"Harry Potter, sir!"

Harry blinked and looked around. Dobby was looking sadly up at him from a spot only a yard or so from Harry's feet. He had neither heard nor seen the Elf come in.

"Is Harry Potter alright, sir?"

Harry gave Dobby a lopsided sort of smile. He didn't think he had the vocabulary for explaining his woes to a House Elf, even one who knew him as well as Dobby did.

"I'll be fine, Dobby, thanks." He shifted in his chair, and went back to staring morosely into the fireplace.

A small cough interrupted his moping, again. It was a shame; Harry had been enjoying a really satisfying, uninterrupted mope since he'd returned from the troubling confrontation with Draco, several hours earlier. He assumed that all the other Gryffindors had gone directly from their revels outdoors to dinner, then back outside to enjoy the last of the long summer night. Even when they had returned to the Common Room, none of them had bothered him in the least.

Harry looked around again, to see Dobby continuing to stare at him. The Elf gave a deep bow, then straightened up very formally. "Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, requests your presence in her office at your earliest convenience."

With a surprised blink, Harry absorbed the Elf's words. "Fine," he told him at last. "Tell her I'll be right there."

It wasn't that Harry wanted to think about whatever it was that the Headmistress had on her mind; it was only that responding immediately was the polite thing to do and, in any case, his mope was already good and ruined.

He unfolded himself from the armchair and headed directly for the portrait hole. Behind him, he heard Dobby disappear with a crack.

Harry followed his feet to the stone gargoyle on the third floor. He had visited this office so many times during Sixth Year, he felt he could walk it in his sleep. As he approached the silent sentinel, Dobby reappeared in front of him with another crack and turned to face the gargoyle.

"Bergamot," said the Elf clearly, in a squeaky voice. The moment the gargoyle leapt aside, Dobby disappeared again.

Stepping onto the moving staircase, Harry let his fingers run over the rough, cool walls. The damp, sharp, earthy smell of old stone merged with his memory to give him a tiny twinge behind his eyes. This place, like all the others at Hogwarts, was part of the past seven years of his life. It was another thing he'd taken for granted, which he would never see again, once he left.

The heavy wooden door was already open. "Ah, Potter," said McGonagall briskly, absorbed in neatening some piles of parchment on her desk. "Do come in."

She had finished with her papers and moved to a high-backed armchair by the fire before he reached the middle of the room. "Sit down," she invited him, "and have some tea."

Harry did.

Professor McGonagall sipped at her Earl Grey, leaning only slightly into the upholstery of the chair. It was built like she was: tall and rigid, and yet surprisingly comfortable. The hard line of her mouth went softer and curved up at the corners as she inhaled the rich steam from her cup. Harry was sure he even saw the a bit of the stiffness ease out of her shoulders.

She took another sip, then reached for a tin on the table beside her, extending it toward Harry. He quietly accepted a digestive biscuit, and bit into it immediately. The chocolate coating melted on his tea-warmed tongue, loosening the knot in his chest for the first time all evening.

"Your friends are concerned about you," said the Headmistress as she selected her own biscuit, "and so am I." She took a bite, then turned her eyes to him.

Harry waited for her to continue. Nearly a minute passed before he realised she wasn't going to do.

He put his teacup down on an elegant, dark-wood end table beside him. He trusted Professor McGonagall, but hadn't the slightest idea where to begin. He dropped his hands to his lap, smoothing the robes he had retrieved from the grounds after leaving Draco behind the castle. He wondered how Draco was faring, and whether he would ever forgive him.

It wasn't Draco's fault their whole relationship had been dictated by destiny, any more than it was Harry's. Harry wasn't at all sure what to think.

Smoothing his robes again, Harry felt the crinkle of paper in his pocket. He drew out the letter he'd received that morning, and began to bend it in his hands.

"I have a cousin," he said quietly. His voice sounded dull and flat to his ears, the words unreal and foreign. It was the first time he'd said it aloud since finding out it was true. "On my dad's side, I mean. A witch."

He picked his eyes up from the fine Oriental carpet and met her gaze at last. McGonagall's expression was generous and sympathetic.

"That's wonderful news, Harry," she said quietly. "I never did like those Dursleys. It's good to know you have someone else." The corners of her mouth had curled further still.

Harry couldn't help smiling slightly in response, although his heart was hammering in his chest. As he was rehearsing the words in his head, they were becoming real.

"I've never met her," he went on. "I only know she exists because she married Hermione's aunt last month, when it became legal in Massachusetts. Even Dumbledore thought she'd died as a baby, but she and her mum survived. She's been living in America since before my dad came to Hogwarts."

Professor McGonagall sipped her tea calmly, watching him with rapt attention throughout, but betraying no hint of surprise.

Harry stared at her, waiting for some reaction.

"Yes, go on," she said.

He boggled. She cracked a grin.

"Do you really think I don't know what goes on in my own school?" she asked sardonically. "Really, Potter, as though I wouldn't have learnt this much before I called you in. Do go on."

Harry blinked and unfolded the letter in his hands. He had to read it again, to know it was real, before he said the words out loud.

"She's invited me to their wedding celebration next month, over there. I'd like to go. I've never been outside Britain before ... I think it would be exciting." He swallowed hard and found her eyes again.

She was still smiling gently. "Yes, Harry, I rather think it would be."

"I also ... I mean, I really want to meet her. It hardly seems real that I have family. I've wished for this for so long. I have to talk to her in person, learn about who she is, what we have in common, that sort of thing."

"Naturally." Professor McGonagall sipped her tea attentively.

Harry continued to smooth the parchment over his knee, as if exhibiting a nervous twitch. "There's more."

The Headmistress did not interrupt him. Harry let his gaze wander along the edges of the lamplight to all the portraits up on the walls. A space had been created for Dumbledore's, which hadn't yet been made. Most of the others were doing a poor job of pretending to sleep.

"Professor, do you remember you promised to help me become an Auror? If it was the last thing you did, you said?" He couldn't look to her for a response.

"Yes, I remember."

