HPSlashFics - In Pieces

Harry's return to Hogwarts was quiet and anti-climactic, just as he preferred. He unpacked his trunk and looked around the room that was to be his new home. It was cosy and warm with a blazing fire illuminating the dark wood and rich fabrics. Most of the colours were Gryffindor red, making him feel that he had, once again, come home.

He touched the bed curtains and sank down onto the mattress before giving it an experimental bounce. It was exactly as he liked it—the magic of Hogwarts was as strong as ever. With a sigh, he felt a weight lift that he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. Despite his friends' assurances, Harry had not been certain that leaving Auror training to become the DADA instructor at Hogwarts was the best decision, but being in the comforting, familiar surroundings of the school made it seem right.

Ron strolled into the room and dropped a satchel on the floor as he looked around and nodded. "Nice quarters, mate. Now I know why Snape wanted the job so bad." Ron sprawled in an upholstered chair and wiped the back of his hand across his brow.

"Yeah, much better than the dungeons." Harry grinned at him. "You look terrible. You carried one satchel up two flights of stairs. Hard workout, that."

Ron flipped him an obscene gesture. "I was dodging spells all day yesterday! I'm knackered."

Harry's grin faded. Ron was still training to be an Auror. Harry wasn't sure if Ron resented Harry for dropping out, or was pleased that he had done so. Probably a bit of both. Ron had tried to talk him out of it, of course, but Harry had not enjoyed Auror training at all. Abandoning it still felt like a relief. Secretly, he hoped it would give Ron a chance to shine on his own and stop lingering in the shadow of Harry's fame, whether real or imagined.

They had missed the Sorting Ceremony—mainly because Harry had not wanted the attention—and it was getting late. "You hungry?" Harry asked. "Up for a trip to the kitchens?"

"No, just fired. Come on; let's see if they have treacle tart." He pulled Ron to his feet and they set out for the kitchens.

Once Ron had left the school and Harry had assured McGonagall he was settled and ready for classes the next morning, he crawled into bed with a thick book Hermione had given him as congratulations on his new position. He was actually looking forward to reading it, since it was fiction and he'd had little time to do anything as relaxing as reading a book in a very long while.

He was barely four pages into the volume when a shocked-sounding "Potter?" rang through his room. He jerked his head up, not having heard the door open. The reason was instantly obvious—his visitor was a ghost. And not just any ghost.

They stared at each other wordlessly. Harry remembered hearing the news about Draco Malfoy's death, not long after the battle of Hogwarts. Harry had sent a sympathy card to Narcissa Malfoy and remembered feeling a pang of regret. Narcissa Malfoy had betrayed Voldemort in order to reach her son; Harry had saved his life twice, and for what? Malfoy had survived the war to be snuffed out just when the danger seemed to be past. It seemed a senseless waste, even though Harry had had little hope of Malfoy ever turning into a model citizen. Now he could not even remember the details of Malfoy's death. He had been busy with Auror exams at the time, and it had happened two… maybe three years ago?

Harry pursed his lips. Draco Malfoy as a human being had been difficult enough; Harry had never anticipated dealing with him as a ghost.

"Considering I am in the quarters of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, I would think that would be obvious."

Harry shrugged. "Moved to the Continent." Fairwood had lasted three years as Hogwarts DADA professor, proving that the curse on the position had died with Voldemort.

"I thought you would end up an Elite Auror and Minister for Magic," Malfoy said and Harry noted that the sneering tone had not changed at all.

"You thought wrong," Harry replied, hoping his antagonistic words would persuade Malfoy to leave.

Malfoy's face ricked into a nasty grin. His features were plainly visible, if amorphous. "They boot you out?"

"No, they did not boot me out. Isn't there someone else you can haunt?" As soon as Harry asked the question, he wished he hadn't.

Malfoy threw his head back and laughed. "Actually, no, there is not. I can't think of a single person I would rather haunt other than you, Potter." Malfoy strode across the room, looking thoughtful, and Harry cocked his head in puzzlement, wondering why Malfoy did not just glide. It seemed to take extra effort to move his legs in a semblance of walking, especially when his feet did not quite touch the floor. Malfoy continued, "So many possibilities…"

Harry's eyes narrowed when Malfoy turned and snapped his fingers, although the gesture made no sound. "I've got it!" He turned and "walked" to the chair nearest the bed and rose into the air before settling into it in a cross-legged pose. Affecting a serious mien, Malfoy said, "Abas. Also known as the guava tree, the leaves and bark are effective against dysentery, vomiting, and nausea. Finely ground it is a useful remedy for vertigo. Young leaves are also used as a preventative for bleeding gums and is a little-known ingredient in Droobles Best Blowing Gum for that very reason. It is also a prime component of Hangover Potions and is quite useful in toning up the vaginal walls after childbirth."

Malfoy smirked and went on. "Abas flowers are used in the treatment of conjunctivitis, eye injuries, and sun-strain. The fruit is edible, of course, but the seeds are a useful element in pain unctions and poultices against haemorrhaging."

"Don't interrupt, Potter. You might learn something. The unripe fruits, of course, are used to arrest gastroenteritis, dysentery and diarrhoea owing to their astringent features."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I am listing every potion ingredient I know, of course. A well-rounded education is useful for every member of the Hogwarts' staff. Your knowledge of potions is abysmal, as I recall, so I am simply trying to help you."

Malfoy's stare was merciless. "Certainly not. Now, where was I? Oh yes, an infusion prepared with abas leaves may treat cerebral disorders, cachexia and nephritis. I'm sure you know what those are, don't you, Potter? Since you are so smart, and all. I am positive you know that an extract of guava leaves can assist in treating certain epilepsies and chorea."

Malfoy droned on even when the book Harry threw plunged through his midsection to land harmlessly on the seat of the chair. Malfoy only gave him a withering look and spoke louder.

Silencing Spells had no effect, nor did any of a number of hexes and charms Harry tried. Malfoy simply moved to the bed and sprawled at the foot of it with his arms crossed behind his head as he floated a couple of inches above the blankets. Despite the pillow clamped to Harry's head, it was long into the night before he fell asleep to the sound of Malfoy's voice endlessly listing the properties of aluka and alumroot.

Harry learned a lot about ghosts during his first day as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. For one thing, they don't sleep. When Harry awoke, Malfoy was still on "A" potion ingredients, causing Harry to cringe at the thought of the twenty-five letters remaining.

For another, closed doors meant nothing to ghosts. Harry discovered that fact when he stumbled out of bed and made his way to the loo to relieve his bladder. He was only dimly aware that Malfoy's irritating voice had ceased before he heard it say, "Well, at least the stories about that were true."

He nearly jumped out of his skin, instantly energized with adrenaline, and he yanked his pyjama pants back up and glared at the ghost. "Fuck off and get out of my bathroom!" he shouted. Malfoy smirked and shrugged before drifting back through the door. Harry waited for a few minutes to make sure he wouldn't reappear before taking his prick out again and coaxing his traumatized bladder into releasing the last few painful drops. Sodding bloody Slytherin bastard ghost. He planned to go straight to McGonagall to complain as soon as he dressed.

Unfortunately, Malfoy was still lurking in his room when he returned. He opened his wardrobe and pulled out a shirt. Despite his awareness that if he didn't speak to the prat, the better his chances of Malfoy getting bored and going away, Harry found himself asking, "What stories?"

Malfoy examined his nails… or what used to pass for nails before they became intangible, Harry supposed. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Malfoy replied cagily.

"I hate you so much," Harry said. "I hated you as a person and I hate you twice as much as a ghost."

"Good. Let's go to breakfast, shall we?" Malfoy sounded perfectly chipper and bright. Harry vowed to read every book in existence in order to find a way to destroy him.

Four bracing cups of tea and a bacon/toast sandwich partially revived Harry, although he still found himself yawning frequently in his place at the teacher's table.

Headmistress McGonagall asked, "Were your accommodations not to your liking, Harry?"

She threw him a disapproving look. "Mr Potter, need I remind you that this is a school? You should exercise discretion—"

Madam Hooch, seated next to him, nearly choked on her juice and started to giggle. Harry opened his mouth to explain, but McGonagall stood up to read the morning announcements and then recited instructions to the students regarding their first classes. Harry sighed and sipped his tea, realizing it was going to be a long day.

He found out how long during his second class. Harry had a fairly simple curriculum lined up for his First-year students, consisting of defensive spells such as Lumos, Flippendo, and a Water-to-Ice Charm. The young students were somewhat in awe of him and he found himself immensely enjoying the way their eyes lit up when they first cast an effective spell.

His satisfaction was shattered an hour later when the Fifth-year group filed into the room. They consisted of Slytherins and Gryffindors, looking quite grown up and rather sullen. They chattered loudly amongst themselves until Harry had to bang on the desk with his hand to get their attention.

"Good Morning, students," Harry called once each pair of eyes had fixed on him. "My name is Professor Potter."

"Or Professor Prat," came a very-unwanted voice from behind Harry. The students snickered and Harry closed his eyes for a moment before turning to confront the ghost that seemed to sit casually on the top of his low bookshelf.

"Mister Malfoy," Harry said in the calmest tone he could manage, "I would appreciate it if you would not disrupt my class."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "How can I possibly disrupt your class? I'm not even corporeal. See?" Malfoy passed his hand straight through the antique globe that showed locations of wizarding settlements in the 1700s.

Harry glared at him and turned his back, determined to ignore the git. "Now then, class, how many of you have cast a successful Patronus Charm?"

A couple of hands reluctantly went up. Harry grinned. "Excellent. Would you please stand up, Ms…" Harry consulted his roster.

"Persah," Malfoy intoned behind him. "Persephone Persah. Another Gryffindor know-it-all. You should adore her, Potter. Twenty points to Gryffindor for successfully standing up, Persy!"

The Slytherin students snickered and Persephone glared at Malfoy. "You shut up! You shouldn't even be in here!"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry growled. "Ms Persah, can you please try to show us a Patronus Charm? Remember to concentrate on a happy memory."

"Think about moonbeams and unicorns, Persy," Malfoy chided. Several students laughed.

Persephone's face tightened in determination and she lifted her wand. "Expecto Patronum!" she said loudly. A burst of white sparked from the tip of her wand and fizzled.

"Eric and Persy sitting in a tree!" The chanted song was quickly picked up by others.

"That is quite enough!" Harry shouted. He lifted his wand and sent a crackling shower of sparks singing across the ceiling. The silence was instantaneous.

A dry voice broke across it. "Very impressive, Potter. Are you going to teach them the Cruciatus next?"

Harry snarled and turned on Malfoy with a shouted, "Expecto Patronum!" The stag exploded from Harry's wand and tore through Malfoy's shimmering form, ripping it to shreds. The white glimmers dissipated slowly and Harry stared at the empty spot for a moment before turning to face the shocked visages of his students. "Now, as I was saying…"

He continued doggedly with the lesson, ignoring the whispers and the fearful looks. Bloody hell, how had he allowed Malfoy to push him into uncontrollable rage on the first day? Minerva was going to kill him. While the students practiced their Patronus Charms, Harry glanced at the place on the bookshelf where Malfoy had last been. Was he gone for good? Could a Patronus destroy a ghost?

It did not sit well with Harry that he had lashed out twice at Malfoy without knowing the consequences of his actions. Despite the fact that Malfoy was already dead, Harry should have known better.

Of course the incident was all over school by lunchtime. Harry dutifully made his way to the Headmistress' office without being asked. She gave him a disapproving stare.

"I'm really sorry, but he was in my room all night reciting potion ingredients and when he started disrupting my class…" Harry snapped his jaw shut, realizing he sounded like a whinging student.

"Harry, I realize your animosity with Draco extends back to your shared childhood experiences, but you must remember that he is a ghost now and cannot actually harm you."

Harry scowled, wanting to protest that Malfoy had been making him look like a laughingstock in front of the students, who would have lost all respect for him if he hadn't done something. Still, his reaction might have been excessive. "Do you know if…? Well, do you think the Patronus destroyed him for good?"

Minerva sighed. "I do not know. If a Patronus Charm has ever been cast at a ghost, I am not aware of it, although the library should contain mention of any documented incidences. Perhaps you should research it. I do hope, for your sake, that Draco was not destroyed, or you might have more company in your room than a single ghost."

Harry blanched, but knew she was right. Malfoy was one of them now, and they would probably not take kindly to him destroying one of their number.

"No more casting Patronus Charms on the resident ghosts, all right?" Minerva asked.

He avoided everything ghostlike that afternoon and spent his non-class time in the library, but found no mention of the effects of a Patronus on a ghost.

When he finally climbed into bed that night, he reflected that his first day teaching had not gone at all as expected.

"You absolute prick!" The shouted words brought Harry straight to gasping wakefulness and he sat up, reaching for his wand. An icy chill brushed across his cheek and he reached up to touch it. His hand dragged through the same cold sensation and then a blur of motion came into vague focus.

"Do you know how unpleasant that was?" Malfoy snarled. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to regain this form? If I could hold a wand, I would… I would…"

"Good job you can't hold a wand, then," Harry said dryly and reached for his glasses. He slid them up his nose and Malfoy came into focus, looking none the worse for wear. Harry cocked his head. "Your hair is different."

"…floating around the castle in hundreds of miniscule bits… what?" Malfoy ceased his angry speech and reached up to touch his head with a pale hand. "What do you mean my hair is different?" With a swoosh of air, Malfoy was gone, straight through the closed bathroom door.

He returned a moment later. "My hair is exactly the same, you complete twit. If you're trying to get rid of me, you're barking mad, because—"

"I mean it's different than it was before…" Harry waved his hand. "When we were here. As students."

"Oh," Malfoy said at last. "Well, I changed it after I left Hogwarts. I was on my own for a year before…" He grimaced and Harry filled in the blanks. Before I died. The memory seemed to bring back Malfoy's simmering rage and he turned his glare on Harry. "Now. Where was I? Oh yes, I believe it was Artemesia." Malfoy turned and floated into the chair again before his voice rose to strident levels. "Artemesia is also known as wormwood. It is frequently steeped and made into a tea or a tincture…"

"Don't you ever get tired?" Harry asked roughly, awakening from a doze to find Malfoy prattling on about basil. Ironically, one of its uses was an agent against insomnia. Harry was too exhausted to find it even vaguely amusing.

"No, Potter, I do not get tired. I do not get thirsty or hungry or sleepy. I do not get itchy feet or an upset stomach. I do not feel hot or cold or wet or dry or fucking anything at all! I am dead!"

Harry closed his eyes. Malfoy was blurry in the darkness, anyway. "Well, apparently you can still feel anger."

There was silence for a moment and then Malfoy muttered, "Yeah, that never goes away."

Harry frowned. From what he knew of ghosts, it wasn't always anger that kept them around, but often remorse. That and fear of death. What had Nearly-Headless Nick told him so long ago? Something about certain people being too frightened of what lay beyond to move on properly, choosing to cling to what they knew, trying to hold onto the life they once had? Why would Malfoy fear death? Did he think Voldemort awaited him beyond the veil? Or was it something else?

As Malfoy launched into the uses of basil in treating migraines and whooping cough, Harry decided now was not the time to ask. He rolled over and put the pillow back over his head, trying to tune out the annoying voice.

Despite his promise to Minerva, he was strongly tempted to throw another Patronus at Malfoy, if only to achieve a few precious hours of quiet.

Sometime later his alarm penetrated the fog that had become his mind and he staggered out of bed, cursing Malfoy and the universe. "Stay the fuck there, you complete sodding bastard," Harry growled and headed for the bathroom, bypassing Malfoy, who merely gave him a wink and leaned back in the chair as if he wouldn't go completely through it if he kept leaning.

Harry muttered invectives and kept his eye on the door, but Malfoy seemed content to have ruined his sleep for the second night in a row. Harry shed his pyjamas and turned on the shower.

The hot water helped to revive him and he sighed in contentment. He had just shampooed his hair and turned around to rinse the suds out when he saw Malfoy lounging against the shower wall, watching him with a wide grin.

Harry yelped and spun around. The water poured over his head, sending soap into his eyes. "Malfoy! What the hell? GET OUT!"

Harry shrieked and scrubbed furiously at his hair, wanting nothing more than to escape the suddenly-crowded shower.

"You're no fun," she protested, but then she screamed and Harry felt something cold brush his side. Squinting through stinging eyes, he saw Malfoy reach for Myrtle, but she dove down the drain and disappeared.

"Fuck this," Harry snarled and slammed his hand against the faucet before tearing aside the curtain and stumbling for a fleece. He blotted his eyes and turned to snarl at Malfoy, but the ghost was gone.

After a soothing eyewash, Harry towel-dried his hair and then wrapped the fleece around his waist. He entered the bedroom fully prepared to snatch his wand and send Malfoy back to the land of particles, but the pest was nowhere to be found.

In a black mood, Harry dressed and went to the Great Hall for breakfast, cursing every ghost of the wizarding world and one in particular.

Harry did not see Malfoy again until his second class. He supposed he should have been grateful that Malfoy was sparing the younger children his obnoxious behaviour, but the older students were far too amused by Malfoy's antics.

This time Malfoy chose to hover next to Harry's right shoulder and loudly sing bathing songs while Harry tried vainly to ignore him.

"That's right, Regina, strike a bit more sharply with your wand—you've got to mean it, like any other spell."

"And don't forget to hold your happiest memory in your thoughts. I know it's difficult, particularly when there are annoying distractions."

Harry's teeth clenched so tightly he thought it might be impossible to speak without lapsing into Parseltongue. Unfortunately, that language had deserted him with Voldemort's demise, so it would be a pithy substitute.

Several students took up Malfoy's rhyming songs and many others were giggling so much that spellwork of any sort was impossible. Only one student had managed a partial Patronus and his countenance was so severe that he reminded Harry of a miniature Snape.

"Very good, Gerald. I could nearly see the shape your Patronus would take that time. Do keep on."

"I'm rather surprised yours is a stag, Potter," Malfoy commented, leaving off singing in order to comment.

Harry ground his teeth. He preferred to ignore the ghost, but engaging in conversation was far less distracting for the students than listening to toddler songs. "Why is that, Malfoy?" he asked quietly.

Malfoy shrugged. Harry caught the movement from the corner of his eye. "I don't know. It just doesn't seem very you. I would expect something flashier, like the Gryffindor lion or an erumpent."

Malfoy made a huffing sound. "I wouldn't know, would I? There wasn't much call for casting a Patronus in the service of the Dark Lord, now was there? We had other means of communication." Malfoy's left arm twitched and Harry nodded.

Malfoy seemed uncertain whether or not to take the statement as an insult, so he satisfied himself by launching into another song involving suds. Harry shook his head and sighed. His headache was growing.

"He has to be stopped! Isn't there some way to… I don't know… contain him?" Harry demanded.

Minerva watched him with a sober expression. "Have you tried speaking with him?"

"Speaking? I can barely get a word in edgewise with all the singing and the reciting of potion ingredients and the—do you know he was in my shower this morning? In my shower!" Harry knew his voice was strident and he probably looked a complete mess, but he was tired and frazzled and it was only his second day at Hogwarts.

Thankfully, the Headmistress' office seemed to be the one place safe from the nebulous git.

He gave her a sardonic look. "Great theory, but Malfoy is a ghost. It might take centuries before he gets bored."

She picked up a murky globe from a crystal stand on her desk and examined it with a frown. "Well, perhaps it would behove you to assist Malfoy in moving on."

"Obviously there is some reason that Draco became a ghost. Perhaps you should determine what that is and assist him in resolving it. That way, he will release his hold on this life and move on to whatever awaits him."

Harry frowned. Was it possible to "help" a ghost to move on? Had it ever been done? He sighed, sensing more research in his future, although a trip to Hermione would probably save time and give him a place to start.

Harry scowled, but her words, followed by a pointed look and judicious paper-shuffling, had been a dismissal. He went out.

Malfoy awaited him in the hallway, looking slightly too-human from his casual slouch against the wall. "Complain about me?" he asked.

"She can't do a thing about me, can she? Told you to figure it out for yourself?"

"I'm not the first person you've haunted, am I?" Harry asked dryly as Malfoy fell into step beside him.

"Why do you do that?" Harry asked, gesturing to Malfoy's pretend walk. "Why not just…" He made a floating motion with his hands.

"Because I don't want to," Malfoy snapped. When they reached the stairs, Malfoy made a sighing sound and said, "I do miss this, though." He sat on the railing and glided down while Harry took the steps. Sliding on the stair-rails was forbidden, but the students did it whenever possible. They all knew there were permanent Cushioning Charms at the bottom to prevent injury whenever someone fell off.

Malfoy reached the newel post at the bottom and went right through it before turning and continuing his pseudo-slide down the next level. He moved much slower than a true slide, keeping abreast of Harry.

Malfoy's stare seemed just as intense as it had when he was alive. "Why am I not surprised that you do not know?" With that, he sank through the railing, and then the steps, and disappeared.

"If I'd known that was all it took to get rid of you," Harry muttered, "I would have asked two nights ago."

Hermione bustled around the kitchen, adding seasonings and splashes from assorted jars. Whatever she was cooking smelled divine and Harry assumed she had been taking lessons from Molly Weasley again. His mouth watered just thinking about it.

"I still can't believe Draco Malfoy is a ghost. It seems so strange. Set the table, will you, Harry? Ron is running late and George isn't coming tonight, so it's just the two of us for now."

Harry opened the cupboard and then used his wand to spell a few plates onto the table. "Do you remember how he died?" Harry asked.

"Something to do with Gregory Goyle, wasn't it?" She licked reddish sauce from the spoon in her hand and nodded with an approving sound. "Hot pot coming through." She Levitated the bubbling pan over to the table and set it down upon an iron cruet.

Vague details returned to Harry's memory. Gregory Goyle. "That's right. Malfoy was killed at Hogwarts during the renovation. No wonder he's haunting the school; he died there."

"And Goyle is still in Azkaban for it. Remorseless, that one is." She waved Harry into a chair and Levitated utensils from a ceramic holder on the counter.

"Professor McGonagall—Minerva—suggested I help Malfoy move on." Harry sat down and poured pumpkin juice from a pitcher that wept condensation from the sides.

Hermione looked thoughtful as she ladled pasta onto her plate. "I haven't done ghost research for years. Not since…"

"Not since Sirius died, yeah," Harry supplied. "I thought you might give me an idea where to start. I have access to the library at Hogwarts. Can't tell you how odd it is to walk straight into the Restricted Section without feeling like I'm breaking rules."

Hermione laughed. "I'll pull up my notes and see if I can give you some idea. I know a couple of volumes offhand."

They ate in silence for a while and then Hermione asked, "So, what is Malfoy like? As a ghost?"

Harry's brows drew down in annoyance. "He's a bloody nightmare. He's like Peeves in a prettier package."

Hermione nearly choked and took a drink of juice before grinning at him. "You just called Malfoy a pretty package."

"Yes, well, thankfully he's not here to hear it. God knows what he would do if he thought I was…" Harry trailed off, flushing.

She made a point of spreading butter on her bread, but gave him a wink. "Ron figured it out first."

"Honestly, Harry, he's not stupid. He asked me months ago if I thought you were… that way."

"I know he's not! He's just…" Well, frankly, most of the time Ron seemed pretty emotionally clueless. "I mean, it took him years before he figured out you even liked him, Hermione. Years."

She sighed. "I know, but that's because it involved him. He's quicker when he's an observer and not a participant."

"Oi!" She tossed her half-chewed bread at him. Harry laughed aloud and snatched it out of the air, ignoring the butter it left on his fingers. He took a bite.

The sound of the Floo flared to life in the other room and then Ron entered, stripping off his robes as he did so. He flung them across the back of a chair with a sigh and then leaned down to press a kiss to Hermione's forehead.

Something in his tone made Harry look askance at Hermione. "Fine?" Harry prodded.

Ron threw him a warning look and then he forced a grin. "Fine," he repeated. He took a bite and made a sound of pleasure. "Mmm, this's great, Hermione."

She stopped looking at him suspiciously long enough to beam with pleasure and Harry resolved to ask him what was up later. Hermione gave Harry a look that told him to report back to her as soon as he had worked it out with Ron. There weren't many secrets between the three of them; that was certain, even if the exchange of information was sometimes a complex process.

Ron asked about Hogwarts and Harry launched into several tales about how the place had changed, carefully avoiding all mention of Malfoy. He knew Hermione would fill Ron in later.

The thought of Malfoy made Harry nearly groan aloud at the prospect of returning to another sleepless night filled with potion ingredients.

"Hey, do you mind if I kip on your couch tonight?" Harry asked. "I'll Floo back to the school in the morning."

Ron's brows rose and Hermione visibly bit back several questions. "Of course I don't mind, Harry," she replied.

"I'll just head home, then," Ron said. "I'm ready for an early night. Up early for more defence training and then we're back in the field next week." He sounded less than enthused and Harry suppressed a smile, remembering that he didn't miss Auror training at all. The four-year program had periods of extreme difficulty, including field training in the most barren and inhospitable locations imaginable.

Harry did the washing up while Hermione and Ron went into the living room and Hermione bid Ron goodbye—a process that took a good quarter hour—and then she returned to help him put away the dishes. She looked well-snogged.

"I'm sure he'll tell one of us later. I know training has been hard on him. He fell asleep Sunday in the middle of dinner."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure he'll be fine. Only a few weeks left and then he'll be certified."

Hermione nodded. "You know where the blankets are. I'll get started on your list and have it for you in a bit."

Ron entered his flat and went straight to his bedroom, shedding clothing as he went. He could hardly remember being so tired. Even kissing Hermione had been a chore, and it was one of his favourite things.

He sprawled on his bed and realized he was still wearing his socks, but he couldn't be arsed to remove them. His bed felt too lovely. He honestly wasn't sure how he would survive the next month, when he was already this exhausted. Sometimes he thought Harry was the smart one for getting out when he had, but then he caught the look of pride on the face of his parents or siblings when he talked about something that had happened during training, and he knew he would never drop out. Besides, he loved it, really.

His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was of Harry and Malfoy. Hermione had mentioned that Malfoy was tormenting Harry in ghost form. Ron wondered why their fates always seemed to be entangled. Even in death, Harry couldn't be rid of the blond git. It was puzzling.

Harry had a difficult time waking up the next morning. Somehow achieving a good night's sleep had left his body feeling even more sleep-deprived. He pushed himself off the couch with a yawn and staggered to the bathroom where he took a thankfully ghost-free shower.

Once dressed in spelled-clean clothing, he returned to the living room to find a list on the tea table. Hermione had left him an entire page of suggestions. He rolled it into a scroll and tucked it into a pocket before tossing a handful of powder into the Floo and stepping through to Hogwarts.

Harry Flooed to his private quarters, which were no longer very private. Draco Malfoy was lying atop his bed. Or hovering atop it. Whichever, Malfoy sat up when Harry entered, looking almost guilty for a moment.

Harry threw him a smug look and began to strip off his shirt. He opened his wardrobe and pulled out a staid white button down and a Gryffindor tie. "Somewhere that you were not," Harry replied. "And having a grand sleep, I might add."

Harry ignored him and finished tying his tie before shrugging into his staff robes. He was late for breakfast, but planned to swing through the kitchen before his first class. He looked at the scroll once more. At the bottom of the book list, Hermione had written: Talk to Sir Nicolas.

Malfoy had risen from the bed and glided over to peer at the scroll, which Harry allowed to roll back into a tube before he dropped it on a nearby table. Malfoy's eyes narrowed and Harry could practically see the curiosity burning there, but since Malfoy was intangible, he had no way to open it and read it on his own.

"I don't. I am merely making observations and I assume the only thing that could keep you out all night on a Tuesday is the lure of a shag. Did she put out, then?"

Harry chuckled. He had never known that ghosts could retain their curiosity after death. Malfoy had always been far too nosy for his own good.

Malfoy made a choking noise. "That's good, because I don't want to discuss it with you!"

"You're the one that brought it up," Harry pointed out, moving to the mirror to try and adjust his tie.

Harry rolled his eyes at the lie and tried to get the crease out of the centre of the knot—why did that always happen?

"You don't need to point out the obvious," Harry said and gave up on the tie. He tucked his wand into a robe pocket and headed out. Of course, Malfoy followed. Harry descended the stairs at a quick clip and Malfoy did not bother with the railing trick this time, he simply glided behind Harry like a pale shadow.

When they reached the third floor, Malfoy vanished, sliding through a nearby wall almost quicker than thought. Harry was puzzled until he saw the Fat Friar, Hufflepuff's ghost, floating near the third floor gallery.

"Hello," Harry said and then felt a moment of chagrin because he couldn't remember the Fat Friar's name.

Harry nodded. "Indeed. Can you tell me where I might find Nearly Head—I mean Sir Nicolas?"

"Of course, my boy. When he's not in the Great Hall greeting the newcomers, he is usually patrolling the battlements between the keep and Ravenclaw Tower. It offers an exquisite view in the morning."

Harry departed and was not surprised when Malfoy joined him on the second floor. "You don't like the Fat Friar?" Harry asked with a smirk.

Harry glanced at him, but shrugged off his questions. His goal was to be rid of Malfoy, not figure out his personal ghostly oddities. When Harry reached the ground floor and tickled the pear to gain access to the kitchens, Malfoy hesitated, but eventually phased through the opening and lurked near Harry.

"I don't feel like it," Harry replied and took a plate from one house-elf and a great handful of bacon from another. A small table rested in a corner and Harry sat down as toast and marmalade appeared, along with tea and juice.

Malfoy gravitated away, lurking in a far corner while Harry ate. He remembered Sir Nick remarking on missing the taste of food. Malfoy probably hated watching people eat. Harry made certain to exclaim loudly over the flavour of the food and make appropriate sounds of pleasure.

Malfoy's scowl was black by the time Harry finished and got to his feet. The ghost trailed behind as Harry left the kitchens and headed back up the stairs. "Food is brilliant," Harry commented. "I'll bet you miss it terribly."

"Not really," Malfoy replied. "I don't have to worry about indigestion, food poisoning, or weight gain. Those strawberries you ate looked a bit off. You'll likely regret those."

