"Merlin, Harry ..."

"I've always been a fast learner."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "You performance in Potions would suggest otherwise."

Harry laughed and wiped his lip with his thumb. Draco's hair was completely disheveled, his fair skin covered with a thin sheen of perspiration. Harry nuzzled Draco's palm, which still rested lightly against his face. Draco smiled sleepily, gazing down through half-lidded eyes to where Harry propped his chin against Draco's hip.

"Never mention Potions again when you're naked with me."

Draco threw his head back, eyes lit up with mirth. "Keep doing things like that, and you have a deal."

Harry crawled up the bed to lie next to Draco, who wrapped his arms immediately around Harry's shoulders, pulling him close. The still dungeon air was cool against their damp, bare skin, and Harry cuddled closer yet. He'd never known this kind of intimacy, and a combination of curiosity and uncertainty about the future made him ravenous for it. When Draco pulled the sheet up to cover them, Harry plastered himself against him, wriggling slightly as though it would let him crawl into Draco's skin. He couldn't believe how soon their days at school would be over, and they'd be living apart, instead of in the same ancient castle.

Harry assumed they would be living apart, at least. It had never occurred to him to think otherwise. He would go off to Auror Training - or whatever - and Draco would ... Well, Draco would ...

Turning his head to a vertical position and propping his chin on Draco's shoulder, Harry murmured softly into his ear. "You've never told me what you plan to do after leaving school."

"Oh, politics," answered Draco with a disinterested wave of his hand. "I'll be going into the Ministry, where Malfoys have always been. Only I plan to rise through the ranks by talent, not bribery."

This last was said with a smile that was only faintly bitter. Harry liked to believe that his positive influence might have something to do with Draco's objective view on his family history.

Something in the train of his thoughts reminded Harry that Draco had almost no money at all. "Where will you live?" he asked, with a touch of audible concern.

Draco turned his head, his lips a hair's breadth from Harry's. "It's the oddest thing, actually. You know that Professor Tonks is my first cousin, and we were both related to your godfather? I'd heard he left the house at Grimmauld Place to her, but she told me a couple of weeks ago that she was selling it, and wanted me to have as much of the money as I needed to set myself up with a flat."

Harry blinked in shock. From the conversation he'd had with Tonks in the library, it had sounded as though she wanted to sever all ties with Draco.

At Harry's silence, Draco looked uncomfortable. "I hope it doesn't upset you that she's selling the house. I know -"

"I don't want to think about that house anymore," answered Harry hurriedly. "I'm glad to be shut of it."

"I have no idea why she'd want to help me," Draco continued, echoing Harry's thoughts. "I've always been sort of a prat to her, truth be told."

"Sort of?" Harry looked at him askance.

Draco chuckled and kissed him, distracting Harry from the future for several minutes.

When he came up for air, Harry could only lie there, gazing at Draco's sleepy, content face and breathing him in.

"You?" asked Draco quietly. "You're going into Auror Training, yeah?"

Harry shrugged. He still hadn't told Draco anything about Persephone or Salem, and this didn't seem the moment to mention it.

"It's only," continued Draco hesitantly, "if I'm buying a flat anyway, maybe we could pool our resources, get a place together." His eyes were avoiding Harry's resolutely, clearly nervous about his response.

"Wow, that's ... that's an idea ..." said Harry lamely.

Draco scowled, and began to roll over, but Harry stopped him by holding him tighter.

"It's a great idea," he amended. "It would be fantastic. Only I can't promise anything yet, okay?"

"What do you mean?" Draco's eyes bored accusingly into Harry's. "You'll be based in London, won't you?"

"I don't know, Draco," admitted Harry, trying to kiss his jaw line, but Draco pulled away.

"It's late. You should go."

Harry heaved himself onto Draco, pinning him down so he had to meet Harry's eyes. "I really care about you, Draco. I - I really do. I want you to know."

Draco let himself be kissed, softly and briefly, then watched Harry get up and dress himself.

"I don't like being kept in the dark, Harry," said Draco in a dangerously quiet voice.

Harry stopped. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not stupid, Harry. There's something going on, something you're not telling me."

"Um ..."

Draco sat up. "Is it someone else? If you've met another bloke, do me the courtesy about being honest with me about it." His eyes flashed in the dim light.

Harry looked down at the fair, dishevelled beauty of his boyfriend, and had to climb back onto the bed for one more kiss. "There's no other bloke," he answered, holding Draco's eyes from a very short distance.

Seeing Draco's continued incredulity, Harry heaved a deep breath and admitted, "You're right, I've had something on my mind, something that has to do with other things in my life than you and me, and I'm not ready to talk about it quite yet. Give me a little time, okay?"

Draco hesitated, as if considering, then nodded silently.

"Good night," said Harry with as much affection as he knew how, and slipped the Cloak over himself. He opened the dormitory door to leave; when he glanced back, Draco had already rolled onto his side and curled up as if for sleep.

***

Alone in his dormitory the following afternoon, Harry did what he'd been doing every spare moment for the past week: he took out the letter from Persephone and let his eyes wander over it again.

The parchment was already wearing at the edges, and had developed a small hole in the center from being folded and refolded so many times. It was thoroughly crumpled, as well, because Harry had carried it around in his pocket every moment since it had arrived a week earlier. He had read and reread the words so many times, he could nearly recite them:

Dear Harry,

Thank you so much for your letter. I'm afraid I don't know where to begin my response.

I suppose the first thing I should say is that I am a witch. I could tell by your letter that you weren't sure, which is reasonable since Hermione's parents and my wife are all Muggles. As Hermione has probably told you, Emma is sort of a special Muggle - she isn't a witch herself, but she has a stronger sense of empathy than most people, which I suppose I can credit with your having found me.

I'm not surprised to learn that Hermione is a witch, by the way. I was pretty sure of it when I met her when she was six, but I didn't want to say anything in case I was mistaken. I'm thrilled that you and she are friends - her letter to Emma absolutely glowed with praise for you.

So, Harry, you had a question for me, about your family. I'm so sorry you had to wait this long for an answer. Yes, Harry, your father was my cousin. He was my favourite, in fact, even as a small boy. He was so clever and funny. Our families used to spend a month together, every summer, and he was always finding new ways to make mischief. I loved him, Harry, and it broke my heart to leave him. My heart broke again when I learned he'd been killed, and that you were left alone.

You're probably wondering why I didn't come forward to help you when I heard about your parents. The answer is that You-Know-Who was still alive, and my mother had worked so hard to save me when my father and sisters were killed, I couldn't betray her trust by letting anyone know where we were. Those were very dark times, as you know, and there were still so many spies around for years, there was no telling friend from foe. Later, I suppose I became shy - you were the Famous Harry Potter, after all, and I was only some expatriate witch who had changed her name and gone into hiding. How were you to know whether I was really your cousin, or only some fame-seeking fraud? Or worse, a Death Eater in disguise?

I'm so happy that you've found me at last, Harry. If you can forgive me for all my years of neglect, then I would love to meet you. Please come to our wedding celebration, with your friends Hermione and Ron, and share in our joy. You may stay with us as long as you like - you are family, and our home is your home.

As a matter of fact, I hope you will stay longer. One of my colleagues at Salem Witches' Institute, who teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts and coaches our Quidditch team in the fall, is due to have a baby in September and plans on taking the year off. Hermione's letter told us all about the wonderful teaching you did in the DA, and about your natural talent for flying and for Quidditch. It would mean a lot to me to have you here, so I've already spoken to our Headmistress, and she's agreed to let me offer you the job. It's yours, starting in September, if you want it. I know you're probably interested in something like Auror Training, to keep the world safe from new Dark wizards, but ... please say you'll consider it.

I am so looking forward to meeting you, Harry. Thank you so much for writing.

Love,
Your cousin, Persephone

It still didn't seem real. He actually had a living magical relative. He was actually going to get to travel to another country.

