"Careful ... that's it ... slowly ... yes ... No! Slowly! Harry, what are you doing?"

Draco shook his head exasperatedly as Harry tightened his grip on the empty dish that had held ground Knarl quills until a few seconds earlier. The Veritaserum they were preparing began to bubble and splat and turn bright chartreuse.

Draco sat down heavily on the nearest bench. "I told you, that ingredient had to be added gradually! Now we have to start over - and Snape's going to be on our arse for using so much of the stores."

Harry reddened in embarrassment, but not particularly for having made the mistake. No, he was more flustered about his reason for making the mistake. On our arse. The double-meaning of Draco's words made him colour more deeply.

While Harry would have liked to spend his Thursday night with Draco in other ways, Draco had insisted that they prepare for their exams before they could make time for anything else. Harry wanted to explore more of what they'd started in Draco's dormitory two nights earlier and on the picnic blanket on the grounds the following day, but Draco wouldn't allow it.

Despite himself, Harry had to admit that Draco had a point: the Potions N.E.W.T. was only four days away, and Harry was woefully under-prepared. If Draco was trying to get him to focus on his studies, however, he had a very strange way of going about it.

Harry closed his eyes, trying to calm his heartrate. An overwhelming majority of the surface of his skin was prickling with ill-timed excitement.

"Sorry, Draco."

Draco eyed Harry carefully. "Alright?"

"Yes, well, it's only that ..." Harry met Draco's eyes, and felt an unexpected rush of annoyed impatience. "No, actually," he amended.

Draco took a defensive step backward, looking mildly alarmed. "What is it, then?" he asked warily.

Harry held his breath for a moment, taking time to scrutinise Draco's expression for any hint of mischief. Finding it, he cocked an eyebrow and enquired, "Did you expect me to be able to concentrate like that?"

Draco started, flushing slowly. "Like what?" he asked in a completely unconvincing tone of innocence.

Harry stepped closer to Draco and leaned over him as though to whisper in his ear. Staring at the pale perfection of Draco's left earlobe, Harry spoke quietly, intentionally expelling enough breath for Draco to feel it against his exposed neck. "Like the way you were leaning up against me, murmuring so softly and blowing on my neck while I tried to keep my hand steady."

Harry hadn't been sure exactly what he'd felt pressed against his backside, through the many layers of fabric that constituted two sets of school robes. It could have been only the folds of cloth, or a zipper magnified by his nerves. He knew he'd felt the warmth of Draco's body seeping into his skin, however, and that alone had been enough to send the blood scurrying from his brain.

Draco let out a deep purr of a chuckle and caught Harry about the waist before he could straighten up.

"Oh, you think I was doing that on purpose, do you?" he murmured. "How do you know I'm not just naturally irresistible?"

Harry tilted his head to one side, as though considering the question. "Well, I managed to resist you for the better part of seven years," he began, but was cut off when Draco tugged him down onto the bench with a little too much force, sending them both sprawling onto the floor.

They landed in a pile of robes and limbs, Harry's torso only slightly misaligned from Draco's, which was somehow both soft and angular underneath him.

He still wasn't sure what he was feeling from Draco's body, but he knew it when a part of his own anatomy gave an appreciative stir. Harry flushed and tried to disentangle himself; he knew Draco was serious about wanting to finish this potion.

Draco's arms clamped around Harry's waist before he could move, pulling him down until Draco could reach up to seize Harry's mouth with his own. The kiss was as hot and as cool as Draco himself, and sent Harry's mind reeling. Draco slipped his tongue between Harry's lips, teasing Harry's mouth with its raspy smoothness.

Harry heard a soft, pleading sound that he was only dimly aware of having made himself. It grew louder and more insistent when Draco's hips shifted under Harry's, bringing them into alignment and pressing gently upward. Draco's hands moved down to cup Harry's arse, pulling him excruciatingly close for the briefest of moments before he released, swatted Harry lightly on the bum and said, "Alright, then. We should get back to it."

Harry rolled off him and lay dazed for a moment, watching Draco stand and brush himself off. Draco smirked when he glanced down to take in Harry's expression.

"Potions," he reminded lightly as he offered Harry a hand up.

Once he'd gained his feet, Harry tried to pull Draco closer for one more kiss. Draco sidestepped deftly, turning Harry to face the workbench.

Leaning in from behind, he whispered in Harry's ear. "Veritaserum first."

Harry let out a quiet groan, and racked his brain for the first step of the brewing process. At this rate, he and Draco weren't going to get beyond kissing and wrestling until N.E.W.T.s were over.

***

It had taken a few days for Harry finally to decide to ask for help. No, not about Draco - he was too embarrassed to ask anyone about that - but about Persephone. Although he hadn't said anything to anyone about her in a couple of days, he had thought about her each night, wondering who she was and whether there might be any chance they could be related.

Finally, eventually, even Harry got around to concluding that he wouldn't find the answers on his own.

The first place to go was obvious, as always, but it was somehow very hard to walk up to the door and ring the bell. After nearly a full year, he still hadn't got used to the change.

There was no stone gargoyle staring at him forbiddingly. There was no need to pace about in a corridor, reciting the names of every sweet ever sold at Honeydukes in an attempt to gain access.

The entrance wasn't even in a different part of the castle anymore, but in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, where a fine chain dangled from the edge of a heavy, walnut door. All it took was a single, gentle tug on that chain, and Harry could speak with Professor Dumbledore anytime he pleased.

This was one of a small handful of times that Harry had sought out the Acting Head of Gryffindor House. Even though the elderly professor was so much more accessible since he had taken on this temporary role, Harry hadn't bothered to drop by. He supposed he should have visited more often.