Two of the former Headmasters obviously peeked out of faux-sleeping eyes.

"Would you forgive me if I changed my mind?"

She was silent so long that Harry finally had to look for her reaction. McGonagall was nibbling serenely at her biscuit. There was a bit of a wicked gleam in her eye that reminded Harry uncannily of Dumbledore's trademark twinkle.

When she saw she had Harry's attention, she told him, "Your life is your own, Harry. I wish it always had been so, but certainly now, your life is your own. You don't owe anything to anyone here; quite the contrary, we all owe you. You're allowed to make your own decisions ... and to change them."

McGonagall took a moment to become very deeply interested in the details of the willow pattern on her teacup. Harry swiped quickly at his eyes with a sleeve of his robes, and looked away.

"I wish everyone felt the same," he grumbled.

He heard a small, sympathetic noise from the Headmistress. "You mean Albus and his Dreamcatcher?" she asked.

Harry whirled around, gaping. McGonagall let out a short, merry chuckle. "My school, remember, Harry?"

He poked miserably at the carpet with the toe of his shoe. "So you know about Draco having the dreams, too, and thinking we're supposed to be destined for each other."

McGonagall's eyebrows bounced higher up her forehead.

"No," she admitted, placing her cup down gently. "That, I didn't know."

Harry's foot continued its irritable motion. He'd lost track of how he'd ended up discussing his romantic life with his very straight-laced headmistress, and under any normal set of circumstances, would never even consider continuing. But his life was tipping sideways, and he needed to talk to someone about it, and he trusted Professor McGonagall. He always had.

"He told me tonight," he said. "He told me he'd had the same dreams, down to the detail. He practically told me he'd only wanted to go out with me because it was destined, anyway."

Her expression turned shrewd. "Do you really believe that?"

She waited him out again. Finally, Harry shook his head. "All I know is, my life was supposed to be mine, now. It's like you said - I fulfilled the Prophecy! I killed Voldemort! I did it! Can't I have my own life, now?"

McGonagall cocked her head appraisingly. "And being with Mr. Malfoy isn't what you'd choose?"

Harry grumbled again and looked away. "It doesn't matter what I'd choose, does it? Because it's been done for me." The carpet was getting noticeably scuffed near his feet, and he didn't care at all.

"On the contrary, Harry, I think it matters a great deal. In fact, I'd go so far as to say the only thing that matters in your life, at this moment, is what you would choose to do with it."

"Tell that to Professor Dumbledore," Harry answered rudely. "What I don't get is, when I found the Mirror of Erised, First Year, he told me, 'It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live.' But now he wants me to let my dreams control my life!"

He hunched lower into his chair, glowering at the job he'd done on the carpet.

A musical clink sounded in the stillness, as McGonagall set her cup down, once again. "I think you've misunderstood Professor Dumbledore, Harry," she said. "I seriously doubt that he meant for you blindly to follow your dreams. Didn't he tell you about Destined Loves in the context of a lesson on recognising when an enemy is trying to invade your dreams in order to control you?

"No, Harry," she admonished, "our dreams can be useful, even informative, but we must always be in control of their influence over us. And the important question is, would you be giving your dreams more power if you followed them, or if you turned away from something you want, only because you think they had dictated it?"

Harry stopped kicking the carpet. This had never occurred to him.

"All I can tell you, Harry, is that love does not come along every day. Take it from me."

He looked up at her, meeting her sad, blue-grey eyes, and saw her for the first time as an adult would. He saw her as a person who could have been married, could have had a family, and apparently never had. In fact, Harry knew nothing about Professor McGonagall's personal life, at all. As her student, it had never really occurred to him to think of it. But as a fellow grown-up, it made him a little sad.

Love does not come along every day. It was true; none of the staff at Hogwarts, except Hagrid, had ever shown any sign of a romantic attachment. It hadn't occurred to Harry, in his own, adolescent self-involvement, to wonder why.

"I have no complaints, really," she went on. "I love this school. I have too many children here to miss ever having had my own. But I do have one regret."

Harry blinked and sat perfectly still, listening with his whole body.

"I was in love once, you know. Of course, it was more than once, but there was one I will truly never forget. I met her here, while we were students. I was far younger than you are now.

"I suppose, even in the rush of infatuation, I always assumed I was too young to be really in love, so I never showed her enough how I felt. She was so different from me. I was quiet, skinny, bookish and already very serious. She was emotional, round and soft, easily distracted and upset by every taunt. I'm afraid to say she was taunted frequently, and I didn't understand quite how much it upset her. I loved her, Harry, but I didn't let myself believe I loved her.

"We had had a fight, the day she died. It always upset her, when Olive teased her about her glasses, but it usually never sent her sobbing into the lavatory. Only I had said something unkind right before she ran into Olive, and the two of us together were more than she could take.

"The next thing I knew, she was dead, and the school was closing. It was then I really knew I loved her, because her death left a hole inside me that has never been filled, in over five decades."

Harry started. "You mean - you and ... Moaning Myrtle?"

"Just 'Myrtle,' please, Harry. That's how I knew her."

"Sorry."

She only nodded, and sipped her tea. Harry's brain swam as he tried to incorporate this information into what he knew of Myrtle and of Professor McGonagall. He had to shake his head, a little, at the oddness of it all.

Harry raised his eyes to meet hers. "Professor, then, you're saying that, even though we're young, Draco and I might really be in love, and I shouldn't leave him in case I always regret it?"

Professor McGonagall smiled patiently. "Harry, I would never presume to tell you what is the right course for you to take. You may notice that that is precisely the point of this conversation."

Harry grinned sheepishly.

She continued, "I can only tell you that it's not as easy to find love again as you might think. But I can also say, that it's possible to be very happy, even if you don't."

"Very happy? You mean, really, truly, actually happy?"

Professor McGonagall's smile was the warmest Harry had ever seen it. "Absolutely, really, truly, actually. Honestly."

She offered him the tin of biscuits again, and he gratefully accepted another. As he nibbled it, he remembered that he had missed supper. A crumb fell onto his lap, and he brushed it off the letter that still lay there.