He was actually being invited to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts and Quidditch, far away from this place where everyone knew who he was, what he had done and more - some of which was true, some fabricated, and no one but his closest friends seemed to care to make a distinction.

Would he be famous in America, too? Or would he be unknown? Could this be the fresh start he'd seen in his dreams?

The dormitory door flew open so suddenly that Harry jumped halfway out of his skin.

Ron laughed at the shock and surprise on Harry's face, long and hard enough that Harry's expression changed to a disgruntled scowl.

"What were you up to, then, that you took such a fright when I walked in?"

Ron leaned over Harry's shoulder to see the letter. "Oh," he said simply, and headed over to open his trunk and rummage in it.

Harry watched Ron throw jumpers and socks in seven different directions, humming quietly to himself as he searched.

"What've you been doing?" he asked him, kicking at a stray sock that landed on his bed.

"Quidditch. Sixth- and seventh-years against fourth- and fifth-. Those kids think they can beat us. We could do with having you on our side, actually. Ginny's a great Seeker, but she's better at Chaser, and you're the best we've got. Interested?"

Harry shrugged one shoulder, still staring at his letter, as though the thirty-seventh rereading might help solve his dilemma. Ron stopped rummaging, and looked up, really taking a moment to observe Harry's demeanor.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you? You might really go and live in Salem?"

Harry shrugged the same shoulder again, letting the letter fall to his side. He let such a long silence pass that Ron gave him up as a bad job, and went back to riffling through his things.

With Ron's intense, blue eyes no longer staring at him, it was easier for Harry to articulate his thoughts. One or two more deep breaths, and he was able to speak.

"It's the name - 'Harry Potter.'"

"Huh?"

"I mean, when did you hear it for the very first time?" he asked.

Ron dropped the Keeper's glove he'd found and stood up fully, giving Harry his undivided attention.

"When you were little - when did you first hear about 'The Boy Who Lived?'"

Ron left his trunk and walked around to sit facing Harry on the bed, his long legs dangling to the floor off one side. "Don't know. Probably as soon as it happened. You know," he gestured awkwardly toward Harry's forehead.

"What did you hear?"

Ron rolled his eyes skyward for a moment. Harry waited, knowing Ron was taking time to get his answer right.

"That you'd defeated You-Know-Who - that no one but Dumbledore knew where you'd been living - some people said it was with Muggles, others said it was in a hidden part of the school here. There were a lot of different stories. Actually, that's part of why Fred and George spent so much time learning all the secret passageways and chambers when they first got here; they were hoping to find you. Instead, I was the one who found you - well, we all did, on the platform - but I ended up in your compartment on the train."

"Must have been quite a letdown."

Ron screwed up his face in confusion. "What d'you mean?"

"Well, you'd been hearing all about this legend, your whole life, and instead you get some miniature git in hand-me-down clothes."

Ron laughed, but shook his head a little, and met Harry's eye steadily. "That's never how I saw you, Harry."

Harry chuckled, following the memory in his mind. "Remember the look on Draco's face, when he came into the carriage, and I decided I'd rather be your friend than his?"

"Yeah." Ron visibly attempted a broad grin, but it faltered. "Regretting that decision, now?"

Harry leaned way over to bang him on the shoulder. "Not for a moment."

Ron's grin became genuine, and the two simply looked at each other for a moment. Harry thought of all he'd been through, with Ron always at his side, and was struck again by how incredibly lucky he was to have such a best mate. He hoped Ron was feeling the same way.

Finally, Harry let his eyes fall to the parchment, tracing a corner with his finger. The threads of conversation were still weaving their way through his mind.

"He's asked me to live with him."

After several seconds with no response from Ron, Harry looked up.

"Draco wants me to live with him in London when we leave school," he repeated, now holding Ron's gaze.

Ron blinked a few times in confusion before understanding washed over his features. "You haven't told him about Salem yet, have you?"

Harry shook his head miserably. "I haven't even told him about Persephone yet. I don't know how. At first I was afraid to make it seem more real by telling too many people, in case it wasn't, to save myself the disappointment. Now that I know it is ... Ron, I don't know what to do."

Ron nodded, leaning back slightly where he sat.

"You don't expect me to be objective here, do you?"

"Because you hate Draco?"

"No, stupid, because I care about you." As Harry stared, Ron shook his head in bemusement. "You've been my best mate for nearly seven years," he continued. "How can I pull for anything but the option that keeps us together?"

"Even if it would keep me with Draco?"

"Especially if - if that's what makes you happy, I mean."

Harry took a deep breath. "But what about my family? Or getting a fresh start, away from all this 'One Who Saved the World' nonsense?"

Ron gave him an inscrutable look. He jumped off the bed, leaned over Harry's trunk and pulled out a pair of Quidditch gloves. "Well, that's up to you, isn't it? Catch," and he threw the gloves at Harry, who did. "Meanwhile, your classmates need your help to uphold our honour. You in?"

Leaving the letter on the bed, Harry jumped off and beat Ron to the door. "If it's a matter of defending your honour, mate," he said with a mock-formal little bow, "of course I am."

Ron slung an arm around his shoulder so forcefully, they both stumbled slightly as they left the dormitory.

***

Hermione's voice chased Harry up the staircase later that evening: "You'll have to tell him soon! You can't put it off much longer!"

Harry slammed the dormitory door behind him, looking for solitude and peace. What he found was Seamus, standing by Harry's bed and brandishing the letter from Persephone. He'd forgotten that he'd left it there when he'd gone out to play Quidditch with Ron earlier.

"What the bloody hell is this, then?" asked Seamus quietly. If it hadn't been for his mischievious smirk, Harry would have worried that they were in danger of having a row.

Harry strode over to him quickly and snatched the dog-eared letter gently from him. "It's my business, is what it is," he replied grumpily, "And what right do you have to read my personal letters?"

Seamus cracked a disarming smile. "Curious, mate," he replied. "You left it lying open on your bed - wha'd'you expect?"

Harry refolded the letter carefully, almost reverently, and smoothed it into his pocket.

"You had no right," he told Seamus acidly, although he wasn't sure it was true.

Seamus shrugged, never taking his eyes off Harry's.

"The problem is," he began at last, "this now puts me in an awkward situation. Do I tell Millicent, who will tell Draco, because she wouldn't keep secrets from someone she cares about ... or do I keep secrets from someone I care about, which she'll know I'm doing because she's smarter than I am, and make her think I'm screwing around on her or something?"

"Bet you'll think twice before reading someone else's post next time, then," responded Harry tartly.

Seamus shrugged again, sitting comfortably in the middle of Harry's bed, looking for all the world as if he were the one who belonged there, and Harry were the interloper.

"Erm ..." Harry began awkwardly, wishing Seamus wouldn't stare at his pocket like that.

Seamus flicked his gaze up and caught Harry's expression. "So you haven't told Malfoy," he stated. It wasn't a question.

"How did you - ?"

"If you had told him, you would have said so when I talked about telling Millicent."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but nothing intelligent came to mind, so his jaw continued to hang slack.

Seamus sat forward suddenly, taking far more interest than Harry would have wished. Maybe there were drawbacks to having a friend in Gryffindor who was also going out with a Slytherin, after all.

"Won't he be angry?"

Harry ran his thumb lightly over the outline of the letter in his pocket, feeling the edges as though he needed to remind himself it was real.

When he looked up, Seamus was still waiting for a response.

Harry let his eyes wander out the window so he wouldn't have to face the directness of Seamus's stare. "Not if I don't go. Not if I stay in London, like I was going to do."

Seamus's eyes fixed back on the letter's hiding place, drawing the entire focus of the room back to a document that might not even exist if it weren't for the barest lines in Harry's pocket.

"Looks to me like you do plan to go, which brings us back to my question," he observed.

Harry stomped around to the pillow end of his bed and threw himself onto it. "Looks to me like you're on the wrong bed. Sod off."

"Touchy, touchy," said Seamus as he stood up, his good humour undiminished. "So, what shall I tell Millicent?"

Harry had already drawn his curtains most of the way. "Tell her she's got a boyfriend who's a meddling git."