It was a beautiful September morning, clear with only a hint of forthcoming winter in the air. The view across the grounds was, as the friar had said, exquisite. Harry breathed deeply of the air and bid a good morning to a pair of Seventh-year girls dressed in Muggle athletic-wear, jogging.

Harry ignored him, spotting Nick, who floated near the covered archway that led to Ravenclaw Tower. He raised his hand and waved.

Malfoy stopped immediately and then drifted backwards. Harry left him behind and approached Nearly-Headless Nick.

"It is a good morning, so far," Harry admitted and lowered his voice so that Malfoy could not hear. "Actually, I need your advice."

Sir Nick blinked at him in surprise. "My advice? Well, of course, Harry. I will be glad to give you any such benefit of my wisdom as I am able. What seems to be the problem?"

Sir Nick's gaze snapped to Malfoy and back before a wrinkle marred his brow. "You need advice regarding Mr Malfoy?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, you see, Malfoy and I have something of a history. We disliked each other intensely when… well, when he was alive, and he seems to have taken that animosity with him into his ghostly state."

Sir Nick pursed his lips. "Indeed, that frequently happens. Why, when I died I still very much disliked Sir Arturo Pendergrass. He was a pompous jackanape and took great joy in bringing misery to my very existence. I was quite cheered when he developed incurable boils later in—"

Harry stepped closer and lowered his voice even more. "Since Malfoy still hates me, he has made a habit of disrupting my sleep schedule and my classes. It's almost like having Peeves in class, except that I know how to deal with Peeves. Malfoy, I do not. I was just wondering if you had any ideas…? Um, also, I was wondering…" Harry frowned. He supposed it would be a faux pas to ask a ghost how to go about assisting another ghost into moving on. "I was just wondering why Malfoy doesn't seem to like the rest of you."

Sir Nick smiled softly. "That is easily explained, Harry. Malfoy is newly dead. It will take years before he can truly accept that he is one of us. Right now our methods and habits are strange to him and he is more familiar with the ways of the living. It is difficult for him to accept that he is a ghost and he will prefer not to linger near us, lest it remind him of what he has lost. It is quite sad. I have made overtures, of course, but I have, thus far, been rebuffed." Harry glanced at Malfoy, who looked suddenly very lonely hovering by himself and pretending to look out over the vista. "Also, I believe Mr Malfoy harbours feelings of guilt for certain actions he committed during his attendance here at Hogwarts. No doubt he feels that we will judge him for his living actions and, indeed, some will."

Harry sighed, feeling even more confused than he had when he'd sought out Sir Nick. He had hoped for an easy answer to his issues with Malfoy.

"He does seem to get on well with Myrtle," Sir Nick added. "It is a comfort, since she has very few friends, even amongst us ghosts."

Remembering the shower incident, Harry's jaw clenched. There's a surprise, he thought sarcastically. Myrtle was confined to Hogwarts, Harry recalled, after she had haunted the girl she blamed for events leading to her death, and the girl had subsequently complained to the Ministry. Harry knew he could do the same in regards to Malfoy, but he would feel idiotic running to the Ministry for help with a ghost. "Yes, I defeated Voldemort, but this ghostly teenager is too much for me." The press would have a glorious time with that story. No, Harry had to deal with Malfoy on his own.

"Is there any way you can think of to keep him from disrupting my classes? I can deal with him wrecking my sleep, I suppose, but I cannot allow him to destroy my students' ability to learn. Is there some sort of ghost repellent, or something?"

"I'm sorry!" Harry said quickly. "I didn't mean you or… or the others. Just him."

Sir Nicolas relented. "Very well, since Mr Malfoy does not seem ready to associate with the rest of us, perhaps it would be enough for one of us to sit in on your classes?"

Sir Nick patted him on the head, leaving him with a disturbing case of brain freeze. "Of course, Harry."

Grinning, Harry gave him a quick rundown of his class schedule and then departed. He would have just enough time to prepare a lesson plan before his first class.

"What was that all about?" Malfoy asked suspiciously as he fell into place beside Harry.

Harry practically hummed through his first lesson, which was made up of Third-year students this time, a mixture of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. The blue-clad students picked up Trip-Jinxes quickly and the Hufflepuffs tried very hard. Persistence was a little-acknowledged Hufflepuff trait and by the end of the lesson even the ones with difficulty remembering the spell mechanics were happily sending their neighbours sprawling to the cushioned floor.

Malfoy watched from his perch atop the bookcase, silent, as his strange code of ethics seemed to have an age-limit in regards to harassing Harry. Nearly-Headless Nick popped his head through the door once, but Harry gave him an all-clear gesture.

Harry graded the students based on notes he had taken during class. Malfoy broke his silence and prattled on about Harry's wretched fashion sense and inability to tie a tie. Harry managed to ignore him to the point where Malfoy began to make things up, such as wagering that Harry had only four pairs of matching socks in good condition and the rest were mismatched or full of holes.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from commenting. In truth, he had six pairs of perfectly decent socks and only two mismatched sets, for which he was certain the matches existed somewhere buried in his trunk, and a single pair with holes (and those were his favourites).

He did not mention any of that to Malfoy, however, since his silence apparently annoyed the ghost more than any arguing Harry could have done.

After his first class, Harry had free time, so he went to watch Madam Hooch try and teach a group of First-years to fly. Harry watched from the shadow of an open gallery so as not to make the children nervous. Malfoy hovered near him and snorted with laughter when one lad sat on his broom and immediately swung upside down. His head dangled a handspan from the grass.

Harry shook his head. "It seems like we were just out there, having our first lesson."

"During which you proved yourself to be the 'youngest Seeker in a century'." Malfoy's voice was high-pitched and mocking.

"And you proved yourself to be a complete prat by stealing Neville's Remembrall."

"You should thank me. If I hadn't, they never would have discovered your stunning prowess."

"Thank you, Malfoy, for being a git and allowing me to play Quidditch my first year." Harry's voice gushed insincerity.

Malfoy made a concurring sound. "Hufflepuff. I suppose some of them are good at some things."

"The Hufflepuff team took the House Cup last year, so some of them are very good at some things." Harry laughed.

Harry nearly ground his teeth to bite back a retort, not in the mood to argue with the prat. "I'm going to the library." It was too nice a day to stay inside and do research, but the sooner he got rid of Malfoy, the better.

As the Sixth and Seventh-year students filed into Harry's class, Malfoy did not have a chance to wind them up. On the heels of the last student trailed Nearly Headless Nick and another ghost that Harry only vaguely recognized. Nick waved to Harry, who waved back cheerily.

At the sight of them, Malfoy vanished through the back wall of the classroom and did not return. With a renewed sense of confidence, Harry launched into the lesson.

That night it was with a feeling of accomplishment that Harry put on his pyjamas and crawled into bed. Malfoy was not in his room; in fact, Harry hadn't seen him since the classroom incident. He wondered vaguely where the Slytherin ghost had gone. It seemed almost odd to be in the room alone.

Shrugging, he put out the light and looked forward to a second night of restful sleep.

An icy cold grip on his ankle yanked him awake with a cry. Harry fumbled for his wand, ready to strike first and ask questions later. The room was pitch-dark and then Harry heard a familiar laugh.

Harry fell back against his pillows. "Malfoy, you bloody bastard. Did you touch me?"

"Well, you insisted on sleeping. I kindly awakened you for your lesson, which will be more intense than usual since you deserted me last night to sneak off to… wherever you sneaked off to."

"I did not sneak," Harry snapped. "I left via the Floo like a normal person and I returned the same way. Will you please bugger off and let me sleep?"

Malfoy tsked. "Afraid not, Potter. Did you invite Nearly Headless Nick and the others into your classroom? Was it to protect you from me?"

"I thought Nick might want to observe. Besides, there was no need for you to leave. I assumed you would enjoy showing the other ghosts how disruptive you can be."

Even in the darkness, Harry could sense Malfoy's malevolent stare. He felt something brush over his feet, cold as ice. He yelped and drew his legs back as Malfoy sat—hovered?—over the bed. Before he could ask what Malfoy was doing, the prat said, "Now, I believe we were still on basil." He launched into his usual rote description of ingredients and uses.

Harry groaned and tried to tune him out, made even more difficult this time by Malfoy touching him with frost-tipped fingers any time Harry was about to fall asleep.

Tomorrow, Harry thought. Tomorrow I will find the books that tell me how to be rid of him.

It did not go as planned. The library had very few of the books Hermione had recommended, and the ones available were mainly concerned with the biographies of famous wizarding ghosts. Most of the ghosts seemed to love to talk, like Sir Nicolas and Malfoy, and the books were filled with pages and pages of their rambling, dutifully jotted down by scholars who seemed to have nothing better to do.

"What are you looking for, anyway?" Malfoy asked, hovering close and pretending to be seated atop the table next to Harry's elbow.

"You actually think there is a spell to make me… what? Disappear? Why not just use the Patronus again? Granted, it's only temporary. I'm surprised you haven't, frankly."

Harry glared at him, but didn't bother to mention that he had promised Minerva he wouldn't do so, despite the temptation. "I don't necessarily want to destroy you, although it has crossed my mind more than once. I just want you to leave me alone."

"The Patronus didn't destroy me; it just made me incredibly angry and even more determined to haunt you until the end of your days."

"Thank you, but I don't know what effect repeated disruption of your molecules or whatnot will do, so I'll just keep trying to find something that will send you on." Harry waved a hand and it grazed through Malfoy's sleeve, leaving his fingers cold.

"Yes. You know that ghosts remain bound to this world because they refuse to 'go into the light' or whatever."

"Because I wanted to haunt you, Potter. Why else?" The answer was flippant and blatantly untrue.

"Dead," Harry finished. He knew it was mean. Malfoy hated anything that reminded him of his lifeless state, but Harry was not feeling charitable after yet another sleepless night.

Malfoy left the table and floated towards the Restricted Section with his usual stride. "Maybe you're looking in the wrong place, Potter."

Harry sighed and debated ignoring him, but curiosity won and he got up to follow the ghost. A very small, dusty glass case held four ancient-looking volumes. Only one had a visible title. Nekros Compello.

Harry glanced around, but there weren't many students in the library at the moment and most of those were far from the dark corner where he and Malfoy stood.

"Not all necromancy is about raising the dead, you idiot. Most of it originated because of people trying to communicate with their dead relatives. You know, widows trying to contact their poor dead husbands to find out where the bastard hid the Galleons she knew he was hoarding. That sort of thing."

Harry looked at the books, suddenly remembering his desperate need to communicate with Sirius after the veil incident in the Department of Mysteries. And even though he had spoken to his parents in the forest when he walked to his own death at the hands of Voldemort, it had never been enough. To be able to truly communicate with those that had moved beyond... The temptation was enormous.

Still, Harry made a scoffing noise. "If any of it worked, don't you think people would know about it?"

"It's really Dark magic, Potter. You know how the Ministry and those on the side of all things good and right love to suppress knowledge."

Harry glared at him. "And rightfully so! Look what Tom Riddle was able to dig up all on his own. Enough to make him nearly unstoppable. If such knowledge was readily available, we could have a new Dark Lord popping up every other month."

"Well, then you wouldn't be here being haunted, you would be out there, destroying evil. I'm surprised you aren't. What brought you here, anyway? Auror Department not enough of a challenge?"

Harry didn't bother to answer, mostly because Malfoy was exactly right. Auror training had been filled with repetitious casting of spells he already knew, loads of reading about wizarding law and procedure, more essay writing than he'd had to endure at Hogwarts, and very little application of that knowledge. And into that mix he added the bizarre behaviour of everyone around him—they either treated him like an amazing celebrity or reviled him for not acting like some sort of larger than life figure. In short, it seemed he could please no one.

Harry cast Alohomora on the case, but it only glowed with a wicked-looking green light and remained locked.

"Apparently they don't want any students with invisibility cloaks getting their hands on those," Malfoy said.

"Yeah, probably useless anyway." Harry frowned, wondering what need he had for books about communicating with the dead. He was already communicating with the dead—it was the reverse he sought.

"Funny, isn't it?" Malfoy said. "Inferi are dead bodies without their souls and ghosts are souls without their bodies. Or something."

Harry looked at Malfoy sharply, surprised at the insight. Sometimes Harry was shocked by Malfoy's intelligence. Not that he thought the Slytherin was stupid, never that, but generally his annoying personality overwhelmed any appreciation of his wisdom.

Malfoy pushed a hand through the side of Harry's face. The icy sensation was particularly unpleasant against Harry's nasal passages and he felt an explosive sneeze building. "Stop that!" he yelped, falling away and waving his hands at the irritating ghost. That was a mistake, as he only succeeded in chilling his hands as well. He sneezed three times in succession and then glared at Malfoy before Conjuring a handkerchief. "You're such a prat," he mumbled and blew his nose.

A ghost suddenly materialized from the floor. This one looked to be another child. His robes were long and lace-covered and his neck was cocked at a strange angle. Harry vaguely remembered hearing about a maudlin student that had hanged himself in the days before Dumbledore had taken over as Headmaster. The sight made Harry look at Malfoy with new eyes. How was it that there were no visible wounds on Malfoy's body? How had he died? The Killing Curse?

"Your mother approaches, Draco," the boy said. "I thought you might want to know."

With that, Malfoy turned and headed for the door. Harry followed and watched until Malfoy reached the portal and went through it like a wisp of smoke, pausing only slightly. Harry knew he wished he could open the door rather than phasing through it and he sighed, thinking he would much rather move on to whatever mystery death held than remain trapped in such a thankless existence.

Harry glanced at the books on the table and bit his lip with indecision. Then he moved to the door and hurried after Malfoy. Despite his pretence at humanity, Malfoy moved quickly without a fleshy body and Harry had to run to keep him in sight.

Instead of heading down, Malfoy went up. Harry lurked back, trying not to be obvious about following, and wished he had brought his cloak along. Of course, he was a grown man now and carrying an invisibility cloak around would be silly. And he really shouldn't be eavesdropping, anyway. He was only curious.

After a moment, Harry knew where Malfoy was going. Partway up, the Astronomy Tower contained several round, private rooms, generally used for storage and off limits to students, but two of the rooms had large windows that looked out on the grounds. They contained a number of desks and tables and were used by older students for revising and preparing for their exams.

Harry stopped. There was nowhere for him to wait without being completely obvious. He was not even sure why he felt like spying. Surely it was normal for a mother to visit her son, even if he wasn't… alive.

Harry left the tower and kept walking, waving vaguely at students as he passed them. He recognized only a handful and knew it would take a long time before he knew more of them on sight. Only Minerva seemed to know every single child, as had Dumbledore before her. Harry wondered how they did it.

Harry decided to lurk on the front steps. He Conjured a scroll and quill and pretended to write a letter to Hermione. It was a good idea, so instead of pretending he decided to actually do it. He had just seen her, of course, but she got ridiculously excited whenever she got mail. Harry understood. She had theorized it was somehow related to "only-child syndrome" but Harry figured everyone liked to get a nice letter or package now and again.

He had a good page filled with descriptions of his classes and students when the door opened and Narcissa Malfoy stepped out. She stopped short when she saw him and then composed her features.

Harry put the scroll and quill away awkwardly as he stood up. "Hello, Mrs Malfoy. It's good to see you again." He reached out his hand and she took it. Her fingers were slender and cool. Her lips moved as she attempted a smile, but the sadness in her face seemed too great to sustain it. "I'm, um, sorry about Draco." Harry nearly winced at how insincere his words sounded.

She nodded and took her hand back and then pulled the hood of her black hood over her pale hair. "Thank you."

She started down the steps, obviously making for the front gates. Harry felt foolish, thinking he should talk to her. She had saved his life, after all. He hurried to catch up with her.

She glanced at him askance and the gesture was so reminiscent of her son that Harry smiled.

"Of course not," she said. "Your return to Hogwarts was newsworthy, or rather your departure from the Ministry."

Harry nearly stopped walking. His steps hitched and then he regained his equilibrium. "Excuse me?"

Narcissa smiled at him wanly. "It seemed obvious. You spent your entire childhood running from a madman. Why anyone expects you to open yourself up to more of the same as an adult seems foolish. I always thought you might hide yourself away, or perhaps travel."

Harry glanced at her, amazed at her insight. Even his closest friends had been shocked at his decision. "I considered it, but travelling alone did not seem particularly appealing."

"Ginny? Yeah, it was a close thing. We were looking at rings one day and she suddenly blurted out that she wasn't ready and I nearly passed out from relief. After having a huge laugh we moved on to being great friends. She's in Argentina now, playing Quidditch." Harry had spent a lot of time explaining himself to Ron and the other Weasleys. He knew they all wanted him and Ginny to marry and settle down, but Ginny's latest correspondence hinted at growing feelings for one of her teammates. Harry wished her well.

"No. My marriage to Lucius was arranged when we were both young, but we used to play together as children. Strangely, we always knew we were meant for one another and we never questioned it. Of course, it did no harm that Lucius grew up to be beautiful, but I fell in love with him long before then. He was a somewhat awkward teenager, although I would never admit that to him."

Harry grinned. Lucius was handsome enough, he supposed, if you liked them tall, blond, and evil. The thought drew his mind back to her son. "You came to see Draco?" he asked.

She nodded. "I probably shouldn't. It would be easier to accept the loss, I think, if I did not." She stopped walking and clasped her hands together, even though her features remained placid. Her knuckles whitened. "But… he's here and he looks like himself and he remembers everything and…" She looked away, staring out over the heather-crusted hillside. A gasp made her chest hitch and Harry felt his heart clench in sympathy. He thought of all the times he had wished Sirius had remained behind as a ghost and for the first time he saw how horrific it might have been.

"I can't… I can see him, but I cannot touch him, or stroke his hair, or even hold his hand—" She buried her face in her hands for a moment and then lifted her face and glared at Harry through eyes that gleamed with tears. "Damn it, he's dead! Draco is dead. Why can I not accept that my son is gone forever? Why can I not let him go?"

To Harry's dismay, her shoulders hitched and she began to cry in earnest. Harry touched her shoulder sympathetically and then held her gently when she turned and sobbed on his shoulder. It was something of a surprise to find he was taller than her, and she was not a short woman. He patted her lightly on the back and tried to make soothing noises.

"I miss him so much," she said, voice roughed with tears. "I miss my Draco. Oh god, I would give anything to bring him back. It's not… It's not fair. He was so young. He was so young and full of life."

Harry felt his throat tighten and tears well in his eyes. Bloody hell, he was crying for Malfoy. Narcissa's pain was like a dark well of despair, pulling him into its depths. Harry blinked back tears and held her until she slowly pulled away.

She stepped back firmly and wiped at her face with a lace-edged kerchief she pulled from a pocket. "Circe, you probably think I'm a wailing ninny. I am terribly sorry, Mr Potter, for putting you through that."

Harry forced a weak smile. "Please don't apologize. Grief takes time and never really goes away, even though it gets easier as the years pass. There is no shame in tears. And please call me Harry."

"Well, thank you for indulging me. I have not broken down like that in some time." She shook her head and then attempted to smile. "You know, I had once hoped you and Draco would become friends."

"Oh, stop. You might have found you were more alike than you knew. I admit Draco was spoiled, but he had a good heart." She turned and began to walk once more.

Harry found it hard to imagine Malfoy having a good heart lurking under all the prattishness, but he held his tongue, doubting Narcissa would be amused at Harry's lack of faith after her breakdown. He managed to give her an encouraging nod and then they were at the gates.

"Well, Harry Potter, thank you for your time. I am sure you had better things to do than listen to my weeping."

Harry shook his head. "No, I wasn't busy. And I still owe you, you know." He made a vague gesture towards the forest where she had saved his life, and thereby saved the wizarding world.

She waved her hand and the gates opened. "There probably will not be much opportunity for you to repay your life debt, Mr Potter. Harry. But do not fear; I will not ask you to expend it on something frivolous."

"I know." She stepped through and the gates swung shut with a clang, locking them apart with iron between. Her eyes met Harry's. "Goodbye, Mrs Malfoy."

Harry did not see Malfoy that afternoon, nor did he make an appearance at bedtime. Harry was tired, but he found himself lying awake wondering about Malfoy. Did he still feel sorrow when he saw his mother? It seemed likely, if he could still feel anger and annoyance.

What was Malfoy doing now? Brooding? Where did ghosts go to brood? Moaning Myrtle mainly resided in the girls' bathroom where she had died. Where had Malfoy died? It disturbed Harry that he had no idea. It seemed important to find out and he resolved to search old Daily Prophets for the details.

Still thinking about his conversation with Narcissa, Harry drifted into a fitful sleep.

He awakened sometime later and rolled over, blinking into the darkness. His room was quiet. He peered at the chair where Malfoy usually sat, trying to make out his ghostly form, but the seat was empty. He sighed and closed his eyes, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

Something cold brushed his ankle and his eyes snapped open again. He sat up to see Malfoy perched cross-legged on the bed. His elbows were propped on his knees and his face rested on his palms.

Malfoy shrugged. "Don't feel like tormenting you, I suppose. It's interesting watching you sleep. You look different without your glasses. Younger."

Harry frowned. It occurred to him that he was now older than Malfoy, who was frozen in time at nineteen and would remain so forever while Harry moved on. Eventually Harry would grow old and die while Malfoy would retain the semblance of youth.

Harry pushed his pillows up against the headboard and scooted into a half-sitting position. He rubbed his eyes and debated casting a Tempus Charm, but supposed the time was irrelevant; he had no need to rise early.

"Very funny. I meant... I don't know; does it make you sad when your mum comes round? Today she seemed very—"

Malfoy was silent so long that Harry feared he wouldn't answer at all, but then he said, "Greg killed me."

Harry let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I know that much. But why?"

Malfoy shrugged, a barely-visible movement of silver in the darkness. "He blamed me for Vince's death. I thought he'd got over it, considering Vince was the one who set the damned fire in the first place, but..." He sighed. "We were sentenced to work on rebuilding Hogwarts. Did you know? That's why we were here. Probably not, if you don't even know how I died. Didn't care much about my pathetic life, did you, Potter?"

Malfoy kept talking. "We were working on the castle doing trivial, mundane tasks. They wouldn't allow us wands, so everything was manual labour, clearing out broken desks and rubble and whatnot. That day Greg and I took a break and walked down by the lake. We argued about something stupid and it turned ugly fast. Greg said I was responsible for Vince's death since it was my fault we came back to Hogwarts during the battle. He claimed I was obsessed with you or something like that. I got angry. We fought like Muggles, wrestling and grappling—a stupid move when you're a foot shorter and four stone lighter. Last I remember was him choking me."

Malfoy's hands went to his neck and Harry realized why there were no marks on his body—Goyle must have strangled him to death. Malfoy's hands fell and it wasn't until then that Harry noticed faint, bruise-like marks in a slightly darker shade of grey, just visible around Malfoy's throat. Harry shuddered.

Malfoy snorted a laugh. "Yeah, choked to death by my own best friend. I always was the lucky sort."

Harry nearly said, "Maybe you should have chosen better friends," but then it occurred to him that Malfoy might have tried to do just that in his first year, only to have Harry rebuff him in favour of Ron Weasley. Harry held his tongue.

"I hate being dead. I miss my mum and I miss food and I miss things I shouldn't even miss, like the feel of pond slime and the prick of nettles, or the icy bite of air when you leave your blankets on a cold morning." Malfoy moved suddenly, shifting forward and reaching out a hand. Harry held his breath as Malfoy's hand slid over his cheek. "Can you feel that?"

Malfoy's head bobbed curtly and he pulled his icy hand away. "Well, I can't feel anything. Not cold, not heat, not soft nor smooth nor rough nor…" Malfoy floated off the bed and headed for the door, gliding like a ghost instead of pretending to be alive. "Enjoy your solitude, Potter. I'm going to see the thestrals." With that, he went through the portal and was gone.

Harry frowned as he slid lower into his blankets and punched his pillow into a more comfortable position. He hated to feel pity for Draco Malfoy, but it was too late; the damage was done. All of Harry's anger and satisfaction were gone, drowned in a deluge of compassion.

As he closed his eyes and tried to sleep the last thought flitting through his mind was, Did he say thestrals?

Harry felt brilliant after sleeping until nearly noon the next day. He had survived his first week of teaching, no thanks to Malfoy. Since he had no real plans for his first weekend at Hogwarts, he decided to go and visit his friends, starting with Hagrid.

The weather was much like the previous day and Harry found Hagrid outside tending his garden. The pumpkins were just beginning to turn orange and most of them had not quite reached Quaffle size.

"Looks like you'll have a fine crop this year, Hagrid," Harry said with a smile as he leaned on the fence.

"Harry, my boy! Come inside for a cuppa!" Hagrid left the garden and walked with Harry to the hut. It had been rebuilt after the war, but still looked exactly the same, except for some feminine touches that had apparently been gifts from Madame Maxine. As far as Harry knew, she and Hagrid still had something, although the seriousness of the relationship seemed to vary from month to month.

Hagrid threw some mysterious leaves into a teapot and added water from a bucket before setting it on the flame. Harry made a mental note not to drink it.

"Fine, for the most part," Harry admitted. "I've been having a bit of an issue with Malfoy."

"Biscuit?" Hagrid asked and took a basket of something that looked like lumps of coal from a shelf to place before Harry.

Hagrid took one and bit into it with a tooth-grinding crunch. "Malfoy?" he asked as his jaw worked. "Malfoy the ghost?"

Hagrid snorted, spewing a number of crumbs onto the table. "'Course he don't. Takes ages to let go o' being human and know yer not coming back."

"It seems difficult. Last night Malfoy mentioned he was going to see the thestrals. Do you know why he would do that?"

Hagrid nodded. "Sure. Ghosts like thestrals. I think it's 'cause thestrals exist partly on the astral plane, like ghosts, which is why humans can't see 'em 'til they see death. Some say that flips a switch in the brain." Hagrid tapped a huge finger to his forehead. "Lets people see 'em."

Harry supposed it made sense, but something still seemed odd. Malfoy had never seemed to be an animal lover, and had sneered at the very existence of thestrals back when he had been innocent and untouched by death.

He turned the conversation to the upcoming Halloween festivities and they chatted for some time, but Harry wisely departed before Hagrid could suggest he stay for lunch. There was no sign of Malfoy as he made his way back to his room and put on warmer clothing and a travelling cloak. Although balmy in Scotland, there was no telling what the weather would be like in London.

He Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and chatted amiably with the patrons over a bowl of hearty soup and some crusty bread. Luckily the topic of conversation was gossip surrounding a minor Ministry official whose wife had tossed him out on his ear after he was caught in a shady business dealing in order to pay for an expensive trinket for his mistress. Harry willingly joined in, thankful he was out of the Ministry limelight and much of the public eye.

Harry left the Leaky and then went to Gringotts to withdraw some gold. He had a vague idea of where he wanted to go and it solidified once he had coins in his pocket. When he stepped back into Diagon Alley, he Apparated straight to Grimmauld Place.

The house was still dusty, dark, and depressing. Harry rarely visited, except to make sure Kreacher had everything he needed, mostly on Hermione's insistence. Harry assumed the elf would get what he needed through whatever magic he possessed, but Harry made sure the pantry was always well-stocked just the same.

Harry checked on the old elf, who crawled blearily from his cupboard to ask if Harry had need of him. Harry assured him he was only passing through, so Kreacher disappeared into the depths once more. Harry made a note to drop in more frequently, lest Kreacher die without anyone noticing. The thought of that happening was depressing; Harry had grown fond of the old house-elf.

He double-checked the pantry, left a note for Kreacher to order more tea, and headed for the Floo. After the war, Harry had felt the need to travel, mostly to escape the press and the fame, so he had taken advantage of his celebrity to have the old house connected to as many global Floo-points as possible.

Harry took the Floo network to Berlin. It was a familiar place that he often travelled to with Hermione. The Berlin Wizards' Library was famous for its book collection, but Harry was slightly more interested in the seedier side of the city, particularly the area that contained a German version of Knockturn Alley.

The place was built around an unusual sort of spiralling street that looped in upon itself, and seemed to draw the unwary closer and closer towards the centre. The shops were close together and Harry always felt they loomed forbiddingly over the street, even on days that were brilliant and sunny, quite unlike the downpour Harry currently splashed through. He was glad of the hood that protected his identity and kept his glasses dry without a Charm.

"Brilliant day to shop," Harry muttered to himself and received a suspicious glare from a hunched-over witch in a brightly patterned kerchief and orange robes. Despite her vibrant dress, she seemed eager to be unobtrusive and scurried up the street.

Harry made a show of pausing to look into the display windows. A tobacco shop with a collection of delicate blown glass pipes made him think of Dumbledore. He thought Hagrid might like one, except he might need something a bit sturdier than glass. If time permitted, he would stop back and look at their hand-carved stone pipes.

A shop with naughty robes and lingerie left Harry wondering at the purpose of the black leather thing with the buckles… He blushed and hurried on.

The bookstore was marked only by a dangling sign in the shape of a book, looking like it had been hung in the Dark Ages and never touched again. The words were barely visible and said only Buchhandlung.

A muted magical ping sounded when Harry opened the door, and a grizzled-looking man took his attention away from the book he was reading to peer at Harry, and then he grunted and returned to his reading. Harry walked through the stacks, smiling when he recalled the last time he'd been in the store with Hermione. Simply passing a shelf had been impossible; she had stopped a dozen times when some random title had caught her eye. They had been in the store at least two hours before finding what they sought, and she had left with an armful of books.

Harry was far less curious. He scanned the section guides posted at the ends of each shelf, made his way deeper and deeper into the store, and finally ascended a set of rickety wooden stairs until he located a tiny section devoted to "Ghosts and Undead Creatures".

Even though there weren't many books, the ones available were not easily read. One was written in Greek, one in Latin, and one in a Shakespearean sort of English that made Harry's brain ache just to see it. One looked promising, written in modern French and subtitled in English: The Afterlife: Why Not Seek It? Harry took that one, along with a book Hermione would have frowned at disapprovingly simply by looking at the cover; it was blood-red leather branded with several arcane Dark symbols. The book glowed with a wicked light when Harry cast a Charm to detect wards. It would be a chore just to open that one, but the title: Phasmatis Auctoritas seemed it might be worth the effort.