"She wants me to stay," he said without looking up. "My cousin, Persephone, wants me to come and teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Salem Witches' Institute next year. Their regular teacher is going on maternity leave, and might not come back. She was the Quidditch teacher, as well. I think Hermione must have told Emma about the DA and about my being on the Gryffindor side, and Persephone thinks I'd be perfect."

"What do you think?"

Harry shrugged. "I think it would be something completely new, where people didn't know so much about me, where I could be myself. Apparently I'm not as famous over there. I think it would also be a chance to get to know the only living wizarding relative I have left. But it would be across the ocean from everything and everyone I've ever known - Hermione and Ron, and Draco ... " He trailed off, and shrugged again.

"Quite a lot to consider, isn't it?"

"I suppose so."

"In that case, I suggest you get some rest," said Professor McGonagall, standing up. "Things may look clearer in the morning."

He stood up as well, thanked her for the tea, and headed toward the door. When he reached the threshold, her voice made him turn back.

"Harry - please do come to me, anytime you need anything at all. I may not be your Head of House anymore, but I still care about you very much."

A bit wrong-footed by her uncharacteristically affectionate words, Harry could only bow his head and nod. He felt he should say something in response, a word of gratitude or a promise to visit again, but when he looked up, she had already returned to the papers at her desk.

***

"No, you see, that's what everyone says, but the fact is that the Cannons have had exactly one world-class Chaser, every season for the past few decades. Sure, they've signed Grant, but he's no use now that Firth's gone. You need at least two Chasers to complete a pass, and I don't see that happening with Roberts and MacDowell playing."

"Gin, you've got it all backwards, again. The real coup is the new Keeper. She's magnificent - hasn't missed a block in the past two years on the Welsh National Team."

Hermione laughed and splashed him. "If I didn't know what an absolute fanatic you are, Ron, I might be jealous."

Ron kicked up a great deal of water in the three loping strides it took him to reach her. "And if I didn't know how serious you are about your marks, dear, I'd start wondering whether you might fancy Professor Flitwick," he said into her hair.

Hermione made an outraged noise, flicked her wand, and sent a great deal of water gushing over Ron's head. He spluttered and laughed while she leapt out of range.

Ginny ran toward the bank, as well, knowing better than to involve herself in the lovers' quarrell. As she reached the shore, she flopped down next to Harry, who was dipping only his feet in the lapping edge of the Lake.

"Not coming in?" she asked him again. "It's not as though we're really swimming or anything."

Harry shook his head, happily absorbed in watching his best friends' water-fight from a safe distance. He was still reeling from surprise that Hermione had agreed to take even an hour's break from revising, on this sunny Saturday afternoon. As Harry looked on, Ron gave a great kicking splash and danced out of her reach, his shoulders and hair already drying in the warm sunlight.

Even knee-deep looked hazardous, from here, as long as those two were up to their usual.

"Budge up," she said, and claimed a seat beside Harry on the warm, flat rock he'd chosen as his vantage point. He leaned in slightly, letting his shoulder touch hers. They had been spending so much time with their respective boyfriends lately, Harry hadn't had much time with Ginny. Now, with Dean off catching up with Seamus and Draco still angry at Harry, it was good to have her around.

Harry cursed silently in his mind. He had managed to go almost five minutes without thinking about Draco. It shouldn't be this hard to distract himself.

Ginny must have seen the joy leave his face, because she leaned back gently and raised a hand to touch his fringe. "It's good to see you, Harry," she said simply.

That was Ginny all over. She knew exactly when to put him in his place and when to go easy on him.

"Yeah, Gin. You, too."

She made one more gratuitous attempt to smooth down his hair, then let her hand fall. She curled her legs under her in her familiar catlike manner, her shoulder leaning heavily against his. Harry closed his eyes, imagining some of her strength flowing into him through the contact.

He knew she was waiting for him to speak. In truth, he was only waiting until he knew how to find the words.

"You heard about the letter from Persephone? Hermione's new aunt?"

Ginny nodded against him. "Your dad's cousin."

"Yeah, she is." It still gave his chest a little squeeze each time he said it aloud, as though speaking the words were making it come true bit by bit.

Ginny kept waiting. Before long, Harry was able to say more, to tell Ginny about Dumbledore's information about Julian and William Potter, about the letter he'd written and the invitation he'd received to visit America and to stay and teach at Salem. He told her about the dreams, flinchingly giving enough detail for her to understand exactly why it had shaken him when Draco had taken him flying, and about the supposed destiny that was now trying to dictate whom he loved.

He didn't have to tell her why he was angry. The one time she spoke in his entire account, all she said was, "That isn't fair, you're supposed to be free of that now."

By the time he had finished speaking, Hermione and Ron had joined them. Hermione had clearly got the worst of it, despite her superior Charms skills, and was dripping as she emerged; Ron, by contrast, was nearly dry, his red hair shining orange in the sun. Having told the story once, Harry found it easier to go back and repeat a few of the details they hadn't heard - he glossed over some bits about the dreams, but said enough for them to understand.

Ron sighed as he settled heavily by Harry's other side. "You never get a break, do you, mate?"

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look and patted his bare foot, which he had pulled from the water while talking to Ginny. "But you're going to tell Draco you're moving to America, aren't you? It's only fair that he know soon, so he can get used to the idea."

Harry pulled his foot away, glowering at her. "I don't know what I'm doing yet, Hermione, and I don't much care what's fair, at the moment." He tried to push himself to a standing position, but was held down by Ron and Ginny.

"No storming off," said Ginny firmly, holding firmly to his shoulder. "You need us, so you're not going anywhere."

Exasperated though he was, Harry found it impossible to be angry with any of them. He grinned at Ginny's characteristic assertiveness and relaxed.

"Right," said Ron, glancing quickly between Hermione and Ginny before he refocussed on Harry. "Now. What do you want to do?"

Harry hesitated, so Ron added, "If what you want is to be with Malfoy, Harry, then I want you to do that."