Seamus laughed, but said, "I happen to like being Millicent's boyfriend, Harry. I'd rather not lose her over something like this."

"So? You're the one who had to snoop into my things. You deal with what you get."

"Not the point, and you know it."

"But what if I like being Draco's boyfriend, and don't want to lose him over this?" Harry asked before he could cross the threshold.

The curtains parted, and Seamus's head poked through. His face wore an expression of mingled pity and amusement. "Well that is the point, isn't it?" he responded.

Before Harry could respond, Seamus's head had slipped away again. A moment later, his footsteps echoed fadingly in the corridor.

Harry stared at dark, dusty interior of his bed hangings for several minutes, trying to pretend Seamus was completely out of line, so he didn't have to think any more about the choice he was facing.

***

Moonlight chewed through a hole in the hangings around Harry's bed, seeming to land directly on his left eye, no matter how he shifted and twisted.

He wouldn't sleep. He hadn't for the previous two nights, since Draco had asked him about living together, and he wouldn't tonight. It was no use pretending otherwise.

It was also no use pretending that things were going smoothly between him and Draco. The affection and the attraction were still there, but no matter how much he avoided the subject Harry's secret sat between them like a hippogriff's head. Somewhere along the line, in all the mess about dreams and cousins and shared flats and invitations to start a new life, he'd lost the fun he'd been having, and he missed it.

Harry rubbed a miserable wrist across his tortured eye and squinted through his lashes at the moonlight.

It was no use.

He kicked his way out of the covers and rolled off the bed, through the hangings to the cold, wood floor. Swearing in a hiss as he stubbed his toe, he fumbled for his glasses and his wand. Once he could see, he read the clock on the mantle as saying it was nearly four, and he hissed a few more choice words about all the sleep he'd missed all weekend.

Right.

Grabbing his Invisibility Cloak and pocketing his wand, Harry eased out of the dormitory and down the staircase. The common room was deserted and the Fat Lady barely blinked as he pushed her portrait forward to let himself out.

If he stopped to think, he would stop altogether. He had to keep moving.

His stomach grew heavier with every step down. By the time he reached the dungeons, he was convinced he would be ill. He stayed his throat against swallowing, lest it would set off his gag reflex. He breathed, trying to will his heart to slow down.

It would be alright. It had to be.

"Legacy," he whispered to the nondescript expanse of cold, stone wall.

For a heart stopping moment, nothing happened. Harry had long enough to become convinced that the password had been changed, although in his agitation, that 'long enough' couldn't have been more that a few hundredths of a second.

The wall began to rumble quietly aside, and Harry stepped forward into the empty Slytherin common room.

A cold, pale fire burned low in the grate by two of the highest, stiffest-backed chairs. The cold of the stone floor was so deep, Harry could have sworn he felt it through his trainers.

Readjusting the Cloak to be sure it covered him completely, Harry made for the staircase on the right, the one that led to the boys' dormitories.

It was funny how he'd been so nervous about seeing Draco, but it was seeing Draco itself that put Harry completely at ease. Through a small gap in his bed hangings, a splash of firelight fell across Draco's cheekbone and half his forehead, catching the highlights in the single lock of fringe that looked not so much out-of-place as artfully arranged.

Touching his own unruly hair, Harry listened to his thoughts and recognised how completely he'd fallen for this boy. This wasn't going to be easy.

Casting Silencio in a whisper as he approached, Harry poked his head and arm through the tiny opening, then eased himself onto a corner of Draco's bed. Draco stirred once, revealing the rest of a completely disheveled head of hair, and scratched his nose absently. Harry held his breath, watching.

Draco inhaled suddenly, then let his air out slowly in a tiny, contented-sounding sigh. Harry slipped off his Invisibility Cloak, tugged the hangings all the way closed, and cast Silencio one more time for good measure. When he was sure Draco had settled down again, Harry shifted himself slowly and carefully until he could stretch out all along Draco's side. He put his nose into a place along Draco's hairline, behind his ear, and inhaled deeply. The musky smell of sleeping boy was so intoxicating, Harry nearly allowed himself to snuggle in and fall asleep, and forget his reason for sneaking into another House before dawn.

Inhaling once more, Harry let out a contented sigh of his own, feeling the ricochet of his breath against Draco's neck. Draco muttered and flailed suddenly, knocking his fist, hard, into Harry's nose.

Harry cried out in pain and grabbed for the headboard. It was a near thing, but he stayed on the bed by inches.

"What - Harry?" Draco's eyes were wide, his hands gripping reflexively at the edge of his bedding like a maiden whose bedchamber has been invaded by a lecherous predator. It only lasted a split second, but even through the throbbing pain, Harry laughed to himself at the comparison.

His laughter nearly turned to tears when he took his hand from his nose and saw the blood.

"Merlin, Draco. That's quite a right hook you've got."

"Sorry, I didn't mean - look, you were breathing on my neck."

"Which is a crime punishable by disfigurement?"

Draco gave him a long-suffering scowl. He leaned away to grope in his bedside drawer, and came back with his wand. Two quick Healing charms, and Harry's nose was clean and pain-free.

"Where'd you learn - ?"

"Basic wizarding First Aid, Harry. Seriously, I sometimes forget how painfully ignorant you are."

"Speaking of pain ..."

"I said I'm sorry, alright. It's only - you tickled me."

"I'm ... what?"

"You tickled me, so you get what you get."

"And I was supposed to know about this 'Tickle At Your Own Risk' rule because ..."

Draco smirked. "Haven't you read the school crest, Harry?"

"It's in Latin." Harry gave a shrug to demonstrate his level of aptitude in that language.

"It says, 'Never tickle a sleeping Draco.' It's not my fault you're completely stupid."

Harry would have protested the insult, if it hadn't been delivered through such an affectionately handsome grin. He decided the far better course of action was to stick his tongue between those parted lips, so he did.

Several minutes later, barely before the last drops of blood could flow south from Harry's brain, he remembered why he was there.

"Wait," he told Draco, whose mouth and fingers were simultaneously reaching Harry's waistband. "I need to tell you something."

"Tell me," said Draco in a pause between pressing kisses to Harry's lower belly and swirling his tongue around Harry's navel.

"It'sss ... unh ... sort of a big thing." With great effort and resolve, Harry forced himself to push Draco's mouth gently away from the tent in his pyjamas.

"I can see that," replied Draco naughtily.

Harry chuckled weakly. "No, not that," he told him. "It's important, seriously. And I can't tell you here."

Draco let out a very aggrieved groan. "Can't it wait another ten minutes?" he asked, shifting his hips to press himself against Harry's legs in illustration of his request.

Harry shook his head, wrenching himself away with much more than a tinge of reluctance.

"I don't think you'd like me very much if it did. Come on."

Draco's expression changed instantaneously. "You're going to tell me that thing, aren't you? The thing that's been on your mind, that you needed more time before telling me."

"Not here," repeated Harry, and slipped out of the bed and back into his Invisibility Cloak in a single motion. "Come with me." He stuck his head out of the hood to look at Draco imploringly. "Please."

Draco's eyes flew wide. "Don't do that."

Harry remembered the Shrieking Shack incident from Third Year, and apologised quickly. Meanwhile, Draco was changing quickly into a shirt and some jeans, and slipping under the Cloak with Harry.

"Where are we going?"

"Dumbledore's classroom. I want to show you something."

It took a very short time for them to slip out of Slytherin and up the stairs to the Defence classroom, but slightly longer for Harry to locate what he needed once they were there. Finally, in the back of an insufficiently locked cupboard, he found the delicate wicker ring with its web of sinew strands. In the moonlight, it looked ghostly and slightly menacing, a spirit that had not yet been established as friend or foe.

"Sit here," he told Draco, dragging a heavy, velvet-covered armchair into place.

"Harry, I already know about the dreams. Remember? You said you didn't want that destiny." Draco wore equal parts confusion and hurt as he stared up at Harry from the chair.