Harry purchased them both with a handful of Galleons and kept his hood low over his face. The old man barely glanced up from his book as he wrapped them in a paper parcel and tied them with a cord for easy carrying. He bid Harry a gruff good day and Harry stepped back into the rain before making his way back to Grimmauld Place.

He dropped the books on the kitchen table and debated going to see Hermione or Ron, but then remembered that Ron had field training on Monday. He and Hermione were most likely making the most of their weekend together. Harry grimaced.

"Will Master Harry be requiring dinner?" Kreacher asked, sounding completely uninterested in preparing it.

"No, I think I'll go see George, but I'll be back later." Harry planned to spend the night at Grimmauld Place, since one more ghost-free night sounded lovely, just in case Malfoy had recovered from Narcissa's visit. Plus, visits to George Weasley had a tendency to end in visits to the local pub and staggering home drunk, so it was wise to plan for the worst.

As it turned out, George wasn't in, having gone to Ireland to seek out a particular potion ingredient. Left to his own devices, Harry decided on dinner at the Leaky, but since he was in Diagon Alley he popped into Flourish and Blotts to look for some of the books Hermione had recommended. The questionable books he had procured seemed more promising, but Hermione had been right a time or two in the past, so Harry would be stupid to rule out her suggestions.

Three of the books were easy to locate and he had them in his arms when he brushed by a woman and then did a double take.

Harry grinned at Narcissa Malfoy. "Twice in one week." He glanced at the books in her hands. One was fiction, a recent release by a popular witch author, and the other was a book on the magical care of hyacinth. He nodded at it. "You enjoy gardening?"

"Yes, it relaxes me and keeps my mind from… things." Her gaze sharpened as she spied the books Harry held. She frowned and Harry had the urge to hide the tomes behind his back, even though it was too late.

"I'm just curious," he said lamely. "Malf—Draco likes to keep me awake at night. I've dealt with it so far, but I would sort of like to prevent it long-term."

Harry shook his head. "Even as a ghost I think he would have something to say about my tattling to his mum."

She smiled. "You are probably right about that." Narcissa looked thoughtful. "I have some books at the Manor. I read them already after Draco… Well, I don't know what good they might be, but you are welcome to them."

"Then I will have them sent along." With that, Narcissa nodded politely, bid him good afternoon, and departed. Harry perused a few more titles and then headed for the Leaky before going home and spending the night in his lonely bed, reading long into the night.

Malfoy was in Harry's room when he returned to Hogwarts, lying atop his bed with his arms crossed behind his head. He glanced at the packages in Harry's hands. He had re-wrapped the books for easier transport. "Shopping took you a full day?"

Harry made a noncommittal noise and set the books on the table, glad they were covered. He did not particularly want Malfoy to know he planned to study ghosts, especially considering his intention was to encourage Malfoy to move on towards whatever lay beyond death in order for Harry to be rid of his irritating presence.

"Sometimes. I went home, at first." Malfoy looked away and then sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and seeming to stare at the opposite wall. Harry swallowed, remembering his conversation with Narcissa. He could well imagine how painful Malfoy's presence at the Manor would have been for them both. "I go to London during the holidays. It's festive." Malfoy stood up, as if embarrassed to have admitted so much. "Anyway, it's good you're back. I was bored."

"You're my favourite person to annoy, Potter, you know that." His tone was scathing, but Harry sensed the truth of it.

Harry rolled his eyes at the blatant lie and set about putting away his cloak and setting aside clothing to be cleaned by the house-elves. Even with Malfoy annoying him, he much preferred Hogwarts to the cold emptiness of Grimmauld Place.

Malfoy hovered near his shoulder, watching him sort socks. One of them always seemed to get lost beneath the bed or some alternate dimension where lost socks congregated.

"One of your socks is wedged between the mattress and the bedpost," Malfoy commented.

Harry retrieved it and decided not to comment on Malfoy being helpful lest it cause him to never do it again.

Malfoy's eyes widened and he floated away a couple of feet before looking away. He moved over to the window and looked out on the courtyard where it was just beginning to rain. The weather in Berlin seemed to have followed Harry home.

Malfoy nodded without looking at him. "Yes. It's weird. They seem to be more substantial on the astral plane. I suppose that's why people can't see them; they really are part ghost. I still think they are sort of hideous, but it is nice to touch something and have solidity beneath my fingers."

Harry looked at him pityingly but averted his attention when Malfoy turned. "But enough of that. Myrtle has been asking when you next plan to shower."

Harry gave him such a look of horror that Malfoy threw his head back and laughed.

Malfoy disappeared while Harry ate dinner, but reappeared and lurked nearby while Harry sat in the DADA office and prepared his lesson plan for the week. He was surprisingly quiet.

When Harry finally snuffed the candles and went to his room, he expected another sleepless night and tried to mentally prepare himself while he disrobed and put on his pyjamas. He made sure to turn his back when he dressed, self-conscious of Malfoy's presence despite the fact that he was only a ghost.

"What's in the packages?" Malfoy asked when Harry exited the bathroom after brushing his teeth.

"You're hilarious," Harry said and dragged back his blankets before sliding beneath the covers.

"I miss reading," Malfoy said pensively, so quietly Harry almost did not hear him.

Harry's head lifted at the eager tone. He hadn't been serious, but Malfoy looked so animated at the idea. "Well… um, sure. I guess."

"Potter, that's brilliant! I was reading this novel before I—well, before Greg. You know. I was nearly finished and it's been making me crazy not knowing how it ends." Malfoy had approached the bed and was floating erratically, hands waving as he spoke. "I would… I would be willing to make a trade."

Malfoy nodded in a decisive manner. "Yes, Potter. If you read to me, I will allow you to sleep undisturbed."

"Really?" It seemed too good to be true. Harry's eyes narrowed. "How long do I get to sleep undisturbed? And I don't have to read all night, do I?"

"I suppose I will settle for an hour or two. And you can sleep the rest of the night without my bothering you."

Harry glanced at the clock. It was still early. He had assumed he would be getting little sleep and had made an early night of it just in case. "Deal. What do you want me to read?"

About to suggest that one more night would hardly matter, Harry sighed and gave in, fearing refusal would cause Malfoy to rescind on their bargain. "Fine. Where is it?"

"In my old room, in the dungeons. Greg and I shared it while we were here, but they took him away the day he killed me. McGonagall locked the room up and no one has been in there since."

Harry remembered the corridor. It was largely deserted now. Only the first room in the corridor was used to store potion ingredients. "All right. Let me get dressed."

Harry glanced at his trunk. The invisibility cloak was there. He hadn't used it in ages. He left the bed and tugged on a dressing gown for warmth, then tucked his feet into his slippers. A quick search of his trunk revealed the cloak and he slung it on, surprised at the feeling that accompanied it. The feel of it brought back memories of excitement and danger and he felt himself looking forward to the silly mission of retrieving Malfoy's book.

A few students and teachers were still out, but the school was beginning to grow quiet. The rustle of Harry's cloak and the pad of his feet sounded loud as he trotted down the steps after Malfoy, who floated along quickly.

The dungeons were reached without incident and Malfoy gestured impatiently at the door when they arrived. Harry pulled out his wand. "Wait, you said Minerva locked this? How do you know I can open it?"

Harry sighed and cast several Unlocking Charms that he had learned in Auror training. The third one brought an audible click to their ears. Harry pushed the latch and entered the dark room. He lifted his wand and cast a Lumos.

The room was clean, of course; no Hogwarts house-elf would allow dust a foothold, but the air seemed stale from disuse and Harry felt a strange sense that the place was almost a memorial to the boys that had once occupied the room.

Two beds filled most of the small space. One was angled against a corner, taking up more area than warranted, while the other filled a spot nearer the door. A false window on one wall showed a barren winter landscape, doing nothing to dispel the depressing chill of the room. Two trunks, two chairs, and a single desk were the only other furnishings.

Malfoy had hurried to the angled bed and hovered near the bedside table. His hand passed over a book that rested thereon. "Here it is. I've been dying to know if Mordecai killed Regina."

Harry shook off the pall of the room and walked over. He picked up the book with a grin. "It's fiction?"

"Of course it's fiction. You don't think I'd be worked up about something any teacher would know, do you?"

"I don't know. Sometimes you act pretty…" Harry coughed and resisted completing the sentence with the word crazy.

Harry obediently followed. He locked the door when they left, glad to leave the depressing room behind. It seemed more like a cell than a bedchamber and Harry doubted Malfoy and Goyle would have been given such accommodations if Professor Dumbledore had been alive. Dumbledore had always believed in second chances, but most people were not so forgiving. And Minerva was far more practical than fanciful.

Malfoy practically raced back to Harry's room, forcing Harry to jog a couple of times in order to keep up. The ghost did not make impatient gestures, but Harry thought it likely that he was only suppressing them with effort. His excitement was almost… cute.

Once back in his room, it did not take long for Harry to return to the comfort of his bed and set a ball of light to hover over his shoulder. Malfoy sat cross-legged, floating only a bit, at the foot of the bed.

A green velvet ribbon marked the place in the book where Malfoy had left off reading and Harry opened the yellowing pages.

"I was at the part where Phillipe and Mordecai were in the forest," Malfoy said.

Harry's finger skimmed the page until he found it and then he began to read. "Phillipe turned on him and Mordecai drew back apace at the anguish and rage on Phillipe's face. 'You killed her, Mordecai. You killed my Regina! I know it.' Mordecai shook his head and held up a hand beseechingly, wrestling his own anger to keep from lashing out. Always, Phillipe misunderstood him, and now it was worse than ever between them."

Malfoy nodded, hands gripping his knees as he leaned forward. "She deserved it," Malfoy muttered. "Wretched bint."

"'I don't know why I argue with you, Phillipe. Never will you see my side, and thanks to that vixen I have been cast in a bad light and our friendship has been torn asunder. I will not say I am sorry to see her gone, but I did not kill her, damn you. Once, you would have known better than to accuse me. Once, you knew me better than anyone.'"

"I knew it," Malfoy said and then moved closer, crossing the bed to recline next to Harry, who pulled the blankets more tightly around himself to combat the chill of Malfoy's ghostly presence. "Keep going."

Harry tilted the book so that Malfoy could easier see the pages. "Do you want me to hold it while you read?"

"No. I like it when you read. You have a nice voice." There was a moment of shocked silence and Harry looked at him in bemusement. Malfoy added, "For a git."

Harry snorted and shook his head. He shifted the book back, located his place and kept reading. "Phillipe's eyes burned. 'You always spoke loudest against our love, Mordecai. How could I not suspect you? Your jealousy drove the wedge between us. I know you wanted her—' Mordecai laughed at that, harshly and without mirth. 'You are stupid, Phillipe, though it pains me to say it. Yes, I was jealous, but not of her, you blind fool.'"

Malfoy made a loud exclamation and Harry jumped. "I can't believe it! I suspected, but I wasn't completely certain. It was hard to tell, earlier, whether Mordecai's feelings for Phillipe were more than friendship."

Harry was shocked, but let none of his surprise show as he kept reading. "'What are you saying, Cai?' Mordecai glared, knowing it was a mistake to press on, but he had already lost Phillipe once to a foolish, scheming woman. Their friendship, and more, had been destroyed and Mordecai had nothing left to lose. He would reveal all and then leave England for Italy, hoping to forget the terrible events of the summer. Wait, he's in love with Phillipe?"

"Naturally, Potter. Don't be dense. Wait, I forgot who I was talking to for a moment."

Harry jabbed him with an elbow, which felt like he had submerged it in ice water. He drew back quickly. "Very funny. I just didn't expect it in… where did you get this book?"

Phillipe, as it turned out, was almost as shocked as Harry, but when Mordecai tried to leave after his announcement, Phillipe wasted little time chasing him through the forest and tackling him to the ground, an event that caused Malfoy to crow in delight and make a fluttering motion with his hands.

"Mordecai fought to free himself, but Phillipe pinned him to the forest floor, using his greater muscular strength to his advantage. 'Stop, Cai, what are you saying? I must know the truth.' Mordecai's frustration was near to boiling. He had already confessed; why did Phillipe find it necessary to humiliate him further? 'I already said it. I love you, damn my soul to hell. I did not kill Regina! Even though I detested her, she made you happy and I would sacrifice anything, even my own desires, to see you happy. She and her father had enemies, you know that.'" Harry frowned, suddenly wanting to read the beginning of the story to determine who had killed the mysterious Regina.

Harry sighed. "Fine." He kept reading as Phillipe expressed disbelief and forced Mordecai to admit that he loved him in more than a brotherly fashion. Phillipe at last released him and said that he had much to think about. Mordecai fled.

"Oh no, he's going to get on the ship and go to Italy. I know it," Malfoy lamented.

"I don't know! His bloody fiancé was killed and he just discovered his best friend is in love with him. What would you do?"

"Oh never mind. Your best friend is a Weasley and they are all heterosexual, thanks be to Merlin, except possibly the dragon-tamer. I've often wondered about him."

"That's the one. For a ginger, he's decently fit. For a Weasley, he's stunning."

Malfoy shoved a cold arm through his side. "I'm dead, Potter, so it really doesn't make any difference, does it?"

"It wouldn't matter even if you were alive, I just thought, since you were with Pansy Parkinson and all..."

"I know that!" There was a brief silence as they watched each other. Harry reflected that Malfoy's eyes hadn't changed colour all that much and his hair was a more silvery shade of pale. Only the colourlessness of his skin was different, and the hue of his robes, which were not quite student robes and not quite professor robes, but had probably been something in-between. He wore a tie, no doubt defiantly Slytherin to the end, although now it was merely two shades of gray. "So. Um. Boys and girls in school, then?"

"Well, that leaves out Zacharias Smith, as well." Malfoy's horrified look made Harry laugh. "Okay, right, um... Blaise Zabini?"

"I take that as a yes, then," Harry said and felt a curious lurch at the thought of Malfoy attempting something with Zabini and being rebuffed.

"Not enough to bother," Malfoy said. "He ploughed through the ranks of girls willingly enough, although I often wondered if he did so only to deny a secret yearning for blokes."

Harry grinned. He could well imagine a similar response if he had ever chosen to accost one of the Gryffindor boys. To his recollection, there had only been one homosexual couple at Hogwarts, a pair of quiet boys that had been inseparable since their first day at Hogwarts, even though one was Ravenclaw and the other Hufflepuff. No one had been surprised when their friendship had grown into something deeper.

"Enough speculation about my former love life. I am more concerned with Mordecai and Phillipe."

"Fine," Harry said and turned back to the page he had left off. His mind wandered, however, and instead of seeking his place and he said, "Oliver Wood."

"Everyone fancied Wood. The bastard was gorgeous, for all the good it did him. He was so in love with Quidditch he never paid attention to any of his hangers-on. Crushed the hopes of half of Hogwarts."

Sensing that Malfoy would refuse to disclose his crush, Harry gave up and continued to read. The hour grew late as Mordecai fled to Italy and lamented his loss of Phillipe by opening a fencing school under an assumed name.

Harry's voice grew rough from talking and he tried to flip to the back of the book. "This is annoying. Does he ever see Phillipe again?"

Malfoy snickered. "Merlin, are you one of those idiots that demand a happy ending?"

"Your soul has no poetry, Potter. Where would the world be without Jemina and Reginald?"

Harry vaguely recalled the pair to be a wizarding version of Romeo and Juliet. The story had led Hermione to speculate that the wizarding author had stolen the story from William Shakespeare… or vice versa. "Happier?" Harry suggested.

"An unrefined heathen who likes happy endings, so let's see how this one ends." He began to flip through the pages.

Malfoy growled and turned away. "Fine! But don't tell me. And you have to keep reading, even if they both die."

"They'd better not die!" Harry cried. He skipped to the end and discovered, to his relief, that Phillipe located Mordecai and there was, indeed, a happy ending. Feeling smug, he continued reading, even though Malfoy grumpily complained about being spoiled simply by Harry's pleased attitude.

Later that night, Harry put out the light and settled into his bed, reflecting that the evening had been rather pleasant, and his ghost-free sleep was even better.

Harry pulled a face and made a sound of disgust. "I shouldn't even be reading this."

Harry frowned and turned the page. The book was full of Dark Magic and horrible ideas, everything from creating an Inferius to trying to drag a soul back through the veil in order to communicate. Every word made Harry's skin crawl. "I dunno, trying to discover why you're still a prat even though you're dead."

"If you think to find the answer in there, you're dimmer than I thought," Malfoy said. "Page."

Harry absently reached over and turned the page of the book Malfoy was reading. They were both on Harry's bed, Harry propped against the pillows and Malfoy reclining on his stomach next to Harry. A book was braced against the other pillows and Harry would occasionally turn the page for him while reading from the book open on his own lap.

It had been two weeks since Harry had first read to Malfoy and they had fallen into a strange routine. Malfoy was always in Harry's room when Harry awoke and he would hang around while Harry shaved and dressed, mostly staying out of the shower unless Myrtle showed up, after which Malfoy would gleefully chase her away and then make snide comments regarding Harry's genitals off and on throughout the day.

Malfoy would disappear while Harry ate breakfast and then again during Harry's classes. After Nearly Headless Nick had made several suggestions regarding Harry's teaching methods, Harry had banished him politely but firmly. Even then Malfoy did not return to plague Harry's classes.

Harry would read essays and prepare lesson plans while Malfoy talked about random things, utilizing topics that ranged from Quidditch supplies to Ministry politics. When Harry finished, he would go have dinner in the Great Hall and then retire to his room to read aloud to Malfoy.

After their first argument over reading material—honestly, Malfoy preferred the most inane fiction—Harry came up with the idea of turning pages for him. It was brilliant and worked wonderfully, except that Malfoy read really fast and the command "Page!" was uttered far too frequently for Harry's comfort. When he got too annoyed with it, he simply picked up Malfoy's book and continued on, reading it out loud. Malfoy never complained, which Harry found slightly strange. He wondered if Malfoy really did like the sound of his voice.

"What is disturbing enough to result in that particular expression?" Malfoy asked.

"There is a recipe in here for a potion made with goats' blood. For ghosts to drink."

"That's ridiculous! We can't drink anything. Not water, not butterbeer, not wine, not potions. I certainly doubt it would be possible to drink goat's blood. Who wrote that book?"

Harry flipped it closed to look at the cover. The name looked Latinized and was largely unpronounceable.

"Have you ever tried to drink blood?" Harry asked, turning back to the page he'd been skimming.

Despite his disgust, Harry continued reading, reaching over every now and again to flip another page for his non-corporeal companion. The silence was comfortable enough now that Harry had (almost) stopped wondering at the oddity of it.

Harry gasped aloud when a gleaming Patronus appeared next to the bed. "Harry, come quick," said the silvery otter. "St Mungos—it's Ron."

Ice gripped Harry as the Patronus dissipated into mist. His book went flying as he left the bed, shucking his pyjamas as he went. He stepped into his jeans as fast as he could ever remember. The comfortable old t-shirt he slept in would do, and he stepped, sockless, into his slippers.

"I'll…" Harry stopped, not certain what to say. He would be back, of course, but he had no idea when. "Can you tell Minerva where I've gone?"

St Mungos was a madhouse. An abundance of blue and gold suggested some sort of themed accident, but the tired-looking Welcome Witch only said, "Puddlemere United tryouts today. Between Quidditch injuries, fan brawls, and drunken idiocy, we've got our hands full. How can I help you, dearie?"

Harry hurried to the lift and made his way to the designated room to find Hermione standing in the hallway twisting her wand in a way Harry hadn't seen since his Hogwarts days.

She bit her lip and shook her head. "They don't know. He collapsed during a routine training exercise. He's been so tired lately. I don't think he's eating properly and…" Her scolding words broke off and Harry recognized them as camouflage for worry.

"They won't let us see him. It hasn't that been long, I suppose." She twisted her wand and Harry leaned close and put an arm around her shoulders. She sighed heavily. "He'll be fine," she whispered.

"Where are the others?" Harry asked, curious that the place wasn't overrun with Weasleys, particularly Molly and Arthur, but also George and Bill. Ginny was still in Argentina.

"Romania," Hermione replied. "Visiting Charlie. I'm waiting to contact them until we know more. There is no sense having them come back if it's something silly, is there?" Her hand clutched at his and she squeezed. He mentally seconded her hope that it was something trivial. "Bill should be here soon."

As if called by her words, footsteps sounded in the corridor and Harry looked up to see Bill Weasley approaching. Hermione abandoned Harry to hug him and then quickly filled him in, seeming grateful for the chance to do something other than silently wait.

By the time she finished, the door swung open and expelled two Healers in lime-green robes. "I'm his brother," Bill said authoritatively. "What's wrong with him?"

"We're still running tests, Mr Weasley. The diagnosis is inconclusive at the moment, although it is obvious that he is suffering from exhaustion and dehydration."

"I knew it," Hermione muttered. "Didn't I tell him to rest more and drink more water? Ale is not the same thing."

One Healer started down the corridor and the other nodded. "I see no reason why not. We will keep him overnight for observation, but you may all go in. Please stay no more than fifteen minutes. He is very tired and needs to rest."

The others nodded agreement and then Hermione pushed quickly into the room. Harry and Bill followed.

Ron lay back against the pillows, eyes closed. He looked paler than Harry had ever seen and his freckles stood out like dots of blood on his skin. His eyes snapped open when the door closed and a wan smile twisted his lips.

Hermione threw herself forward and hugged him. "You complete idiot!" she said.

Ron chuckled. "You need to work on that bedside manner, Hermione. I'm a very sick man, you know. I need coddling."

"You need a thump on the head!" she said hotly. "You've not been sleeping or eating properly, or getting enough liquid and—well, just look at you!"

Harry smiled, relieved, but he had to admit that Ron looked terrible. His eyes seemed embedded in dark pools that left him looking wide-eyed and somewhat skeletal, an image not helped by the fact that he seemed far thinner than normal.

"When your best friend ends up in hospital, it's a bit of bad form not to show up, don't you think?" Harry asked.

"Merlin, please don't," Ron said with a groan. "Honestly, I'm sorry to have worried everyone. I just let myself get worn down from training. I'll be more careful."

"It'd better not be. We'll see what the Healers say tomorrow when they decide whether or not to release you."

"They'll release me. I'm fine. And this will get me a couple of days away from training, so I'll be able to rest instead of running. Bloody Thompson hates me and thinks running is the greatest training tool ever made. Sodding sadist."

"I have class in the morning," Harry said with a frown. "You two will call if anything is awry, yeah?"

"All right, then. I'll come see you tomorrow when I'm done with my classes. Get some rest."

"We're leaving," Hermione assured her. "Goodnight, Ron." She gave him a quick kiss and pushed away from the bed. Bill walked over and took his brother's hand in a hard squeeze.

"Yeah, not much chance of that," Ron said and grinned. Harry lifted a hand and waved and Ron raised his own hand in return. It seemed to Harry the movement was sluggish and took far too much effort. He hoped Ron was able to rest. From his experience, sleeping was next to impossible at the hospital, since they seemed to enjoy prodding and poking at the patients every few hours.

When Harry turned back to look before the door closed, Ron's eyes were already closed. Harry hoped to hell the diagnosis was accurate. After making worried small-talk with the others and promising to meet again the next day, Harry found a Floo and went back to Hogwarts.

He stopped off at McGonagall's quarters—it seemed strange that he had never had occasion in all his years at the school to even locate the Headmaster's personal chambers. It took a bit of questioning of house-elves for him to find it and finally one offered to personally escort him. When he stood before the portal and lifted his hand to knock, the door swung open to reveal Minerva, still fully dressed, thankfully, even though it was quite late.

Harry nodded, relieved that Malfoy had done as he'd asked. He explained the situation with Ron and assured her he would teach the next day, and then he returned to his own quarters, suddenly feeling very tired. The adrenal rush of panic had dissipated, leaving him drained.

Malfoy was lurking near the window in his room and Harry watched as emotions flickered across his face. He was getting better at reading Malfoy now, he thought. Strange how two weeks of peace could change his perspective. Malfoy almost looked relieved for an instant, and then his features schooled into its usual haughty lines and Harry waited to see if something caustic was forthcoming. Finally, he settled on, "How is Weasley?"

"Fine, as far as the Healers can tell. Just exhausted. He's been in Auror training."

Harry frowned at the words as he kicked off his slippers and removed his jeans. He watched Malfoy as he did so and noticed something he'd only begun noticing since the romance novel incident. Malfoy liked watching him undress.

As expected, the rustle of cloth drew Malfoy's attention and the ghost swung around and drifted closer to the bed. Harry let his jeans slide to his feet before stepping out of them and then bending down to hook a finger in his pyjama pants. For the first time he felt a rush of something that was not discomfort at Malfoy's open interest. Malfoy's eyes lingered on Harry's thighs and moved to his crotch. Malfoy had seen his bits before, of course, even though his forays into Harry's shower were infrequent. For some reason, those incidences always seemed borderline slapstick, but this…

Harry swallowed hard and tugged on the soft pyjama bottoms, slightly mortified that his cock was beginning to take an interest in the path of his thoughts. He realized it had been weeks since he'd wanked, thanks to Malfoy's eternal presence. Obviously it was beginning to take a toll.

"What do you mean by 'lucky Weasley?" Harry asked and pulled back the blankets to hide inside the bed. "Lucky that he's fine or lucky that he's in Auror training?"

"Really?" Harry shifted, glad that he was fully concealed beneath the blankets, because his libido refused to go quietly. Malfoy moved to the bed and mimicked crawling onto it. For a moment Harry cursed Malfoy's need to act like a human instead of a ghost. The languid, careful movement made Harry's cock snap to attention as he noticed, not for the first time, that Malfoy had been a beautiful man. Harry lifted one knee to hide his arousal. Bloody hell, he needed to get laid.

"I thought about becoming an Auror," Malfoy said. The words jolted Harry into not thinking about his condition.

Harry shook his head. "It isn't that! I'm just surprised you would want to. Um… why did you want to?"

Malfoy rolled over and crossed his arms behind his head, gaze fixed as if studying the ceiling. "Why did you want to?" he countered.

"Well, for me it was expected, wasn't it? The Boy Who Lived defeats Voldemort and goes on to fight evil and champion justice. That sort of thing." Harry thought the bitterness in his voice was only barely detectable. "Your turn."

"Maybe I just wanted to be you." Malfoy's words were quiet. Harry couldn't help but stare at him in horror until Malfoy turned his head to fix a dark stare on him.

"Because you had the Dark Lord after you? I lived with him, Potter. He was in my house. Don't you think he was more of a threat to me than he ever was to you? At least you found an eventual means to defeat him. I was simply lucky."

"Not just because of that," Harry said. "My entire life, well it wasn't the picnic you seem to think it was, evil wizard aside." Harry was grateful for the gravity of the conversation. His erection began to recede and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Fine." Harry waited, but if he expected Malfoy to divulge his answer first, he was quickly disabused of the notion when Malfoy said nothing.

Harry shook his head ruefully and took off his glasses before settling more comfortably into his pillows. He should sleep, but Malfoy's curious expression made him want to share something of himself, if only to encourage Malfoy to change a few misconceptions. He had to admit that having a friendly Malfoy dogging his footsteps was far nicer than having an irritated git reading potion ingredients all night long.

With that in mind, Harry began to talk about his life with the Dursleys, admitting to things he had not even confided to Ron and Hermione. Something about Malfoy's riveted attention kept him talking until his voice grew scratchy and his eyelids drooped. Somewhere along the way, Harry dropped off to sleep without ever hearing why Malfoy wanted to be an Auror.

Ron was released from St Mungo's with orders to take Dreamless Sleep for two days and drink as much liquid as possible. He was encamped on Hermione's sofa when Harry dropped in. She waited expectantly while Ron drained a glass of butterbeer, and then she took the mug and went to refill it.

"Only that I'm turning into a liquid-filled balloon," Ron replied with a groan and patted his stomach lightly. He felt like he might burst at any moment.

Harry grinned. "I'm just glad you're out of the hospital, mate. Try to take better care of yourself."

"You know it. I don't want to go back there any time soon. Some of those medi-witches could have been Death Eaters. They seem to enjoy the poking and prodding a bit too much, if you know what I mean." Ron frowned when he remembered one old harridan. He rubbed a spot on his ribs he was sure was bruised from her diagnostic wand-jab.

Harry nodded, looking sympathetic. He had been in the hospital far more than Ron.

Ron's eyes narrowed, wondering at Harry's strange expression. "You were complaining bitterly about him a couple of weeks ago and then nothing. Did you find a way to hex him?"

Ron's brows went up in surprise. "An agreement? With Malfoy? What sort of agreement?"

Harry shrugged, obviously reluctant to discuss Malfoy. "He's not so bad as a ghost," he admitted.

Ron snorted. "Yeah, I imagine a dead Malfoy would be much better company than a living one."

Harry looked away, without a smile, nod of agreement, or anything resembling his normal behaviour. Something had changed, and Ron wasn't certain it was for the better. If Harry felt sympathetic towards Malfoy, it would require drastic alteration of Ron's world-view.

"Dreamless Sleep, then?" Harry asked, obviously changing the subject and pointing at the two vials lying atop the tea table.

Ron yawned and allowed the topic to drop, but he fully intended to keep his eyes open. "Yeah, I need to take one soon. No less than ten hours sleep a night, they said. I feel like an old man."

"You'll get to be an old man if you do what they say and stop acting invincible," Hermione said as she returned from the kitchen and thrust a full mug of water into his hands. "Now, drink."

Ron moaned. "I can't, Hermione. There's no room left in my stomach. Look at this." He raked his shirt up over his abdomen, hoping to distract her with his manly physique.

Hermione scowled. "Nice try, but you're drinking this anyway. And then you're taking your potion."

Ron opened his mouth to make a reference to nagging, but the sight of Hermione's face, obviously worried beneath the façade of badgering, had him closing his mouth and taking the mug.

Harry grinned and headed for the Floo. "G'night, Ron," he said. "Glad you're okay, you big git. 'Night, Hermione."