Several minutes passed before the door eased open; Dumbledore was moving more slowly these days than he had when Harry had first met him. Perhaps that was why Harry hadn't been to see him: he didn't like to remember how much time had passed, and how few years his longtime mentor might have left before he was nothing but a figure in a portrait.

The blue eyes still twinkled, though, when they lit on Harry's face. "Harry," he said with a smile. "Won't you come in?"

"Thank you, Professor," replied Harry as he stepped through the doorway, toward the familiar chintz armchairs and spindly tables.

The aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted from an antique sterling tea set, placed on a sturdier table near two of the most comfortable chairs. A pile of freshly baked cakes was arrayed on a plate next to it.

Dumbledore chuckled when Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "I had an idea I might be seeing you before too long," he explained.

Harry's other eyebrow moved up to join the first.

"Miss Granger came by this morning," said Dumbledore by way of elaboration. "She showed me her aunt's wedding invitation. Very exciting for them, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "Yes," he managed finally. "Hermione is excited for them, too."

"And worried about you," added Dumbledore. "She said you'd had a difficult few days."

He gestured for Harry to sit, and Harry obliged. The tea set put itself to work pouring Harry's tea and adding cream and sugar. Harry took the delicate cup gently into his hands and brought the rim to his lips. As always, the tea had a calming effect on him, from the very first drops.

After taking a few sips, Harry set the cup down and let his gaze wander out the window. He was trying to phrase the question he'd come to ask. His eyes bounced from the grounds back into the room, around the various objects, alighting again on his host.

Dumbledore was keeping himself busy by selecting a teacake from the plate. He examined it for a long moment, holding it up to his long, crooked nose as if to enjoy the scent. Finally, he took a bite, and closed his eyes, appearing to savour the taste for quite awhile. Harry had the impression that Dumbledore might be following his taste buds to a memory from his younger days.

When Dumbledore opened his eyes at last, they were tender. "I know how much you have always wished for more of a family, Harry. I don't blame you, having lost your parents so young, and having been saddled with people such as the Dursleys." He let out a quiet, sad sigh. "I always regretted that there wasn't a way to keep you safe, and keep you happy at the same time."

Harry sat quietly, listening. It was truly amazing, how even at this advanced age, Dumbledore was able to intuit so much of what Harry was thinking and feeling.

"I know that you especially wish to know more about the wizarding side of your family," Dumbledore said then. He reached for his teacup and brought it slowly to his mouth, slurping a little as he drank a few more drops.

Harry waited with bated breath for his next words. Here was the answer he'd come to hear.

Dumbledore set his cup back in the saucer with a quiet clatter. "I wish I knew more, as well," he continued at last.

Harry felt his shoulders slump. "But surely you must - I mean, I thought you knew everything," he blurted.

Dumbledore chuckled a bit, tenderly. "Everything? Oh, dear, Harry, I know I haven't always told you the whole truth, but I hope I haven't deceived you that severely!" His chuckle turned into a dry cough, and he fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief.

The teacake Harry was nibbling seemed to turn to sawdust in his mouth. This visit was useless; he wasn't going to learn anything more than he had known when he'd walked in.

Dumbledore recovered his breath and raised his watering eyes to fix on Harry's. "I have always assumed that the rest of the Potters were killed during Voldemort's initial rise to power," he told him. "I do know that your father's family were always known for being very powerful and incorruptible wizards, with very few exceptions."

"Exceptions?" Harry froze with his cup halfway to his lips.

Dumbledore gave a weary sigh. "Yes, Harry. Exceptions. Unfortunately, even the best family has its bad seeds." He looked at Harry's curious expression and shook his head sadly. "I know I've kept enough secrets from you over the years, so I will tell you the story if you want to hear it."

Without moving his lips, eyes or teacup, Harry nodded.

"Before you were born, in fact before your father came to Hogwarts, when Tom Riddle was still only 'Lord Voldemort' to a select few friends and no one knew much about him, a few of us were already watching. We tracked his early movements and knew his early coconspirators. One of them, I'm sorry to say, was your father's uncle Julian.

"Your father's father, after whom you were named, was the third of three brothers. His elder brothers, William and Julian, were quite a bit older than Harry, and had fought throughout their lives. William was handsome, strong, intelligent, talented, well-liked - your classic perfect son. Julian, as you can imagine, was intensely jealous. He was all of those things, himself, except for well-liked, because he wore his bitterness like a badge and it drove people away.

"Tom Riddle was very cunning, as you know, and found out about this rift between the brothers; it wasn't difficult, because it wasn't much of a secret. He had been rebuffed by William, whom he had tried to draw into his inner circle, and was shrewd enough to see that he would be a threat to his rise to power. Julian was the obvious solution to his problem."

Dumbledore used his handkerchief to wipe a stray tear from his glistening eye.

"Years later, goaded on by Riddle's manipulations, Julian murdered his brother William, and William's wife and three daughters. The youngest was only eleven, and about to come to Hogwarts. She was a favourite cousin of your father, from what I heard. James was only about five at the time, but I know he had nightmares about it for years. Remus and Sirius both told me about them on several occasions, after they all got to school."

He coughed again, once, and held a hand to his mouth until he could continue.

"Julian went into hiding after that, but was eventually caught and sent to Azkaban. He died there about fifteen years ago."

Harry sat quietly, taking all of this in. He mentally mapped out the family tree, quickly running out of possibilities of how Persephone might be connected. "I know my grandfather died when I was a baby. Did my father have brothers and sisters? Or what about Julian's children?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Julian never had any children," he told Harry, "and your father was an only child. And yes, I'm afraid your grandfather Harry and grandmother Anne died shortly before your parents did."

Harry's spirits fell. He looked to Dumbledore without hope, and yet saw some there.

Dumbledore continued, "There is one possibility I can't rule out, however."