The sincerity in his voice made Harry smile despite himself.

"I'm not sure what I want," he answered frankly. "I thought I wanted to be with Draco, but now I find out I may have only wanted that because of some destiny I didn't get to choose. And I think I'd like to go to America, and to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts and Quidditch, but I'd be so far from all of you. I have to meet Persephone, though. She's the only wizarding family I have left, and I have to find out what she's like."

He stared out into the ripples on the Lake. The slate grey of the surface reminded him of Draco's eyes when he'd told Harry about the dreams. It hurt to think it hadn't been real. It also hurt to think it had been real, regardless of the dreams, and Harry had thrown it away for the wrong reasons. Maybe McGonagall was right.

"Do you miss him? I mean, since your row?" asked Ginny softly.

Harry looked around at his friends. They all looked back with sympathy, trust and affection in their eyes.

"Yeah," he said at last. "Yeah, I do."

"Do you miss having those dreams?"

Harry blinked at her. "Well, no ... "

"Then you have part of your answer, don't you?" suggested Ginny.

"I don't ..."

"What she means is," interjected Hermione, "if you miss Draco, but don't miss the dreams, then maybe it's the real part you miss, and not the destiny."

"Which means maybe you want to give this thing between the two of you another chance," added Ron, "before you throw it away for maybe having happened for reasons you don't entirely understand.

"If you even believe in that kind of destiny," said Hermione again, with a bit of a sniff that suggested she didn't.

Harry blinked at all of them, then lay back onto the earth and stared up at the sky. "Why can't anything ever be simple?" he moaned.

Ginny leaned over him, grinning. "That, my friend, is one thing your life has in common with everyone else's." And she leapt up, grabbing him by the ankles while Ron grabbed his shoulders and the two of them chucked him into the Lake.

***

The rest of Saturday and into Sunday morning was a blur of revising, eating, sleeping, and more revising. Harry's brain felt full, in the way a body feels full after eating too large a meal in too short a time. His thoughts were forming slowly and painfully, each firing of a synapse the equivalent of a heavily burdened step.

He stumbled out of lunch, barely seeing whom he was passing on his way to the Entrance Hall and the main doors. He needed sunlight, fresh air, and a sodding break.

The first tree he found, once he'd left the courtyard, he sprawled beneath it and ceased to move. Absent of thought to process them, the dark undersides of the breeze-stirred leaves created shifting Rorschach shapes across his eyes. He let a latticework, a face, a bird, a teapot pass over his sight, hypnotising him into complete repose.

A cat. A House Elf. The Squid. A Slytherin.

Harry blinked. Draco's white-blond hair glowed a dull grey in the shade.

"Hi," he said, too knackered to sit up or even to keep his eyes open.

"Hi," replied Draco, taking a seat by Harry's side. Harry reached out a hand in the right general direction, and smiled in relief when he felt Draco take it.

Smooth fingers caressed his dry, calloused skin. Two hands clasped around his, and brought it up to press against a soft, pliant pair of barely moistened lips. Harry let out a small, purring sound at the sensation. "Mmm. Hi," he repeated.

Draco didn't respond verbally, occupied as his mouth was with sucking in each of Harry's fingers in turn, teasing them lightly with tongue and teeth, bringing parts of him - if not his brain - much closer to alertness.

Harry finally dragged his eyes open. Draco was staring directly at him, working his elegant mouth around Harry's thumb. He had never imagined that his hands could be so sensitive.

"That's brilliant," he croaked, his voice already going hoarse. He had missed having Draco's body close by, even with as little as they had experienced together so far. His heart raced, his mouth went dry, and his skin itched to possess every inch of this body in front of him.

Draco smiled around Harry's finger and began to stroke lightly up Harry's arm. Harry lost himself in the sensation, staring up into Draco's shade-dark eyes.

Finally, Draco slipped his mouth off of Harry's fingers and rested his cheek lightly in Harry's palm. "I'm sorry," he said, making Harry blink stupidly.

"For what?"

"For not understanding how you'd feel about the dreams. It's only, I got so excited about -"

Harry cut him off by sitting up clumsily and putting his arms around him, very tightly about the shoulders. He held Draco close, breathing him in and squeezing as though he never wanted to let him loose. Draco relaxed into Harry's grip, and Harry felt the thin, firm body go pliant, molding to his as though they had been made to fit just so. They breathed together, for what felt like several minutes, until a sheen of sweat began to form between their pressed together faces in the warm afternoon air.

Draco pulled away, wiping at his skin. "'S gotten hot out here, hasn't it?" he said with a slight grimace.

Harry grinned at him and nodded his agreement.

Draco mirrored the grin. "That gives me an idea. Come on!" And he extricated himself quickly, rising to his feet, and pulling Harry with him. Before Harry had a chance to ask what Draco had in mind, Draco had tugged him away across the grounds.

They skirted the Lake, passing the Whomping Willow, Hagrid's hut, and the spot where Harry had watched Ron and Hermione soak each other the day before. Draco was moving at a brisk trot that stirred the air around them, cooling them with a comforting breeze.

When they'd passed out of sight of the castle and were rounding a bend toward the far side of the Lake, Draco made a sharp turn and flung himself lightly down across a wide, flat rock that jutted out into the water. Harry, clumsy with momentum, tumbled down on top of him. Draco seized him and began kissing him immediately, rolling them over to get on top of Harry and pressing down with his torso and hips while he held his head back a little to keep from mashing Harry's head into the rock while they devoured each other's lips. Harry lost his breath quickly, imagining he could actually feel the blood flowing out of his brain toward points south, making him dizzy.

Harry was losing himself in Draco's delicious weight, when suddenly it was lifted. He opened his eyes, squinting against the brightness of the sun, to find Draco standing over him, kicking away his shoes and stripping off his shirt. As Harry's mouth dropped open, he watched Draco slip out of his t-shirt, then go to work on his belt. Before Harry could blink or swallow, Draco's trousers had dropped and been pulled away with his socks. Tipping Harry a wink, Draco whisked off his pants, and with two running strides, went diving into the water.