"Not those dreams. Look." He drew a deep breath. "You were right, there's something I haven't been telling you, because I didn't know how."

"Right ..." Draco drew out the word on a scowling drawl.

"I haven't worked it out, still, but I've decided I can't keep it to myself any longer. You deserve to know what's going on with me, especially as it pertains to ... er, to what you asked me the other night."

A split-second passed before Draco's eyes widened slightly, showing that he'd twigged to Harry's meaning. "About moving in together."

"Yeah, about that."

Draco's gaze fell to the fingers of his right hand, which were picking at a bit of lint on the arm of the chair.

"And? Have you decided?" he asked without raising his eyes.

Harry tilted his head to one side. "I ... I can't explain it in pieces. I need to tell you everything."

Draco leaned back on a long inhale, looking up into and far past Harry's eyes, as though into his very brain. The distance between them had never felt so great, not since the last time Harry had been at the front of this classroom with a Dreamcatcher before him, and Draco far at the back.

"Alright." Draco nodded at last. "I'm listening."

Harry set the ring spinning, then stepped back. He stared at Draco through the ethereal globe, concentrating on the images he'd researched for his essay: Sirius, Draco, Wormtail, the child. It took a long time, because he could only show Draco one piece at once, and he was quite exhausted by the end.

Draco's mouth was agape. "You dreamt about me cross dressing? As Trelawney??" Draco hugged himself a bit, as though violated. "Harry, you need help."

"Ha, ha," coughed Harry, although he didn't feel a bit like laughing. "It was a symbol. I researched it for the essay. Look."

And he handed Draco the roll of parchment he'd retrieved from Snape. Watching Harry carefully, Draco accepted it.

"Go on. Read." Harry gestured weakly toward the still-tied roll.

Eyes narrowed in preemptive self-defence, Draco cast a quick Lumos, untied the scroll and began to read.

Harry paced about the room as he waited. It seemed to take Draco forever to read all thirty inches. It was all Harry could do not to stare at Draco's silver eyes as they scanned the page. Each time he glanced over, Draco's brow was furrowed a little further.

It all made sense to Harry. Draco had to understand, too.

"This is a very good essay, Harry," said Draco finally.

"I had gathered that," answered Harry with an uneasy smile. "Snape called it 'adequate,' which is the closest he's ever come to complimenting my work in his course."

A shaky chuckle escaped Draco's lips. "And this infant - it really had my mark on its arm?"

"I couldn't see the mark, really. It had a light, which got really bright. There wasn't really a shape."

"And that means a new start?"

Harry shrugged. "The book wasn't really clear, but that's how I understood it."

Draco looked up hopefully. "Well, that's good, then! You see? There's a new start, and it reminds you of me - so we should move in together, and -" He fell silent at the pinched look on Harry's face. "That's not what you think it means, is it?"

"I ... I really don't know. I had another dream, too, the night we got home so late from Hogsmeade. You know," he added, blushing slightly, "when you kissed me outside your common room." Draco cracked a smile at the mention, and Harry continued. "Hang on, I'll show you." He set the Dreamcatcher spinning again, this time concentrating on the stag and the forest and the ocean from his most recent dream.

Draco was quiet when it ended. "I don't think I understand this one," he admitted at last.

Harry considered it. "There's the sea, again, which is supposed to mean new beginnings. And there's the stag, which was my father's Animagus form and is my patronus. And when I had the dream, I had this really deep, yearning feeling in my stomach, that seemed to be pulling me toward the ocean sounds I could hear." He stood up and walked over to the window.

Unable to meet Draco's eyes, Harry let his gaze wander. Maybe if he looked away long enough, Draco would come and put his arms around him, and their lips could meet and their fingers could roam and Harry would never have to think about being apart from Draco.

A pair of deer ambled across the moonlit grounds, drawing Harry's gaze outside. The stag caught his movement and stopped to stare before bounding away, scaring his mate into running, as well. Jarred by the echo of the dream he'd just shown Draco, Harry wished something could protect him from the hollow in his heart that came with what he had to say next.

He slid his hand into his pocket, drawing out the rose-coloured parchment he'd borrowed from Hermione long since.

"After I had that last dream - after we had decided to be together - Hermione got this."

Draco took the parchment and unfurled it. The narrowed suspicion in his eyes had become a hollow sort of despair, and Harry couldn't stand to watch.

"So?" asked Draco without really having glanced down.

"Emma is Hermione's aunt. Persephone is Emma's wife, they were married last month." He drew a deep breath. "Her middle name is Potter."

Draco reached out to hand the parchment back. "So? Granger is Muggleborn, isn't she? And isn't Potter a common name?"

"That's what I thought, too, but I asked, and ... Emma is a Muggle, but Persephone isn't. Her father was my grandfather's older brother."

Draco gestured vaguely in the air, as though calculating a difficult Arithmancy problem. "So that means ... wait, what?"

"She's my family, Draco. The only wizarding family I have left."

With a heavy sigh, Harry pulled out his final revelation: the worn, creased bit of parchment that hadn't left his pocket in over a week, except when he accidentally left it on his bed for Seamus to find. Cradling it as though it were a precious, fragile, historical document, he passed it to Draco.

Draco accepted the letter with unsteady hands. Harry hardly wanted to let him touch it, for fear he would rip or crumple it. He forced himself to release the parchment and step back. With nerves jangling, he strode quickly to the window and gazed out. Part of his mind hoped illogically that he might spot the stag again, as though it would mean anything if he did.

Harry leaned on the rough, stone windowsill, face against the cold glass. It was done. He'd shown Draco everything - everything - that had been on his mind lately. There were no more secrets. There was no more reason to avoid Draco's gaze, no more reason to do anything but spend every possible moment over these last few days in Draco's arms.

"So," he said without turning around, "now you know. I have no more secrets from you. This is everything."

Draco didn't respond. Harry waited, in case he was forming the words for his answer, but the silence stretched out.

"Look, I know it sounds as though I'm leaving you, and I admit I definitely want to go to Salem for the summer, but I haven't made up my mind yet about what happens after that."

He paused, weighing the arguments again in his own mind, as though for the first time. "I mean, it would be amazing, getting to live with a family member who actually cares about me, for once in my life. But then again, I don't want to leave you, either. There was something McGonagall said to me, about not being so easy to find love again if you give it up, and I think she was right." He raised his right hand to run his fingertips along the cool pane by his face. "I wanted to tell you first, before I really make my decision, to let you know what I'm thinking. It's important to me to be fair to you, you see. I mean," and here he hesitated, because although he'd said it once, saying it again was another matter entirely.

He took a deep breath. "I mean, I love you," he said, turning around to meet Draco's eyes as he spoke the words.

Draco was nowhere to be seen. A pair of lamp-like yellow eyes shone from the chair he'd occupied.

"That's very touching, Potter, but I'm afraid you're not my type" sneered Filch, petting Mrs. Norris's head with incongruous tenderness. "Perhaps you'll have better luck with Professor Dumbledore."

Harry's heart raced in sudden panic, for all the obvious reasons. "But you don't -"

"I don't care, Potter. You're still a student here, until the train takes you away. Which means you can still serve detention."

"For what?"

"Out of bed at this hour? Fiddling with Artefact in a professor's classroom? Apparently having romantic rendezvous? Of course, that last might be only a figment of your disturbed little mind ... In any case, I think there are plenty of reasons why you should be mopping the third-floor girls' loo tonight. It always seems to need attention, anyway."

Filch strode across the room with surprising swiftness and clenched Harry's arm in a vice-like grip. Not even allowing Harry time to collect his Cloak or to look and see whether Draco had left the letter, Filch frog-marched him out of the classroom and up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower and Dumbledore's new apartments.

***

"I'm getting too old for this, Argus," admonished Dumbledore when he answered the door. "Ah, Harry." His gentle curl of an enigmatic smile clearly did nothing to improve Filch's mood.

"He was in your classroom, sir. Playing with this," and he held out the Dreamcatcher with the practised caution of one who has never really understood magical objects.