Harry's breath became short. He couldn't speak, but looked at his old friend with pleading in his eyes.

The old wizard held up a hand. "I can't rule it out, but I wouldn't put too much stock in it. It's only a theory that occurred to me after talking to Miss Granger this morning.

"You see, Harry, William's youngest daughter was named Persephone. I wasn't there myself, so I only know what I was told. From everything I heard, she was killed, but eyewitnesses only saw her father and her two older sisters vapourised. They assumed that the same had happened to William's wife Demeter and her daughter, but the scene was such a melée that no one can be sure."

"You mean ...?" Harry interjected.

The silver head tilted a few degrees to one side, peering critically at the bald expectancy in Harry's face. "I mean that nothing is impossible, Harry," he answered. "But I also mean that I don't have the answers you're seeking."

"Still, she could be ..."

"She could be a Muggle woman who happens to have a not-terribly-uncommon middle name, which happens to be the surname of a very special orphan who is very dear to me and whom I don't want to see hurt any more than he already has been in this life. Please don't get your hopes up, Harry."

Harry had to put his teacup down before he gave in to the urge to throw it across the room.

"So why did you tell me this?!?" he snapped, half-rising from his chair.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. Something about it reminded Harry that, despite everything he'd been through, he sometimes still acted like not much more than an impetuous little boy.

"Well," said Dumbledore after another sip of tea, "it might help you ask the right questions, mightn't it?"

***

Dear Persephone Ms. Williams,

You don't know me, but I'm a friend of Hermione's your new niece, Hermione Granger. Hermione and I go to a special school for children with particular talents. Do you know what I mean? Hermione and I go to school together. We have a lot in common. She's one of my best friends, and she told me about you and your wife. Congratulations on your marriage. I'm gay, too, so I'm really glad you could get married.

I'm writing because I think we might be cousins. In a letter that she sent with the invitation for Hermione and Ron, your wife mentioned that your middle name is the same as my surname. Our headmaster thinks all of my father's family is dead, but when he saw your name, he wasn't sure anymore. I was wondering whether you remember having a cousin named James. That was my father, James Potter.

Harry crumpled the parchment into a tight ball and threw it toward the bin, missing yet again, so it joined the pile in the open doorway.

Ron nudged them out of the way with his feet as he walked into the dormitory. He surveyed the wreckage on the floor, then turned his face toward Harry with an upraised eyebrow.

"Writer's block?" he asked wryly.

Harry seized the opportunity to practice his Wingardium Leviosa, hitting Ron squarely in the back of the head with the page he'd just discarded. Ron caught it deftly behind him as it fell, then lobbed it at the center of Harry's chest. While Harry returned the rejected draft to the pile, Ron took a seat on the side of the bed.

"I can't make this letter sound anything but extremely stupid," said Harry miserably, staring hopelessly at the new blank sheet in front of him.

Ron took the parchment and quill away from Harry and laid them on the bedside table. "Enough," he said. "You'll make yourself mental with this."

Harry let out a loud, exasperated sigh and tried to reach across Ron to retrieve the stationary, but Ron pushed him firmly back to place. Harry's wiry strength was no match for Ron's sheer muscular bulk, and he was quickly pinned back against his pillow.

"You're already making me mental," Ron amended. "You can try again in the morning."

Conceding the round, if not the fight, Harry willed himself to relax. He did understand, at least on some level, that he couldn't force his correspondence skills to improve. Maybe it would be easier to find his words in the morning.

He tipped his head back against the headboard, aware of Ron's weight causing the mattress to sink slightly to one side. Once again, Ron was simply there, warm and strong and solid. It was so good to be past their row. Sitting there with Ron, Harry felt something like comfort again; having Ron nearby was one of the few things that could make Harry feel alright, these days.

Ron had even been behaving himself around Draco. He hadn't gone out of his way to be friendly, of course, but he was definitely making good on his promise to try and be civil. Harry could finally be in the presence of his best mate and his boyfriend at the same time without bracing himself to grab for his wand.

"What are you going to do if she is?" asked Ron.

One blink brought Harry's mind back to the letters. He shook his head. "I really don't know."

"Would you want to meet her?"

"Well ... yeah." Harry was surprised by the question. "Of course I would."

Ron gave a quiet grunt of a chuckle. "It's so weird, you know? There's this woman who might be your long-lost cousin, and you only even know she exists because she's married to your best friend's aunt."

"... Which they were only able to do because of a new law that happened to get passed in the state where they emigrated as children, across the ocean from here," added Harry.

"Although I hear they might make it legal here, soon, too," Ron pointed out hopefully.

Harry smiled. "Yeah."

They sat in silence for a moment. Harry focused on the uneven gravity caused by Ron's weight on the mattress, and on the even sound of Ron's breathing.

"'Weird' doesn't begin to cover it, does it?" said Ron at last.

Harry shook his head quietly, staring absently at the toes of his socks. They were getting thin, he noticed; he'd need to buy new ones soon, but he could probably wait until after school ended.

Ron poked at Harry's feet with his elbow. His expression looked simultaneously sympathetic and curious.

"What does Malfoy have to say about this?"

Harry groaned and rubbed his hands across his face. "I can't tell him! It sounds pathetic, doesn't it? I mean, all I know is that this woman's middle name is Potter and that her wife has some freaky intuition about us, and suddenly I'm sure she's my long-lost cousin who's supposed to have been murdered when she was eleven?" Harry drew a finger around his ear in the air while giving a scooping whistle to indicate how loopy Draco would consider him if he knew.

"But don't you think you should?" Ron paused, obviously forcing himself to get the words out. "I mean, he cares about you, right? So he'll understand?"

Knocked out of his self-pity by the improbability of hearing Ron say those words, Harry could only goggle at him for a moment. "You're actually willing to suppose that Draco cares about me?"

