towering library shelves to the Potions section and scanned the titles of the books there. Finally, he pulled down a thin volume with a dingy, worn red cover and opened it to the front page. Obscure and Deadly Potions of the Dark Ages: A Master’s Guide to Poisonous Brews and the Wizards Who Died Making Them.

 

Draco laughed a little to himself, wondering if Snape had read this one. He took the book with him to the window, and there he curled up on the window ledge to lose himself for a time in the drama and folly of ancient potion making, and to wait and watch for Harry to come back from Hogsmeade.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Walking back, Harry could tell that Ron was in a much better mood than he’d been in on the way to town, but he was still quiet, as if he were thinking about something. Harry walked along beside him, grateful that the fierce tension that had been between them this afternoon was gone. When it appeared that Ron wasn’t going to talk, Harry let himself get lost in his own thoughts, wondering what Draco might be planning for them tonight, wondering how he was going to manage to sleep with Draco all night without wanting him, without breaking his promise to wait, wondering how far he could push the limit of that promise.

 

“Harry?” said Ron quietly.

 

“Hmm,” responded Harry, absently.

 

“What’s it like?”

 

“What’s what like?” asked Harry, still wrapped up in thoughts of what he wanted to do in Draco’s warm bed.

 

“You know,” said Ron in an exaggerated low voice, pausing for a second to grin at him. “Sex. What’s it like?”

 

Harry groaned, and blushed, but then grinned back. “That’s really personal, you git.”

 

“Oh, c’mon, Harry,” teased Ron with a laugh. “Give a bloke a break. I’m not likely to find out for ages.”

 

Harry had to laugh at that. He could well imagine that Hermione kept a tight rein on things. He walked a little further in silence, thinking hard about what he could possibly say in answer to Ron’s question. “Well,” he said finally, slowly, “with Cho, I’m sure I thought at the time that I’d never felt anything more wonderful, but what happened with her is all mixed up now with memories of how she broke up with me and how hurt I was. It’s hard to remember too,” he continued thoughtfully, “because of Draco, and how much more I like being with him.”

 

It was Ron’s turn to walk on in silence for a bit. “You really like being with Malfoy better?” he asked at last.

 

“Yes,” said Harry. “A lot.”

 

“I just can’t see doing that with another boy.”

 

Harry shrugged. “It’s not so very different. Who it is and how they make you feel matters more than anything. And,” he said, with a low laugh, “from my vast experience of being with two people, I’d say that boys are a lot more . . . er . . . keen on it . . . than girls. Cho hardly let me touch her until that last night.”

 

“Maybe so,” conceded Ron. “But of course,” he added with a scornful tone, “this is Malfoy we’re talking about. No offense, Harry, but he’s always had a reputation for sleeping around.”

 

“Ron!” exclaimed Harry, exasperated, “none of the rumors were true. He never slept with any of those girls. In fact, you really insulted him yesterday with that harem remark.” Harry paused, then decided to tell Ron the truth. “Draco and I came very close last night, but we haven’t actually done it yet.”

 

Ron took a few more steps as he worked through the full impact of this information, then he stopped in his tracks. “Bloody hell, Harry! Are you telling me Draco Malfoy is a – ”

 

“Yes!” said Harry, cutting Ron off. “And don’t you dare tell that to anyone – not even Hermione. This is a perfect example of what I’ve been trying to tell you – that he’s not what you think.” Harry turned and started walking again. “Besides,” he said with a grin, when Ron had caught up, “that won’t be for much longer. I plan to change that very soon.”

 

With a grimace, Ron said, “I still can’t fathom why you’d want to. But now that you’ve told me, I’m actually not surprised he’s never slept with anyone. He always acts so arrogant and exclusive – who would be good enough? He probably couldn’t stand for anyone to touch him.”

 

Harry got a mental picture of a panicked Draco trying to fend off Pansy’s advances in the stairwell and laughed. “I think that with most people, you’re probably right. But he’s not like that with me. He definitely likes me to touch him.” Harry could feel his cheeks burning in the frosty air, and was glad that it was dark. He went on though, determined to use this opportunity to get Ron to hear him out. “When we’re alone, he’s warm and funny and er . . . passionate. . . .” Harry blushed again. “And very honest about his feelings.”

 

Ron snorted in disbelief. “I can’t imagine him like that.” Then the image of Draco kissing Harry outside the dormitory door popped disturbingly into his memory. “Well . . . I guess I saw a little of it – out on the stairs,” he admitted.

 

“I was pretty surprised by it at first. I understand now that he keeps that side of himself very private.” Harry took a deep breath. “I love how I feel with him, Ron. Compared to Cho, he’s just . . . so much more . . . well . . . intense. I’ve never felt anything like it – it’s like the exact thing I’ve been wanting and waiting for.”

 

Ron sighed and gave Harry a serious look. “I want you to be happy, Harry. I really do – I hope you know that. So I wouldn’t mind if that meant you were with Malfoy, if I was sure he cared about you and if I was sure he could be trusted.” Ron paused and shook his head. “But I can’t be sure. Not yet, anyway. There’s just too many things that are suspicious for me to believe him.”