"Thank you, Argus, I'll take it from here." Dumbledore opened his door a bit more widely with a gesture that simultaneously commanded Harry's entrance and Filch's departure.

Filch scowled and stomped away. Mrs. Norris trotted silently behind him, tail proudly aloft, as cats are wont to do in any situation.

Harry cast a wistful glance at the corridor as the closing door removed it from his view. In the two or three minutes since Filch had appeared, Harry had suddenly remembered his promise to himself, that he would do nothing to hurt Gryffindor's chances for winning the House Cup. What hadn't even crossed his mind as he had slipped out of bed an hour earlier now filled his consciousness with the magnitude of its importance.

"Sir, let me explain," he stuttered immediately, but Dumbledore held up a quieting hand.

"Lemon drop?" he offered, holding out a tin. Harry's stomach was too twisted with remorse and fear to feel much appetite, but he accepted a single sweet out of politeness.

"Thank you."

Dumbledore nodded, smiling wistfully at the tin in his hands. "Lovely things, lemon drops ..."

Harry blinked, awaiting his sentence.

"Have a seat," said Dumbledore in the offhand manner of a host who's had a welcome guest drop by unexpectedly. "I'll make some tea."

"But sir, I don't want to trouble -"

"No trouble at all, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, "and while we're on the subject, don't worry about your House points. I believe Argus is a bit frustrated by the imminent arrival of summer. Two whole months with no punishments to dole out tends to grate on his nerves. In any case, your being out of bed at this hour is certainly not grounds for any sort of punishment. You used to get up earlier than this when you were nervous about Quidditch matches." He smiled around his long, crooked nose, flicking his eyes toward the clock on the mantelpiece for emphasis. It was almost half past five already .

Dumbledore hummed quietly to himself as he prepared the tea things. Harry watched him, pretending not to see the way he favoured his right foot or the three times he seemed to count the tea cups before pouring into two of them. In Harry's memory, his mentor would never be feeble of body or mind.

"I am curious, I must say," said Dumbledore, as though having paused in the conversation for a single breath, "what it is you wanted with the Dreamcatcher. You didn't appear to relish the attention you got during my lesson on the subject."

Harry ducked his head. He respected Dumbledore too much to pretend. "No, sir, I didn't."

"Then why return for more?"

"Well, like you said, it's a useful tool, when you want someone else to be able to see your dreams."

Dumbledore chuckled through the steam on his cup. "So you were curious about your Destined Love."

"No," Harry responded so quickly that Dumbledore looked startled. Seeing that his host might be keen to enquire further on this topic, Harry quickly headed him off with, "Look, is it alright if we don't talk about that part?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, but inclined his head in acquiescence. A trademark twinkle touched his right eye.

Harry sipped at his tea, letting the steam warm his nose. It was striking, how much colder the dungeons had felt than Gryffindor Tower.

"You were telling me about a dream you wish to share with someone," prompted Dumbledore.

"Actually, sir," replied Harry carefully, "is it alright if we don't talk about any of this? I mean, it's a bit ... personal."

Dumbledore opened his hands, as if placing the world at Harry's feet. "It's your decision, of course, Harry. I realise we've talked about a good deal having to do with your family, and about a great deal to do with Tom Riddle and his followers, but that there are some topics we've never discussed." He folded his hands neatly in his lap. "I will certainly not pry into matters that are your own personal business. Of course, I am always willing to listen, if you have something you need to say."

Harry hesitated. For a moment, he could actually imagine telling Dumbledore everything. Everything, that was, except for the very private bits, such as the other night in the Slytherin dormitories (which would probably get him into trouble, anyway), or the day by the Lake, or the content of his first dreams, or the night he'd walked in on Draco in the prefects' bath, so long ago. No, those details were not only too embarrassing to tell, Harry held them so close to his heart that he couldn't imagine finding the words.

Once Harry started thinking about all the elements of the story that he wasn't comfortable sharing, the whole story started to feel too much to tell. It was too cumbersome, too fragile, too close, too real.

"No," he answered at last. "Thank you, Professor ... but no."

Dumbledore inhaled deeply, pushing his hands into his knees so that his torso stretched back. He looked the very picture of a wise, old mentor about to dispense sage advice.

"Harry, please forgive me for presuming to know anything about what you are thinking, but I'm going to guess that you are trying to find a way to make a difficult decision. Am I correct?"

Harry nodded slowly.

Dumbledore smiled, pausing a moment to see whether Harry would elaborate. Harry planned on staying silent, but the words bouncing around his mind needed to escape.

"It has to do with ... I have something I want to do - I think you might know about that part - but it would mean giving up something else that I really want. I wish there were some way to have both."

Dumbledore smiled, and waited a bit longer.

Oblivious to the professor's patient interest, Harry took a deep breath and added, "There are some good reasons why I want to stay here in Britain. There are really ... good things about my life, that I could have if I stay.

"But, Professor," he continued, looking directly at Dumbledore now, "I'm tired of being The Boy Who Lived, and the one who defeated Voldemort, and all of that. I don't want it anymore. I want to go where I'm no one special, where I can be any old wizard, and newspaper reporters have never heard of me." He knew he sounded spoilt, and didn't care. He let his eyes fall to his teacup, which he lifted again, and took another sip.

Dumbledore nodded, still watching Harry. He was silent for a long moment before he spoke. P> "Harry, I'm afraid you might find it difficult to go anywhere in the wizarding world, where the newspaper reporters haven't heard of you. I do imagine that you would have a good deal more privacy, however, if you left Britain, especially if you left Europe entirely. Your friends would certainly miss you, though." With that, he gave Harry a rather piercing look that gave him the very strong suspicion that Dumbledore knew everything about Draco and his wishes to buy a flat together with Harry.

Harry avoided Dumbledore's eyes, and drank his tea.

Dumbledore let out a soft sigh. "Harry, I have seen you make a lot of difficult decisions in your life, and I have usually seen you choose well, even when the path you chose might have been the longer way around."

Harry nodded, interested now, in hopes that Dumbledore might really have an answer, this time. He leant forward as though he might miss a drop of wisdom if he weren't careful to heed every syllable.

Dumbledore continued, "None of those decisions, however, will have seemed as hard as this one. Life-or-death decisions have a certain comfort to them, in their immediacy. If you survive, then you know you chose well. This is sort of a 'life-or-life' decision, and those are much trickier. Either way, you will live, and either way, I'm sure you will be happy ... and either way, you will have to miss out on something else that also could have made you happy. And, you may sometimes wonder whether that unchosen option could even have made you happier.

"The question is, when you weigh all of these considerations, which do you think is the best course for you to take?"

Harry scowled. He should have known better than to hope that he might be getting any concrete answers here.

He racked his brains, as he had been doing for over a week, hoping a solution would pop to mind. What he got, instead, was an amalgam of the dribs and drabs of advice and conversations he'd been hearing since he first saw Persephone's name.

Sipping at his tea, he had a sudden craving for chocolate digestives. With it came an echo of Professor McGonagall's words.

He looked up to see Dumbledore watching him. "I had one bit of advice from Professor McGonagall," he told him. "She said, if I let go of ... of the good thing I could have if I stayed here, I might not find something else I ... I care about that way." He cleared his throat with some difficulty. "But she said it's also possible to be happy, even if I don't."

With a warm chuckle, Dumbledore nodded. "Minerva is a very wise woman."

Harry watched him, curious. "What about you, sir? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

He chuckled again. "I might mind, Harry, if I had a more interesting answer for you. The fact is, there has never anything that would have made me as happy as being at this school" - he gestured around himself - "so I've never had a very difficult decision to make as far as that goes."

Harry shrugged, watching the base of his teacup make rings in the saucer as he nudged it back and forth.

"I don't envy you this choice you're making, Harry," added Dumbledore. "Or then again, perhaps I do."

Harry met his eyes, confused and defiant.

Dumbledore held up a hand to stay his protests. "Either way, you'll have to give up something very important to you. But what a wonderful circumstance, that you have two such excellent options to consider."