Ron's mouth took an awkward twist. "You asked me to make an effort, didn't you, so I'm trying."

"Cheers, mate," answered Harry honestly.

Even his appreciation for Ron's change in attitude wasn't enough to distract Harry from his current predicament, though. Curling himself into a ball, Harry nestled down to where his head buried from Ron's view. Ron nudged Harry's shoulder with his fist until they could make eye-contact again.

"Maybe you're not telling him because you don't want him to know that there's someone out there who might be important to you - someone who lives very far away - and you're afraid that finding out more about her might get in the way of what you have with him?"

Harry rolled his eyes toward the window, avoiding Ron's gaze. A hollow feeling in his stomach told him his best mate was being unusually perceptive. And the thing of it was, Ron didn't for a moment seem to be trying to find ways to lure Harry's thoughts away from Draco. He honestly just seemed to get why Harry was feeling all messed up about all this. He was so grateful for the effort Ron was making to accept Draco that he felt a rush of affection for him.

"You're the best mate anyone ever had, aren't you?" Harry blurted.

That outburst caused them both to flush and to leave off speaking for several long moments.

Letting his thoughts drift, Harry finally came back to what Ron had said a moment earlier: "But yeah, that's just it, isn't it? What if Persephone is that Persephone, and she wants to meet me? That would take me to America, away from Draco."

He raised his eyes up to see Ron looking down at him thoughtfully. "So, you're not going to tell him anything?" he asked.

Harry shrugged as much as his position would allow, enjoy the feeling of Ron's fist still resting on his shoulder.

"I can't, yet, can I?" he replied. "Not until I know more. It wouldn't be fair to make him worry, if it's nothing, right?"

Ron didn't answer, and Harry curled himself into a tighter ball, as though he could make himself small enough that the fates would lose interest and plague someone else, for a change.

***

Dear Charlie,

Sorry I haven't written in so long. Well, maybe it's only been two weeks, but a lot has happened since you and Viktor came to visit.

I'm going out with Draco, now. You were right, I only had to be patient. It almost drove me mental, trying, but I'm glad I did. Things are pretty good. It's hard right now, because revising for N.E.W.T.s doesn't leave much time for anything else, but it's still good. He's, um ... a really good kisser.

Ron and I had a huge row over it, but we worked it out. It turned out that he was angriest at me because of not telling him I'd started going out with Draco. There was one really bad day when it seemed like no one in Gryffindor was talking to anyone else, but we all got over it.

Seamus, who's another Gryffindor in our year, is going out with a Slytherin called Millicent Bulstrode, by the way. She was on that Inquisitorial Guard with Draco, back in Fifth Year, but she's turned out to be alright, too. She gave me some good advice about Ron, actually. I think you'd like her.

Did Ron tell you he's been invited to America for Hermione's aunt's wedding celebration? He's pretty excited.

Sorry this is short. It's been a long week and I'm pretty tired. I hope you and Viktor are both doing well.

Take care,
Harry

Harry rolled and sealed the scroll. He knew he was only stalling by writing to Charlie. What he didn't know was why he hadn't told Charlie about Persephone. Maybe it was because he felt a bit silly about the whole thing. After all, there were probably a lot of people called Potter in the world.

It felt safest not to mention it to anyone who didn't already know, at least until he heard back from Persephone. That was if she wrote back, of course.

In order for her to write back, Harry would have to finish the letter already.

He picked up the rumpled parchment that lay next to him on the bed. It wanted recopying. He read over what he'd finally managed to compose, after forty-eight hours of botched attempts.

It wasn't horrible. It didn't sound too much like something written by a nutter. He could take some small comfort in that.

He took out a new, clean scroll, and started rewriting the words in his neatest scrawl.

Dear Ms. Williams,

We've never met, but I'm a friend of your niece, Hermione Granger. The three of us - Hermione, Ron and I - have gone to school together since we were eleven. Hermione's told us about your recent wedding to her aunt Emma. Congratulations! I hope you don't mind me saying it, but I'm gay myself, and it's good to know there are places where we're treated the same as other people.

That isn't the only reason I'm writing to you. I'm writing mostly because Emma mentioned that your middle name is the same as my surname. I'm an orphan, and I've always been curious about my family. I know it's unlikely, but Hermione mentioned you were born in England, so I have to ask: did you ever know a James Potter, or his father Harry, who lived in a place called Godric's Hollow? James was my father, and Harry was my grandfather. They both died when I was a baby, so I don't know much more than that.

I'm sorry to write such a strange letter, and I hope it hasn't been too much of an imposition. If you do think we might be related, please tell me. I promise not to ask more of you than that. I'd only like to know.

Whatever your response, I send you

Best Wishes,
Harry James Potter

He'd barely lifted his quill from the page when he heard a soft knock and the door opened.

"Hey, you're not supposed to be in here!" he told the new arrival.

"Tough," replied Hermione. "Everyone else is still revising in the common room, so this was my only chance of getting you all to myself."

Harry boggled at her. "You do realise the Potions N.E.W.T. starts in fewer than ten hours, right? And yet you're neither revising nor sleeping, but pestering me?"

She walked right up to him and took the parchment out of his hand. "Is this it?"

Harry made a half-hearted grab, but didn't want to wrinkle his final draft. He glowered at her slightly. The least she could have done was to ask.

Hermione lifted the parchment to her eyes, then paused and lowered it a few inches. "Do you mind if I ...?" She gestured with the letter.

It occurred to Harry to say that yes, he minded, and could she please sod off? Only, in truth, he knew he could do with her advice.

"No, go ahead," he told her with only the tiniest touch of reluctance.

Hermione furrowed her brow into her typical expression of concentration, and began reading.

Half a minute later, she looked at him again. To his great relief, she was smiling.