Ron flipped him an obscene gesture and Harry laughed as he stepped into the fireplace. Ron drank his water and pondered. Something was up with Harry and Ron intended to find out what it was.

Harry was thoughtful when he entered his room at Hogwarts. He had been curiously reluctant to discuss Malfoy with Ron. The time Harry spent with Malfoy had become something private and almost, though he hated to admit it, intimate. Harry now looked forward to reaching his chambers each night. Odd, considering he'd never really cared for reading all that much. Until now.

Ron's joke about a dead Malfoy being better than a living one had almost made him angry. Harry felt a flare of guilt that he would have gladly expressed the same sentiment merely a month ago. Now the name "Malfoy" conjured images of Draco sprawled casually on Harry's bed with his feet in the air and his stare fixed on a book as Harry languidly turned the pages. Either that or he thought of Narcissa Malfoy, sobbing heartbrokenly for her lost son. Neither was conducive to derision.

Harry sighed and suddenly realized his room was curiously ghost-free. He wondered where Malfoy had got to. As Harry stripped off his clothes and yawned, he realized it might be for the best. After the previous night, he was exhausted. Even so, a shower would not be remiss. Eva Cook had miscast a spell that had covered half the class in ink. Harry had erased it as best he could with Cleaning Charms, but he could still feel bits of it in his hair and clinging to random places on his skin.

The water automatically adjusted to his preferences—once again he spared a brief thought of love for the castle and for magic in general—and it felt wonderful sluicing down over his skin. He scrubbed his hair and then his skin, slowing his movements as he soaped his privates. It was a novelty taking a shower without wondering if Malfoy would barge in on him. Harry hadn't realized how rushed showers had become until now.

The thought of Malfoy made him remember how Malfoy normally looked sprawled out on Harry's bed. His casual elegance was beginning to have a serious affect on Harry's mental state. Harry's cock swelled immediately at the thought and Harry groaned. He supposed it wasn't just that Malfoy was attractive, but also that he had been somewhat nice lately. His sense of humour had been a surprising discovery, at least when it wasn't directed at Harry's misfortunes or delivered in tones of caustic criticism.

Harry smiled and then shook his head at the fact that he was actually grinning at the thought of Malfoy's condescending voice. Surely there was something wrong with him? He tipped his head back and let the water warm his hair as his hand gradually moved faster over his cock.

He thought about the way Malfoy watched him when he undressed and his blood quickened. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him that way. After his epiphany with Ginny, even knowing he wasn't ready for a relationship, he hadn't exactly rushed out to experiment. At the time he had been in Auror training and helping to rebuild Hogwarts, and just trying to pick up the pieces after the war. He had always been too busy and it had seemed too difficult an endeavour to put himself out there. The thought of people lining up to shag the "Saviour" had not been a pleasant prospect.

Harry's nose wrinkled and he shook off his negative thoughts to concentrate on the feel of his hand stroking his cock and the building sensation of impending climax. He thought about the way Malfoy's hair sometimes fell over his eyes, making Harry's fingers itch to push it back.

Thinking about how Malfoy would react to that and ignoring a twinge of sadness that it could never be, Harry gasped and came. He shuddered blissfully and gave his cock a few finishing strokes before turning to rinse.

"God," he muttered. "I'm attracted to a ghost." As he turned, his blurry vision caught sight of something—Malfoy leaned against the bathroom door, casually watching him with arms crossed and expression unreadable. Time seemed to freeze as their gazes locked and held, and then Malfoy melted through the door and was gone.

Harry rinsed with shaking fingers and then rested his hand against the side of the tub to keep from collapsing in a mortified heap. Fuck.

Harry delayed his exit from the bathroom as long as possible, but finally his hair was nearly dry from frantic brushing and he could put it off no longer. He wrenched open the door and stalked out.

"Ever hear of privacy?" Harry snapped as he wrenched the sheets back and slid into bed. He had thankfully taken his pyjamas into the bathroom with him, so at least he hadn't been forced to walk out in a towel and locate his clothing.

Harry made a sound of disgust and wrenched the blankets up to his chin. He glared at the ghost. "I knew you would be insufferable about this."

Malfoy left his post and glided closer. A tiny smile played about his lips and it was almost worse than his trademark smirk. "Of course, I am making assumptions. You could have been speaking of Moaning Myrtle or Mimsy de Porpington."

Harry's expression of pure horror made Malfoy laugh in delight, and damn it if he wasn't attractive as hell when he did that. It made something in Harry's chest tighten and he clenched his teeth with annoyance. "Fine. You can be somewhat attractive when you're not being an utter git like you are most of the time. It doesn't mean anything."

Malfoy climbed over him in a semi-crawling, semi-floating manner and stretched out on the bed in his usual place. "Potter, you were wanking while thinking about me."

Harry closed his eyes, refusing to see Malfoy's face. "You're going to be irritatingly smug about this, aren't you?"

Harry turned to look at him then, but instead of a self-satisfied smirk, Harry saw nothing but a soul-searing sadness. The breath seized up in Harry's chest and his heart thudded with sudden, wrenching pity. Oh god.

Harry nodded, suddenly needing to touch him, if only for comfort. Funny how he had always taken such small gestures for granted. Too bad Malfoy was a ghost. Too bad Harry had never known him well enough in life to find him attractive. Too bad it was too late. "I'm sorry."

A sad smile curved Malfoy's lips and he reached out to place an icy hand against Harry's cheek. "I never did have very good luck."

Harry forced a smile and then shifted down in the bed until his head rested more comfortably on the pillow. He shut his eyes, feeling an unwilling prick of wetness there that accompanied a strange tightness in his throat and made it difficult to speak. "Goodnight, Malfoy." He cast a wordless Nox and the room went dark.

Just before he fell asleep, Harry thought he felt something cold brush against his forehead. Something that might have been the light touch of a ghost's lips.

The room was empty when Harry woke up. He swung his feet to the floor and reached for his glasses, feeling a small headache reminiscent of the one he got when he drank too much wine. He wondered if it would be bad form to cancel his classes due to illness and then sighed and pushed himself to his feet.

In the cold light of morning his revelation to Malfoy didn't seem quite as earth-shattering. Really, all he had done was admit he found Malfoy attractive. It was actually absurd. Malfoy was probably off laughing with the other ghosts about Harry's foolishness.

He stared into the open door of his wardrobe, seeing nothing. His hand trailed over the sleeve of his robe and moved upward to trace the edge of the Hogwarts crest. He sometimes missed his Gryffindor badge, but the Hogwarts seal made him feel very official and grown up.

"Are you going to fondle that all day or put it on?" a familiar voice asked behind him.

Harry felt a rush that was anything but annoyance and he glanced over his shoulder as he pulled the robe from the wardrobe and shrugged into it.

"Good choice. You're better at fondling other things," Malfoy said and the leer was obvious in his voice.

Harry swung around and gladly grasped at the familiar comfort of irritation. "Look, Malfoy—"

Malfoy waved a hand at him airily. "Never mind, Potter. Don't be embarrassed because you lust after me. It's only natural. I am incredibly attractive, after all. Pity you never noticed while I was alive, but c'est la vie and all that. You aren't planning to go anywhere tonight, are you?"

Harry shook his head, trying to process Malfoy's words and keep up with his thought processes. "Tonight? What? No…"

"Good, because I was in the middle of a paragraph last night when you jaunted off to save Weasley. It's exasperating."

Harry couldn't quite repress a smile. "You only want me for my page-turning abilities, I see."

Harry raised a hand to touch his unruly locks, then sneered absently at Malfoy and went to the bathroom where a comb, wand, and judicious application of water helped tame his hair into a semblance of professionalism. Malfoy had vanished again by the time Harry left the bathroom and went to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Considering the enormity of his revelation, Harry figured he had got off quite lightly where Malfoy was concerned. The ghost never taunted him with it beyond an occasional sardonic remark or suggestive leer, and he didn't seem to have spread it around the school or even admitted it to his fellow ghosts. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he accepted it as their own little secret.

Their time together, however, gradually became more strained. Harry's eyes strayed to Malfoy frequently during their reading sessions and Malfoy watched him openly whenever possible, even though he had never again spied on Harry in the shower.

Harry tried to ignore it all. He taught his classes, met infrequently with Ron and Hermione, and read books with Malfoy. Ron graduated from Auror training and became a full Auror. Harry drank too much at Ron's celebratory party and Malfoy laughed at him mercilessly the next day, and then took him to the Potions Lab and taught him how to brew a proper Hangover Potion.

One night in October when a cold snap had overtaken most of Britain, Harry lay huddled beneath an extra layer of blankets with a book on his lap, only reaching a hand out occasionally to turn the pages of either his book or Malfoy's.

"Why do you keep reading those, Potter?" Malfoy asked. "Still trying to send me on to another plane of existence?"

Harry gnawed his lip before replying. "No, I just… Yes. If you must know, yes, I am trying to send you on."

Harry flushed at the understatement. "I do like you. Most of the time. It's just…" Harry struggled for words, wishing he were more eloquent. "Well, you deserve better than this half-life."

"What if there is nothing on the other side, Potter? Wouldn't a half-life be better than nothing at all?"

"You don't know that," Harry whispered, thinking of Sirius. He couldn't bear it if there were nothing beyond the veil. He had seen his parents return, if only for moments. If those visions had been nothing more than hallucinations, Harry did not want to know.

"I've learned that people who write Dark Arts books are mental. But I have to admit they've given me plenty of ideas for Defence Against Dark Arts. The Seventh-years were impressed when I taught them how to repel ghasts. Well, in theory, because obviously we had no actual ghasts."

"When you start bringing dangerous creatures into the school, Potter, I will start to worry about you."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I can't believe he thought a nundu cub would make a good pet."

"The more dangerous they are, the cuter he seems to find them. I would think you would admire that."

Malfoy shrugged. "He talks to me sometimes, despite everything. He never seems to bear a grudge. Odd quality in a man."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, impressed that even though Malfoy's body had died at nineteen, his ability to mature had continued. Harry gnawed his lower lip and studied Malfoy.

"Out with it," Malfoy said. "Before you hurt yourself trying to think. I don't want you to rupture your synapses."

"Very funny. I was wondering… Isn't it odd that you can still think and feel and learn? I would have expected a ghost to be more frozen in time, like a shadow of who you once were, but…"

Malfoy bobbed his head in agreement. "It is strange. I feel almost like myself, except that the physical part has been removed." Malfoy grimaced. "The emotions are still here, though. It's almost as if everything that made me who I am is here, except the container. And even my shape is only a memory. I can change it if I try." Malfoy lifted a hand and stared at it. Slowly, it grew larger and puffier, turning into a meaty hand that would have been more in place on a burly soldier. Then it shrank and turned into long, elegant fingers again. "They say there was a ghost here once who simply gave up and dissipated. She no longer had the will to continue her… what did you call it? Half-life?" Malfoy paused and Harry nodded, fascinated despite the morbidity of the conversation. "I don't think she went on to that great realm beyond the veil that you are expecting. I think she just ceased to exist."

Harry pushed his hand from the warm blankets and turned the page of Malfoy's book. This time it was a pirate story that seemed to have little plot, but plenty of swordfighting and snogging. Harry had ordered it especially for the prat. "How are the lusty pirates this evening?"

"Not lusty enough. This author is obviously fascinated with ships. She spent an entire chapter describing the bloody boat. Get on with the fucking, I say."

Harry flushed and tried to concentrate on his own book, which was a dry tome by some demented scholar who had spent decades roaming fen and seeking out hinkypunks in some attempt to connect them to ghostly phenomenon. Harry thought it was all bollocks and would have abandoned the book for another if it weren't so bloody cold in the room. Removing his hand long enough to grab his wand and cast an Accio seemed not worth the effort.

Harry removed his teeth from the lip he'd been worrying. "I was just, um…" He blushed, knowing he probably shouldn't bring it up, since it would only make his problem harder to deal with.

"Yes. As I said, I can still feel emotions, including that one. And since this… body, for lack of a better term, is something like a memory of my old form, it responds the same."

"Want me to show you?" Malfoy's voice was silken and Harry felt his insides twist into something that was far from unpleasant. His eyes snapped up to lock with Malfoy's.

Malfoy's nose wrinkled. "Well, there are limits. If I remove an item of clothing completely, well what do you think happens to it?"

Harry was baffled. In truth, he had never considered it. He thought of the other ghosts and knew their clothing never changed – they seemed stuck in whatever outfit they had been wearing when they died. "I don't know, um…"

"I tried it once. I am heartily sick of this robe." Malfoy's hands moved to the buttons of the not-quite-student robe he wore. Harry watched, fascinated, as the long fingers pushed each small button through its hole. "I took the thing off and stomped it."

"It reappeared as though I had never removed it. Like a curse. I suppose it's for the best, though. I imagine Myrtle is pretty tired of her school robes and would most likely spend all of her time naked in the Prefects' Bath if given the option." Malfoy laughed at Harry's mortified expression. "Yes, that would be my reaction, as well."

"Indeed," Malfoy said as the robe fell open to reveal Malfoy's pale shirt beneath. Harry wondered if it had been white in life, or some shade of grey or silver. He didn't bother to ask, possibly unable to speak at all as Malfoy's hands moved to the buttons of the shirt and began to unfasten those as well.

As more and more of Malfoy's torso became revealed, Harry's pulse began to race. "So as long as you don't…"

"As long as I don't completely remove the item, then, yes…" Malfoy's shirt opened to reveal two gorgeous nipples, a flat stomach, and a tantalizing trail of hair that looked almost white and had most likely been a beautiful blond colour in life. Harry itched to touch it and clenched a fist, knowing he would feel nothing but icy air. Malfoy's nipples were taut and his breathing seemed to echo Harry's—odd that ghosts could breathe, but Harry supposed that was nothing more than a memory as well. "More?" Malfoy asked.

Harry swallowed and nodded. It was madness to continue. Harry knew it and for a moment Hermione's disapproving face appeared in his mind, but it vanished when Malfoy's hands reached for his ornate belt buckle and tugged it open. The four flat buttons that held his trousers closed were next and Harry thought his heart might stop completely when Malfoy shoved them down to his thighs, exposing pants that were a slightly lighter hue than the trousers. A distinct bulge marked the centre and Harry's attention was riveted.

"This is the oddest thing I've ever done," Malfoy said with a breathless chuckle.

Harry dragged his eyes upward and lifted a brow in a mimicry of Malfoy's usual stare. "It's only fair, though. You've seen me unclothed plenty of times."

"I remember," Malfoy whispered and Harry's palms went dry at his expression, full of warm humour and something that made his half-hard cock fill completely.

Malfoy's fingers teased at the waistband of his pants and Harry threw back the blankets suddenly, ignoring the burst of cold air. He was warm enough now, anyway. The boring book thumped to the floor. "Wait," Harry said and quickly pushed down his pyjama bottoms to match Malfoy's.

"Three," they said together and Harry shoved his pants down, gaze fixed on Malfoy's crotch to see his hard cock spring forth. It was more perfect than Harry had imagined, straight and slender, with the tip peeping forth from the taut foreskin, begging to be suckled.

"Fuck," Harry murmured. "I want to…" He wanted to taste it, touch it, and feel it against him.

Harry glanced up to find Malfoy watching him with much the same rapt attention. He followed suit, taking himself in hand and pretending it was Malfoy's hand rather than his own. "This is completely mental," Harry whispered and began to stroke.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, not caring as he watched Draco's fist move up and down along his length, stroking faster and faster in a practiced rhythm that Harry copied. He knew it wouldn't take long. He had only wanked twice since Malfoy had caught him in the shower—both times in the privacy of Grimmauld Place. It had been a long time and he was far too turned on watching Malfoy… He wrenched at the hem of his shirt and dragged it upward to avoid splattering it. "So close…"

"Fuck, Potter." Malfoy's voice, husky and thick with desire, drove Harry over the edge. He arched and came, closing his eyes for only a moment before snapping them open to continue watching Malfoy. Three more strokes and Malfoy gasped and shivered. Pale spurts shot from the tip and gleamed against his abdomen, shining like silver jewels. Harry swallowed hard at the urge to lick them, an urge that was near agonizing with the awareness that he couldn't.

Malfoy's face curved into a languid smile and he sprawled on the bed and trailed his fingers through the silvery not-liquid. "You, too, but don't let it go to your head."

Harry's glance shifted guiltily toward the wardrobe and away. "Yeah, much better." He fumbled for his wand and spelled away the remains of his release, then watched as Malfoy's vanished.

"I can just think mine away," he explained. He pulled up his pants and trousers and set about restoring his clothing while Harry did the same and dragged the blankets back up to his chin.

Malfoy nodded and Harry closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh, killed the light with a thought, and drifted off to sleep.

Harry had a difficult time concentrating in class the next day and scrapped his planned lesson in favour of having the students work on already-learned spells plus a short essay on hinkypunks.

He watched them cast spells and made occasional suggestions while his mind tracked over and over his encounter with Malfoy. He supposed it was perverted, having sex with a ghost, even though it wasn't quite the truth. He'd only been wanking and watching a ghost do the same… He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, knowing the image of shimmering, silvery, mostly-naked Malfoy would never completely leave his mind.

"Are you all right, Professor Potter?" Marianne Johnson's expression seemed worried.

She beamed and chattered away about the upcoming Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game. Harry thought she looked very much like her cousin Angelina and she was just as adept at Quidditch, albeit she was a Beater rather than a Chaser. She was just as competent and serious, as well, and cast a corporeal Patronus mid-sentence. She gave Harry a smirk and added, "…and that is my happy thought. Kicking Hufflepuff arse!" She coughed. "I mean bum. Sorry, Professor."

Her gazelle galloped around the room and Harry shook his head, absently thinking that nebulous, silvery things had always played a prominent part in his life.

Later, he was glad he had agreed to help Neville transplant some winter seedlings from the greenhouse to the outdoor garden. The cold air was bracing and helped to clear his head, and transporting the seedlings took concentration—they sprayed a deadly gas if they were jostled, making them much too dangerous for students to move.

Harry was nearly finished when he spotted a nearly-intangible figure near the garden gate. The pot he Levitated shook for a moment and Neville gasped, but Harry frowned and focussed; the pot steadied. He lowered it carefully into the hole Neville had prepared and watched while his friend scooped the dirt around it with a gardening Charm.

"He's not bothering you, is he?" Neville's voice sounded severe and Harry remembered how he had looked slicing Voldemort's snake in two. Neville had definitely changed since their younger days.

Harry smiled and shook his head. "No. He was at first, but we get on all right now. Bye, Nev."

Harry walked to the gate and took in the sight of Malfoy, who looked even more unreal in the brighter light of outdoors.

Harry smiled at him and nodded. "I suppose. I seem to have acquired some residue." He held up his hands to show off sticky purple streaks left when he had stumbled into a patch of Shrieking Violets after slipping on a wet leaf. He was lucky it had happened before they had begun moving the dangerous foliage.

Harry started towards the castle with Malfoy walk-gliding beside him. Harry glanced at him sideways. "A bath? I do have access to the Staff Bath Chamber now. I'd forgotten."

Malfoy had been right in his assessment. It was a treat. The room was twice the size of the Prefects' Bath and had six separate pools of assorted temperatures. A gigantic fountain in the centre spouted water into each pool and bobbing underwater lights gave the entire place a peaceful, dim glow that was instantly relaxing. Even though it was still daytime outside, here the windows were spelled to resemble a night sky resplendent with stars.

"Why not?" Harry unbuttoned his robe and hung it on a Self-Cleaning rack that would steam and press his clothing while he bathed. He made a mental note to order one for his quarters and possibly send one to Hermione for Christmas.

"All of the teachers' quarters have their own baths and showers these days. There is not much need for a centralized bathing facility, and no one likes to walk through the castle dripping wet or clad only in a towel or dressing gown."

Harry nodded. He remembered Minerva telling him about the bath, but he had never thought to use it, since he had his own shower.

He bent down and touched the water inside the nearest pool before jerking his hand back with a hiss. "Damn! That's hot!"

Harry threw him a look and moved on to the next one, which was still too hot. The fourth pool seemed just right, so Harry removed the rest of his clothing, pausing with his thumbs in the waistband of his pants. He bit his lip.

Harry flushed, remembering, and then let them fall. He dared a glance at Malfoy, who was watching him with a half-smile as he waited by the side of the pool. Feeling only partially self-conscious, Harry stepped down into the water, hissing at the heat at first, but persevering until he stood waist-deep. He waded across the pool and sprawled on one of the underwater benches nearest the fountain. When he sat, the water reached just below his chin and a cushion appeared from the side of the pool, allowing him to rest his head in comfort.

"This is blissful," he said as he took off his glasses and set them on the edge. When he looked back, Malfoy was gone. A moment later, a silvery head rose from the water next to Harry.

"Feel better?" Malfoy asked, so close that Harry could have lifted his head and kissed him, had Malfoy been alive.

Malfoy nodded and looked wistful for only a moment. Even though he should have been wet, his hair looked the same as always, hanging over his forehead and making Harry want to brush it aside. Harry frowned.

"How does Myrtle make things move? The bathroom she haunts is always wet with water gushing out everywhere."

Malfoy moved to join Harry on the bench. Part of him brushed against Harry's elbow, creating an icy chill on his skin, but he didn't move away. "She can't. It's the castle. She's been morbidly haunting those pipes so long that they respond to her agitation by spewing out water whenever she has a tantrum."

Harry closed his eyes with a sigh. "That makes sense." He thought it must be a particular brand of hell, existing on a level where you can feel everything, but touch nothing. He rolled his head to the side and opened his eyes to look at Malfoy, trying not to let his pitying thoughts show. "Can ghosts fall in love with other ghosts?"

Malfoy snorted. His gaze was fixed on the centre of the pool where the water splashed down from above in a steady stream. "Yes. There is a pair that spends most of their time in the Hufflepuff common room, snogging. The girl threw herself from the Astronomy Tower in a fit of unrequited love back in the 20s and the boy died in a potion-making accident in 1939. I remember reading about it when I was a student. They met as ghosts and fell desperately in love." Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "The rest of us hate them a little, especially the Bloody Baron. That's why they don't leave the Hufflepuff dungeon very often."

Malfoy nodded and shifted his attention back to Harry. "Yes, ghosts can touch other ghosts. It doesn't feel quite like it did in reality, but it's close enough. There are a few ghostly relationships here that the living don't know about."

Harry nearly wrinkled his nose at the thought of ghost sex, but then he realized that was a very hypocritical thought, considering.

Harry snorted a laugh and Malfoy's answering smile proved that he was thankfully not offended. "No. I like you, but I'm not really the type to off myself."

"Plus you have hoards of friends and family on the other side happily waiting for you."

"It's not all bad… anymore," Malfoy said and then sank beneath the water. A moment later, Harry felt coldness against his knees and he instinctively opened them to avoid the chill. He looked down into the water and saw Malfoy between his legs, looking up at him with an intense stare. Harry's cock reacted, even though he knew Malfoy could never give him a blow job, the idea of it alone was extremely erotic. And Malfoy got off on watching him.

Harry reached down and gripped his hardening prick, nudging it outward until it pointed at Malfoy in invitation. The water was hot enough that he was beginning to sweat and the icy coldness of Malfoy's mouth surrounding his cock felt incredibly good.

Harry closed his eyes and fisted himself. Each downward stroke was accompanied by a rush of cold and the knowledge that Malfoy was watching him, almost tasting him, giving him as close to fellatio as he could. Ghostly fingers touched Harry's testicles and grazed his arsehole and then Harry was coming hard in the water. He imagined Malfoy taking it all, swallowing it, and looking up at him with that amazing, intense stare… Harry opened his eyes and the gaze was there, piercing and hot as Malfoy pulled at himself and came in a ghostly stream that quickly dissipated into nothingness.

Malfoy rose and his head broke the surface of the water. He leaned forward and tilted his head. Coldness enveloped Harry's lips and he closed his eyes, drinking in the not-quite kiss, and then Malfoy pulled away and returned to his perch next to Harry. A smile played about his lips and Harry returned it, bemused.

Malfoy crossed his arms behind his head and shut his eyes as if drinking in the warmth. "I have my talents."

Harry could not meet his eyes and he was suddenly very glad that Hermione had gone to check on the chicken she was baking. Harry thought he might be able to stave off Ron's questions, but Ron and Hermione together would have him spilling his secrets in no time.

"Me? You're the one who looks like you've gone a round with a dementor. I thought training was supposed to be the hard part. They working you to death?"

Ron flushed and glanced towards the kitchen, obviously just as glad that Hermione was out of earshot. Then he glared at Harry. "Stop that! You know how she's been since the St Mungo's thing."

Harry shrugged and felt only a hint of guilt at having diverted Ron's attention. It had been over a week since the incident with Malfoy in the Staff Bathroom and the memory of it still made Harry's heart quicken. Additionally, they had taken to mutual wanking whenever possible. Eleven times in the past eight days, Harry added helpfully to himself. Not that he was counting, or anything.

It was getting so Harry could hardly eat his evening meal fast enough to get to his quarters and greet the half-naked ghost, who seemed to spend most of his time lounging on Harry's bed in a state of arousal. Harry dragged his thoughts away from Malfoy's cold fingers and cold mouth and focussed on Ron before his mental state caused a visible physical reaction.

Ron grinned lazily and then smirked at Harry, who rolled his eyes. He studied Ron once more, noting how thin he'd grown. Harry hadn't noticed at first, since the thick jumper Ron wore concealed quite a lot, but his wrist bones were showing and the hollows in his face seemed deeper and more pronounced.

"Have you been back to the hospital?" Harry asked in a low tone. "Weren't they running tests?"

"Yes, I've been back. They say it was some sort of virus contributing to my exhaustion and things. Takes time to get back in shape, is all. Doesn't help I'm chasing perpetrators all over the countryside half the time. Why do they always run?"

"I hate tying ties," Harry said, peering into the mirror while he looped one end of the fabric over the other and pulled it beneath. It was Gryffindor red, but printed with tiny golden Snitches instead of the usual gold stripes. As a professor, wearing blatant House colours was frowned upon unless they were Head of House, but all of the professors made certain their loyalties were spoken for.

"That is because you are doing it wrong," Malfoy said casually from his usual sprawl on the bed. He was reading, an activity he could do quite well on his own now that Harry had set up a Page-Turning Charm for him. They only used the spell when Harry planned to be gone. When he was in the room, Malfoy preferred to have Harry do it for him. Harry did not ask why, nor did he bother to mention that he preferred it, also. He supposed it felt nice to be needed.

"Exactly. You've been using the same bloody knot for years. You don't always need a Full Windsor, you know. That tie is far more suited to the Liam Knot."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but left the bed to stand behind Harry, looking over his shoulder to meet his eyes in the wardrobe mirror. "The Liam Knot. Now, flip your tie over so the reverse side faces outwards."

Harry frowned, but did as Malfoy asked, and then followed his spoken commands through the steps to tie the knot, which was far easier than the Windsor, and looked just as good. Malfoy, of course, frowned at him.

"Very sloppy. You need to keep the knot tighter as you tie it and keep your fingers straight to create a sort of shelf to pull the tie across."

Several times Malfoy had reached over to guide Harry's hands through the motions only to snatch them back, apparently realizing that he could not properly show him using his hands. The thought made Harry slightly depressed.

He shook it off and looked into the mirror in satisfaction. "Brilliant. Thank you. The tie is perfect."

"Where are you going, again?" Malfoy asked. His presence was cold against Harry's back.

"Board meeting. The incident with Sebastian Savoy prompted a review of our curriculum. It doesn't really affect me, but Minerva asked me to come along. I think she wants my "Boy Who Lived" influence rather than anything I might contribute, but whatever." He expected Malfoy to comment on the nickname, but Malfoy's next words surprised him.

Harry turned to look at him, but Malfoy made a show of studying Harry's tie. Not for the first time, Harry wished he could touch him, if only to coax him into meeting Harry's eyes. He tried to smile through a strange lump in his throat. Surely Malfoy wasn't jealous?

"You know you're the only boy for me," he said, trying to make a joke. It backfired.

"That's not funny, Potter," Malfoy said and turned to drift across the room to his place by the window. Harry frowned at the movement. Malfoy only acted ghostlike when he was agitated. The rest of the time he tried to act as alive as possible, mimicking the behaviour of the living.

The ghost stiffened and Harry realized it was the first time he had used Malfoy's given name. After a moment a pale hand waved out, although Malfoy did not bother to turn around. "What makes you think I care, Potter? Run along and enjoy yourself. It makes no difference to me."

Harry bit his tongue, annoyed, but determined not to get into a pointless argument. He refused to be late when Minerva was counting on him. "Of course it doesn't matter to you," he muttered as he stalked to the door and went out. "That's why you spend all your time in my quarters."

As he headed for the stairs, he was glad he hadn't let the words slip in Malfoy's hearing, lest the ghost decide to punish Harry by going elsewhere. Funny how a month ago he would have given anything for Malfoy to leave him alone and now he couldn't bear the idea. He supposed it was because of the regular sex, even though it wasn't much more than masturbation, except hearing Malfoy's sibilant voice whispering at him to "touch yourself, yes, like that, now slower" or feeling an erotic brush of cold over his—

Harry stopped walking and took a deep breath to steady himself. Board meeting, he thought. Very important school business thing. Must not think about Draco Malfoy.

He smiled absently at her. "Yes, thank you." The question propelled him forward and he walked with renewed determination. Surely he could stop thinking about Malfoy for two short hours.

He couldn't. Barely twenty minutes in, Harry was bored witless and had taken to sliding his fingernails along the edge of the chair cushion in a staccato rhythm while wordlessly concocting song lyrics to go along with the tune.

Governor Warner looks like walrus, he thought to himself in a singsong chant. His whiskers resemble the tail of a broomstick. Harry frowned, unable to think of a decent rhyme for either "walrus" or "broomstick". Room-thick? Doom-sick?

Harry looked up at his name to find Warner watching him with a flat stare. His narrowed eyes only made his puffy cheeks look wider and when his lips pursed it made his bushy moustache twitch like… well, like walrus whiskers. Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep the grin from bursting forth. He could hardly wait to describe the man to Draco.