Harry tilted his head, letting this sink in. The tightness in his stomach went a few notches looser.

"Now, go down to breakfast," said Dumbledore with a shooing gesture. "I sense you might have an unfinished conversation to pursue."

He ushered Harry quickly out the door. When Harry turned to watch it shut behind him, all he saw through the closing gap was the professor's winking, blue eye.

For a moment, Harry couldn't move. He reached out a hand to steady himself against the doorframe, ducking his head to try and make the spinning stop.

'Your friends would certainly miss you,' echoed Dumbledore's voice in Harry's head.

Yeah, thought Harry, Draco especially - if he doesn't hate me already.

He wanted so badly to explain, to tell Draco everything he'd said to Dumbledore and much more, but right now Harry didn't even know how to get Draco to stay still long enough to hear the words. Thinking of Draco, Harry changed his decision for the thousandth time. He thought he wanted to go to Salem and stay there, but he couldn't leave Draco; he might never feel with anyone the way he felt in Draco's arms, or when Draco looked at him with that mixture of respect and admiration and trust.

Only, when Harry thought of going to Salem, a strange little twisting weight lifted a bit from his heart, and when he thought of coming back, the weight settled in with greater force than before.

Oh, bugger.

'What a wonderful circumstance,' Dumbledore had said, 'that you have two such excellent options to consider.'

Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that wanted to form in their corners. He'd been standing in this corridor too long.

With one deep, fortifying breath, Harry turned and strode purposefully toward the stairs down to the Great Hall. If he was lucky, Draco would show up at breakfast, and maybe he would even be willing to listen.

He rehearsed his words in his head, all the way down to the Great Hall. In his mind, he was eloquent, caring, forthright and empathetic. He explained himself so thoroughly that Draco couldn't help but encourage him to go to Salem, to find this new start that he wanted so badly.

If Draco truly loved him, he would let him go.

In the Great Hall, four tables sat nearly empty. Hermione was sitting alone, halfway down the Gryffindor table. Inexplicably, even for her, she appeared to be studying.

"Hi," said Harry, as he plunked himself down across from her. Immediately, his goblet filled with pumpkin juice and his plate piled itself with sausage and eggs.

"Morning," she murmured, turning a brittle page of parchment.

Harry eyed her wryly. "Surely you're not still revising something?" he asked.

Hermione glanced up impatiently. "All these books, Harry! There are so many! Once I leave here, I won't have access to the Hogwarts library anymore. And I only have four days left!"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm sure you'd be allowed to come and read whenever you wanted - "

"Harry, that isn't the point! Hogwarts is so far from London, and I'm going to be busy with Auror Training, I might never have time!" Her frantic gestures began to border on hazardous. "I really need to read as much as I can before Wednesday, because - "

Harry caught her hand, fixing her gaze with his own. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to calm down.

A few seconds later, the tension went out of Hermione's arms, and Harry let go so she could drop her hands to her sides.

"Alright, so maybe I'm a little nervous about leaving school."

Harry looked at her, surprised. "Really? But you're so excited about Auror Training."

"Well, yes," she agreed.

"And you're getting married - eventually," he added.

"True."

Harry blinked at her. "So ... what's the problem?"

Hermione stared at him, incredulous. "I can't believe you don't know. You, of all people!"

Harry's eyes went wide involuntarily, but he couldn't think of anything to add.

"This is my home, Harry," she explained impatiently. "I love my parents, but Hogwarts is the only place I've ever lived, and been part of the wizarding world. I'm planning to stay in this world, now, and I have to live in it as an adult. Don't you feel sort of ... weird about it?"

Hermione's words did resonate very strongly with Harry, exactly as she'd assumed. It was only that he'd had so many things on his mind, leaving Hogwarts had languished comfortably in the 'denial' column of his list of thoughts.

He told her something along those lines.

Hermione pushed a bunch of her frizzy hair away from her face so she could peer more searchingly at Harry. "Things on your mind ... like what?"

Harry poked at his sausage, which was going cold. "It's to do with Draco. As you know, I hadn't been telling him a lot of things."

Hermione swallowed a noise that sounded like a scoff. She already knew all about Harry's omissions in his recent conversations with Draco, but she let him talk.

"Like about Persephone. About her inviting me to Salem. About how I had this dream, nearly a month ago, that was full of images that had to do with getting a chance to start again. And another, shorter one, more recently, that had to do with something about my father, or I'm starting to think, about wanting to find his family."

Hermione sat up a bit straighter. "That's what was in your dream? The one that you used for your Dreaming Draught?"

"The longer one, yeah," Harry confirmed, then went back to jabbing ineffectually at his plate with his fork.

"And Draco asked you to live with him in London ..." As Hermione spoke, Harry could almost hear her mind processing the information. "Harry, you really want to go to America, don't you? But you don't know how to tell him."

The eggs were going cold and rubbery. Harry tried a sip of pumpkin juice, but it was tepid and flat-tasting. "Well ... yes," he replied finally. "Except, I mean, I started to tell him, early this morning, and he disappeared."

"Disappeared??"

"Yeah, I gave him Persephone's letter, and I couldn't look at him while he read it, so I turned away and was talking to him about it, and when I turned back, he was gone. And Filch was standing there, by the way." When her eyes widened slightly, he quickly added, "Don't worry, he made me go and see Dumbledore, but I wasn't in trouble."

"Wow," said Hermione. For once in her life, she didn't seem to know how to respond.

Harry glared at her. "Go on, Hermione. Aren't you going to tell me all about how I have to go and find him and finish the conversation right away, so he won't think that I've said all I plan to tell him - which I haven't - or that I don't care about him - which I do - or that I'd rather go to Salem and stay there forever than live with him in London, which ... Merlin help me, Hermione, I think that's what I want."

Hermione reached across the table and tapped Harry's goblet lightly, so the juice went cool and fresh-tasting again. He couldn't help but imitate her small smile.

She shrugged theatrically. "Seriously, Harry? What do I know about relationships? I've gone out with a gay international Quidditch star, a Muggle - which I cocked up thoroughly, as I've told you - and the world's most clueless Head Boy." She held out her fingers as though counting them. "And really, Ron's the one I've loved all along. I've never had to think about something like this. Maybe sort of, with Daniel, because I couldn't tell him anything about this world. But there was never any doubt what I would do at the end of the summer.

"Harry, I haven't the slightest idea what you should do. I don't know what I'd do. All I know is - yes, I do think you'd do well to find him and to finish the conversation. I don't know why. It's what feels right to me."

Harry tilted his head, letting her words find their footholds in his mind. Something about what she'd said seemed to make a lot of sense.

Alright, then. He would wait here, until Draco showed up, and they would talk.

He had to eat eventually, after all.

***

By suppertime, Harry was growing seriously worried about Draco. He hadn't seen him at breakfast or at lunch, despite camping out in the Great Hall for the entire duration of both meals.

He was seated at the Gryffindor table, so busy watching the entrance for any glint of white-gold hair that it took him several seconds to see Millicent when she came in, spotted him, and started beckoning insistently.

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry got up immediately and made his way over to her through the throngs of entering students.

"Hi!" he said excitedly, finding that he really was happy to see her. "Where's Draco? Is he alright?"

Millicent gave him a look that was half indulgent smile, half impatient scowl, and proceeded to grip him tightly about the upper arm and yank him out into the Entrance Hall.

Pansy was standing there, in the diminishing crowd, with a similar grasp on Draco. When she saw Millicent arrive with Harry, she frog-marched her charge over to them.

"There," she told Draco. "Now talk." And with a little shove that put Draco off-balance enough to make him steady himself against Harry's shoulder, Pansy turned on her heel and stalked in to supper.

Millicent gave Harry a similar, but gentler shove and followed Pansy into the Hall.

Draco's hand lingered on Harry's shoulder for a split-second longer than it needed before he gave a twisted grimace of regret and turned to leave.