"She'll like what you said about their wedding," was Hermione's first comment.

Harry smiled back in response.

Hermione skimmed her eyes back over the bottom of the parchment, frowning slightly in concentration. "I'll write to Emma tonight, too, so she knows that you've sent this. Persephone might be a bit annoyed that Emma told us about her middle name, so Emma will want to be prepared."

As she handed the letter back to Harry and plopped down next to him, her smile turned a little sheepish. "I hope it's true," she said. "Not only for your sake." She gave a self-conscious little shrug. "I like the idea of being your cousin."

Harry's smile turned to a grin. He really did have the best friends.

"Seal that," she told him, "and I'll send both letters with the same owl after I've written mine."

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. She hadn't done that many times, and it made him blink and look up.

"You know I love you, right Harry?"

Harry flushed. He cared about her, too, but wasn't accustomed to talking about it.

She took his silence for the slight discomfort it was, and babbled into it. "I mean, finding out we're sort of cousins would be great and everything, but you were already part of my family. So you will be, even if Persephone isn't who we hope she is."

Harry nodded, still feeling a little awkward. Hermione rolled her eyes at him as if to say, Boys! It wouldn't kill you express an emotion from time to time, and picked up the letter he'd rolled and sealed. "I'll send these tonight. We should hear back by the end of the week."

At the door, she stopped to look back at the untouched pile of books next to his bed. "Shouldn't you be revising? There's fewer than ten hours until Potions."

The door closed behind her quickly enough that Harry's pillow bounced ineffectually off the frame.

***

Harry was assaulted on his way to the library Monday night.

His muscles and his brain were exhausted from sitting at a desk all morning writing essays, then chopping and measuring and stirring ingredients all afternoon.

At this point, he didn't even care whether he'd passed. He thought maybe he had - due largely to the magic combination of Draco's help preparing, and Snape not breathing down his neck during the practical - but it simply didn't matter. What mattered was the letter he'd sent to Persephone, and the response that wouldn't arrive until Friday at the earliest. What mattered was doing some final revision for the following day's Transfiguration N.E.W.T.

Harry's plans for Transfiguration were derailed in the dark corridor, two corners away from the library entrance, when a slim, strong arm grabbed him about the waist and pulled him into a convenient shadow.

Harry recognised the scent of warm boy and fresh laundry, even before he felt Draco's mouth on his throat.

The taut muscles under the layers of robes felt so good pressed up against Harry's body, he let himself give in to the sensation of being held and ravished and wanted.

Before he could twist around to meet his boyfriend's kiss, Harry heard voices floating down the corridor.

"I don't know, he was supposed to meet us here by now," said Ron. "I'll go and look for him, shall I?"

Harry couldn't make out the response, but recognised the cadence and timbre of Hermione's voice from further toward the library entrance.

"I have to go," he told Draco, pushing lightly against his shoulders.

"We've finished the Potions N.E.W.T., Harry! And we didn't let ourselves have hardly any fun at all until it was over. Now it is, don't you think we ought to celebrate?"

"We've Transfigurations tomorrow, Draco."

"And Astronomy the day after that," Draco responded petulantly. "When can I see you, then?"

Harry sighed. As good as it felt to have Draco wrapped around him, he found himself relieved at having an excuse for pulling away. He still hadn't told Draco anything about Persephone, and didn't know how her appearance in his life might affect their relationship. He didn't know how to mention her, but thought of almost nothing else except when he forced himself to focus on schoolwork, which left him with precious few topics for conversation.

It was getting harder and harder to be around Draco and not to say anything, but working out how to raise the subject felt harder yet. He wished he could get a chance to enjoy having a boyfriend, without having to worry so much.

Harry was still in the process of extricating himself from Draco when Ron rounded the corner and found them.

He couldn't blame Ron for the exasperated look in his eyes. He knew how it looked.

"Still planning to revise Transfigurations with us?" asked Ron in an impatient voice, rolling his eyes at them.

"Yeah," answered Harry, finally succeeding in extricating himself. "I was on my way."

"I'll bet you were ..." Ron made no attempt to hide his mocking expression.

Stepping to Ron's side, Harry turned back to Draco. "Look," he told him. "These exams - now that Potions is over, I need to concentrate on the others."

Draco scowled, obviously trying to cover his disappointment with pride. "Good luck, then," he said, almost appearing to extend his wish to both of them. Without another word, he turned on his heel and vanished into the shadows.

Ron and Harry stood silently for a moment, each close by each, staring into the space whence Draco had gone.

From the look on Ron's face, Harry gathered that his own must appear as tight as it felt. "You alright, mate?" Ron asked him gently.

Harry shook his head. "Am I ever?" he asked, hating the self-pity he heard in his own tone.

At those words, Ron turned suddenly to face Harry directly, stepping just far enough away that he could look him squarely in the face with a searching expression. Harry held his breath and let himself be examined.

Sometime around Harry's first exhalation, Ron gave a small nod. "Yeah, mate," he pronounced, in a voice more soothing than Harry had ever heard it, "you're alright."

Ron's words gave Harry a funny feeling behind his eyes, but he pretended to pick a speck of lint off his trousers, using the excuse to avoid Ron's gaze until he could be sure that he wouldn't start blubbering like a baby simply because his best mate cared about him. When he could speak, he croaked, "Hermione's going spare from waiting by now, I'd guess."

Ron turned abruptly back toward the library without waiting for Harry to look up. Harry had plenty of time to swipe at his eyes with a bit of his sleeve.

Hermione was waiting for them in the library, surrounded by piles of textbooks and sheaves of notes. She opened her mouth to complain about their tardiness, but one look at their faces stopped her from speaking.