"I wouldn't necessarily say that I disagree, Governor," Harry said diplomatically and glanced at Minerva, who was no help at all with her face set into planes that any professional gambler would hate. "If you could repeat your key points?"

Harry thought he heard an audible groan and Governor Warner nodded and gave him a look that suggested he planned to run through it even slower, in order that Harry might keep up. Harry grinned widely. His nails skated over the fabric. Plume-prick. He turned it over in his mind and tried to incorporate the words into his song as Warner droned on.

Of course it ended up taking longer than two hours. Warner the Walrus apparently liked to listen to the sound of his own voice, and argued every point ad nauseum, even when the others agreed with him. By the end of the meeting, Harry was ready to hex the man under the table to silence him.

"Thank you, Governor," Minerva said, cutting the man off for the eighth time. "We will take your findings under advisement until the board convenes to vote on it. Now Mr Potter and I must get back. We have duties to perform."

The man blustered and made condescending noises. Harry paid little attention. It was ridiculous how the Board liked to address every minor situation and turn it into a "grave matter". In this instance, a Seventh-year student had cast an Imperius Curse on a fellow student. The boy had been rightfully expelled, but the boy's parents were influential, calling for an immediate convention of the Board and the loud chirruping of parents and the press and everyone even vaguely involved.

The boy's father reminded Harry almost painfully of Lucius Malfoy, all pure-blooded superiority and self-serving arrogance. Harry had realized he had not asked either Draco or Narcissa what had become of Lucius. Draco's father had escaped Azkaban by the narrowest of margins, largely by throwing an obscene amount of Galleons at the war-torn Ministry. Painfully aware of his life-debt to Narcissa, Harry had made little protest at the time, other than to complain to his friends and vow to keep a very close eye on the man.

Apparently that vow had been broken, although Harry knew if anything of import should happen in regards to Lucius Malfoy, Hermione would bring it to Harry's immediate attention. The last word from her had been that Lucius had gone to China to seek out a new business market. Had it been two years already? Was he still there?

Despite Harry's assurance to Malfoy that he would be back in two hours, the meeting itself lasted a gruelling two hours and twenty minutes, and then Minerva asked if Harry would like to have dinner in London rather than returning straight to Hogwarts. Although anxious to return, Harry couldn't think of a logical excuse, so he had acquiesced. The rich food was good and it was nice to spend time with Minerva, rehashing the meeting and discussing the varied politics surrounding it, but Harry just refrained from casting Tempus Charms every few minutes and bolting his food.

He had planned to be back by six and it was nearly nine by the time he returned. To his not-quite-surprise, Malfoy was not in his usual place on Harry's bed, nor was he standing by the window. In fact, he wasn't in the room at all.

Sighing, Harry prepared for bed and waited with a book that couldn't seem to hold his attention, eventually falling asleep with the light on, waiting for Malfoy to come back.

Malfoy did not come back. Harry did not see him for the next three days and he was half frantic with worry—not that anything could actually happen to a ghost, or at least, Harry hoped not—but mainly due to the fact that he'd actually grown to like the prat.

At first Harry assumed Malfoy was annoyed with him and would stay away in order to punish him, which worked better than Harry would have expected. Harry was tired and snappish and out of sorts. Luckily for Harry's students, they didn't have to deal with him over the weekend, and he managed to distract himself for a few hours by helping George Weasley prepare for his annual Halloween party.

Still, by Sunday afternoon, when he had not seen Malfoy since Thursday, Harry finally went looking for him. He asked every ghost he saw (most of which hadn't seen Malfoy in days or even weeks), ventured into Myrtle's bathroom (she had seen him that morning, thankfully), and finally sought out the thestrals lurking in the forest near Hagrid's hut.

"Haven't seen him round in a while," Hagrid said. "'Course that don't mean he wasn't here. Likes to visit the thestrals at night, usually. Likes his privacy, I think." Hagrid threw a slab of bloodied meat into the air. A thestral leaped gracefully after it and caught it in fanged jaws. "You two getting' on, finally?"

"Yeah," Harry said and watched the thestrals eat with a vague feeling of nausea. They were fascinating creatures, but still somewhat terrifying.

Harry gave up his quest to find Malfoy and returned to the castle, eventually planning his classes for the week, listlessly thumbing through a book, and finally falling asleep.

He awoke later at an ice-cold touch that jolted him from sleep. He sat up, reaching instinctively for his wand to cast a dim Lumos.

To his surprise, Malfoy's silvery features were illuminated. Harry's instinctive angry tirade died unspoken at Malfoy's words.

Heat exploded through Harry, fanned by three long days without release. His cock lengthened and filled, energized by the raw need in Malfoy's voice. Even in his sleep-fogged state, Harry knew he should not give in. Three ghost-free days left to with his own thoughts had made him half-convinced that he was better off without Malfoy, despite his efforts to seek out the prat, but even so, Harry's fingers were unfastening the buttons of his pyjama shirt, exposing him to Malfoy's stare.

Malfoy's hands were busy with his own garments, parting ghostly fabric and watching as Harry kicked away blankets that passed through Malfoy's thighs. As Harry shoved down his bottoms, Malfoy moved until he perched between Harry's legs.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked, palming his cock and fixing his gaze on Malfoy's pale hand as it wrapped around his own cock and stroked.

Harry wanted to ask why, but he was afraid he already knew the answer and he could scarcely think past the crazy sense of rightness he felt just having Malfoy back in the same room. "I missed you," he blurted before he could stop the words.

Harry attempted a grin, but failed. "Don't let it go to your head," he said, trying to save himself.

Malfoy sneered and began to move again, so Harry gave up thinking for watching, feeling, and wishing, until Malfoy's coldness seeped into his skin and splashed across his abdomen, mingling with his own hot release.

Malfoy half-crawled over him and Harry closed his eyes as icy numbness stole over his lips. His heart ached for a real kiss, but if he tried hard enough he could pretend. The thought made him unbearably depressed. Is this what his life had become?

Malfoy seemed to sense his mood and pulled away. Harry's eyes snapped open at the movement. "Don't go," he said as rationality once again took a backseat to need.

"I wasn't," Malfoy said. He lay down next on what Harry now thought of as Malfoy's side of the bed. He braced an elbow and propped his head on his palm. A smirk touched his lips. "So. You missed me."

Harry made a show of adjusting his pyjamas and returning to the warmth of the blankets. "I might have," he admitted nonchalantly. "I suppose I got used to your nonstop chatter." Harry tugged at his pillow and settled his head upon it, aware that he positioned himself to best observe Malfoy's reclining form. He wanted to ask questions. Where were you? Why did you leave me? What brought you back? But Malfoy seemed perched on a knife's edge, ready to depart at any moment. Harry wasn't certain, but he thought he spied regret furrowing Malfoy's brow. If only he could reach out and brush back the hair to be sure.

A dream woke him several hours later. He fought free of the blankets, gasping, the image of burning red eyes and an inhuman face lingering at the edges of wakefulness.

Harry took several deep breathes to calm his racing heart. Voldemort was dead and gone. He could no longer harm anyone. The clawed hands and hissing voice were nothing more than a nebulous—

"Dream," Harry said. He sank back against the pillows and glanced at Malfoy, who appeared to be in the exact position he had occupied when Harry had fallen asleep. Harry could tell time had passed; moonlight through the curtains cast an angled shadow on the floor. "Have you moved at all?"

Harry nodded. Malfoy blinked and a bit of hair caught on his lashes. Without thinking, Harry reached out to push it back. His hand froze partway and he scowled. "Bloody hell, sometimes it's annoying to be the only…" He frowned. "What's that word? Solid? Tangible?"

"Yes, that!" Harry nodded. "Corpo… real." He sat up with a jolt and tossed his coverings for a second time, flinging them partially through Malfoy in his haste. "Corporeal! Oh my god!"

Harry grabbed his wand and tripped over his own shoes on his way across the room. He caught himself with an out-flung hand and rapped his knuckles against the table. He didn't bother to answer Malfoy's question as he cursed and put the bruised knuckle in his mouth. Corporeal, corporeal…

Harry flung open the trunk that contained the Dark Arts books he had collected. He had taken to hiding them from sight after a surprise visit from Ron had resulted in an Aurorly tirade.

"I teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, Ron," Harry had said dryly. "It sometimes requires research."

Red lettering, he remembered, lighting his wand brightly and shoving it into the trunk. It had red lettering and… there. He grasped the book and pulled it free before letting the lid fall. He carried the book to the bed and returned to the warmth of the blankets.

"Uncontrollable urge to study at 3:15 a.m., Potter?" Malfoy's voice was typically sardonic, but Harry knew he was curious.

"Remember when I was studying this book? And I found this! A potion to make ghosts corporeal. We were laughing because ghosts can't drink. But now I'm curious."

Malfoy moved closer. Harry cast the Page-Turning Charm to scan the pages more quickly, and also to avoid burning his hands. Purveyors of the Dark Arts sometimes found it amusing to leave horrible spells or poisons inside the pages of their books. Harry had already de-spelled it, but it paid to be safe.

Harry wasted no time tugging out his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map. He dressed quickly, flattening the map on the table as he did so and scanning it for obstacles, chiefly, Filch and Peeves.

Harry grinned at him, feeling the blood coursing through his veins as it hadn't in years. Bloody hell, how much had he missed breaking rules and skirting the edge of danger? Not that his mission was inherently dangerous, but it was certainly risky. He might lose his job if Minerva caught him sneaking around the school preparing illegal potions, and he really did like his job.

Even so, he did not pause, flinging his cloak around his shoulders and pulling it over his head. "Filch is patrolling Gryffindor Tower and Peeves is in the Trophy Room." Harry rolled up the Map and stuffed it into his shirt with the list of ingredients he had jotted on a scrap of parchment.

"Yeah, something my dad helped make," Harry said and strode to the door. "Come on."

They reached the dungeons without incident and an assortment of spells unlocked the door to the Potions Classroom. Harry slipped inside and hoped Professor Tincture had not set up any charms that would warn her if the room had been broached. Harry personally thought she was slightly incompetent, but he admitted his opinion might have been coloured by conversations he had overheard among his students.

Malfoy's hand froze, hovering over the row of bottled flower petals. "Daffodil?" he repeated.

"Yeah, um…" Harry trailed off, suddenly remembering the magical properties of the flower in question. Flowers of the underworld, associated with rebirth and… Harry's head jerked up and he stared at Malfoy, whose hand had begun to move again, drifting over the labels. Unrequited love. Malfoy's hand stopped.

Harry took a deep breath and lifted the bottle. It didn't mean anything, but it was odd that Harry had remembered.

"The goat's blood is a binding agent for the thestral blood," Malfoy said. "You'll find a vial in the Cold Stasis room, but you'll have to collect the thestral blood fresh when you prepare the potion. It's only effective for a few hours before it begins to break down."

Harry yawned, looking at the collection of ingredients. He couldn't take them all—for certain they would be missed by Tincture's students later in the day. He shook off his tiredness and began to separate the necessary portions, placing them in empty jars, vials, and envelopes for transport back to his room.

He left the cauldrons. His own cauldron was at Grimmauld Place and it would be an easy Floo-trip tomorrow to pick it up.

Malfoy's hand stroked over the thestral's muscular neck. "Easy, Eclipse. This won't hurt a bit. I hope."

"Easy for you to say," Harry muttered, wrinkling his nose. He had poured a generous amount of boar's blood over his shoulder and walked into the forest. Several thestrals had approached him at the smell and were now lapping at his sleeve, including the one Malfoy patted. "Eclipse?"

Harry nodded, even though Malfoy was paying him no mind and wouldn't see the head movement in the dark. Harry's hand gripped the handle of the tiny, magically-sharpened knife. His other hand held a small vial.

Harry sliced a small gash where Malfoy had indicated. The thestral danced away with a snort, but after a moment of hesitation, it returned to lapping at Harry's robe. Harry murmured nonsense to it and patted it with one hand while the other held the tiny vial to the wound that began to ooze dark blood. It seemed to take forever and Harry feared the thestrals would begin to eat his robes—and possibly his arm—before it filled, but at last Malfoy pronounced it full enough and Harry put the cork in and stepped away.

"Shove off, now," Malfoy said and gave the beast a push, but his tone was affectionate. He looked at Harry as if daring him to say something, but Harry held his tongue as he tucked the vial away and hid beneath the cloak once more.

They hurried back to the castle, avoiding the few people still wandering the halls, Prefects, mostly, patrolling for out-of-bed students. The wanderers paid Malfoy no mind at all and Harry was careful to silence his footsteps until they reached the safety of his rooms. The other potion ingredients had already been measured (twice) and placed in handy bowls in the order they needed to be added. The crow feather sat nearby, ready to be used as a stirring rod at the appropriate time. Harry quelled his nervousness as he shook off his cloak and set the vial with the other items. He had never cared for potion-making, but with Malfoy to help him, it should be all right.

Harry had set water to simmering in the cauldron before going out to seek thestral blood, and it bubbled merrily now. He tossed in the adder scales and fastened the alembic to the top of the cauldron to catch the steam.

"Six drops only," said Malfoy, watching carefully and reading the book page again to ascertain they missed nothing.

Harry moved his arm and thought wryly that working with Malfoy was almost like working with Hermione.

By the time they finished, it was nearly midnight. Harry's shoulders were tight and aching from stirring and general tension. He covered the hot cauldron with cheesecloth and picked it up with dragonhide gloves.

He placed it in a dark corner of his wardrobe—next to his porn collection—and shucked the gloves with a sigh.

"That's that, then. Now we let it sit for ten days." He looked at Malfoy with a grin. "Hey, that will be Halloween!"

"Isn't that prophetic?" Malfoy said dryly. "The traditional night to celebrate the dead mingling with the living."

Harry looked at the mess left by his potion-making endeavour and considered leaving it to be cleaned up in the morning, but the thought of Malfoy's disapproving expression caused him to give in and get to work. By the time the last of the flower petals and carnelian dust had been Vanished, it was nearly one o'clock in the morning and Harry fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

Harry carefully poured the liquid from the cauldron into a vial, although "liquid" was, perhaps, a stretch. It never ceased to amaze him that an entire cauldron full of ingredients could meld down into a bare ounce of (in this particular case) sludge.

He held the vial up to the candle and wrinkled his nose. The colour was an unbecoming dark green with what looked like ribbons of silver. It would almost be Slytherin, except the green was far closer to black.

Malfoy stood perfectly still and remained quiet, a sign that Harry took to mean he was nervous. It was rare that Malfoy had nothing to say.

Harry stepped closer to Malfoy, who opened his mouth and let his eyes fall shut, almost as if waiting for a kiss. The thought spurred Harry forward and he lifted the vial to Malfoy's lips and then tipped the fluid into his mouth, more than half-expecting it to fall through his jaw to the floor.

To his amazement, the potion pooled in Malfoy's mouth, visible to Harry as a dark mass through the paleness of Malfoy's cheek. Malfoy's eyes snapped open. He swallowed quickly and then made a gagging motion. Harry stepped back.

"I can taste it!" Malfoy said in a wondering tone, and then he grimaced. "Of course, it tastes awful."

"Do you feel any different?" Harry whispered, holding the empty vial so tightly his fingers ached.

"I can't tell, other than the fact that I have a hideous taste in my mouth and…" Malfoy broke off and his eyes met Harry's.

Malfoy's hand splayed over his stomach. "I don't know." Then he gasped and reached for Harry's hand. His fingers passed through Harry's, as they always did, and Malfoy scowled. "Put your hand here."

Harry moved forward and stretched out his hand, expecting it to feel cold as it moved into and through Malfoy's ghostly skin, but instead it met resistance. Solidity.

"It worked!" Harry murmured with growing excitement. He pressed his hand against Malfoy's stomach, spreading his fingers and grinning like an idiot. "I can feel you!"

"I can feel you, too, Potter," Malfoy said. His voice was as hushed and awed as Harry's, and seemed to shock them both into silence. Harry suddenly realized he was touching Malfoy, actually touching him, and let his hand rest there while the knowledge sank in.

Malfoy leaned forward as if to kiss him and Harry was ready, so very ready, that he closed his eyes in anticipation… only to feel the familiar cold sensation of Malfoy passing partially through him. His eyes opened.

"What the—?" he asked, pulling back. His hand still touched Malfoy, who felt as cold as usual, but reassuringly solid.

Malfoy frowned. "I don't know. I know you didn't botch the potion. I supervised every moment of it."

The pressure against Harry's hand disappeared and his arm fell forward, slicing through Malfoy's hipbone and out. It certainly seemed like the potion had gone wrong.

Harry did, waiting as Malfoy lifted a hand. He frowned and his brow wrinkled in concentration, and then he reached out and touched Harry's face. Harry held his breath at the sensation, familiarly cold, but unexpectedly tangible. He reached up and gripped Malfoy's fingers. "It worked."

Malfoy shook his head. "Mostly. It's strange. Incomplete. But I think if I focus on it…" The pressure on Harry's face did not diminish, but suddenly there were lips touching his.

A flare of desire shook him and he kissed back, hardly able to compute that he was kissing Draco Malfoy for the first time. Harry's heart was pounding and it seemed vaguely awkward. Despite everything else they had done, the kiss seemed surprisingly intimate. It was not like other kisses Harry had experienced. For one thing, it wasn't wet. Malfoy was solid, but still ghostlike, cold, and not-quite-human. It should have been repugnant, but it wasn't. It definitely wasn't, because it was Malfoy's lips moving over his, fervently and with such intensity that Harry's heart ached. It had been a long time since Harry had kissed anyone, but that had been a choice. It had been years for Malfoy because he couldn't.

The knowledge made him reach up and clasp Malfoy's hand, pushing it more firmly against his cheek as he deepened the kiss. His other hand reached out, seeking something to hold onto, but the rest of Malfoy was as intangible as ever. The incongruity of it made him want to laugh aloud.

"I can't believe I'm kissing you," he said after a moment, pausing only long enough to speak before diving back in to taste Malfoy's lips again. Malfoy should have tasted like the potion, but instead he tasted almost citrusy. Harry wondered if the flavour was caused by his own mental image of Malfoy or if it were genuine, but decided it didn't matter either way.

"Lucky you, Potter. You are one of few," Malfoy's voice was light and teasing, brighter than Harry could remember hearing in a long while. Harry smiled and something anxious within him packed its trunk and departed, taking whatever guilt Harry had felt with it. So he had used the Dark Arts to make a potion. He wasn't hurting anyone, and Malfoy's obvious happiness was worth it.

Harry turned and stumbled to the bed, tripping over the shoes he had kicked off earlier, and shrugging out of his shirt and jeans. The fact that Malfoy would soon be touching him made his movements frantic and clumsy. A hand touched the back of his neck, stilling him before he could throw himself on the bed.

Harry turned to see Malfoy smiling at him. He returned the smile and felt Malfoy's hand rise and sift through his hair, fingers trailing over his scalp.

At Malfoy's nod, Harry raised his hands and pushed them into Malfoy's hair. It felt gossamer soft and Harry brushed his fingers over Malfoy's brow, shifting the hair aside as he had wanted to so many times. Overcome with the urge to kiss him, he leaned forward and pressed their lips together again. The solidity of Malfoy's hand upon his neck faded away as the kiss deepened.

Harry pulled back and then sat down on the bed, only to remove the final pieces of his clothing and sprawl out. He felt slightly embarrassed to display himself so wantonly, practically begging for Malfoy to touch him, but the look in Malfoy's eyes alleviated much of his discomfort.

Malfoy's hand touched his ankle and slipped upward, sliding over his calf, knee, and thigh. It rested on Harry's hip and a smile curved Malfoy's lips as he stared down at Harry's cock, which was ready and aching for Malfoy's touch.

Instead of the expected grip, Malfoy's fingertips drew lazily over Harry's abdomen, moving close to Harry's erection and then dancing away. "Want me to touch it, Potter?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

Harry bit back half a dozen sharp retorts, because the truth was that he very much did. "Yes," he said finally, "Please."

Malfoy groaned and then wrapped his hand around Harry's cock. Harry gasped, not only from the cold sensation, but also because it was not his own hand. It felt so much better, even when performing the same sort of motions, because he didn't know which direction Malfoy was going to move. One moment he was caressing Harry's testicles with his fingertips and the next he was swirling his palm over the tip.

"God, that's brilliant," Harry said and arched upwards, needing more friction or something… just more.

"Let me try this again," Malfoy said and bent his head to take Harry's cock into his mouth.

Harry jerked at the contact, which should have been warm and wet, but instead was a strange, cool pressure wrapping around him. Harry lifted himself up on his elbows, not quite sure if Malfoy should continue, but then he caught sight of Malfoy sucking his cock. Dark grey eyes met Harry's and one eyebrow twitched upward. Harry's fingers gripped into the bedclothes. Seeing Malfoy down there, doing that, was one of the hottest things Harry had ever seen.

Harry had seen quite a lot of pornography, between magazines, photos, videos, and Pensieve memories, and frequently he remembered one of the participants looking up while performing fellatio. Harry had always found it attractive, but it was no comparison with the reality.

Malfoy's head bobbed and his not-wet tongue glided easily over and around Harry's cock, seeking every sensitive place until Harry shouted, curled his toes until they ached, and came.

Harry opened his eyes in time to see the remains of his release coating Malfoy's lips. Harry reached down and dragged a thumb through it, smearing it across Malfoy's jaw and then pulling him up for a sloppy, bitter kiss. It was brilliant.

"That was fucking amazing," Harry said. His voice was husky and thick with emotion. "Lie back."

Malfoy complied and Harry moved between his legs, trying not to slide through his legs, which were still untouchable. It just seemed wrong now, somehow. Malfoy reached for the buttons of his robes, but Harry shook his head.

Malfoy nodded and let his head fall back. Harry's hand went to the buttons, which solidified under his fingers, allowing him to push them through the holes. As he slowly exposed Malfoy, his hands touched and brushed and caressed. Each portion of skin grew tangible as Harry touched it. Although it took a long time, Harry figured they had at least twelve hours, hopefully longer, before the potion wore off. He didn't plan to waste any of it by rushing.

When he finished, Malfoy lay almost completely undressed. His trousers and pants hung from one ankle while his shirt and robes still covered one arm. They had learned through trial and error how far they could go before the magic would return Malfoy to his fully-dressed state.

Malfoy was gorgeous. Harry had never fully appreciated just how lovely he was, but sprawled out like a banquet for Harry to feast upon, he looked better than his first meal at Hogwarts. Harry bent his head and set about tasting all the glorious skin he had uncovered, until Malfoy was panting, clutching at his hair, and almost begging.

"Potter," he said and gave Harry's hair a wrench—one drawback to having Malfoy corporeal, "Get on with it."

"I'm having a very good time, but I'm going to come without you ever touching my cock and if that happens I will make life very unpleasant for you."

Harry swallowed and nodded, not cowed by the threat, but finally ready to stop teasing and get to the main event. He shifted position, glanced at Malfoy, and then took Malfoy's cock into his mouth.

Harry felt Malfoy's groan all the way to his bones, which nearly seemed liquefied at the sound. Even though he had already come once, Harry was hard again just from the aphrodisiac torment of worshipping Malfoy's body.

Malfoy's cock was cool, smooth, and quite long, as Harry discovered when he tried to take all of it. His gag reflex kicked him out of that idea and Malfoy chuckled. "Is this your first time, Potter?"

Harry only narrowed his eyes, not willing to pass on that information, and simply made another attempt.

No further sarcastic comments were forthcoming, and Malfoy's cock stayed rigid under Harry's mouth and hands and tongue, giving mute evidence of his concentration. The same could not be said for Malfoy's hands, which alternately grabbed at his hair and slipped through when his fingers lost tangibility.

Before Harry's jaw had a chance to ache, Malfoy was arching his back and panting erratically. "Potter—!"

Harry pulled away, but continued to stroke with his hand. He was not entirely sure how ghostly semen would taste, but curiosity did not quite compel him to want to find out. It spurted onto Malfoy's stomach in a familiar fashion and Harry reached up to trail a finger through it, rethinking his earlier decision. He lifted the finger to his mouth, but it was too late. The silvery fluid shimmered and vanished.

"That's pretty kinky, Potter," Malfoy said, but his voice was a ragged whisper and Harry's hand, still lightly gripping his cock, fell to the bed as Malfoy went immaterial. Harry grinned, feeling a curious sense of elation that he had brought Malfoy to the point of being utterly unable to move.

Harry crawled up to lie next to him, resting his head on his arm and watching the ghostly man, admiring his mostly-nude form.

Malfoy's hand curled in his hair, solid once more. "Not yet, it hasn't," he said and pulled Harry into a kiss.

Harry was exhausted the next day. Of course, they had spent the entire night determining the limits of the effects, all while becoming distracted during every experiment. Harry had dozed of just before dawn with his fingers locked with Malfoy's.

Harry was quite surly during his first class, assigning detention to a Hufflepuff boy for tossing a wadded parchment to a mate, and making the whole class write an essay. He had felt bad afterwards, and had hurried back to his room during the break to find Malfoy reading a book, happily turning each page himself. Harry had flung himself on the ghost, snogged him until he was gasping for air, and then fell into a doze until Malfoy had awakened him in time for his next class.

By the time lunch rolled around, the potion had worn off. It had lasted just over 14 hours.

Harry munched on a sandwich he had snared from the kitchen and looked at the list of potion ingredients. "Most of these are fairly common," he said. "Batwing, daffodil, and even the carnelian powder can be ordered or purchased at the apothecary. Our problem…" He tapped the list with an index finger. "... is this. Mole cricket wings. Where are we going to get those? We were lucky to find them in Tincture's stores. They are listed as Dangerous Substances by the Ministry."

"And rare," Malfoy said. He was back in his place by the window, looking out pensively. "They are very rare creatures."

Harry put the list down and chewed on his lip. Perhaps it was foolish to expend so much effort in order to have so little time, and then to use it just for… His thoughts trailed off as he watched Malfoy reach out as if to move the curtain back, only to his hand pass through it. Malfoy jerked his hand back and curled it into a fist.

Harry bit his lip until he was in danger of drawing blood. Malfoy had adapted quickly to being able to touch again. It had to painful to be thrust back into the world of intangibility, unable to affect his environment in any way, except by voice. It seemed a hellish way to exist.

With renewed determination, Harry said, "Doesn't matter. We'll find a way. I'll travel somewhere else and purchase them, if necessary."

Malfoy turned and smiled at him, but surprise was evident in his expression. "You must really be hard up, Potter, to go to such lengths for a phantasm-induced orgasm or two. Wouldn't you be better off with a living person?" His tone was sardonic, but after spending nearly every day of two full months with Malfoy, Harry knew every nuance of his voice; the sadness was unmistakable.

He walked over to stand behind Malfoy, aching to wrap his arms around him and draw him close. It was definitely not just sex, he realized. The thought was alarming, so he pushed it aside to deal with later. Instead, he leaned closer until his lips just brushed the coldness that marked Malfoy's ear.

Malfoy sputtered a laugh, obviously trying to hold it back, but failing. He turned around to look at Harry, who grinned and attempted a leer. Malfoy shook his head, but he was smiling. "You're impossible."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, wishing he could kiss him. It was harder to pretend now that they had actually done it—the thought of Malfoy's lips on him was tantalising. "Impossible, and exceedingly tired. I need to drink a few cups of tea—possibly even coffee—and get through my final two classes so that I can sleep through the weekend."

Harry turned and headed for the door, glancing at the list as he passed and already trying to work out the best supplier of not-quite-legal potion ingredient dealers.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Malfoy hurried toward him. "My mother can get the mole crickets. And any other ingredients we might need."

Narcissa sat down and smoothed her dark robes over her knees in a gesture that managed to look practiced rather than nervous. Harry was still trying to puzzle out the colour. Violet? Deep blue? They seemed to change on a whim.

A house-elf finished pouring their tea and looked expectantly at Harry with his hand poised over the sugar dish. Harry nodded and held up one finger.

"What brings you here, Mr Potter? Certainly Hogwarts business would not send you to my doorstep." She took her teacup and saucer and lifted the cup to her lips. Her gaze was piercing, and so much like Draco's that Harry had to look away.

He accepted the delicate porcelain from the house-elf and hoped he wouldn't grip it too hard and crush the enamelled motif. He took a polite gulp and quickly placed the fragile items on the table.

She froze for a moment with her teacup poised in midair, and then she set it next to Harry's. "What about Draco? Is he... hampering your ability to teach?"

Harry's voice deserted him for a moment as he cast his mind back to the time when Malfoy had done exactly that. Harry could barely remember how Malfoy had behaved when he'd first arrived to take up the DADA position. It had been just over two months, but seemed so much longer, considering all that had changed between them.

"Not anymore, no. He's actually quite helpful at times, and is brilliant at thinking up new challenges to keep the students on their toes. Why, just last week he had the idea to take them down to the lake and teach them water-based defensive spells. Of course, he had a grand time insinuating that I didn't know any, the—" Harry clapped his jaw shut before word wanker slipped out. He blushed anyway at the sight of Narcissa's shocked expression. For a moment Harry thought he might have said it and he stammered an apology, just in case.

Harry grinned. "Amazing, isn't it? Before school started I would have thought it the maddest idea ever, but we came to an agreement, of sorts. And now we're actually, um…" Lovers? Partners in pornography? Mutually demented idiots? "Friends," he finished firmly.

Harry ignored her tone, which contained one part amazement and one part amusement. "Yes, and we need your help for an experiment, of sorts."

Harry frowned. If it had been Malfoy, he would have scowled and spoken more sharply, but he didn't think Narcissa would be as accepting of such a thing.

Narcissa gasped and got to her feet. One hand went to her lips as if to hold back words that threatened to spill forth. Only one word emerged. "Draco."

Malfoy strode forward and Harry nearly smiled at his refusal to glide, even though it possibly cemented his mother's inability to deal with the fact that he was gone. Except that he wasn't completely gone and what they were planning to do might actually make her grief more acute. Not for the first time, Harry's resolve wavered.

Malfoy must have noticed, for he shot Harry a warning look. "Potter has been reading the Dark Arts books you sent him, Mother."