 

Harry nodded, choosing for the moment to ignore Ron’s distrust and be glad for Ron’s admission that he would accept Draco in Harry’s life once he was sure about his motives. “So you’ll at least give him a chance to prove himself?” he asked, pressing his friend just a little farther.

 

“I guess I’ll have to,” Ron said, his tone reluctant but resigned.

 

Harry grinned. The lights of Hogwarts appeared, glimmering in the distance at the end of the road, casting twinkling sparks of golden color through the intricate zig-zag weave of slowly falling snowflakes. “Great!” he called playfully, punching Ron in the shoulder and sprinting off. “Race you back!”

 

Ron hesitated only a split second, before taking off after Harry with a laugh, his hand closed carefully over the precious box in his cloak pocket.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry and Ron had come in from outside only a few moments ago and were standing just inside the main entrance doors. Both of them were red-cheeked and grinning, shaking snow off their cloaks, when Draco started down the main stairs. Harry looked up and saw him first, hands in his pockets, his head down, blond hair falling over his forehead. Harry felt his heart skip a beat. Ron looked up too and went still, watching. Draco stepped off the bottom stair and his chin came up. He shook his hair back and looked straight at Harry. After a second’s hesitation, he came forward across the entrance hall to them, an enigmatic smile tilting up the corners of his mouth. “Shopping again, D-W?” he asked when he was close to Harry.

 

“Oh, shh,” laughed Harry, blushing at the nickname. “I took Ron to look for a ring for Hermione. I saw some in the jewelry shop I was in this morning.”

 

One pale eyebrow shot up. “Jewelry shop?” Draco’s eyes lit with interest. “Now I wonder who you were shopping for in there? Me maybe?” he queried, giving Harry a flash of that mesmerizing full smile. Then he turned to Ron, meeting the red-haired boy’s guarded gaze evenly, a hint of the smile still visible. “Mind if I look at it, Weasley?” he asked with an unconcealed air of superiority. “I do know a little something about gems.”

 

“Yes, I mind,” replied Ron, purposefully echoing Draco’s earlier remark and crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Oh, c’mon, Ron,” protested Harry, holding his hand out for it. “He’s not going to hurt it.”

 

Ron reluctantly fished out the small ring box, then watched as Harry handed it to the Slytherin.

 

Draco lifted the lid and hummed approval. “These blue stones are Lapis,” he stated. “Good choice.” Then he got an amused look. “But don’t tell Granger they’re supposed to have mystical properties.” He nodded at Ron as he handed the box back. “Very nice. It suits her.” He regarded Ron with that expression of amusement still in his eyes. “I’m forced to admit, Weasley,” he said, “that you have good taste in rings . . . and women. But what Granger sees in you is beyond my comprehension.”

 

Ron looked up in surprise from pocketing the ring, bristling a little by habit, well aware that he’d been both complimented and insulted at the same time – a Malfoy specialty, no doubt. But the tone was teasing, no definite ill will behind it. “I’m sure Hermione sees a lot, Malfoy, that is beyond your comprehension,” he responded tautly. He paused a second, then added, awkwardly, “And mine.”

 

Harry looked from Ron’s face to Draco’s. There was definitely tension between them, but it was clear that both were trying to keep things civil. Harry hadn’t expected their animosity toward each other to be diffused quickly, so he took this as a sign of progress. “We should go in to dinner,” he said, trying to move things along before there could be any deterioration of that progress. But Draco reached out and touched his arm lightly.

 

“I have something else in mind, Harry,” he said, looking smug. “A surprise – up in my room.”

 

“Now?” Harry looked longingly at the Great Hall. “What about dinner?” he asked plaintively. “I’ve walked between here and Hogsmeade three times since lunch and I’m starving!”

 

Draco broke into a grin, a hint of excitement showing on his face. “Then hurry up. The sooner you come, the sooner we can eat.”

 

“Okay, I’m coming,” said Harry with a laugh. “But this surprise had better not have anything to do with potions,” he teased. “Just let me get my bag.” He walked over to a suit of armor near the far corner and reached behind it, pulling his bookbag from where he had hidden it on the way out with Ron earlier.

 

Ron took advantage of Harry’s momentary absence. Looking down at Draco, he said in a very low voice, “If you do anything to hurt him, Malfoy, I swear I will kill you.”

 

Draco’s smile faded instantly and he gave Ron a cool, disinterested look, but there was something hard and bleak, almost desolate, behind his narrowed eyes. “You’ll have to get in line, Weasley,” he said coldly, dismissively. “You won’t be the only one.” He turned his head to watch Harry. “I never meant for this to happen,” he added so softly that Ron barely heard him. Then he turned his back on Ron and walked away toward the Slytherin tower, pausing to look back for Harry, then waiting for him to catch up.

 

Harry waved at Ron with a grin and then they were gone, leaving Ron standing alone outside the Great Hall with an unsettling sense of misgiving in his gut. With an uneasy sigh, he went in to dinner, hoping Hermione was waiting for him. There were a lot of things he needed to think about, and a lot he needed to tell her – he might even be willing to concede that Malfoy may have changed. But Ron still smelled a rat – and rats, he thought bitterly, were something he knew better than anyone else.

 

 

 

End Chapter 11

 

 

 

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