Harry stared at the bubbling roil whence Draco had disappeared, the image of a perfect, firm, white bum burned into his vision.

Draco surfaced, shining with wetness and glee. "C'mon in, Harry!" he called.

"But ... I ..."

Draco looked confused. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you're shy about going starkers around your boyfriend?" he teased.

Harry was, but didn't mean to be, so he slowly shook his head.

"Liar. Go on, I'll turn around until you're in the water." He tipped a wicked wink, then started to face away.

"No, that's - I mean -" When Harry hesitated, Draco turned back to look at him.

Harry swallowed uncomfortably. "It's that I've never got very comfortable with swimming. And that water looks really deep."

Draco stopped his forward progress and stared, openmouthed.

"Really?" he asked finally.

Harry nodded, feeling his face crumple and go hot. He hated looking stupid in front of Draco.

"But what about the Second Task?"

"Gillyweed. Made it easy."

Draco blinked. "Oh," he said, and fell silent for a moment. "So you can't at all ...?"

"No, I can swim, I'm just not very good at it. Look, I'm being stupid, I'll come in."

But before Harry could stand, Draco had swum back to the rock in a few perfect strokes, and pulled himself out of the water.

Harry was entranced. Draco stood, dripping, silhouetted by the midafternoon sun, proudly stretching out his arms to the air, smoothing his wet hair back with both hands. He made no effort to cover his nakedness, and Harry couldn't help but stare.

Everything about Draco's body was perfect, from the firm planes of his flat stomach to the soft, wispy curls of white blond hair that started several inches below his navel, to ...

Harry swallowed, hard. It must have been quite awhile before he was able to take his eyes away, and glance up to Draco's face. One eyebrow raised, Draco was plainly smirking at him.

"Sorry," muttered Harry, averting his eyes and flushing very deeply.

A shadow moved across Harry's vision, and a cool, wet hand touched his cheek. He looked up in time to have his lips covered by a soft, damp kiss. Draco pulled back, staring into Harry's eyes, and began to unbutton Harry's shirt.

"Okay?" he asked, hesitating at the third button.

Harry took a deep breath, let his eyes skitter down the alabaster curve of Draco's drying shoulder, and nodded. "Okay."

He pulled out his shirttails and started unbuttoning from the bottom, meeting Draco's hands somewhere in the middle. Together, they pushed the shirt back from his shoulders.

Draco took the opportunity of leaning over to begin nibbling at Harry's neck, slowly, making tantalising little circles with the pointed tip of his delicate tongue. Harry tilted his head back as he pulled up his t-shirt, hardly wanting to interrupt Draco's ministrations even for the second it would take to push the garment over his head. Draco seemed to sense his hesitation, though, and pulled back for a moment, turning instead to pulling off Harry's shoes and socks.

Harry spared a moment to let himself wish he'd worn socks that didn't have so many holes in the toes, but before long, it didn't matter as they were cast away on the ever growing pile of clothes.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" exclaimed Draco suddenly, and he foraged in his trousers for his wand. Muttering a few unintelligible syllables, he pointed his wand directly into the air, and then waved it around in a quick circle. As he stowed it away again, he winked at Harry. "So we're not interrupted," he explained.

As he walked back toward Harry, it was completely obvious that his body was reacting the same way as Harry's was. Harry's fingers twitched to touch Draco, but at the same time, he felt more shy than he ever had before.

Barefoot and bare-chested, with a completely naked boyfriend settling back down in front of him, Harry found himself simultaneously salivating and unable to breathe. Draco's light fingers ghosting over his naked shoulder and down his back sent delicious shivers up his spine. He forced himself to breathe, to relax, to enjoy.

Draco pulled Harry close, and the feeling of their bare chests against each other was another new, fantastic, delirious experience. Harry shifted slightly, just to feel the contact anew, and to give himself access to kissing Draco again. A flash of bitterness passed through the back of his brain that this - this - was what he'd been missing while fulfilling prophecies and killing Dark wizards. Draco's tongue in his mouth made him forget everything else, though, as he let his palm slip down Draco's naked side to his bare hip.

Both pairs of eyes opened at once, one asking permission while the other made a silent plea. Harry could see Draco wanted to be touched as much as he ached to touch him. He swallowed his nervousness, telling himself it couldn't be any different from doing for himself, and trailed his fingers up from the hip, toward the center, reaching until he felt contact, and Draco drew in a sharp gasp.

The plea in Draco's eyes intensified, so Harry gingerly took hold and began to move his hand. A moan of pleasure emboldened him to grip harder, to move faster. Draco's breath quickened along with Harry's pulse, and the silver eyes burned with a desire Harry couldn't help but find flattering.

Falling forward, Draco pounced on Harry's mouth, devouring his lips with teeth and tongue, shifting his naked hips forward to encourage Harry to continue. He dropped his hand to the knee of Harry's trousers, sliding it up his thigh to his hip. When he started to inch from there toward the center, Harry flinched violently, interrupting everything he'd been enjoying up to that moment.

"Sorry," panted Harry, drawing up his knees and looking ashamedly away.

Draco shook himself almost imperceptibly. Harry couldn't help glancing to see the straining result of the work he'd been doing. Forcing a smile, Draco lifted his hand to stroke Harry's face.

"You do want this, don't you?"

When Harry nodded, Draco shifted himself even closer to Harry's body. "Look, I only want you to feel as amazing as you make me feel." He gave Harry's face another gentle stroke, then slowly lowered his hands to Harry's waist, where he began to unbuckle his belt. Harry couldn't help but notice that Draco was shaking slightly.

"Draco, you - you don't have to - y'know, if you're not sure."

Draco chuckled nervously. "I'm sure. I mean, I haven't done this part, before, either - touching another bloke, I mean. But I'm sure I want to touch you."

At the hunger in Draco's eyes, Harry couldn't help but nod, and help him with the belt and zipper.