"What do you mean?" She lowered her hand only to clench her fists into the deep folds of her purple-blue-black robe.

She turned astonished blue eyes on him and he nodded. Malfoy pouted, likely having concocted some convoluted method of telling her, but Harry just wanted it done.

Harry looked away and fixed his gaze on Malfoy, striving for innocence and perfectly willing to let Malfoy field that question. He wondered why they hadn't rehearsed what they would say prior to visiting his mother.

Malfoy allowed him to sweat long enough that Harry's mind began to scrabble for a non-ridiculous reason, or at least something other than "I wanted to touch him", and then he replied.

"When Potter was unable to send me on to meet our fabulous dead relatives, who are no doubt waiting for me with open arms, he decided to do the next best thing and bring me back to life. In a manner of speaking."

Harry took off the knapsack he'd been carrying. "I brought a book," he explained.

She sat down again, still visibly perplexed and casting fleeting glances at her son. Harry flipped through the pages to his bookmarked place.

Narcissa sagged and then gave him a weak smile. "Mr Potter. I appreciate what you are trying to do. It's really very sweet and I'm terribly sorry for the silly outpouring of grief I unexpectedly imposed upon you, but there is little hope that such a potion will work. Those who dabble in the Dark Arts frequently have very low morals and will not stoop to give false hope in the form of an implausible potion."

Malfoy said, "It's not completely effective, but it is enough that I can affect the world around me. I can turn pages and pick up objects and…"

Kiss, Harry's mind supplied helpfully. As if sensing the word, Malfoy glanced at him and they shared matching tiny smiles.

"Oh, no." Narcissa was on her feet again, looking from one of them to the other. "Draco." Harry was slightly alarmed that what little colour tinted her skin seemed to be draining away. "Draco, may I speak with you privately? Mr Potter—Harry—do you mind?"

Harry stood up, sensing that something was not right, but not quite certain where it had gone wrong. "Yes, of course. I'll be… um… in the hallway?"

"Jolli, take Mr Potter to the library and get him tea or cakes or whatever else he needs. We won't be long."

"Yes, Mistress Narcissa. Please to be following Jolli, Mr Harry Potter, sir," she said, bobbing in place.

Harry walked behind the bouncy elf willingly enough, although he cast a worried glance at Malfoy, only to be ignored as Malfoy kept his gaze on his mother. When they passed through the door, Harry tried to work out what sort of garment the house-elf was wearing. It appeared to be some sort of satchel, complete with dangling straps and buckles.

"Jolli is hoping that Mr Harry Potter is having a very pleasant day," she said and hopped in a slow circle without losing any ground in her stride. Her smile was infectious and Harry found it incongruous that such a chipper house-elf worked at Malfoy Manor, the Headquarters of Dour.

The library was massive, a dark-panelled room covered in wall to wall bookshelves. Several comfortable-looking chairs were scattered in attractive groupings.

"Will Mr Harry Potter, sir, be wanting tea and cakes now?" Jolli asked between tugging on her ear and humming.

"No, thank you." Harry looked at all the books and then asked, "Are there any books on ghosts?"

"Jolli is thinking so, Mr Harry Potter, sir. Shall Jolli be fetching them for you?"

Harry had barely nodded and opened his mouth when she disappeared and then reappeared with her arms laden with huge books. She staggered over and dropped them onto the closest desk. "There is being sixteen more, Mr Harry Potter, sir."

"This is fine!" Harry cried, glancing at the door and wondering how he was going to explain the tower of books.

Jolli's happy demeanour deflated. "Here there is being no such book, Mr Harry Potter, sir."

"Do not hurt yourself, Jolli," Harry said in a tone that brooked no argument. He wasn't sure how well Malfoy house-elves would listen to random guests, but he figured it was worth a shot.

"Yes, Mr Harry Potter, sir," Jolli said and backed away towards a corner of the room where she sat down and watched him, still tugging her ears, but apparently not quite hard enough for it to hurt.

Harry shook his head. Even being around Kreacher for an extended period of time had not given him any greater understanding of house-elves. He sat down and pulled one of the books close to him before opening the cover and starting to read.

He had barely flipped through a dozen pages before Malfoy appeared next to him. Harry gnawed his lip and asked, "Well?"

Malfoy scowled. "Yes, us. She knows about your terrible crush on me. She wants to see you."

Harry followed, and made sure his wand was close to hand, just in case. Narcissa was seated once more, holding her teacup and not her wand, Harry was glad to note, although it did not make him any less nervous. He took his seat across from her. His own teacup was gone.

"Mr Potter, I have always known about Draco's… preferences. I am somewhat surprised about yours, however."

Harry felt a blush tinting his cheeks, but he said nothing. He wondered if she planned to go to the Daily Prophet with the news.

"It might seem like harmless amusement at the moment, but have you considered the ramifications?" she asked. He noticed her tight grip on the porcelain and realized her calm façade masked possible inner turmoil. Or anger.

Harry looked at his hands, which he had placed on his knees in an attempt to not give away any secrets, although it was apparently too late for that. "I didn't do it for amusement," he said. "I did it because I couldn't stand seeing him every day and not touching him. I did it because at three o'clock in the morning it seemed perfectly plausible. Maybe I got caught up in the excitement of the idea." His hands squeezed into his knees until it was almost painful. Then he lifted his gaze to hers and met the cool stare. "But I'm glad I did, even if you'll never allow me to do it again. It was worth it to allow him to feel again, if only for a few hours. You should have seen him picking up things in the room." Harry smiled sadly at the memory. "He touched everything, I think. The window curtains, the parchment and quills, the candles…"

Harry looked at his lap again and nodded, swallowing hard. Then he met her eyes, challengingly this time. "I'm not sorry."

She sipped her tea and watched him. They sat in silence until she lowered her cup and replaced it on the table. "I do not want him hurt, Harry."

He almost winced at the use of his first name, as well as her soft tone. "I know. I don't want him hurt, either. I just wanted to… I don't know. I wanted to give him something. I care about him." He bit his lip at the admission and sent a quick glance towards the door, hoping Malfoy wasn't lurking about to overhear. He would never let Harry live it down, if he had.

Harry's stare snapped back to her in surprise. He had expected her to refuse and forbid them any further experimentation.

She held up a pale hand and her eyes narrowed. "However, I am trusting that you will both know when to stop. You will be the one to suffer most should your feelings grow beyond your control. Draco will remain as he is now, despite temporary spells that may make him seem otherwise. If you truly care for him…" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He realized her next words were not only for him, spoken so softly they were barely audible. "If you truly care for you, you might consider letting him go."

When he met Malfoy in the hallway a few minutes later, Harry gave him a weak smile. They left the house through the front door and Harry's shoes crunched on the gravel as he walked towards the iron gates in order to Disapparate.

"She's going to help us." Harry cast him a sidelong glance and noticed that he was almost invisible in bright, cold sunlight. "She warned me not to fall in love with you, though."

Malfoy snorted and shot him a sardonic look. Harry laughed aloud, as if the thought were absurd.

Ron pelted around a corner and swore when his foot slipped on the wet cobblestones. He nearly went sprawling and felt something wrench near his groin. Lovely location for a sprain, he thought bitterly. He aimed a hex at the fleeing man ahead of him and swore again when the bolt of light missed as the man changed direction again.

One more corner and Ron felt his heart sink when he beheld the rickety plank steps leading up towards the hilltop. There had to be a hundred of them and the perpetrator was already partway up, barely visible in the sheeting rain.

The muscle he'd pulled began to twinge after the seventh steps and already the breath whistled in and out of Ron's lungs. He sounded like an old man even to his own ears. Hell, he felt like an old man.

Not for the first time, he thought Harry might have been right to give up the Aurors to become a teacher, living the soft life at Hogwarts. For one bitter moment, he wondered if it would always be his lot to envy Harry, but then a dark shape streaked from the sky and flash of light hit Ron's fleeing subject, who collapsed upon the stairs, unmoving.

"Fuck yeah!" Ron breathed and felt a flare of satisfaction. Forget envy—he loved his job. His steps slowed, but he continued to make his way up until he could see the grinning face of his burly partner, who hovered on a broom over the still figure.

"Bloody right as rain," Ron retorted and waved off his partner's concerned expression. He might be exhausted, but he wasn't dead. "Call it in and let's get this pile of crap back to Headquarters."

Ron pulled out his wand and cast several Binding Charms on the fallen man. One more job well done. He threw his partner a satisfied grin.

The second potion sat brewing in Harry's wardrobe, created from the first bundle of ingredients they had received from Narcissa Malfoy. A second nocturnal visit for thestral blood left Harry somewhat tired, but not enough to overcome the excitement of soon being able to touch Draco again. Draco, who had somewhere along the line stopped being "Malfoy" and simply become "Draco".

They lay in their usual positions, reading, and Harry stole a glance at Draco every so often, wondering how to break his fascination with his current book and possibly coax him into something more sensual.

"Out with it, Potter. You haven't turned a page in twenty minutes. Is something on your mind or are you just horny?"

"Oh." Harry's cheeks warmed even more, especially when Draco rolled over onto his back and teased the fastenings of his robes with long fingers. No matter how many times Harry had watched him undress, the process still riveted him.

Harry reached for his own buttons and Draco's appreciative look warmed him. Apparently Harry wasn't the only one enjoying what the other had to offer.

Just then a distinctive crackle from the fireplace in the next room alerted him of someone's arrival by Floo. He sat up in alarm just as Hermione's voice rang out.

"Harry!" Even with a single word, she sounded upset and Harry threw Draco a worried look as he snatched up the dressing gown he'd tossed over a chair and pulled it on. He hurried from the bedroom into his small sitting room only to have his arms full of a distraught Hermione moments later.

To his surprise she burst into tears, sobbing so hard that she could not produce coherent words. His blood ran cold, but he waited until she was calm enough to speak, wanting to give her time. He guided her towards the couch and she sat down heavily, still clutching at him.

"It's Ron," she whispered. Harry's heart sank even though he had half-expected it after witnessing her reaction. He had known something was wrong. Despite Ron's reassurances and attempts to put on a brave face, it had been obvious. Harry had simply not wanted to accept it.

"What about him?" Harry asked, forcing the words out through a sudden desperate desire not to know. If she didn't say it, then it wouldn't be real.

"Ron is… Ron is sick." Hermione straightened and took a deep, ragged breath, not looking at him. "It's fatal. Incurable."

Fatal. Incurable. The two words seemed to chase each other around in his head. They had no meaning, as Harry's mind refused to connect them to anything in his reality. Fatal. Incurable.

Tears streamed down Hermione's face and her lip trembled, but she made a visible effort to gather herself. Harry could almost see her shift mental gears and focus on information rather than emotion; it had always been Hermione's way of coping. Harry wasn't sure if he had a way. Usually charging headlong into danger was his preferred method of tackling a problem, but this…

"They call it Sheffington-Barry Syndrome or Magical Neural Degenerative Disease." Her words were toneless and meant nothing to Harry. Tears slipped down her cheeks and she met Harry's eyes miserably before looking away. "They don't know what causes it, mostly because it's really rare. Ron's is—" Her voice broke and she shut her eyes before shaking her head in a gesture that Harry recognized as self-censure before she continued. "Ron's is only the fourth documented case, which also means they have no way to combat it. Everything they've tried in the past has failed."

"Home. He fell off his broom after an Auror mission. Thankfully, they weren't going very fast, plus Iverson, his partner, was quick-thinking enough to cast Cushioning Charms. Still, he was pretty banged up and when Ron explained that he had passed out… Well, it was his fourth time in St Mungo's in two months. His Healer finally took his condition seriously and did more research. Ron refused to stay in hospital once he heard the news."

"What if they're wrong?" Harry whispered, thinking they had to be wrong. Ron couldn't possibly have some horrible fatal, incurable disease. Ron had always been strong. He had taken on a troll with him at eleven years old, and fought Death Eaters at his side, and rescued him from a freezing pool when evil sought to drag him down.

Hermione shook her head and tried to speak, but only buried her head in his shoulder again and held on tightly. Harry's arms tightened around her shoulders and his head rested against her hair. His mind was whirling. He lifted his eyes to the doorway and saw Draco hovering there. His arms were clasped against his chest as if he weren't sure what to do with his hands and his handsome face was filled with sympathy.

It's my fault, Harry thought stupidly for a moment. It's my fault for dabbling in Dark Magic. Cosmic punishment.

The wayward concept seemed to make it real and pain crashed down on him. "I want to see him," Harry said. He had to make certain it wasn't some horrible, dreadful joke, even though he knew Hermione would never, ever allow herself to be privy to such a thing.

She pulled away with choking sob. "Wait, I… I can't let him see me like this. I've been strong so far, focusing on finding out everything I can, I just… Can I use your bathroom?"

"It's through that door, just there." When Harry looked again, Draco had vanished. Hermione got up and walked unsteadily into the bathroom and a moment later Harry heard the splash of water. Harry got to his feet and went into the bedroom to shed his dressing gown and put on his jeans. He tried not to think at all.

The water shut off as he pulled on his trainers and he steeled himself. He wondered where Draco had gone, but thought it for the best that he didn't see the ghost at the moment. He joined Hermione and went to see Ron.

It was late when Harry returned, feeling drained and emotionally wrecked. Ron refused to talk about it, insisting with an almost macabre cheerfulness that he was "fine!" and grimly discussing nothing but his job and the latest Quidditch statistics while Hermione fluttered around in the background and kept returning to the kitchen, most likely weeping while trying to conceal it.

Harry willingly made small-talk, not quite ready to deal with the spectre that hung just beyond Ron's every word and trying not to look at the shadows beneath his friend's eyes and the too-thin, borderline fragile condition of Ron's formerly-robust body.

Finally Ron simply snapped, "They don't know everything. Hermione and me, well, we're not giving in so easily, you know? She's never failed us yet, right?" Ron's confidence brought a smile to Harry's face and he nodded.

Hermione reached out a hand and placed it on Ron's knee. "Of course I haven't. And I don't plan to start now," she said with a confidence that did not reach her eyes. Harry knew she had likely already devoured every iota of information regarding the disease.

Once back in his dark rooms, however, the false cheer fell away and he mindlessly removed his clothing and put his pyjamas back on before climbing into bed. Draco was there, waiting for him, but he said nothing.

Harry didn't trust himself to speak, so he simply rolled away into a ball and let the ache wash through him. He felt coldness touch his back and then withdraw, but somehow it was enough that Draco was there.

The next week passed in a blur for Harry. The holidays were quickly approaching, giving his students concentration abilities of Cornish Pixies as they focussed their attention on gifts, decorations, and travel plans rather than their lessons. Harry's own concentration was fraught with worry over Ron and he scaled back his lesson plans to compensate.

Ron continued to work, refusing to allow anyone to report his condition to his superiors, despite Hermione's tears and Harry's rational arguments. His denial seemed solid and absolute, and his faith in Hermione finding a miracle cure had her studying long into the night and travelling insane distances to try and dredge up more and more information.

Harry did not know how to cope. He listened to Hermione rant and watched her make charts and graphs, and he played chess with Ron and listened to him complain about work and never mentioned that Ron looked thinner and more exhausted with every passing day.

At night he would return to his room at Hogwarts—sometimes long past midnight—to find Draco waiting for him. Draco would only smile sadly at him and Harry would reach out and touch his face, aching for contact, silently pleading for something that would make it all go away. He thought about taking Dreamless Sleep, but the one time he mentioned it Draco's disapproving stare put paid to that idea.

Finally the second potion was ready and Harry watched anxiously as Draco drained it. He hoped the contents of the first one hadn't been a fluke or an anomaly. He had almost talked himself into believing it had all been a dream.

Harry practically fell on him, holding him desperately. Not all of Draco was solid, just enough that Harry could feel him—a bit of his back, cool arms around his shoulders, and a solid cheek against his own—but it was enough. For the first time in days he felt like he could collapse and someone would be there to hold him up.

Harry closed his eyes, determined not to break down. He had held up steadily during Hermione's frequent bouts of sobbing and his own moments of surreal panic. It should not be so easy to give in to Draco's cold comfort.

Draco guided him to the bed and helped him to remove his clothing. They climbed onto the soft mattress and Harry clung to him, needing nothing more than gentle fingers carding through his hair and the feel of Draco's throat against his face. Tears stung his eyes when he realized they only had fourteen short hours before Draco went back to being a typical ghost and they would have to brew the potion all over again. Fourteen hours and Harry was wasting it by holding him and trying not to cry.

Harry fell into a doze and awoke sometime later, partially chilled from holding Draco so tightly. He couldn't bring himself to move away and only reached beneath his pillow to touch his wand and cast an absent Warming Charm.

"Want me to warm you?" Draco asked without pressure. Fingers skated over the back of his neck, tracing the curls and bumping over the bones of his neck. Harry wanted to feel them touching him everywhere.

Draco was as good as his word, and despite the fact that his hands and mouth were cold, they still ignited a flame that had Harry kicking off his blankets within minutes, and flushed with heat soon thereafter.

When Draco pushed two fingers into him, Harry came explosively, filling Draco's now-solid mouth. Rather than swallow it, Draco scooted upwards and kissed him, depositing the fluid into Harry's mouth. It made him want to gag, but he swallowed quickly, grimacing at the cooling, bitter flavour.

Draco chuckled. "I think you taste lovely, Potter. I would swallow all of you if I could."

Harry's annoyance melted away and he tangled his hands in Draco's hair to pull him into another kiss, snogging him until nothing remained but the flavour of Draco. Harry's hands eventually found their way into Draco's trousers and fondled and stroked until Draco was gasping against his mouth and rutting into his hand until cool liquid spurted over Harry's wrist and fingers.

Draco caught his hand and kissed each knuckle, licking it clean even as the silvery residue began to fade. Draco's eyes were dark pools in the light of the lamp Harry had forgotten to quench. Each soft kiss pressed into his knuckle felt like a promise and Harry was suddenly glad that Draco would never age and never disappear.

Draco froze mid-kiss and then continued, seeming to sense the volumes of meaning beneath Harry's simple question. "Until you tell me to go," he replied.

Harry forced a smile, even though the moment was far too heavy and laden with emotion for it to resemble humour. He replied, "Forever, then."

Harry fought his growing feelings of futility by throwing himself into his classes, driving his students to learn more and more difficult spells until they grumbled threateningly at each task. Finally Minerva pulled him aside for a talk.

He sprawled on the sofa in his sitting room with a bottle of Firewhisky open next to him. A glass sat next to the bottle, but he hadn't bothered to pour any of it, although getting shitfaced had sounded like a fine option when he'd opened it.

"'They aren't Aurors, Harry,'" he mimicked, resting his head more comfortably on a sofa pillow and wishing it was Draco's lap. Draco sat cross-legged on the table behind the bottle, watching him with an amused smile hovering on his lips. They now had six vials of the potion bottled and ready for use, but they preferred to use it on Sundays when Harry had the most uninterrupted time to spend wrapped around his ghostly lover.

Harry shot him a glare. "That doesn't mean they shouldn't be prepared. And some of them want to be Aurors. I'm only doing my job."

Draco cocked a brow at him and Harry sat up, warming to the argument. Draco always seemed to know when he was spoiling for a fight and he hadn't yet backed down from providing one. The prior week Harry had spent nearly an hour shouting at him over the proper way to perform the Klein Manoeuvre—which was a variant of the Wronski Feint—until Harry's rage had propelled him out to the Quidditch pitch to demonstrate. After a bracing, exuberant flight, Draco had only laughed at him—the entire argument had been a ploy to get Harry outside to work off some pent-up emotion.

"They are not all children. The Seventh-years are adults and should be perfectly able to—" Harry's words broke off when the Floo flared to life and Hermione's face appeared in the flames.

He glanced at Draco and lifted a hand that motioned him to stay while calling, "Sure!"

Hermione stepped out and looked from him to Draco in surprise, but she schooled her features. "Hello, Malfoy."

Hermione looked nearly as bad as Ron. She seemed to have lost at least a stone and her clothing sat loosely upon her frame. Her hair was pulled back into a severe knot and she wore a too-large cardigan that Harry recognized as belonging to Ron.

"Has something happened?" Harry asked, feeling the now-familiar frisson of alarm each time he saw her. He hated that the sight of her had become synonymous with bad news.

She shook her head and he relaxed slightly. "No, I just… I just needed to get away. Ron is in a rage at the moment and I hate to fight with him, although part of him seems to need it. And I understand, of course I do, but…" She looked away and shrugged. "Is that Firewhisky?"

She sat next to him and lifted the bottle to pour a healthy slug into the glass. Her eyes fixed on Draco. Harry waited for the inevitable question, but her attention was snared by the stack of books that sat on the table next to them. She cocked her head to read one of the titles.

"Harry, is that…?" She set the glass down without drinking it and reached for the book.

"Just research for class," Harry said quickly, although he shot a guilty glance at Draco.

"Research? This looks very dangerous. And quite possibly illegal." She flipped it open to a page that Harry had foolishly bookmarked. "'A Spelle of Subtility, to restrain thyself from matter.' What does that even mean?"

"It means to make oneself transparent," Draco replied. "Permeable. Like a ghost."

Hermione recoiled and then stared at Harry. "You aren't thinking about trying this on yourself, are you?"

Harry frowned. "Why would I do that?" It was only partly true, of course, since he had considered it a time or two, but only before the potion had become a viable option.

"Because I like having him here," Harry said, knowing that any sort of dissembling would have Draco up and out of the room in a flash, probably angry, and possibly off sulking with the thestrals or somewhere that Harry wouldn't be able to find him until he wanted to be found. Besides, it was the truth.

Draco's eyes glowed with an inner fire that Harry figured only he could see, and it warmed him to know that he'd said the right thing, although possibly not from Hermione's point of view. "You two resolved your differences, then?" Her tone was dubious and her frown intensified.

"You'll be glad to know that we bonded over books. And Drac—Malfoy has been very helpful." He kept his eyes fixed on Hermione's, but did not miss the lift of Draco's eyebrows and the slight toss of his head that clearly said, Very helpful. Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

"Here and there," Harry replied, amusement fleeing. "Are you seriously going to chastise me, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, for having books about Dark Magic?"

She flushed and snapped the book closed before replacing it on the table. "Sorry. You're right, Harry. You know how I am." She reached for the glass again and took a large gulp of Firewhisky. A moment later she set the tumbler down and began to cough, continuing until Harry patted her gently on the back and tried to remember some anti-choking spells. Minerva had given him a refresher course on emergency first aid prior to school starting, but already he was beginning to forget them. She waved him aside when he drew his wand.

"I'm fine," she said through a gasp and another bout of coughing. "Merlin! How can you drink that?"

She shuddered and set the glass aside. "I don't recommend it. Apparently, I'll never be a drinker."

She sighed. "I should get home. I left Ron at his flat and threatened never to see him again. I'll go apologize tomorrow."

"It's possible part of his anger is due to the fact that you are all treating him like he's made of glass." Hermione drew a breath to retort, but Draco held up a hand. "Yes, yes, he is dying. If you were in his shoes, would you want everyone around you acting like you were going to drop dead at any moment and coddling you like an infant?"

Hermione's jaw worked and her eyes flashed angrily. Harry thought she might lash out at Draco to alleviate some of her own tension, but then she visibly deflated. "No," she said in a small voice. "No, I would hate that."

Draco only nodded. Harry gnawed on his lip. He knew it would be easier said than done, especially for Hermione, whose impulse to take care of everyone around her had always been strong.

"I'll go see him tomorrow and apologize. I know I've been overprotective and maybe a little overwhelming. I just…" She turned away and Harry could see her stare fixedly at the opposite wall in an obvious attempt not to cry. When she regained control she got to her feet. "Thank you, Draco. Harry, can I speak with you for a moment?"

She moved away to the fireplace and reached up to take a handful of Floo powder. Harry got up and joined her. She glanced at Draco and then leaned close to him. Her brown eyes were wide and intense when she said in a low voice, "Please, be careful."

"You admitted to me once that you found Malfoy attractive, Harry. Do not take refuge in something that appears real."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, but he pretended to straighten a candleholder on the mantle, unable to meet her eyes and lie.

She sighed. "Just think about it, all right? There is a whole world full of living, breathing people. Don't lock yourself away in this old castle and tie yourself to what might have been."

He flushed at her words and a retort bubbled up in his throat, fuelled partly by anger and partly by guilt. The urge to tell her that she didn't know everything was strong, but he forced it back, unwilling to have a row with her when she was still stinging from a fight with Ron. And part of him knew she was right.

"Yeah, okay," he said casually, forcing it out through a false smile that tweaked the muscles in his jaw unpleasantly.

Her lips thinned, but she only tossed the powder with a flick of her wrist. "Goodnight, Harry," she said and stepped into the flames.

Harry stepped out of the fireplace at Malfoy Manor. The place looked surprisingly barren. Harry had half-expected it to be hugely decorated for the holidays, but there was not a sprig of evergreen or holly to be found. Draco already waited for him; his fingers fidgeted with the lapels of his robe, a gesture Harry had seldom seen.

Draco snorted. "Of course not. She's my mother." He squared his shoulders and cocked an eyebrow at Harry expectantly.

Harry fished in his pocket and pulled out a potion vial. He uncorked it and then stepped close to pour it into Draco's open mouth. After a moment, a hand reached up to touch his cheek.

"I'll see you tonight," Harry said, heart already aching for the next several lonely hours that loomed ahead. He turned away, planning to step back into the fireplace, but Draco caught him before he could, and planted a solid kiss on his lips. Harry kissed back, despite his near-terror that Narcissa Malfoy could walk in and catch them at any moment.

Harry shrugged. "She's your mum. And without her, we wouldn't have the potion at all, so go on. Spend some time with her."

Slightly more than fourteen hours later, Draco returned. Harry was propped in bed, reading, when Draco phased through the closed door to his room.

Draco floated over and sat cross-legged on the bed. "Both easier and harder than expected," he said. "She cried, of course. And held my face like she did when I was five. That was disturbing. But it got easier after a bit and we walked in the garden. It was nice to touch the flowers again—I helped her prune the roses and decorate one of the Christmas trees. Other than the lack of eggnog, it was almost like old times. And then I went to my room and boxed up some things to send here. They should arrive by owl post tomorrow."

Harry's smile faltered. He had never expected such a straightforward statement from Draco Malfoy. "I missed you, too." He leaned towards Draco, who did the same until their lips met… sort of.

"Three vials," Harry replied, licking his lip to warm the chill left from Draco's not-kiss. "And tomorrow is Sunday."

Ron took a drink of his lukewarm tea, grimaced, and then turned and hurled the teacup at the far wall. It pulverized with a satisfying smash and the resultant tea that sprayed the wall before trickling down in a pseudo-artistic fashion was merely icing on the cake.

"Fuck," he muttered and debated cleaning up the mess of ceramic and tea. He decided he simply didn't care enough to bother and stamped into the living room to throw himself onto his uncomfortable sofa. He hated his bloody sofa, too. It had been a hand-me-down from Bill and no amount of Cushioning Charms could make it comfortable. The fabric was also a bizarre orange shade and left an unpleasant grid pattern on bare skin. Ron thought he might cast Confringo on it one day. He might even be sitting on it at the time. Right now, the thought of going up in a pillar of flame was grimly pleasing. His tight smile disappeared when he remembered the Fiendfyre. It hadn't been a pleasant way for Crabbe to go.

He glared at the ceiling, annoyed at his maudlin thoughts, but unable to stop them. It had been a crap day. A complete crap day. He considered Flooing to Hermione's, but he was not in the mood for sympathy and coddling. He wanted to break more things.

Harry lay on the couch with Draco atop him. They had been in the same position for an hour—Draco's head resting on Harry's chest and Harry's hands carding through Draco's soft hair. Ghosts didn't sleep, Draco said, but he was doing a fine imitation of it, except for an occasional stroke of his fingers over Harry's shoulder, where one hand rested. Harry was on the edge of sleep himself, feeling perfectly lethargic after a mostly sleepless night. He didn't want to drop off, though. Not until the potion wore off in something less than an hour.

"Hungry?" Draco mumbled. His fingers twitched in a caress and he made a contended sound when Harry's hand brushed over the back of his neck and then tucked into his hair again.

"No," Harry said. He hadn't eaten, but that could also wait. His time with Draco was precious. They only had two potions remaining and were missing two ingredients for another batch.

Harry grinned and pushed his head forward to press a kiss into Draco's hair. "No." He let his head fall back against the pillows and contemplated the cobweb on the ceiling rafters. The Hogwarts spiders were quick. The house-elves would have that one down by morning. It was a wonder the spiders had time to catch any insects. Harry closed his eyes only to snap them open again. He mustn't fall asleep. Not yet.

The fireplace flared and Harry jerked his head up to see Ron Weasley step away from the flames. Ron froze for only a moment and then tore out his wand.

"What the hell are you doing to him, Malfoy?" Ron demanded. "Get away from him!"

Harry sat up, dislodging Draco's cool weight and holding out a restraining hand. "Hold on, Ron! He's not doing anything!"

"Not anymore, I'm not," Draco muttered with a glare. He pushed away and got to his feet. Harry reached out to catch his arm, but it was only solid for a moment before his fingers slipped through Draco and away. The ghost stalked past Ron and said, "Weasley," in a derisive tone before making his way to the bedroom. Harry half-expected the door to slam, but Draco left it open, probably for eavesdropping purposes.

"Hey, Ron," Harry said in a more casual tone. He sat up and arranged the sofa pillows more comfortably, watching as Ron limped to the couch and sat down. They watched each other for a moment, both obviously unsure what to say. Harry had no intention of bringing up his relationship with Draco, so that was not a topic of discussion. He wasn't sure if he should bring Ron's appearance—his friend looked like an old man, moving carefully and with evident pain, wincing as he sat down.

Harry swallowed hard and his fingers convulsed. It was almost as much a blow as learning about Ron's illness; his job meant everything to him and he'd only been a full Auror for a few weeks.