"No, you don't," said Harry, reaching out to catch a handful of Draco's robes. "Come back here and talk to me."

"Why should I?" asked Draco petulantly, giving a feeble tug to his ensnared robes.

"Because you owe me an explanation, that's why," Harry told him. Twelve hours of waiting to continue their conversation had changed his sentiments from guilty to indignant. All of this could have been settled much sooner if Draco hadn't walked out on him in Dumbledore's classroom.

"I owe you ...?!" spat Draco, but Harry was having none of it.

"Yeah, you owe me. I was honest with you and you walked out on me!"

"You were honest with me - yes, after how many weeks of keeping those secrets?"

"That isn't the point -"

"It bloody well is!" No longer trying to escape, Draco had turned and was getting right in Harry's face so that he had to step back. "You kept all this stuff from me for weeks, and then dragged me out of bed and dumped it all on me at once! How was I meant to handle that? One minute you're kissing me, and the next minute you're telling me you're leaving me to go and live in America!"

A small group of straggling third-year Ravenclaws gave Draco a startled look when he mentioned kissing.

"What are you staring at?!" hollered Draco, and the group huddled closer together in their final dash for the door.

"Don't take it out on them," admonished Harry, using his fingers on Draco's shoulder to bring his focus back.

"No, I bloody well shouldn't, should I? I should be taking it out on you!" Another angry step forward, making Harry fall another step back.

"Look, Draco - I didn't even say I was going to America. I only showed you the letter inviting me."

Draco narrowed his eyes, inspecting Harry's face. Harry couldn't meet his gaze.

"But you are going, aren't you?"

"I don't - alright, yes. I'm going." The moment he said it, Harry understood that he'd known his decision for a long time, and simply hadn't been ready to accept it.

"So that's it, isn't it?" With one more, harder glare, Draco tried to brush past Harry toward the Hall.

Harry's palm caught Draco in the sternum. "That isn't it - we have three more days before the train. I don't know when I'll get to see you again after that. I want to make the most of this time."

Draco stopped, leaning slightly into Harry's touch, but didn't turn to face him. "You don't get it, do you Harry?"

With a blink or two, Harry realised that, clearly, he did not. "Get what?"

Draco did turn, now, and he was close enough that Harry felt his breath hitting his cheekbones in puffs as he spoke.

"I told you, Harry. I told you I was the last Malfoy and had to carry on the family line, or it will die ... and that I would give it all up to be with you. Merlin, was I stupid!" He made another attempt to leave, but Harry grabbed his arm and held fast.

Harry held fast. "You weren't stupid. You were brave and amazing, and I don't know how to tell you how much it meant -"

"But I see how much it meant, don't I? You're leaving. I was willing to give up all my commitments to my family and be with you, and you're ... Well, you're obviously not."

Draco's accusation echoed up through the stairways above them. Harry, feeling more and more trapped by the choices before him, finally snapped back.

"Alright, fine, Draco, you're right. Is that what you want to hear?" At the sudden change in Harry's tone, Draco fell back a pace and Harry let him. "You were willing to give up all your family commitments for me, and here I am, chasing off after this cousin I've never met. And do you know why? Because I don't know anything about my wizarding family. Not one thing. And I mean to change that."

Draco's face came over darker, and he turned away again, but Harry had not fully let go of his arm, and didn't allow him to get far.

"Remember what you told me, Draco? About your childhood, your happy years before Voldemort tried to return, when you were adored and cherished and your mum kissed your knees when you scraped them? And remember what I told you? About how I never knew what a family was supposed to be, until I met the Weasleys?

"I'm sure you've heard the stories. I lived with my Muggle aunt and uncle and cousin. They made me sleep in a cupboard, and locked me in there anytime they didn't like what I was doing. I didn't realise it at the time, but what they didn't like was when I started showing signs of magic. They hated magic, Draco, so they hated me.

"So yes, Draco, if I have a chance, even the tiniest possibility, of getting to know anyone from the wizarding side of my family, I have to take it."

Draco had stopped pulling against Harry's grip, but his expression was no brighter.

He tilted his head back to look defiantly down his nose at Harry. "Like I said, that's it, then, isn't it? You're off to America, and I'm out with yesterday's rubbish."

"No, Draco! I - I -"

"You what? 'Love' me?"

Harry heard the challenge, and wanted to answer it. "I -" he stammered again.

Draco shook his head bitterly. "You can't even say it, can you? Well, save it, Harry. Save it for this cousin of yours. I've had enough."

With the wind knocked out of him by those words, Harry didn't have the strength to hold Draco's arm, and Draco easily extricated himself and escaped into the Great Hall. He paused only briefly to narrow his eyes at Ron, who had appeared at the entrance and was watching Harry with great concern.

Ron gave an awkward half-nod when he passed Draco, but Draco only made a scoffing snort and disappeared toward his House table.

Harry stood where he was, unable to move. He looked forlornly at his best mate, willing him to say something brilliant that would fix it all, that would make Harry's heart stop wringing itself dry.

Ron kept getting closer, until he was close enough to put a hand on Harry's shoulder and use it to steer him around away from the Great Hall and toward the staircase down. Harry followed blindly, the world growing dark around him as he flailed to think how he might undo what he'd done and get back to the warmth he'd felt in Draco's arms only that morning.

A clean, well-lit stone corridor held a still-life of fruit, and a pear that giggled when Ron tickled it. The crackling-fire warmth and comforting smells of the Hogwarts kitchens opened for the two of them, and soon they were seated at the same heavy, wooden table where Harry had once tried his first Muggle beer and sought Charlie's advice for how to resolve his row with Ron.

He sat in the quiet comfort of Ron's presence, unable to express how grateful he was to have him there.

Ron glanced around a bit furtively, then found Dobby and beckoned him over.

"Harry Potter, sir! And his Wheezy! Oh, sirs, Dobby is so happy to see you!" The elf stopped bouncing long enough to take a good look at Harry. "But Mr. Harry Potter does not look happy at all, sirs. Is everything alright?"

"Not exactly, Dobby," answered Ron. "I need a favour, you see." And he leaned over to whisper something in Dobby's ear.

Dobby drew back, looking defiant. "Mr. Wheezy, Dobby is very fond of Harry Potter and of his Wheezy, and Dobby has seen what horrible things happened to Winky when she wasn't careful about her drink, and -"

"Please, Dobby," interrupted Ron. "This is - well, it's a bit of a special circumstance, alright?"

Dobby looked extremely hesitant, but when Ron repeated his 'Please,' Dobby popped away, and popped back with a bottle of Ogden's Best and two glasses. "If the Headmistress asks," said Dobby a bit sullenly, "Mr. Wheezy did not get that from Dobby." And he vanished again, leaving Ron and Harry alone.

Harry, whose head was hanging low over the table, looked miserably up at Ron through his fringe.

Ron didn't say anything, but twisted open the bottle and poured two generous portions into the glasses.

"Drink it slowly," he recommended as he handed Harry one of the glasses. "There's a reason they call it Firewhisky, or, at least that's what Bill told me when he wouldn't let me try it two summers ago."

Harry took a long swallow, despite his friend's advice, and felt the liquid burn all the way down his throat, through his chest to his stomach. He coughed and gasped, caught his breath, then drank some more.

Ron, who was sipping his drink much more slowly after a small initial coughing fit, stayed silent. Harry, through his misery, surmised that Ron must have heard most of the conversation, because he wasn't asking any questions.

That was good; Harry couldn't begin to imagine talking about it. He picked up the bottle and poured some more. The first half of the new glass was gone in another long swallow, and the burn was diminishing to a comfortingly dull hum.

Harry blinked once, and looked to find his drink - no, not only his drink, but Ron's drink and the whole bottle, too - gone. "Wha -?"

"That's enough," said Ron firmly. "I wanted to help you calm your nerves, but I'm not going to sit here and watch you get pissed."

"Sodding apple-polishing Head Boy," muttered Harry, making Ron chuckle.

"Right," said Ron indulgently.