When Harry's trousers and pants had been added to the pile of discarded clothing, he found himself feeling more naked than he ever had before in his life - more even than the first time he'd had to shower in the same room with Oliver and the twins after Quidditch practise. Draco's eyes wore a ravenous expression, and his hands were already roaming lightly over Harry's body, stroking gently over arms, legs and back with soft, open palms.

Harry closed his eyes, parted his lips, and found Draco's mouth. Trying to rid himself of his illogical terror, he focused everything on stroking his tongue along and behind Draco's teeth, sucking on Draco's tongue, rubbing his lips against Draco's, threading his fingers into the short hairs at the back of Draco's scalp. Draco smiled into the kiss, the same way he had done the first time, and Harry felt his heartrate relax into a comfortable sprint of desire. The slight summer breeze brushed his skin, tantalising the newly bared and newly awakened part of his anatomy that screamed for Draco's touch.

The breeze stirred again, caressing Harry so surprisingly that he couldn't help breaking the kiss to moan out loud. Draco was smiling at him hopefully when he opened his eyes, and Harry gave him a tiny nod.

Harry ran his hand gently down Draco's side, pausing at the hip until Draco had mirrored the motion. Still keeping unbroken eye-contact, they reached for each other at once, each crying out quietly when he felt the other's hand close around him. Harry started slowly, as he had before, letting Draco find and match his rhythm. He opened his legs, shifting his hips forward and overlapping his thighs with Draco's as they faced each other, so that their knuckles bumped.

Draco's pupils were so dilated, his irises were almost absent. His open, panting mouth looked very red, and Harry had to attack it again. All the while he squeezed more tightly, moving his hand faster and faster, and watching the darkness behind his eyelids go sparkly as Draco matched his every stroke. Suddenly, his hips started to buck and his hand clamped as tightly as it could, and stars exploded across his vision while Draco's voice filled his ears. His knees bent, wrapping his legs around Draco's waist, and he held himself there tightly, their two fists trapped between them, his groin throbbing with the release and Draco's lips biting at his earlobe.

Harry pressed his hips even closer to Draco's. He wanted to make this feeling last as long as he could. He squeezed his eyes shut against the possibility of time moving on even a second beyond this one, perfect moment.

Draco's tongue teased lightly, gently, patiently against the tip of Harry's ear, and beneath it to his throat. Slowly, Harry's pulse and breathing returned to normal, and the light sheen of sweat over his body caused his skin to break out in gooseflesh with the next breeze. He relaxed his legs and slipped his sticky hand out from between himself and Draco, grimacing slightly at the mess. Draco chuckled at his expression and nodded his agreement.

"Ew," said Harry conversationally, making them both laugh.

After giving Harry's cheek a quick caress with his clean hand, Draco extricated himself and walked to the water's edge to rinse his hand and to splash himself a little, getting cleaned off. Harry watched him warily, from his safe spot far from the edge. When Draco had finished, he turned and beckoned wickedly to Harry.

Harry stepped tentatively toward Draco. He really wasn't that bothered by swimming, it was only the depth of the water that worried him.

"I won't let anything happen to you," Draco said simply, and held out his hand.

There was no arguing with that.

Harry walked over tentatively, getting down on his knees to dip his hand into the water. Draco made himself a little too helpful by splashing other parts of Harry's body with the shockingly cold water. Harry gasped, recovered, and splashed back, thinking of Ron and Hermione's sparring the day before.

Grinning, he collapsed back into a sitting position next to Draco, their feet trailing into the water. He was already growing accustomed to the temperature, and to being completely naked by his boyfriend's side.

He realised Draco was looking at him. He turned to stare back.

"How about a swim?" Harry suggested, hoping he sounded more sure than he felt.

"We don't have to go, it's nice here on the rock."

"I want to swim with you."

Draco stood and offered a hand to pull Harry to his feet.

"Ready?" Harry nodded, and hand in hand, they jumped.

Harry was surrounded with rushing, swirling coldness. He remembered the end of the Second Task, and the crushing fear he'd felt when the Gillyweed wore off before he reached the surface. He was all set to panic when Draco gave him a gentle squeeze and kicked hard toward the light. A second later, they had bobbed up and he was breathing sweet oxygen again.

Harry tried a bit of a dog-paddle which seemed to work pretty well.. Draco's hand held released his to let him swim, and moved to Harry's shoulder. Harry could tell that Draco was bracing himself to come to Harry's aid if needed. Draco's free hand was stroking Harry's wet hair gently out of his eyes, as his strong legs kicked to keep him afloat.

"Alright?" asked Draco softly in his ear, sending a delicious shiver down his neck.

Harry nodded and turned slowly until they were facing. He wrapped one arm around Draco's shoulders to keep him close.

"Better than alright," he said with a smile, and kissed Draco softly.

Draco responded hungrily, tightly wrapping his arm about Harry's waist. Harry sighed, letting his legs float open until they were loosely encircling Draco's waist, and their bodies were pressed together again. They both moaned, grinding their hips together as the rippling water slipped between them. Revelling in the slippery texture of underwater skin, Harry slid his free hand down to cup Draco's arse, which felt as firm and perfect as it looked. He pulled Draco close, bucking his hips against him, whimpering with the intensity of the sensation.

When Draco bucked back, Harry gasped in pleasure, only he had accidentally let himself dip his mouth below the surface, and therefore inhaled a rather large quantity of water. He began to splutter and splash, flailing in his panic.

"Calm down!" said Draco firmly. "I've got you - I'll get you to the rock. But you have to relax so I can swim you in."

With Draco holding his head and chest above water, Harry allowed himself to take a few slow, deep breaths. By the time he was done, his hands were gripping the rock, and Draco was carefully lifting him out onto its sun-warmed surface.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Draco miserably, as Harry coughed and spluttered. "I never should have -"

Harry interrupted him by recovering enough to press their lips together.

"That was brilliant," he corrected him when he'd finished. "Only I don't suppose I should let myself get so excited that I forget about staying afloat."

Draco rolled him over and snogged him. It was a very comfortable - and very interesting - position, but Harry was exhausted from nearly drowning, and hadn't the energy for any more play time.