"I expected it. I mean, look at me!" Ron held out an arm and Harry forced himself not to wince as Ron jerked back a sleeve to show off a once-muscular forearm turned bony and thin. Even the colour seemed slightly wrong; pale with a yellowish tint. "But they sent me a fucking owl; can you believe it? An owl." Ron pulled his sleeve back and dropped his arm to the sofa as if exhausted by the gesture. "'Dear Auror Weasley, in light of the recent incident involving the Netting Case, and after consultation with several persons of interest, we have suspended you from active duty pending a more thorough investigation. Please do not report to the Ministry tomorrow. We will contact you with additional information.'" He snorted. "Yeah, I have it memorized. Consultation with persons of interest—they mean the bloody Healers at St Mungo's. Nothing like patient confidentiality, yeah?"

"What incident?" Harry asked carefully. Ron has possessed a hair-trigger lately and even an innocent question could provoke rage.

Ron sighed and dropped his head against the back of the couch, scanning the rafters and possibly picking out the same cobweb Harry had been analyzing.

"I passed out on Friday during an investigation. Fucking dizziness came out of nowhere. Of course I was walking up a flight of stairs at the time. Fell down and nearly took out Chambers. He Apparated me to St Mungo's. Broke my fucking arm. The fall, not Chambers. It was a clean break and they fixed it up easy." Ron raised his right arm and twisted it to and fro to demonstrate its soundness. "I hate the bloody dizzy spells and being tired all the time. Some days I think I should just stay in bed and wait to die."

Panic fluttered through Harry's mind. How the hell could he reply to such a statement? Don't do that sounded like stupid, obvious advice. Please don't made it seem like a foregone conclusion. And some days we all feel like that would be insensitive and demeaning. The D-word settled over them like a dark cloud; Ron had been using it more frequently lately, maybe trying to assimilate the reality, but Harry was not yet ready to accept it. Hermione would come through; she always did.

Harry's glance fell on one of the books that sat on the table next to Ron's propped-up boot. Harry had put the more dangerous ones away, not wanting to face more Hermione-like questions from drop-in visitors. The book that remained was a relatively innocuous magical theory tome. Now he wondered if there were Dark Magic spells that might help Ron prolong his life, if not heal him completely. He would ask Draco when Ron left, and possibly get help from Narcissa. Harry felt suddenly selfish, using the books to books to strengthen his relationship with Draco and not once thinking of Ron.

"So, what's up with you and Malfoy?" Ron asked when the silence stretched out between them. The question seemed casual enough, even though Harry knew it was not.

Harry glanced toward the bedroom where he knew Draco had his ghost-hearing attuned to every word. Harry shrugged.

"Fuck off, Weasley." Draco's voice was so reminiscent of the way he had sounded as a petulant teen that Harry nearly laughed aloud.

Ron's gaze swung to him and he choked off his amusement. "You do know he's a ghost, right?"

"Just checking. How are you able to touch him, then? Or was I imagining your hands all over each other? Please tell me I was imagining that. I'd really appreciate it."

"Oh, bloody hell, never mind. I don't want to know. What I don't know, Hermione can't intimidate out of me."

"Yeah. I've been an unbearable prick and she's been tiptoeing round me and worrying worse than Mum… All right, yeah, no one worries worse than Mum, she's practically moved into my flat. I finally told her I can't sleep with her fussing so much in my place and the mediwizards told me I need rest. Now she only comes at mealtimes." He pulled out his wand and cast a Tempus Charm before putting it away with a sigh. "Oh good, I have some time yet before she comes to bring my lunch. Want to go say hey to Hagrid with me?"

Harry looked at the bedroom again and felt resentment well up inside of him for a moment, until it was crushed by guilt. So he would miss spending the last few minutes of the potion's effect with Draco. Soon he would be unable to see Ron at all, unless they found a miraculous cure. He got to his feet.

"Sure, let me grab my cloak. It's not warm out there." He hurried into the bedroom and was dragged into an embrace. Draco greedily devoured his lips and ran his hands over every part of Harry he could reach.

"You're not leaving without one last kiss," Draco mumbled against his lips and kissed him again.

Harry held him as long as possible and then pulled away reluctantly. "Found it!" he called for Ron's benefit and snatched up his winter cloak from a nearby chair.

He hoped he didn't look too mussed and aroused as he slung on his cloak and went to join Ron. If his friend noticed anything amiss, he thankfully said nothing.

The holidays were the most sombre Harry could recall since leaving the Dursleys. He spent Christmas Eve at the Burrow where everyone wore enforced cheer like cloaks and drank far too much alcohol. Molly kept rushing off to the kitchen to check on a never-ending assortment of biscuits and pastries. Hermione called it "stress-baking" and mentioned to Harry that Molly had already burst into tears four times. They were all aware that it could be Ron's last Christmas. For his own part, Ron drank so much Firewhisky that he seemed to be in excellent spirits until he passed out on a sofa shortly after 10 p.m. with his head pillowed on Hermione's lap.

Ginny wasn't scheduled to arrive until New Year's Eve, due to a holiday exhibition Quidditch match being played by her Argentinean team, which only seemed to add to Molly's melancholy.

Christmas morning was the worst. Harry's hangover was amplified by the quiet that kept descending on the group gathered around the Christmas tree, despite all efforts to make it seem like a typical, jovial holiday.

George's jokes drew little more than wan smiles from his siblings and his gift to Bill—of sweets that looked like goose droppings—brought no more than a sigh and a frown from Molly, rather than her usual angry tirade.

When Ron opened a gift and hoisted aloft a burgundy jumper with a large R embroidered on it, Molly's lip quivered and her voice broke when she said, "You were due for a new one."

"Aw, Mum," Ron said quietly and Molly burst into tears. She threw herself at him and sobbed earnestly.

"Oh my boy," she murmured, "My poor boy."

Ron hugged her and buried his face in her shoulder. Hermione hiccoughed and Harry glanced at her to see tears trickling down her cheeks. He looked away, eyes stinging, and gripped the brightly coloured package on his lap so tightly the paper crinkled.

Bill got up from his seat on the floor and enveloped Molly and Ron in a hard embrace joined a moment later by Arthur.

Fleur burst into tears. "Oh eet ees just too sad!" she cried and fled the room. Harry wanted to follow her. He wanted to escape the grieving family and run, to fly far away to a place where everything was right again. A place where Ron was whole and healthy and Draco was alive.

O….O

Harry stumbled out of the Floo and tossed his armful of Christmas gifts haphazardly on the sofa. He marched into the bedroom and wrenched open the wardrobe to retrieve the single vial nestled in the protective wooden box.

He turned to see Draco lounging on the bed, watching him. "I thought we'd agreed to save that one."

Harry had no idea what to say. It was their only remaining potion and they really should save it for a more thoughtfully planned occasion. Harry knew it, but at the moment he didn't care. He was exhausted and aching and felt like the world was crumbling beneath his feet. "I need you," he said and sank down on the bed. His shoulders slumped and he twisted the vial with his fingers in a nervous gesture.

A wash of cold pressed up against him and he leaned into it. "Please," he whispered.

"All right," Draco said.

Harry turned and pulled the cork before tipping the vial into Draco's mouth. A sick feeling twisted his stomach as he watched the liquid disappear. It was their last potion. Narcissa's mole cricket supplier had run out of the insects. He had promised to acquire more, but a week had already stretched into two. The fact that this could be their last time together for the foreseeable future made Harry's breathing quicken in near-panic, but then it was too late to call it off.

"Bad day?" Draco asked and then touched his lips to Harry's.

Harry kissed him like a drowning man searching for air. Their lovemaking was sweet, but with an air of desperation that had been growing in Harry for weeks. He touched and kissed every reachable bit of Draco's skin, until Draco gasped and arched with every caress. Harry slicked his fingers with a wandless spell and pushed two of them inside. They had never taken the final step, both of them joking that it would probably kill one of them. Harry wished the potion added more than just tangibility—he was used to Draco's cool kisses, but penetration without warmth would get uncomfortable quickly.

Still, his fingers could take it, so he pushed and twisted, sliding his digits into and out of Draco's slicked entrance. He added a third finger and drew his tongue up the length of Draco's hard cock. Draco came, calling his name and twisting his hands in Harry's hair; it hurt, but he wouldn't have traded the feeling for anything.

"I think I've died. Again."

Harry chuckled. "Funny."

"My turn," Draco said and then shoved Harry onto his back to give him the same treatment. Draco's cool lips felt like balm wherever they touched Harry's heated skin and he was soon writhing with need and cursing the Slytherin's unspoken revenge. Draco touched everything but Harry's leaking cock.

"Tease," Harry groaned and reached down to take care of it himself, but Draco batted his hand away with a warning glare. "Prat."

"No talking, unless you feel the need to say 'Draco' and 'more'."

Harry made a gasping, choking sound and then murmured, "Draco, more."

When Draco's fingers pushed into him, it was too much for his already-taut senses. He came explosively, cock still untouched, shuddering and near-sobbing with the force of his release.

"Well, that was interesting," Draco said in an amused tone and then pressed a kiss to the tip of Harry's cock, drawing forth a final spurt of pale liquid.

"You are so evil," Harry said.

"I have the Dark Mark to prove it."

Harry snorted and drew him up by the hair to kiss him. "I'll let you make it up to me later."

"How much later?"

"Give me ten minutes."

O….O

Harry was glad for the holiday break as he slept in on Boxing Day, holding Draco's mostly naked form closely. He kept the cold at bay by piling extra blankets atop them, using Draco to counter the insular heat.

He pressed a kiss into Draco's neck, just below the soft curls of his hair. He knew without checking that time was short. His grip tightened around Draco's torso, holding him more closely.

"Almost time," Draco said with a sigh.

"I know." Harry swallowed hard and shut his eyes, wishing with every fibre of his being that he could freeze time. He cursed the Ministry for destroying all the Time-Turners, because he would invade the Department of Mysteries without hesitation in order to retrieve one. He would go back in time and save Draco before he died, snatch him from Goyle's choking hands and keep him safe forever.

He felt it instantly when Draco began to fade in his arms, slipping silently back into ghostly intangibility. Harry wanted to weep.

"Fuck," he said roughly. His throat had gone tight again, making speech difficult. "Fuck, Draco, I can't deal with this. It's not enough. It will never be enough." Fourteen bloody hours when Harry wanted a lifetime.

Draco's coldness moved away. Harry opened his eyes to see him leaving the bed. "Not enough?" Draco echoed.

"No. This is just... I need more. I need—" Harry sat up, shaking his head and trying to find the words to tell Draco everything he felt.

"You need someone real," Draco finished.

"That's not what I meant!"

"It's what you need, though. Was it goodbye, then, that tender lovemaking and all your sweet words? Are you finally ready to move on?"

Harry threw aside the blankets, but his feet were tangled in the sheets. He kicked at them desperately as Draco moved towards the door.

"No! No, that's not it at all. Draco, wait!"

But Draco didn't wait, and by the time Harry got his legs freed it was too late. Draco was gone. Harry ran back to his room and pulled out the Marauder's Map, but an hour of frantic name-searching did not turn up Draco's name.

He was gone.

O….O

For three days Harry haunted the grounds of Hogwarts and relentlessly searched the Marauder's Map for any sign of Draco. He lurked around the thestrals and searched the Chamber of Secrets and long-forgotten parts of the castle—places that did not appear on the map. He nearly got buried in a rockslide after wandering into an abandoned section of the dungeons damaged in the war and never repaired. Only his refusal to drop his wand—despite a numbing blow on the back of his wrist from a falling boulder—allowed him to slowly shift the fallen debris and free himself from an ignominious death. He wondered if he would turn into a ghost if he died, and stay with Draco, or if the pull of seeing his loved ones again would be too great. He decided he would rather not chance it.

After his near-burial, he sought out Nearly-Headless Nick to ask if he had any idea of Draco's whereabouts.

"I am glad you brought this matter up, Harry," Nick said with a sombre expression. "I have been meaning to speak with you about it, on behalf of the others, who chose to defer to my centuries of wisdom and my vast experience with the foibles and intricacies of, shall we say, amour."

Harry stared at him, having no idea what he was talking about. He waited for the ghost to get to the point.

"Frankly, Harry, your relationship with Mr Malfoy has been a subject of concern amongst the ghostly residents of Hogwarts. And, dare I say it, gossip."

Harry flushed. He thought he and Malfoy had been careful, only showing affection when they were in Harry's room. They were often together in other areas of the castle, watching all of the Quidditch matches with one another, and Malfoy accompanied him whenever he visited Hagrid or the greenhouses, and they frequently walked down to the lake… Harry finally admitted to himself that he and Malfoy were practically joined at the hip and it was probably a subject of conjecture amongst more than just the ghosts. He was surprised Minerva hadn't mentioned it, but since she was the one originally suggesting Harry try to get along with Malfoy, perhaps she would have felt hypocritical bringing it up. Besides, no one would believe he had fallen in love with the git.

"My relationship with Draco is no one's business but ours," Harry said coldly.

Nick sighed. "Harry, you must know there are certain proprieties that must be observed, much like in the tangible world. It is forbidden for the non-living to fall in love with the living. It can only lead to heartache."

Harry glared. He knew Nick spoke the truth, but that did not make it any easier to hear. "Forbidden by whom? There are no hard and fast rules for love and we can't always choose who we fall for. Sometimes it just happens."

"I understand that, Harry, truly I do, but logic must dictate—"

"Is this the same logic that dictates you can't be allowed into the Headless Hunt?" Harry asked. It was a low blow, but he did not feel like being chastised by a centuries-dead ghost and he still had no idea where to find Draco.

Nick drew himself up with an affronted huff of breath. "I see you are not of a mind to be rational at the moment. I do hope you will consider my words before the others decide to take action." With that, Nick glided down the corridor and then slipped sideways into a wall and was gone.

Harry scowled, feeling petulant. "Before the others decide to take action," he muttered. "What are they going to do? Boo at me until I give up Draco?" He did not say it loudly, however, remembering well that Draco had had no problem annoying him to near-madness upon his arrival at Hogwarts. The sudden vision of dozens of ghosts standing around Harry's bedside reciting potion ingredients—and worse—gave him chills.

It also left him no closer to finding Draco.

On the fourth day he concluded that Draco was no longer at Hogwarts, so he paid a visit to the next most obvious place for Draco to have gone. Harry went to Malfoy Manor.

He waited in a dark-panelled room with cold-looking furnishings, seated on an uncomfortable sofa and staring at a painting of a bearded, silver-haired man who stared back, looking baleful and disapproving. Harry was afraid to walk closer and read the small golden plaque attached to the portrait, not curious enough about which Malfoy ancestor it was to risk encouraging the man to speak.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Potter," Narcissa said as she glided into the room. She wore robes of deep red trimmed in silver. They looked vaguely festive and he realized with a start that the holidays were not over yet. What little joy the season had brought this year had been sucked away with Draco's departure.

Harry rose instantly. "Is Draco here?" he blurted.

She blinked at him in surprise and Harry realized he had bypassed all sorts of traditional, polite wizarding greetings and whatnot, but she only walked past him to the window and adjusted a curtain that looked perfect to Harry. "No, he is not."

Harry frowned. He didn't know her well enough to know if she were lying. He knew she could lie, of course. She had lied to Voldemort, and convincingly. "When did you see him last?"

She turned sharply and frowned at him. "What do you mean? Are you saying you've lost Draco?"

Harry looked away and tugged at his hair. It sounded ridiculous; how did one lose a ghost? "Yes," Harry admitted. "I haven't seen him since Thursday. I've looked everywhere. Hogwarts, the Forbidden Forest, Hogsmeade…" He had even checked the Shrieking Shack, knowing it was farfetched, but searching anyway before leaving the empty place with a sense of relief as too many hurtful memories crowded his mind.

"Did something happen?" she asked gently.

Harry sighed and sank back onto the sofa, feeling suddenly weary. "Yeah. I said something stupid, but Draco thought I meant something else and didn't give me a chance to explain." Harry scowled. "Damn him for not listening! I know what he thinks and it isn't true." Harry's voice carried and he let it, just in case Draco was lurking in the mansion somewhere within hearing distance.

"What does he think?" she asked, walking back and sitting primly in a chair across from Harry.

"He thinks I'm tired of him. He thinks I want someone else… He thinks I want someone real, someone alive."

Narcissa nodded. "A valid consideration. And do you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, of course not. I want him." Admitting it aloud was cathartic, but also harder than expected. Harry's throat went tight and to his horror he felt heat prickling beneath his eyelids. "I want him," he repeated. "I know it's wrong and the potion probably made it worse, because it increased everything and made me think foolish, impossible things. I told Draco it wasn't enough. What I meant was that these stupid fourteen hour pretences of normalcy isn't enough!" Harry shot to his feet, unable to sit still with the force of emotion coursing through him. The room swam through his blurring vision. His breathing hitched and he struggled to speak normally. "I want more, Mrs Malfoy. Narcissa. I want Draco alive again."

Harry nearly winced at the shocked expression on her pale face. He had gone too far. He wanted too much. Surely he was completely mad? She would send an owl to St Mungo's and they would fetch Harry away to a quiet, soft, ghost-free room. Harry laughed without humour and then turned away to stalk towards the window. He dared not touch the curtains, since Narcissa could apparently see the tiniest imperfections, so he peered through a palm-wide gap in the fabric to see if it was still raining. Rivulets cascaded down the glass.

"I've been reading spell books," Harry went on and then shook his head with a snort. "Dark magic. It's ridiculous, I know. Most of them tell you how to create Inferi. Some of them tell you how to transfer souls into objects." He shied away from that one, thinking unpleasantly of Horcruxes. "There is even a spell that will tie a soul to a dead body, rather like Frankenstein's monster."

"I am afraid I don't understand your reference," she said. "Did you say 'tie' a soul?"

Harry turned back to look at her. He was glad of the subject change, because thinking about Draco was making him want to put a fist though the glass. Where could he be? Harry had been wrong; fourteen hours of touching was better than no hours. In fact, every moment he spent with Draco was better than not seeing him at all, even if Draco did nothing but criticise his teaching methods and complain about everything under the sun. Harry missed the sound of his voice and the way his nose would wrinkle just slightly when he was trying to make a point. He shut his eyes and tried not to think of Draco. Missing him was becoming physically painful. He focussed on Narcissa's words instead. "Yeah, it's kind of disgusting. In a fictional Muggle tale, a dead body is given a jolt with a lightning bolt and it reanimates the body, but of course it's not the same as a normal human when it awakens. Not quite like an Inferius, but not like a regular person, either. Why am I talking about this?"

"You found a spell," Narcissa said. Her voice sounded close and Harry realized she was standing behind him. "You found a spell that ties a soul to a dead body. But a ghost is not the same as a soul, or is it? Are ghosts the souls of the living? Or are they tangible memories, like portraits?"

Harry turned to look at her, frowning at her questions. "I don't know. I've done research, but most of the spells I've found have been thrown in with others. Is there a single authority on ghosts in the Wizarding World?"

"I don't know." She echoed his words. "I gave you only the books I had on hand. Do you suppose there is someone who would know?"

"Someone who would know what?"

Narcissa made an impatient gesture so reminiscent of Draco that Harry's heart clenched. "Someone who would know if it is possible to tie a ghost to a dead body, of course. Or allow a ghost to inhabit a body. Reanimate."

Harry recoiled at the thought of Draco entering and reanimating a dead body. He tried not to look too horrified when he answered carefully, "I suppose there must be."

She left her hands and began to spin a bracelet on her left wrist. It looked to be alternating diamonds and emeralds. Harry wasn't sure she even realized she was doing it as she pulled it round and round her wrist with short tugs.

"Where is Lucius?" Harry asked suddenly.

Her gaze, which had gone far away, snapped to his, and she seemed to stop breathing for a moment. "Draco didn't tell you?"

Harry had never asked, and now he felt a pang of guilt. He shook his head.

"Lucius is in the Orient on business," she said. Her voice had a strange timbre and Harry knew the conversation was over.

"How long?" he asked anyway.

She smiled at him wanly. "It doesn't matter. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Juice? Something stronger?"

A long time, Harry realized. Lucius had been gone for months. Possibly longer. It was Christmas and he still was not coming home. It was almost too much to bear, knowing that Draco's mother was alone in this horrible, massive house during the holidays, with only house-elves for company.

"Something stronger would be lovely," he said.

O….O

In the end, something stronger turned into quite a few somethings stronger. One small snifter of brandy led to three glasses of strong red wine, a slightly sobering dinner of roast beef and small purple-coloured potatoes, several more glasses of red wine, an after dinner port, and three glasses of Firewhisky.

"…and then Draco said, 'I'm six!' with such a supercilious expression it was all I could do not to burst out laughing." Narcissa chuckled at the memory and drained her glass.

Harry grinned. "Yes, he honed condescension to a fine art in school. I feel for the poor man, being the frequent recipient of that glare." He was feeling quite fuzzy and warm and they had moved from the strange, cold room to a very pleasant parlour with no angry paintings and much more comfortable furnishings.

"Poor Harry. Draco quite liked you as a boy. You were all he could talk about for his first few weeks at Hogwarts."

Harry gulped his drink, not wanting to remember their school years. If they had both been less proud and abrasive, they might have discovered each other before Draco… Well, before it was too late.

"He hasn't been here, then?" Harry asked for the fourth time that evening.

Narcissa's lips thinned into an irritated line. "Do you want me to put it in writing and sign my name in blood?"

Harry waved her off, fearing she was serious. "No, I believe you! I just… I miss him. I want to know where he's gone. I want to tell him I'm sorry and make more potion so I can touch him and—"

"Stop!" Narcissa cried, holding up a hand. "Stop! Stop!"

Harry frowned at her. "Surely you know I'm in love with your son? We get up to plenty of interesting things when—"

"Harry," she warned and held up a long finger, "Do not make me hex you insensible. I do not want details of your sordid affair with my son. Not one more word."

"He has the most—" Harry broke off and laughed as she pulled the end of her wand from her sleeve. "It's more than one word," he pointed out.

"You need not wax poetic about Draco to me. Clearly I love him more than is healthy, according to everyone I know." She took a sip of her drink, some clear concoction that looked like water but had to have been stronger, based on the bright pink spots on her cheeks and the very slight slurring of her words. She set the partially-empty glass on the table and stood up, looking decisive. "Come with me, Harry. I want to show you something."

Harry drained his glass, set it next to hers, and followed. Harry misjudged the door's width and smacked his shoulder into the jamb on the way out. He gave Narcissa a sheepish apology and hurried after her, rubbing the sore spot. It was possible he was slightly drunker than was prudent when following a powerful, ex-Death Eater witch through her potentially evil house in the middle of the night. They traversed a long hallway, turned several corners, descended some short staircases, and ended up standing before an oak door decorated with wrought-iron hinges and an elaborate pull.

Narcissa paused with her hand on the door. She looked at Harry and suddenly seemed uncertain. She worried her lower lip with her teeth and said, "You have seen Draco's room, yes? Do you think it is a bad idea to have left it exactly the way it was when he…?"

Harry shook his head. "Of course not. It isn't like you need the space. And you don't go in there every day and weep over his things… do you?"

Her eyes crinkled at the corners and she shook her head. "Well, at first I did, but then Draco complained that the moisture was going to ruin his keepsakes."

Harry chuckled. "There is that. It isn't like he's completely gone. Wouldn't he throw a tantrum if you started boxing up his things?"

She sobered and nodded. "Probably. And I would hate for him to think I was just… letting him go, like they all… like Lucius… tells me I should. I won't let him go, Harry. Not until I have exhausted every possible option. He is everything to me."

Harry swallowed and nodded, thinking of his own mother's sacrifice. "I'm sure I would do the same, were I ever to father a child."

She smiled wanly and opened the door.

Harry walked into the room, unsure what to expect. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes. The chamber was small and vaguely octagonal, with dark panelling and detailed wainscoting. There were no furnishings other than a heavy stone table in the centre of the room. Lying atop the table was Draco Malfoy.

Harry hurried forward, so many questions tumbling to the front of his mind that none of them escaped. He halted at the edge of the table, staring down in wonder at Draco's handsome face; it looked vibrant and healthy. His skin was pale, but had enough of a rosy tint that he looked alive and well. His hair was longer than worn by his ghostly self and Harry could not resist lifting a hand to stroke a bit of it away from Draco's forehead. He half-expected Draco to stir at the movement.

"How?" Harry asked, forcing his hand away. Draco actually hovered over the table, not quite touching it. He was dressed differently than when he'd died. Black trousers covered his legs and a dark blue cashmere jumper revealed the collar of a white silk shirt beneath. The V displayed the dip between his collarbones and Harry wanted to lean down and kiss it, as he had done so many times before, but he suspected the skin would be warm and soft, so unlike ghost-Draco's cool pseudo-flesh.

"My shame," Narcissa said quietly, coming to stand beside him. "I was at Hogwarts when Draco was killed. It was a coincidence, really. I wanted him to come shopping with me as soon as he finished his work shift." Her nose wrinkled. "It was dreadful, the things they made him do. My son, doing manual labour." She sighed heavily. "I know it was better than Azkaban, but it was disgraceful. His beautiful hands…" She reached out and lifted one, stroking her fingers across the pads of Draco's unresponsive fingertips. "I had to heal them for days until he developed these horrible calluses." She replaced the hand carefully across Draco's abdomen, folded atop the other. "At any rate, I was there and I felt him die." She laughed humourlessly at Harry's surprised movement and then shook her head. "Well, not quite literally. During the war, when I did not know whether he was alive or dead… It was the worst feeling, the crushing terror. Worse than being in the presence of the Dark Lord. I could withstand anything as long as I knew Draco was safe. So after the war I cast a spell on Draco that would alert me if he were in mortal peril. He knew about it, of course, and told me I was being silly and over-reacting, since the war was over. What danger could he possibly get into?"

She brushed a hand over Draco's trousers and picked at a tiny bit of fuzz near his kneecap.

"I should not have trusted Gregory Goyle. I knew something was not right about that boy, even before the war ended. He had been a rather quiet brute until witnessing some of the horrors perpetuated by the others. Greyback was the worst, taunting the boys and leading them more and more into depravity. I tried to shield Draco from the worst of it, but Gregory and Vincent…" She shook her head. "Gregory's mother died young and Vince's mother is nothing more than a frightened shell, cowering in the shadow of her husband's brutality. I tried to mother them as best I could, but I admit to not being especially fond of them."

Harry said nothing, but the thought of Fenrir Greyback influencing Crabbe and Goyle was chilling. Harry remembered how they had changed from rather typical schoolyard bullies into eager young Death Eaters, proud of their newfound abilities to hurt others. He swallowed hard at the memory of Crabbe shouting the Killing Curse in the Room of Requirement, ready to kill without mercy or hesitation. And Goyle had killed Draco. Did Narcissa indirectly blame herself for that? Harry thought it likely.

"Looking back and wondering at the possibilities does no good now, of course," Narcissa went on. "But it is difficult to keep from castigating yourself for not seeing the signs, for not doing more and protecting your own child—" Her voice broke, but she shook her head and carried on. "Regardless, I knew when Draco was in danger and I ran from the castle, somehow knowing it would be too late. I hexed Gregory insensible the moment I arrived. I didn't hurt him, thinking it had only been a boyish argument gone awry. I thought Draco would awaken and be fine, since so little time had passed. It had only been a few minutes, a few short minutes!" Her hand clenched on Draco's shin and her voice caught on a sob. She took a deep, heaving breath. Harry's hand curled into fists—he wasn't sure if placing a comforting hand on her shoulder would be helpful or distracting.

"I tried to bring him back. I cast spell after spell using everything I could think of, anything that might help. Minerva arrived and tried to stop me." She tossed her head and a tear slipped down the side of her face. "Nothing worked. Oh, I got his heart beating again, and he was breathing, but my Draco was gone. This—" she gestured to Draco's prone form, "is just a shell. I cast a Stasis Charm on him and brought him here. Lucius was mortified. We fought often. More and more frequently when I learned that Draco was a ghost. I spent hours, days, endless amounts of time doing nothing but research and casting experimental spells. I practically forgot Lucius existed."

She wiped absently at the tear, catching it on the back of her index finger. "To no avail, as it turns out. Draco's body lives, as you see. He is in a state akin to that of hibernation, breathing only rarely. His heartbeat is so slow as to be unrecognizable." She bit her lip. "He has no brain function. He is just… like a beautiful doll." She moved her hand down Draco's shin and touched one foot, clad in black socks. It made him look more vulnerable, somehow.

"Lucius and I had one last argument some time ago." She frowned. "Two years? Has it been so long?" She shrugged. "I asked what he wanted me to do, kill Draco's body? Stop trying to recover him? Stop looking for ways to force a ghost into a human likeness? He had no answers and I had no will to defend myself. He left on business and never returned. We still correspond, but there is no passion in it. We converse as strangers, discussing his business and my garden and the latest news from the Daily Prophet. Nothing of import."

"Do you think he will return?" Harry asked.

She glanced at him and shook her head. "Not as long as Draco remains here, like this. My shrine, Lucius calls it."

"What does Draco think?"

"He doesn't come here anymore. I think it is too hard for him to accept. We tried for months to return him to his body, to force his body to take on his ghostly form. Nothing worked. I believe I remember the spell you mentioned—the one to tie a soul to a body?" She shook her head and frowned. "There was something about that spell, wasn't there? Something that made it unfeasible?"

Harry swallowed. "Sacrifice."

She sighed and nodded. "That was it."

They were silent for long moments and then Narcissa said, "Lucius and I were terrible parents."

Harry stared at her, shocked that she had made such an admission.

She swayed and patted Draco's foot. "Oh yes, we were. Draco never wanted for anything as a child. Lucius and I both doted on him and by the time we realized he was dreadfully spoiled it was too late. Draco was demanding and critical and overly-dramatic. Salazar, the letters he used to send me, complaining about everything from the food to the sleeping habits of his house-mates." She shook her head. "I used to think it did not matter, that Draco deserved to have everything he wanted. He would have wealth and privilege and a fine place in society, looking down on those he thought were beneath him..." She stepped closer to the table and let go of Draco to place a steadying hand on the flat surface. She took a deep breath. "And then he came back."