But the drink must have had some odd side-effects, because Harry wasn't able to share in Ron's good humour. His whole face was starting to ache, especially in the middle of his forehead and around the corners of his eyes. He was having trouble breathing, and when he did take in air, it was in great, gasping hitches. His face crumpled, and his eyes started to leak, and next thing he knew, he had buried his face in his arms and was sobbing into the table.

Harry felt his glasses bend awkwardly against the rough wood, and didn't care a bit. He let it all pour out of him: the childhood without a family who loved him, watching Cedric die, losing Sirius, being abandoned by Lupin, almost losing Draco without even knowing it, watching Dumbledore grow old and weak, seeing Snape offer help, finding Persephone, losing Draco after all.

It wasn't bloody fair.

Wallowing in self-pity only made Harry cry harder - he was wretched and pathetic and no wonder Draco wanted nothing more to do with him. He thought every miserable thought he could conjure, to keep the tears coming.

It was better, just leaving and never coming back. He could get his new start.

He would miss Ron, though.

The thought sprung into his mind unbidden, and Harry wrenched himself back to his surroundings, to find Ron propping his chin in his palm, keeping watch over Harry, awkwardly patting him on the back with his free hand.

Harry sniffled and pulled off his smudged glasses to wipe at his eyes. He thought he heard a crack, twice, and when he'd cleaned his spectacles and returned them to his face, he found a steaming cup of tea waiting before him.

Ron had removed his hand from Harry's shoulder, and was now simply watching him compose himself.

"You're going to be alright, mate," he said simply. And it wasn't the perfect thing to say, or the most eloquent statement, or even a promise Harry could really believe if he analysed it too closely, but when he closed his eyes and thought about Ron sitting next to him, Harry found he could all for the possibility it might be true.

***

True to his word, Draco kept away from Harry for the next few days, so that Harry only saw him from a distance, and then only at meals. Draco always sat on the side of the Slytherin table that faced away from Gryffindor, so Harry could only guess whether he even wanted to steal glances his way. He studied Millicent's and Pansy's faces, which were pointed his direction, for any clue that Draco might forgive him or speak to him again.

Tuesday night, Gryffindor Tower was witness to the biggest party in its history. Harry Potter and his best friends were leaving Hogwarts, and that fact couldn't be allowed to pass without the most rowdy observation ever seen. Dumbledore came out of his quarters once, but instead of putting any damper on the level of the noise, he raised a Butterbeer and toasted the health of his favourite student and his friends, and another to congratulate his House on winning the House Cup, then bid everyone goodnight and disappeared.

Harry hadn't felt much like celebrating, but Ginny had ordered the Deluxe Assortment crate from her brothers, and Ron and Seamus and Dean had invented some sort of game, involving finding the most devious ways to trick each other into eating a Canary Cream or into falling for any number of other pranks, and soon the atmosphere of joviality was contagious.

By dawn, still no one had gone to bed. Gryffindor House descended to breakfast en masse, exhausted but undiminished in spirit or appetite. They devoured piles of sausages and eggs and bacon and toast and kippers and porridge, drank gallons of pumpkin juice, and dawdled by the table because it was their last meal at Hogwarts - last ever for some, last for a couple of months for others - and it could not be allowed to end. Only a few first-years had looked anxious to catch the train and get home to their families, but they had disappeared upstairs long since to ensure that their packing was complete and thorough.

Ron and Hermione stumbled back up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, stopping to snog at every fourth step. Harry shoved them on ahead of him, not eager to leave, but not wishing to miss the train, either.

They packed quickly and haphazardly, mixing half of Ron's things with half of Harry's in the process, but it didn't matter because they would be spending most of the summer together, anyway. For the first time, Harry had a reason to look forward to what would meet him at the other end of the railway tracks, because he was finished with the Dursleys and would be staying at the Burrow for the few days until the flight to Boston.

On the train, Harry saw Draco in close quarters for the first time in three days. He, Ron and Hermione were lounging around in a compartment with Ginny, Dean and Neville, when the door slid open. Hermione's and Ron's faces immediately went tense, so that Harry didn't even have to turn around to know who was there.

"Thomas, have you seen Finnegan and Millicent?" Draco asked Dean in a flat voice. Dean only shrugged, cutting his eyes toward Harry.

Harry made a split-second decision, and jumped to his feet before Draco could close the door again.

"Wait, can I talk to you?"

Draco hesitated, looking nervous at being alone in a space full of Gryffindors.

"Why?"

"I - I wanted -" Harry stammered.

"No," interrupted Draco softly, closing invisible shutters over his eyes, "I think we've said all there is to say."

Before Harry could respond, Morag MacDougal appeared behind Draco, threading her arms around his waist.

"I thought I'd lost you," she teased shrilly. "Come on back, Blaise has Butterbeers."

Draco met Harry's eyes for a long moment, then fixed a plastic smile on his face, and turned to drape his arm around Morag's shoulders. "Just looking for Millicent, darling," he told her, emphasising the endearment through gritted teeth in a voice that sounded like ground glass. He didn't look at Harry again, but Harry knew the theatre was being performed for his benefit. "Yes, let's go and have some of Zabini's stash."

And without so much as a backward glance, he strode off down the corridor. Morag, clinging to his side, sneered back over his shoulder toward Harry.

Well, thought Harry helplessly, remembering his conversation with Millicent in the spare classroom, good for her, then, I suppose.

***

King's Cross, as always, was a blur of activity. Molly and Arthur had brought the Grangers through the wall to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, where they waited with barely contained excitement for their betrothed progeny to step off the train. Molly had her arm linked with Mrs. Granger, and the two appeared to be scheming quietly and cooperatively about wedding plans. Arthur kept patting Mr. Granger jovially on the shoulder; from Mr. Granger's expression, Harry was pretty sure Arthur was asking incessant questions about 'airyplanes' and how they worked.

When the four of them caught sight of Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry, they rushed forward in a flurry of hugging arms and helping hands. Trunks and cages were taken in hand while faces were kissed and backs patted. Molly exclaimed how Ginny had grown another six inches since Christmas, and Mr. Granger exclaimed how happy and relaxed Hermione looked, now that 'salamander exams' were behind her. Ron and Harry exchanged a grin.

Harry's heart was racing. Now, among his surrogate family again, he remembered how soon he would be stepping onto his first aeroplane, and stepping off again on another continent. He would see Persephone for the first time, and Salem, and the Institute.

He would be starting a new life.

He bent to lift one end of his trunk, and when he straightened up, caught sight of a line of students and parents waiting to Floo out of the Platform and off to various points in wizarding Britain.

In the end, the last Harry saw of Draco was a flash of pale, white-gold hair, as a solitary figure disappeared into the farthest Floo at the end of the row.

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.

We're not quite done yet! An Epilogue will follow this chapter, to round out my lovely symmetry, so be watching for that. You don't think I'd leave you folks like this, did you??

The line, "when Draco looked at him with that mixture of respect and admiration and trust," is a nod to Hal Hartley's briliant movie, Trust, in which the major characters theorise that respect + admiration + trust = love. The reference in this chapter is meant to imply that meaning, as well.

The allusion to Harry's secret being like a "hippogriff's head" between him and Draco was inspired by the idea of an unavoidable topic being like a rhinocerous head on the coffeetable, which I have most frequently seen used by the brilliant Breakup Girl.

And for those of you who've been wondering, the title of the fic comes from the following lyrics from "Hold Me Now" by the Thompson Twins:

"You say I'm a dreamer. We're two of a kind, both of us searching for some perfect world you know we'll never find. So perhaps I should leave here, and go far away. But you know that there's nowhere that I'd rather be than with you here, today."

And for the record, Filch's line about "perhaps you'll have better luck with Professor Dumbledore" is in no way meant to imply that Dumbledore would ever consider doing anything as creepy as accepting the romantic love of a student. It has more to do with underlining Filch's role as an unsympathetic character by giving him a hint of homophobia.

SPW chapter listing

Drabble: Travelling Song