"I thought we'd start with the trickier ones," she said, lifting Crookshanks out of a box at her feet. "That way, if we get tired, we'll only have the easy Transfigurations left to practise."

Crookshanks took one look at Hermione and her raised wand, and shot out of the library like a rocket.

"Dagnabbit!" cursed Hermione, loudly enough to earn a glare from Madam Pince. "Now what am I going to use for practise?"

"Don't look at me," said Ron. "My rat already turned into a Death Eater."

Hermione's shocked reprimand was drowned out by Harry's bark of laughter, which rang out loudly enough that they all almost got ejected from the library.

***

Three more days of N.E.W.T.s passed like a bad dream. Harry had Wednesday and Thursday off, because he had stopped both Astronomy and Divination after O.W.L.s, but hadn't seen Draco all week. He felt badly about the scene outside the library Monday night, and about not telling Draco everything that was going on, but he also felt relieved to have some time to himself.

He'd never been in a relationship before, and it was wonderful. Being around Draco made his skin prickle and his heart dance. He adored Draco, revelled in his touch.

He also needed some time away from Draco, before the lack of solitude made him completely mental. He was really happy with Draco, yeah ... but that didn't stop him from needing time alone, as well.

It wasn't the same with Ron or Hermione. He'd always spent most of his time with them, but it had always been okay with them if he'd wanted to do something else. Sure, if he was upset, they'd seek him out, but he always managed to find some time alone when he needed it.

Harry didn't feel that Draco was putting unreasonable demands on him, but ... he really didn't understand his own feelings at all, actually. All he knew was that nothing was the same as it had been a few short weeks earlier, and he was overwhelmed.

Staring across the Great Hall Friday morning, though, Harry felt guilty. He watched Draco stab miserably at his porridge without looking up.

They weren't breaking up, were they? All Harry had meant was he needed to revise instead of making out in the corridors. Draco could understand that, couldn't he? These tests were very important to their futures!

Harry ignored the little voice in his head that wanted to remind him how little he really cared about the results of his exams. Instead, he reminded himself that he needed good results in order to get into Auror training.

But his gut told him he wasn't sure he wanted to be an Auror anymore. Only he had no idea why he was feeling that way. The recent dream, with the stag and the seashore, swam to his mind, but the connection was lost on Harry.

Still staring at his miserable boyfriend, Harry didn't even see his owl arrive until she gave his hand a sharp peck.

His eyes immediately found Hermione's, where she sat across the Gryffindor table. "That was quick," he commented.

Hermione had already untied both notes - one for herself, one for Harry - and offered Hedwig a few bits of bacon.

Harry took the letter with shaking hands. He placed it next to his plate, then stalled for time by stroking Hedwig on the head and offering her bites of his toast.

"Well?" asked Ron, looking back and forth between the two of them.

Hermione glanced up at Harry, and seeing that he was showing no signs of reading his own letter, opened her own. "It's from Emma," she said. "She's worked out that I'm a witch ... she's very proud of me ... and she's looking forward to seeing us next month. She doesn't want to tell me more in case I read this before Harry sees his."

She and Ron both looked up expectantly at Harry.

It was barely half and hour until the Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. began. How was he supposed to think about this now?

His friends' eyes stayed on him.

If he'd ever been a praying sort, Harry would have done so now. Instead, he ran his fingertips lightly over the wind-wrinkled parchment, reading his name in the unfamiliar script:

Harry gaped. He read the address out loud to his friends.

"Well, that clears up one thing, doesn't it?" said Ron in a sort of cheery awe.

Harry gulped, nodded, and tore the letter open as carefully as his shaking hands would allow.

The letter inside was brief, the hand neat and small. He read it twice, to be sure he had understood correctly.

Scarcely able to breathe, much less to speak, he handed it across the table to his best friends, who hunched over it immediately.

"Wow," murmured Ron reverently. He met Harry's eyes over the edge of the parchment. "What'dya reckon?"

Harry's ribcage still wouldn't flex enough to allow him to draw a full breath. "I can't think about this right now," he answered, and with that, he retrieved the letter, folded it once, shoved it into his pocked and marched out of the Great Hall.

He was too absorbed to seek out Draco's eye as he left.

A few minutes later, Hermione and Ron came out into the Entrance Hall, where most of the fifth- and seventh-years were assembling to wait for the Defence O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. to begin. They looked a bit dazed, and were both shaking their heads as if in disbelief.

Ron spotted Harry immediately and walked right over to him.

"Did you know he was going to do that?"

Harry blinked. He had no idea what Ron meant, and told him so.

"Malfoy! He just ... well, he walked up and ... he said ... " Ron trailed off, shaking his head.

Harry's heart sank. What had Draco done now?

Hermione caught up, smiling. "Well, that was ... nice ... I think," she stammered uncertainly.

"Nice?" asked Harry, now thoroughly confused.

"Malfoy, I mean Draco, I suppose ... " Hermione blinked and regathered herself. "Your boyfriend has just apologised to me for every comment he ever made about my lineage."

"And to me," added Ron, "about all the insults to my family. Including - " He paused to shake his head one more time. "Including what his father did, giving Riddle's diary to Ginny." Ron fixed his stare on Harry. "What in the world happened, Harry?"

Harry had now joined in the befuddled head-shaking. "Maybe he took your speech seriously, that day after Herbology?" he suggested.

"Even so ..." answered Ron, clearly at a loss for how to express the extent of his surprise.

"It was nice, wasn't it?" repeated Hermione shrewdly, her eye fixed on Harry.

Harry nodded, a warm spot growing in his chest. "Yeah, it was," he replied, then left abruptly to go and find his boyfriend.

He found him at the threshold of the Great Hall, as the students were filing in to take their seats. The large room was filled with the din of nervous teenagers, and Harry had to get very close to be sure Draco would hear him.