"I'm glad you came looking for me," he told Draco, gazing up into his eyes.

"Yes, well, so am I."

Harry looked at him quizzically.

"I missed you. I wanted to see you, but I wasn't sure -" He saw Harry's confused expression, and let out a short chuckle. "I was afraid you didn't want to be with me anymore, because of the dreams, but your friends were kind enough to sort me out."

"My -"

"That little Weasley girl - Ginny - she's rather impressive, isn't she?"

"'Impressive?'"

"Terrifying. She threatened me with one of those Bat Bogey Hexes she does, if I didn't talk to you. And she promised you wouldn't do worse when I found you."

Harry laughed, burying his face in Draco's neck. Sometimes it was good to have meddlesome friends.

***

After that glorious Sunday afternoon with Draco, the second week of N.E.W.T.s seemed to go more smoothly. Charms Monday, History of Magic Tuesday, Herbology Wednesday, and Harry was finished. He and Ron slept in Thursday morning while Hermione and Draco took Arithmancy, then lazed about all afternoon, playing chess and gobstones and trying not to think about how few more days they would ever spend at Hogwarts.

"Hermione got an owl from her mum last night," said Ron as his queen smashed Harry's rook to bits. "We're all going by Muggle airy-plane. Hermione's parents aren't used to wizard transport and don't want her to travel such a long distance without them - and they're afraid to Portkey."

Harry grunted out a bit of a chuckle, concentrating on the board and hoping to avoid losing another piece for at least one move.

"What's it like, travelling on one of those airy-planes?" asked Ron. "Can they really fly without magic?"

"Aeroplanes, Ron, and yes, they really fly. I don't know how it works, something about going fast enough the wind lifts you up, like a kite." He narrowed his eyes at the board. "Queen's bishop to E-five.

Ron was looking extremely nervous. "Is it scary?"

Harry shrugged. "I've never been. They're supposed to be safe, though. I shouldn't worry."

"Knight to E-five. But how does a machine that big stay off the ground?"

Harry winced, watching his bishop get clobbered. "I don't know, Ron. Stop worrying."

"Yes, stop worrying," echoed Hermione, dropping herself and her heavy bookbag onto the couch behind Ron. She leaned forward, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him firmly on the jaw line.

Ron scowled, fooling no one.

"Hermione, will you tell Ron how aeroplanes work? I don't know, and he won't stop pestering me."

Hermione brightened up, as always, at the opportunity to display her intellect.

"Aeroplanes fly because of the Bernoulli effect. The wings are designed so that the air will move more quickly over their tops than underneath. The faster the air is moving, the more the pressure drops. Therefore, when the plane is going fast enough, the pressure underneath the wings greatly exceeds the pressure above, and the plane is lifted into the air."

Ron stared at her, turning faintly grey.

"The air picks the plane up?"

Hermione nodded.

"The air. Lifts up the plane. Into the sky?"

"Ye-es ..." she said slowly. Ron was coming over very pale now.

"You want me to get into a machine that weighs who-knows-how-many-thousand stone, and believe that the air picks it up, by itself, without magic?"

"It's fine, Ron" interjected Harry impatiently. "They're safe - they hardly ever crash."

"Hardly - !" sputtered Ron, going from white to green.

"Don't sweat it, mate," added Harry with an impish grin. "Muggles also have these little pills called tranquilisers -"

"Harry!" Hermione smacked him lightly with the back of her hand, then turned her attentions to soothing a very queasy-looking Ron.

Harry smirked behind his hand.

"By the way, Harry," Hermione told him distractedly as she stroked Ron's hair back from his pale, clammy forehead. "Professor Snape asked me to tell you he wants to see you."

All the sunlight seemed to go out of the room. Had he failed his Potions N.E.W.T. so horribly that they'd sent it back already? Was Snape going to deny him credit for the course?

Had Snape read the Dreaming Draught essays?

He cringed, looking miserable daggers at the messenger.

"Don't glare at me, Harry. Just go and see him. The sooner you go, the sooner it will be over - and he said I should send you right away."

"I'm busy," grumbled Harry.

"Queen to F-seven. Checkmate," said Ron.

"I think your game's over."

"Oh, fine." Harry made a great show of stomping off toward the portrait hole, leaving his friends snickering in his wake.

It was cooler in the corridors than it had been in the Common Room, and cooler yet as he descended the many levels between Gryffindor and the dungeons. The stones outside Snape's office were almost damp, and quite chilly. He shivered at the sudden temperature change, and knocked.

"Come in."

The heavy door creaked slightly as Harry pushed it open. The light in the room was murky and dark, like the expression of the professor who waited there.

"You wanted to see me?" Harry kept his voice flat and guarded, not bothering with the formality of calling him 'sir.'

"Potter. Have a seat."

Harry didn't turn to watch the door swing rustily shut. His eyes were locked on Snape's.

He maintained the eye-contact for a long moment, until Snape looked away. When he did, Harry noticed a scroll of parchment on his desk. Snape's hand was resting on it, lightly and a bit restlessly.

Snape continued his pensive silence, as though unsure or unwilling to begin. Harry quickly grew impatient.

"Is that my essay?" he asked quietly, looking directly at Snape again.

Snape looked at his hand, as if surprised to find the scroll there, and finally nodded.

"It seems unfair to make me rewrite an essay that was supposed to be optional in the first place, doesn't it?"

The Potions Master blinked at him, once, and it was in that moment that Harry went wrong-footed. He'd never known Snape to appear speechless, unless it was from rage or indignation. This was neither of those, though. Snape only looked ... hesitant.

"No, Potter. Your essay was ... adequate. Surprisingly so, I might add."

It was Harry's turn to blink.

"Then why am I here?"

Snape let out a very long breath. His shoulders lowered a fraction. He looked, to Harry, much more human - and much younger - than he ever had before. Harry finally understood, at a visceral level, that this man was his parents' schoolmate.

As if hearing Harry's thoughts, Snape finally spoke.