When he got within reach, Harry caught the inside of Draco's palm with a light touch of his fingers. Draco whirled part way toward him at the unexpected contact. They had almost reached their seats.

"Thank you," he told him.

Before the crowd swept him out of reach, Harry had time to see a glimmer of a sparkle touch Draco's eyes and an upward curve reshape the corners of Draco's mouth.

***

The June sun had never felt so warm or so glorious as it did at four o'clock that afternoon when Harry walked out of the Great Hall, through the Entrance Hall, and out onto the grounds.

He stretched his arms out to the sides, basking in the golden glow from above as it pooled in every fold of his clothing. After the long, stressful week, his school robes felt heavy and cumbersome, and he set to work immediately at stripping them from his body. He pulled his tie loose, unbuttoned his collar and cuffs, and rolled up his sleeves.

"Any further, and you'd better let me help," said a velvet-smooth voice right behind his ear.

Harry laughed, and turned swiftly to grab Draco's face in both hands. He proceeded to snog him thoroughly and unmistakably, in full view of any student or teacher who might be looking out a window or strolling across the grounds.

One of Draco's arms clamped tightly around his waist, pulling him so close that Harry swore he could feel each rib in his boyfriend's underfed abdomen. He slid his tongue languidly over Draco's, taking his time, feeling each taste bud and tooth edge, working the muscles in his lips as he sucked and nibbled on the soft, supple mouth.

His attention was rushing south from his lips, and by the feel of things, Draco's body was responding the same way.

"Think we can do some of that celebrating now?" Harry panted.

Draco grinned and pulled back enough for Harry to notice what he held in his other hand, the one which hadn't been wound tightly around his waist: two Firebolts, smooth and shiny.

"I think so," said Draco lightly, and tossed Harry his broom, kicking off in almost the same motion.

Harry shook his head to clear it, and straddled the broom gingerly, deeply grateful for the Cushioning Charms.

It took him nearly half a minute to catch up with Draco. Either the sneak had been practising, or Harry was losing his touch.

When Harry was almost within arms' reach, Draco looked back at him over one shoulder. He took one hand off his broom, reached it into a pocket of his trousers, and brought out a tiny, fluttering Snitch. With a wicked glint in his eye, Draco released the ball, locked eyes with Harry for one second longer, then turned and went rocketing after it.

Harry was never far behind.

They sped across the grounds, over the pitch and above the Forest, circling back above the Lake and toward a large patch of green between the Whomping Willow and the castle. Intent on a common target, the boys flew ever closer together. Closing in on the Snitch, their shoulders bumped together as they arced into a tandem dive. They raced each other, Harry no longer surprised that Draco could match his speed, keeping them perfectly side-by-side. As they had in the rematch, so long ago, Harry and Draco moved as one, fused together from elbow to knee.

As the pair overtook the Snitch, each reached out a hand to grasp the prize. Each trying to force his body between the other boy and the ball, they only succeeded in pressing more firmly against each other. They flew as if attached, wrist to wrist, arm to arm, shoulder to shoulder, ribcage to ribcage, hip to hip and thigh to thigh. Two hands simultaneously shot forward as each Seeker made a final attempt to prove his superiority.

Harry gasped when he felt the Snitch against his palm. He was overwhelmed by the bizarre sense of déjà vu as he realised that it was not the Snitch over which his fingers had closed.

Harry's fingers were wrapped around the back of Draco's hand, once again. Draco's fingers were once again wrapped around Harry's. The Snitch was trapped between their palms, exactly as it had been in the rematch. The similarity was eerie, as though Draco had planned to reproduce the outcome.

The location of the Snitch was not the only element of the situation that felt familiar. Exactly as in the rematch, Harry felt his body reacting to Draco's proximity, only more willingly and readily this time, having grown accustomed to the stimulus of Draco's warm muscles pressing against his own. He wanted Draco so badly, he ached.

In that moment, as Harry felt Draco press against his side and started to course with the first pricklings of desire, everything came over all odd. Their connected shoulders rolled back to bring their chests into contact. Releasing the Snitch as one, which freed their hands, they wound their touching arms each around the other's body, and each boy moved his free arm across to grasp his opponent's broomstick, close up between a toned pair of inner thighs.

Draco's thumb began to caress so lightly, achingly close to where Harry desperately needed it to touch him. Harry's breath went ragged from arousal and from shock. Almost automatically, he responded in kind, and was rewarded with hot breath in his ear.

"Yes, Harry, yes -" and Harry felt Draco's warm, wet mouth against his neck, tracing gentle bites down his throat to his chest. The pair wheeled and circled in tight, steeply diving spirals. Some detached part of his mind wondered once again how this was even possible on broomsticks, but his gut instinct reacted more strongly and immediately.

Harry flailed outward with his arms, pushing Draco away and turning his own broom sharply. He tried to ignore the protest in his groin and the stricken look on Draco's face.

All he knew was he'd experienced this before, exactly like this, and he'd never told Draco a bit of it.

He sped away, across the Lake, fleeing his own fear and humiliation.

Draco had been practising, clearly, because he never seemed to fall far behind in pursuing Harry back toward the castle. The grounds were flooded with relieved students, basking in their brief reprieve before they would have to return to revising for Monday's exams. Wanting to avoid a scene, Harry banked and swerved, heading for a quiet clearing around the back of the castle.

It didn't take long for Draco to catch up.

Harry had drawn up sharply and was off his broom, on his feet and ready for confrontation by the time Draco landed.

"What was that all about?" he stormed. "Tell me! How in the world did you - " But he couldn't quite ask Draco how he'd so perfectly copied the disturbing vivid, highly erotic dreams he'd had after the rematch, so he let the question hang in the air.

Draco jumped off his own broom and tossed it aside. He looked frankly mystified at Harry's negative reaction.