"I never liked James. We were enemies from the moment we laid eyes on each other. And unlike you and Mr. Malfoy, we stayed that way." His lip curled slightly in distaste.

Harry noted, with a strange detachment, that he'd lost his customary anger that usually bubbled up whenever Snape mentioned his father. He sat with unaccustomed calm, waiting for the Potions Master to continue.

"I've never liked you, either, Potter," Snape said at last. "But I've learned not to underestimate you."

Snape's hand flexed involuntarily around Harry's rolled up essay. His jaw looked thick at the corners, as though he was clenching it.

Harry waited him out, but he wasn't enjoying it. Rather, he was peculiarly enthralled by the cracking of his professor's prickly shell.

Snape glared at him, as though Harry were gleefully humiliating him. He didn't look livid, as he had done when Harry had peeked into his Pensieve; instead, his dark eyes bore a smouldering resentment.

Snape sat up straighter, suddenly, squaring his shoulders.

"It wasn't your fault, Potter," he said in a rush. "You did what you had to do, and you did it well. Those who were on the losing side - they chose to be there."

A sensation of rigid weight seemed to stretch Harry's shoulders and to stop his sternum from flexing with his breath. There was too much he wasn't willing to say in front of Snape. There was too much weakness he wasn't willing to show.

He glared hot fire at Snape, who gazed coolly back.

Harry finally found his voice. "I completed the assignment as you required, Professor. I'm not interested in discussing it with you."

Snape shrugged and looked away. "It's your choice, of course. I'm certainly not clambering for soul-baring quality time with you, Potter. But I'm one of the only people who will understand."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I think I'm a little old to fall for Dumbledore's setups. If he thinks it would be good for me to talk to you, he can tell me himself, so I can reject the idea to his face."

"Professor Dumbledore didn't put me up to this, Harry. Believe it or not, I'm capable of a little compassion of my own volition. As much as I don't like you, I also owe you, and I'm smart enough to know when I have something to offer."

Harry, who had started and stared for a moment when Snape had called him by his given name, was now nodding vaguely at a chink in the wall. He didn't raise his eyes back up to meet the professor's.

His feet were supposed to be moving toward the door now, but they stayed rooted in place. Seeing the roll of parchment there on the desk brought back flashes from his dreams. It brought back the accusation in Draco's eyes, when he'd said 'You can't hide from what you did.' His gut felt heavy and oversized, and the guilt pushed up toward his throat.

At first Harry didn't recognise the voice that murmured, "I didn't even care what happened to them. I thought they got what was coming to them. I killed his parents, and I was glad. How dare I face him, now? How can he bear to look at me?"

Although Harry had spoken very quietly, his words had been deafening in comparison with the silence that followed. Snape's beady, black eyes observed him for a very long moment before the professor stood up from his chair and walked a few paces to a nearby bookcase.

Long, thin, potion-stained fingers traced lightly along the leather-bound volumes. Harry sat dumbly in his chair, waiting to see which book Snape would produce, and why. It was only after Snape's hand had run back and forth along the same shelf twice that Harry realised the professor was only fidgeting.

"Can you imagine," asked Snape, "what thoughts went through my mind that night, when I found him in my classroom, lying in a pool of his own blood?" His hand went still, holding onto the same shelf as if for balance, or strength. "I had promised Professor Dumbledore I would watch out for Draco, that I would help him or protect him if he sought to avoid following his father's path. I had promised myself. I have felt more responsible for Draco's well-being than I have for any other student I have ever taught, and I walked in to find him on the point of death."

Snape let his hand fall, and paced a bit toward another bookcase, still facing the back wall.

"If there had been anything I could have done to have spared him that risk, I would have done it. If he had only asked me, I would have performed the Light Protection for him, or even asked you to help, as you had done for me. But I failed him in the worst way possible: I didn't let him know that I would risk anything to help him. I didn't let him know that he didn't have to be alone."

Snape turned suddenly to face Harry. His expression reminded Harry of someone bracing to pull off an adhesive bandage.

"Potter, you have done two very important things for Draco. You have freed him forever from the influence of his father, and you have shown him he isn't alone. I may wish he had chosen himself a partner I liked better, but I can't deny that he has made a worthy choice."

Harry sat frozen to his chair. His mouth flapped ineffectually several times, as he tried to digest what had sounded suspiciously like a very sincere compliment.

Snape grimaced at Harry's expression. "Potter, your ability to impersonate a large-mouthed bass will not raise my esteem for you. If you have nothing to say, you may go." He turned quickly back to his books, not sparing another glance at his startled student.

Finally finding the strength in his legs, Harry stood and walked to the exit. With his hand on the door frame, he paused, oddly moved by Snape's speech.

"Professor?"

Snape didn't turn. "What is it, Potter?"

"Professor, I'm sorry about the Pensieve. I had no right to look into your memories."

At these words, Snape did swing around, surprise widening his beetle-black eyes. "Whatever made you think of that?"

Ignoring the question, Harry continued, "And I'm sorry my father and his friends were so horrible to you. I hated seeing it. I'm not like him, that way, you know. I wouldn't do that."

Snape raised an eyebrow. Without a word, he pinned Harry with an expression that somehow reminded him of every hex he'd ever thrown at Draco and his friends, at every unkind thought he'd ever directed toward the Slytherins.

It wasn't the same, though. He'd always been provoked.

It seemed as though that should be an important distinction.

Discomfited by Snape's unflinching silence, Harry stammered, "Look, I - I just wanted to say I'm sorry I invaded your privacy. I wish I hadn't." Letting his words taper off to a nonsensical mumble, he turned to leave.

The door had almost closed behind him when Snape put in a final word. "Take care of Draco, Potter. He's going to need you a great deal."

Harry eased the door the rest of the way closed and leaned on it for a moment. He tried to put aside the images he'd already created in his mind of life as an obscure, content schoolteacher on another continent.

Take care of Draco.

That was easy enough to manage in the short term, at least. Someone had to help Draco celebrate the end of his last N.E.W.T., after all.

Harry grinned to himself and headed for the entrance to Slytherin.

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 15: Leaving