"How did I know about your dreams, Harry? How did I know that you'd dreamed about doing that with me, weeks ago, before our first kiss? How did I know where to touch you, and what to say?"

Harry couldn't move his arms or his feet. His mouth felt numb. His head bobbed up and down, stupidly, of its own accord.

Draco took a step forward, then another. He reached out and grasped Harry's immobile hand.

"I had the dreams, too, Harry. The same ones, with the rematch, and the flying together, and the hawks -"

No.

"I know you had them, Harry," continued Draco, almost starting to babble. His eyes were full of pleading hope, more vulnerable and less proud than Harry had ever seen them. "I saw them in the Dreamcatcher, in Dumbledore's lesson. I wasn't ready, Harry, and I was so scared when I saw that."

NO.

"But I had those dreams, Harry. I had them at the same time. It was me. Your Destined Love was me."

"NO!"

Draco recoiled, as if stricken. Harry watched the hope in his eyes crash into a million shattered pieces.

Harry could tell that Draco was hurt and surprised, but he was too angry be bothered. He stared daggers at this fragile, strange boy for whom he cared so deeply, and felt nothing more than frustrated injustice.

"No, Draco. No. I don't have a Destined Love."

Draco's eyes were already looking more guarded, even as he pleaded, "Harry, you do, it's ..."

"I don't want it, alright? So just stop it already. I don't."

Draco's jaw and shoulders were set. His eyes narrowed and darkened, and he raised his head slightly as he faced off with Harry. For his own part, Harry had to avoid Draco's gaze so that he could say what needed to be said.

"Did you think I'd want a Destined Love? After all the 'destiny' I've already had? Don't be stupid," he spat.

Draco winced and broke the gaze, looking up at the castle walls. On this side, there were no windows or doors, only a tall, impassive expanse of mossy grey stone.

"The destiny you've already ... so there really was a prophecy?"

"Yeah, there was. That's why I killed Voldemort, last summer, you know. It wasn't any great act of heroism, it was just one more thing that was decided for me, that I had no choice of refusing or changing."

"But you were a hero, Harry. I mean, you are. You saved so many people - "

"BOLLOCKS," snapped Harry. Draco, who had been reaching out to caress his shoulder, drew back his hand as if stung. Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Screaming hadn't changed his destiny two years ago, and it wouldn't solve anything tonight.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in the summer air again. The air smelled fresh and piney, with just the slightest touch of Draco's particular clean-boy scent. He opened his eyes, looked at his boyfriend, and tried to appear sympathetic.

"Let me lay it out for you, Draco." Harry met Draco's eye steadily as he explained. "Someone decided, before I was even born, when my parents were young and happy and in love and expecting and alive, someone decided that their child was going to be orphaned as a baby, abandoned with Muggle relatives who hated him, never knowing anything about magic at all until he would suddenly be thrust into a world where everyone knew his name and face. But this world of wonders would never be peaceful, because this child wouldn't get a rest from attempts to murder him, or from plots to murder his Muggle-born friends and blame it all on an innocent girl, or from learning that he'd lost twelve years with his godfather because of the treachery of someone his parents had trusted, or from watching one of his schoolmates be murdered before his very eyes, or from watching his godfather - his last remaining family - be killed. He would never be allowed a moment's peace until finally, before he even reached adulthood, he would have to become a murderer himself in order to fulfill this hateful prophecy and finally be free to live his own life."

Harry continued to look Draco squarely in the eye. "I was just getting used to having my life back, Draco. To having a life of my own for the first time, ever. Did you really think I'd want another sodding 'destiny'?" His voice had gone sharp again, but it felt so good to let himself get angry about this, he simply didn't care.

He took a small step closer, using his height advantage to look down at Draco. "It might seem romantic to you, Draco, but this whole dream-sharing thing has just become one more thing I didn't get to choose. I wanted to be with you because I was - I am - attracted to you, and being with you is ... I don't know how to describe it. But I know what it wasn't. It wasn't another duty I was supposed to fulfill because it was expected of me. It wasn't this."

Draco could not have looked more stricken if Harry had actually slapped him. He had gone so white he was really a sort of pale blue. Two points of deep red burned as hotly as hand prints on his cheekbones. He glared at Harry, his hurt aimed like a weapon, then dropped his eyes.

Harry continued to stare at the reaction he'd caused. He heard Draco's breath becoming shallow, and realised he was on the verge of watching Draco cry for the first time in their entire acquaintance. He ached to wrap his arms around Draco, smooth the silky blond hair under his palms, except that to do so would be to let himself be led down yet another road that he hadn't been allowed to choose for himself.

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help leaning over to place a soft kiss on one of those angry red patches. His mouth was so close to one of Draco's delicate ears that he only had to whisper to be heard.

"Look," he said in a placatory tone, "I - I did think I loved you." Draco's face whipped around, the eyes wide as saucers and mouth pinched bitterly shut.

It was odd, how uncomfortable he had felt on hearing the words from Hermione, only a few days earlier, and yet how right they seemed as he said them now. "I mean, maybe I really even do. But I thought this was something I'd chosen myself, and if I didn't ..."

He let his fingertips linger for a moment on the place he'd just kissed. Draco's face was in the process of crumpling, his proud eyes still glaring daggers of blame even as they began to well up in pain.

Harry turned, mounted his Firebolt and kicked off, holding his neck and shoulders perfectly straight. He couldn't turn around. He didn't want to see those perfect, slim shoulders begin to shudder as the pain he had inflicted overflowed in tears.

Thank you for reading! Please especially feel free to comment or email about any errors or oddness that you find in any of the remaining chapters as I post them, since I am putting them all up rather quickly.

SPW chapter listing

Chapter 14: Coupling