She shuddered. "Everything changed. Our lives were no longer our own. Our very thoughts were no longer our own. We had no privacy, no freedom, no chance to escape. Plots would have been plucked from our brains before they even had a chance to germinate. Lucius became little more than a puppet, terrified to make a wrong move lest Draco and I suffer for it. I wanted to take Draco and flee, but we never had the opportunity. Voldemort never allowed the three of us to be together without a guard of some sort, be it my sister or one of his other loyal dogs. Draco grew up quickly during that terrible time. I suppose we have Voldemort to thank for expunging the spoiled brat and turning Draco into the man he is... or was."

She sighed deeply and gave Harry a smile that was taut and obviously forced. "Listen to me, getting maudlin. You shouldn't travel in your current state. You can sleep in Draco's room, if you like. Do you truly not know where he is?"

Harry shook his head. "I'd hoped he would be here."

"He might yet be. It is a very large house and I do not know all of his former favourite places. The elves would know. I can ask them."

"No. If he doesn't want to be found, I don't want to force myself on him." Harry's tone was bitter, but he could not resist reaching out and touching Draco's hair once more. Seeing him so tangible, as though he could open his eyes and awaken at any moment, was wrenching. "Thank you for showing me this."

"I probably would not have done so without that last drink," she admitted. "I am feeling a trifle woozy, so I believe I will retire. If you will excuse me?"

Harry nodded, feeling a bit unsteady, himself. He followed her to the door and out. Once back upstairs, she directed him towards Draco's rooms and then hastened away. Harry found his way to Draco's bedroom with only two wrong turns and sprawled on the soft bed without bothering to undress. The room spun around him and he tried to remember the incantation for a Sobering Charm until sleep overtook the spinning and pulled him into oblivion.

O….O

He woke up still sprawled on Draco's bed, although he had apparently dragged one corner of the bedspread over himself during the night. He felt stiff and rumpled with a raging headache banging away at his temples.

After forcing himself to his feet, locating his wand, and putting on his shoes (amazingly, he had managed to take those off the night before, at least), he made his careful way downstairs to use the Floo. A house-elf appeared before he departed, probably to insure Harry did not plan to make off with any Malfoy heirlooms, so Harry croaked, "Please tell Mrs Malfoy thank you for her hospitality."

The house-elf nodded and then Harry tossed his handful of powder and staggered into his room at Hogwarts. He stumbled to his knees and stayed there until the urge to expel the contents of his stomach eased. He hoped to hell he had a Hangover Potion somewhere in his potion stock. Urgh, he was never drinking again.

"Out having a good time, I see." The dry voice caused Harry's head to snap up in amazement. Draco stood nearby, arms folded and a disapproving glare affixed to his features.

Harry's heartbeat thudded in his temples. His first instinct—to race over and envelop Draco in a relieved embrace—was curtailed by the fact that it would be pointless, since he couldn't touch him anyway—and then the need disappeared beneath a rush of anger.

Not trusting himself to speak, Harry gave him a silencing glare and stalked into the loo. He opened the wall cabinet and moved his random potions around. Headache-Relief—that might work in lieu of finding the one he wanted. He frowned as he shifted vials. Where the hell was it? There had to be a Hangover Remedy somewhere…

Draco spoke from behind him. "I admit to hoping it would take longer than four days for you to replace me."

Harry closed his eyes at the quiet, hurt tone. He took a deep breath and held the cabinet door tightly. "I looked for you all that time. I searched this castle, I searched the forest, I was nearly killed in a cave-in, and I was taken to task for my unseemly behaviour by an elected representative of a ghostly consortium. In desperation I finally went to see your mother, who allowed me to drink far too much Firewhisky while crying on her shoulder." Harry finished his rant and turned to glare at Draco. "She allowed me to spend the night in your bed rather than Splinch myself, or mistakenly Floo myself to Merlin-knows-where, so I would appreciate you not using that woeful tone on me and daring to suggest that I no longer care for you. And where the hell have you been?"

Draco had the grace to look surprised. "You didn't actually cry on her shoulder, did you?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but the movement sent another shaft of pain coursing through his head, so he turned back to the cabinet with renewed determination.

"It's on the left side. Second shelf behind that shaving foam you hate."

"I don't hate it," Harry muttered to be contrary. He moved the jar aside and sighed with relief when his fingers closed over the Hangover Potion. He popped the cap and tipped the potion down his throat, swallowing quickly and mentally reciting every Runic symbol he could recall to distract himself from the taste, and also to keep from remembering the ingredients. His stomach roiled painfully and seemed to debate expelling the potion back from whence it came, but then the familiar hot rush exploded through him. He always thought the potion worked by boiling every remaining speck of alcohol from the bloodstream.

He shut the cabinet door and rested his head against it for a moment. He felt immediately better, but also very tired.

"I was in London," Draco said.

Harry rolled his head sideways to look at him. "London. Well, I didn't think to look there, did I?"

Draco's fingers twisted at one of the buttons on his robe, a nervous gesture Harry had seldom seen. "A cave-in? Did you honestly think I would be hiding in dirty tunnels beneath the castle?"

Harry pushed away from the cabinet and then pulled his shirt over his head. "Apparently I wasn't thinking very clearly. It seems to be a habit of mine." He took his wand out and tossed it next to the sink, then added the miscellaneous items from his pockets—a random To Do list, a few Galleons and Knuts, a sweet wrapper he'd been in too big a hurry to Vanish, and a small paper packet he didn't recognize. He opened it carefully to find four mole crickets nestled within. Narcissa. He held them up for Draco's perusal and smiled wryly.

"I don't want to know how she got them into my pocket."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "House-elves, obviously. Please do not make me imagine my mother's hand in such close proximity to your trouser pockets."

Harry snorted and took off his jeans, then turned on the water in the shower.

"What ghostly consortium?" Draco asked, apparently still tracking back over Harry's outburst.

"All of them, apparently. Did you know it's against some ghostly code of propriety for ghosts and humans to—" Harry stopped himself before saying fall in love, and he amended it to, "consort?"

"I knew."

Harry looked over his shoulder at that, to see Draco shrug.

"I knew; I just didn't care. Are you showering?"

Harry bit back a sarcastic retort, knowing Draco's ongoing questions were simply his way of continuing to speak when he didn't know what to say. Harry could have made it easier on him, but four days of searching for the git had made him slightly less than charitable. Instead he pushed his pants down and stepped out of them, then shoved the curtain aside and placed himself beneath the hot spray.

He was aware of Draco watching him, but he wasn't feeling particularly turned on. Instead he kept going over his visit with Narcissa and seeing Draco's beautiful, lifeless (but not quite) body spread out like temptation, awaiting a magical kiss from a prince to bring him back to life. Harry suppressed a snort. If only it were that simple.

Harry shampooed his hair and then scrubbed his body, rinsing thoroughly before shutting off the water and grabbing a towel. As he wrapped it around himself, Draco asked, "Are you mad at me?"

Harry stepped close to him, eyes flashing. "I am very mad at you. I would consider myself lucky to be intangible, were I you." Draco looked down and seemed ready to slip through the wall and depart again. Harry added, "But I am also very glad you are back. Please don't disappear again." He reached up to touch Draco's face, even though the ghost couldn't feel it.

"But you said—"

"You didn't let me finish. And besides, I was just wishing aloud, all right? Not wishing for someone else, just stupidly wishing that you could stay tangible for longer than fourteen hours and without the assistance of some bloody potion with damned difficult to find ingredients. I was railing at the unfairness of it, all right? If you plan to disappear for days every time I say something you don't want to hear… Well, frankly I'm surprised you're still around."

Draco met his gaze and smiled wanly. "You know it's ridiculous and I'm not at all good for you. The Saviour of the World is supposed to marry the perfect girl and make babies and be the champion of justice and good."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "I did my part, and I prefer to choose for myself what is good for me and what is not, thank you very much. At the moment I am content to teach at Hogwarts and hang out with my former nemesis and now ghostly-boyfriend. Do you have a problem with that?"

"I was your nemesis?" Draco sounded immensely pleased at the prospect.

Harry shook his head, but could not restrain a smile. "I call you my boyfriend and you focus on being my nemesis, instead. Honestly, I should trade you in for someone kinder. Like the Bloody Baron."

"How dare you? The Bloody Baron? That was uncalled for! And I am appalled that you seem to have developed some sort of strange ghost fetish. Does the Headmistress know?"

Harry laughed. "I hope not, or I might be out of a job soon. Come on; let's get this damned potion brewing so I can show you how happy I am that you've returned. Also, you are not allowed to vanish for days again, is that clear?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You know you're kind of hot when you're being forceful?"

Harry's body reacted to that statement in a predictable fashion and he released the towel with deliberation. Draco's gaze dropped and heat flared between them. Draco's fingers opened his ghostly robes with alacrity and they did not even bother to leave the bathroom, instead watching each other wank with their eyes full of promise.

Later, with his release cooling on his abdomen, Harry leaned in until his mouth brushed the coldness that marked Draco's lips. "I would rather have fourteen hours with you than months on end with anyone else."

Draco enveloped him in a pseudo-hug, leaving him both cold and warm together. "Idiot," he mumbled.

"Yeah."

O….O

Much later, when the latest batch of Corporeal Potion was incubating safety in the wardrobe, Harry picked up the book with the worrisome spell. It was one of the books Narcissa Malfoy had sent him back when he had been trying to rid himself of Draco. It seemed a lifetime ago.

Draco shook his head. "Why do you keep reading those?"

"Your mum showed me your body." Harry watched Draco's face as he said it. There was no reaction at all, but Harry knew he was surprised.

"Why?"

Harry shrugged. "I think she just wanted to tell someone."

"What else did she tell you?"

"That your father left because she refused to give up on you."

"That is not the whole of it."

Harry nodded. "She knew about this spell."

"She wanted to cast it."

Harry's hands clenched around the book. The spell had been clear. A life for a life. "Whose?" he asked.

"Her own."

Harry shut his eyes. Sacrifice. Love. Of course Narcissa was willing to give her life for Draco's. She had lied to Voldemort to save him. His eyes snapped open. "You stopped her."

"Not just me. Father, too. The sacrificial victim cannot cast the spell. Mother was willing to give up her life for me, but Father refused to cast it. I admit I was pleased with his refusal. He loves her, even though it probably appears otherwise with his long absence. She can be very stubborn when she has her mind set on something."

"Well, now I know where you got that quality," Harry muttered.

Draco shot him a quelling look. "Please tell me she didn't ask you to do it."

"Do what?"

"Kill her, you idiot! She didn't ask you to cast the spell, did she?"

Harry drew in a sharp breath. "No! Of course not! I would never…" He bit his lip. Of course he would never cast such a spell. It would be murder, regardless of the outcome.

"Finish it," Draco said flatly.

"I would never kill your mother, not even to bring you back," Harry said quietly.

"Swear it."

"Draco…"

"Swear it! Promise me or I will fucking leave and you will never see me again!"

Harry scowled. "Yes! Fine! I promise I will never kill your mother! Merlin!"

To his amazement, Draco seemed to sag. "Thank you. I knew Father would never do it, but sometimes I fear she will find someone less scrupulous."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from retorting at the implication he might have been less scrupulous than Lucius Malfoy. Instead, he smiled sadly. "I know how it feels to have your mother die so you could live. I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

His words seemed to calm Draco, who stopped looking so tense and gave him a wan smile. "Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to for a moment."

"Yeah, Saviour of the World and all that."

"Doer of No Wrongs."

Harry choked a laugh. "I haven't heard that one."

"That's because I am innovative."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'mad,'" he corrected.

"Quiet, you. Now put that damned book away and carry on with reading mine. I am eager to know if Estelle marries Thomas or leaves him at the altar."

"Your taste in literature is appalling."

"Says the man who never even read Beedle the Bard." Draco waves a hand. "The book, Potter."

Harry grumbled, but he dropped the book of Dark Magic on the floor and took up Draco's latest trashy novel. He tried to concentrate on the words, but his thoughts returned time and again to the book on the floor and the insidious magic within.

New Year's Eve was slightly better than Christmas had been, partly due to Ginny's return. Harry went to the Weasleys' after extracting a promise from Draco that he would be there at midnight even if Harry had to meet him in the loo. Harry had no intention of kissing anyone else, not that Ginny would have offered. She was full of stories of her new boyfriend, as well as tales of the wonders of Argentina. She looked amazing, fit and tanned, with a new short haircut that had caused Molly to wail regretfully, but Harry had the feeling Molly was feeling another pinch due to the fact that her children were all grown up.

There seemed to be a concerted effort not to revisit the maudlin depression of Christmas, and this time the family focussed on good memories and rollicking stories full of laughter. It helped that the house was stuffed to bursting—several people from Arthur's division at the Ministry were there, as well as a few of Bill and Fleur's friends, a couple of George's cronies, and a collection of old friends such as Kingsley Shacklebolt and Luna Lovegood.

Champagne flowed freely and Harry made small talk with his old friends from Hogwarts, drinking soda instead of champagne due to residual nausea left over from the Firewhisky incident. As midnight approached, Harry slipped outside and made his way to a secluded corner of the garden. Draco stepped out of the shadows and smirked at him. The countdown from inside the house sounded clearly, shouted from so many voices. Harry felt surprisingly happy.

Harry laughed again and leaned close to him. "No one, silly. Why do you think I wanted you here? I'm not kissing anyone but you tonight."

"Close enough," Harry replied and then there was silence from the house and he leaned forward in a practiced motion, lips pursed and eyes fluttering shut. He remembered the many kisses they had shared and when he opened his eyes again Draco had a soft smile flickering at the corners of his lips. "Happy New Year, Draco."

People began to spill into the garden as George's collection of fireworks exploded into action. Draco held up his hands and Harry brushed his own through them, and then Draco faded through the hedge and was gone.

Ron joined Harry moments later. "Why can't you touch him now?" Harry looked at him in surprise and Ron shrugged. "I saw you from the window after Hermione cornered me and snogged me." He grinned at that. "Nice to know she still cares."

"Then it's research. You know it's research! She's been trying…" Harry let the sentence dangle. They both knew what Hermione had been doing—searching every viable source for a solution to Ron's looming demise. "Where is she?"

Ron sighed. "Crying again. She said she was going to fetch more champagne, but she ran off to the loo. I'm sure she's sobbing about this being my last New Year ever." Ron's tone was remarkably blasé. Harry frowned, but Ron went on. "So, what happened with Malfoy? He wasn't quite as ghostly last time I saw him."

"It's a potion," Harry explained. "It makes him more tangible. One of the ingredients is really rare, so we don't always have a stock. Nine days until the next batch is ready." Harry smiled sadly. "You are surprisingly non-freaked-out by this."

Ron snorted. "Staring the Reaper in the face has a funny way of changing your perspective. If you're happy falling for a ghost, then so be it, although I won't pretend to understand why you chose Malfoy, of all people." Ron shook his head.

"I didn't choose him, exactly. In fact, I wanted to destroy him at first. God, he can be such an irritating prat, even now." Harry shook his head, but his words sounded fond even to his own ears. Bloody hell, he had it bad. "It just… happened."

A flaming phoenix swooped low over their heads and Ron bellowed, "George! If you catch my hair on fire again, I'll hex you so hard you'll not be able to walk for a week!"

George laughed. "You know, I think you looked better bald, little bro!" he called back. The phoenix dipped low again, forcing both Ron and Harry to duck, and then Ron's wand was out and he was throwing hexes at George while the others laughed.

For just that little while, everything seemed all right again, and 2003 dawned bright with promise, despite the dark clouds that loomed on the horizon.

Mid-January brought bitter cold, along with irritable, school-bound post-holiday children, and increasing visits from a worsening Ron. His weakened immune system had left him vulnerable to a cold that had the Healers monitoring him to ascertain it didn't turn into pneumonia.

Bizarrely, Ron was beginning to get on with Draco, keeping him company while Harry was in class. They spent hours playing chess, even when Harry was in the same room. He left them to it and concentrated on marking his lessons and concocting new ones, trying to strike a balance between rudimentary and difficult spells for the upcoming N.E.W.T.s.

Ron snorted. "Not as juvenile as you might think, Malfoy." He moved a piece. "Checkmate."

Harry suppressed a grin at Draco's explosion of disbelief and the subsequent argument regarding who was the bigger git and demands for a rematch, followed by a severe bout of coughing from Ron until he choked down a pinkish potion.

Harry nearly choked on a laugh and Ron yelped and quickly set the pieces back up. "Just shut up and play, you wanker!"

Harry chanced a quick glance at Draco, who was grinning smugly. He winked at Harry and then set about studying the board again. Harry turned back to his stack of essays without seeing them. Despite Draco's words, they had not actually done… that yet. They hadn't discussed it, but something made Harry hold back any time he came close to considering it. He thought it might be fear that once he made such a leap there would be no turning away from the course he had set.

He looked surreptitiously at Draco again. The ghost stared at the chess board, intently mapping his next move while his teeth worried at his lower lip in an unconscious gesture. Harry couldn't help the flare of warmth that made him look away before he was caught staring. Admittedly, it was probably already too late. He couldn't imagine giving himself to anyone but Draco. Soon.

He lifted a sheaf of papers to disclose the book containing the spell he had studied a dozen times. Every time he thought it seemed viable, he would talk himself out of it, or picture Draco's narrowed eyes and adamant, angry expression. Rationally, he knew the spell was not feasible, practical, or even possible, but emotionally it still called to him like a siren song.

On the table near the bed sat Advanced Magical Theory, which he had been reading lately, trying to wrap his head around some of the concepts he had barely registered as a child. Then, they had been only words in a book that needed to be twisted into essay form in order to pass his N.E.W.T.s. Now, they made sense and caused him to spend hours following paths of logic only to butt up against another concept that forced him to read a different chapter and try to entwine the ideas together. Usually they made his head hurt and he had gained a new respect for Hermione, who not only seemed not to mind such mental adventures, but actually thrived on them.

Of course, she was not here to help him now. Harry resisted the urge to look at Ron, quietly coughing as he snickered at Draco's latest move. She was off doing research to try and save Ron. Harry moved the papers back over the grimoire with a guilty jerk. He should be helping her instead of reading about ghost theory and magical transference. Draco wasn't going anywhere, but there might still be hope for Ron.

He vowed to spend more time helping his friend and less time trying to make his boyfriend more tangible.

Hermione dropped in a week later, surprising Harry outside the DADA classroom when he'd finished a session with his Third-year students.

He hugged her warmly, despite the visceral stab of anxiety her presence induced. His thoughts went immediately to Ron, who hadn't visited in a couple of days, even to play chess with Draco. Harry hoped he hadn't taken a turn for the worse.

His concern must have been evident in his expression; Hermione smiled wryly. "It's all right, nothing terrible has happened."

Harry tried to grin and laugh it off, but her grimace told him she wasn't fooled. "It's good to see you," he said sincerely.

"You, too. Can we talk inside?" She looked past him at a group of students who lurked nearby, chatting in a typically teenaged fashion, although they shot curiously looks at him and Hermione. Visiting adults always drew attention and random speculation.

"Worse. Some of them are convinced Ron and I are dating." He stepped back and ushered her into the classroom, and then led the way to his office.

She tried to look contrite and failed miserably. Harry suppressed his own grin, trying not to encourage her. It was nice to see her in good spirits; he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her smile. He hated to spoil it by asking what had brought her to Hogwarts.

"Sorry. I'm not here to speculate on your love life, although if there is anything you would like to tell me…?" She raised a brow at him.

For a moment he felt a flash of panic, thinking she had sussed out his relationship with Draco, or that Ron had let something slip.

Harry nearly deflated with relief, and covered it by pretending to neaten the stacks of paper on his desk. "No, of course not. I thought you weren't here to speculate on my love life." He gave her a pointed stare.

She snickered at him and then sobered. "Actually, I'm here to borrow some of your books."

She looked around as if expecting someone to overhear, and then lowered her voice. "Your Dark Arts books."

Harry nodded. "I know. I actually have a few spells marked that I wanted to ask you about. Maybe you can make better sense of them." They chatted about her job on the way to his rooms and he let her inside with no fear of encountering Draco; he was off helping Hagrid with a new thestral foal that had been born that morning. Harry had barely suppressed a smile when Draco had gone on about the cuteness of the tiny animal, until he'd caught himself and thrown Harry a haughty glare. "I mean, it is cute for a disgusting creature."

Harry gestured towards the stack of books that covered most of his desk and some of the floor. Hermione picked one up and Harry said, "I've marked the ones I think might be relevant." He glanced surreptitiously towards the bed. The Grimoire of Armadel sat on the bedside table. A wave of his hand sent it onto the bed and beneath the pillow, out of sight. Nothing in the book would help Ron; Harry had been through it cover to cover more than once.

Hermione didn't notice, engrossed as she was with the books on the desk. "Did you give up on ghost research? You haven't asked to sleep on my sofa in a while. Has Malfoy stopped bothering you?" She looked at him and her gaze was piercing. He realized she hadn't been fooled for a moment.

"Oh. Yeah, he's... we're getting on much better now." Harry blushed and hurried forward to sort through the books on the floor. "I need a couple of these for class, and this one doesn't have any useful information that I could find. The author seems to be related to Gilderoy Lockhart, at least as far as the ego goes..."

Hermione smiled and lifted a knapsack into which she began stuffing books. When the seventh book went in, Harry made a mental note to teach his Seventh-year students her Undetectable Extension Charm. While not technically a Defence Against the Dark Arts spell, it had certainly come in handy during the war.

Harry was surprised at her willingness to drop the subject, but then he noticed the lines of weariness etched around her eyes. He wondered when she had last slept a full night.

She finished tucking the books away and slung the bag over her shoulder. "Ron has been over here frequently, hasn't he? Is he... How is he doing?"

She looked away. "We don't see each other as much as we used to. His mother takes up a lot of his time and when I'm not at work I've been trying to do research. He keeps telling me to give it up and spend..." Her voice broke slightly, but she took a deep breath and kept on. "And spend time with him while we've still got it." She turned back to him and her chin lifted stubbornly. "Part of me thinks he is right, but another part, the stubborn part, I suppose, refuses to give up. I can't quit on him, Harry, even if he wants me to."

He smiled wanly and nodded. "I know. Ron understands, but you might try to make a bit more time for him? Maybe have a date night or something?"

"I'm glad. You seem much happier than you did in Auror Training. Thanks for these. I'll bring them back when I've finished."

"Some of them belong to—" He stopped himself just in time before dropping Narcissa Malfoy's name. "Other people."

Harry agreed and followed her to the fireplace in the other room. She gave him a tendon-crunching hug and departed. He felt slightly guilty for not admitting to his relationship with Draco, but she had more than enough on her plate without worrying about Harry falling for a ghost. There would be time to tell her later.

Ron popped out of the fireplace in Harry's room to find Malfoy leaning over Harry on the sofa, apparently whispering into his ear.

"Corporeal, idiot Weasel," Malfoy corrected. "And no." He thankfully moved away from Harry.

Ron ignored the insult and let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. I'm bored and don't want to watch you two making out." He hobbled into the room, knowing he looked more like a man of eighty than a man of twenty-two. He felt eighty. Even his bones ached. He sprawled in the cosy red chair that had become "his chair" by unspoken agreement. "Speaking of that, Harry, did you say something to Hermione?"

"Well, she suggested we have an actual date this Friday. Honestly, I was beginning to think she'd replaced me."

"Anyway," Ron continued, "I should take her somewhere nice. Any suggestions?" His question was aimed at Harry, but he meant it for Malfoy. Harry's ghostly boyfriend was a prat, but he had been a high-class prat in life.

"Bellisimo," Malfoy said instantly and then his face acquired a dreamy expression. "Oh, the tiramisu… Be sure to order the linguini con aragosta; it's divine. The sauce is swimming with garlic. I can almost still taste it. And the veal cannelloni. Oh and the crepes! Damn it, I miss the taste of food."

"Bellisimo?" Ron mentally cringed. "That place is really expensive, isn't it?"

"Stop pussyfooting around it, Potter. We all know. Besides, if I'd known I was going to die at nineteen, I sure as fuck wouldn't have done so many stupid things. I also would have bought that new Nimbus I'd had my eye on. And I would have eaten at Bellisimo every day."

Ron appreciated Malfoy's honesty. He had been feeling much the same lately, wanting to live each moment to the fullest, but frugal habits died hard. "He's right. I don't have much in Gringotts, but I've got no reason to save now, have I?" He slapped his palm against the arm of the chair. "That's it, then! I'll make the reservation tomorrow. Won't she be surprised?"

"Hey, Malfoy, if I beat you at our next game of chess, will you teach me how to order one of those fancy bottles of wine?"

Malfoy walked quickly to the chessboard and took his usual seat, appearing to sit normally and not seeming to float like other ghosts. "Good luck with that, Weasley. C4."

Malfoy's white pawn shuffled forward obediently two spaces and stopped. It raised a spear threateningly towards the row of black pieces. Ron levered himself out of his chair and moved to sit across from Malfoy. Harry sighed and picked up a book, obviously knowing the two of them would be useless for the next hour.

They were only twenty minutes into the game when a house-elf appeared. "Mistress Narcissa Malfoy requests admittance."

"I'll let her in," Harry said. He disappeared through the door and was gone for nearly ten minutes before returning with Narcissa Malfoy. She wore vibrant trimmed in black fur that looked like adequate protection against the cold. The cloak alone had probably cost more than a month of Ron's Auror salary.

He got awkwardly to his feet, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He had only seen her from a distance since the war, and they had never actually spoken. "Hello, Mrs Malfoy."

"It is good to see you again. Please continue your game." She waved towards the board. "Draco always loved to play, but Lucius seldom had the patience." She smiled wanly. "And he frequently lost to Draco." She smiled at her son, who wrinkled his nose. Ron could well imagine how much Lucius Malfoy enjoyed losing.

"Tea?" Harry asked. As if he'd spoken an incantation, a full tea service appeared on the tea table. Ron thought it must be nice to live at Hogwarts.

Narcissa nodded and sat down on the sofa. Her eyes remained on Draco while Harry poured a cup of tea and handed it to her. She took it and then smiled at Harry. "I see you have much recovered from the Firewhisky, Harry."

Harry grinned at her while Ron wondered what she was talking about. "Yes, I don't think I'll be having more of that anytime soon."

"I brought you something," she said and set down her cup in order to reach into her tiny green handbag. She pulled forth something small and rectangular. It glowed with a crisscrossing of golden lines. "It's a copy of that book we discussed, but this one is in the original French."

She placed it on the table and took out her wand to tap the glowing lines with the tip of her wand. She spoke quietly and the lines vanished. As they did the book seemed to explode into full size. Ron watched with wide eyes as he realized Narcissa had cast a Shrinking Spell on a book of Dark magic, and then bound it into place. She was a much more powerful witch than Ron had realized, although he supposed she'd had practice working with darker elements.

"Harry doesn't need any more books, Mother." Malfoy's tone was flat and serious. Ron looked from one Malfoy to the other, sensing the tense undercurrent veiled by their polite-seeming words.

"You can have too many of those sorts of books," Ron interjected. "What is it for? And don't give me that Defence Against the Dark Arts study nonsense this time, Harry. I can tell when you're up to something."

"Thank you, Weasley. Harry and my mother are conspiring to turn me into an Inferius."

"We are not conspiring to turn you into an Inferius," Harry said and rolled his eyes.

"Well, you need to stop, because this issue is not going to be resolved to your satisfaction!"

"And if it all goes pear-shaped you won't be around to know, will you?" Malfoy's stare was cold and Narcissa looked away. She picked up her tea and sipped at it, but her hands shook minutely as she returned it to the saucer.

"What is he talking about?" Ron asked, thoroughly confused and looking from Harry to Narcissa.

"Nothing," Malfoy said flatly. "It doesn't matter because I will never agree to it, no matter how many ridiculous variations you might think to utilize. Bishop takes Knight at B6."

Ron gaped at the chessboard as a white bishop battled Ron's black knight; spear against sword. The horse reared. "You bastard! Sorry, Mrs Malfoy. You'll never agree to what?"

"Never mind, Weasley. We are not discussing this. Feel free to take your book back with you, Mother."

Narcissa's face was impassive. "I know how you feel about this, Draco. It does you no harm to indulge my fancies, does it?"

Ron gnawed his lip, his attention shifting from the chessboard to the other occupants of the room and back again. He was dying to ask questions, but the tension between the two Malfoys was difficult to break.

"I am not the unreasonable one! You already drove father away with this madness. Let it go." Malfoy got to his feet and reached a hand toward her imploringly.

"Yes, thank you for the reminder, Draco. Harry, thank you for the tea. Mr Weasley, I hope you are feeling better soon. Goodbye."

She stood and walked briskly to the door, forcing Harry to get up and practically run to catch up. He looked apologetically at Malfoy as he went to see her out.

"Never mind, Weasley," Malfoy said flatly as he resumed his semi-seated position. "It's your move."

Ron studied the chess pieces thoughtfully, but his mind was no longer on the game.

In the corridor, Narcissa turned to Harry with flashing blue eyes. "Do you think I'm mad?"

Harry shut the door and sighed as they began to walk down the hallway. He gave her a wan smile. "I'm the wrong person to ask. I want him back just as badly. But that spell… You know there are too many things that can go wrong. And for it to work someone has to die."

She grimaced and then sighed heavily. "Perhaps when I am an old, old woman he will change his mind."

"I feel old already, Harry. Losing Draco so young, and now I've lost Lucius… Some days it is hard to justify going on." Her steps faltered and Harry put out a hand to steady her. For a moment he caught a glimpse of her deep loneliness, but then she pulled away and drew herself up, seeming to pull a cape of dignity around herself. The Malfoy Aura, Harry thought idly.

"And here I am going maudlin on you again. There is something very comforting about you, Harry Potter. It is easy to see why Draco has chosen you, but then there always was something between you, wasn't there? I saw it when you were children and again at the Manor during the war."

"Draco never hated you. Envied, certainly, which can sometimes mask itself as hatred."

"Well, we both had that going for us," Harry admitted. "I envied him parents and a normal childhood."

She smiled at him. "You make him very happy, Harry. It gladdens me to see it, even though I wish things were different. In my mind I know I should encourage you to move on and not tie yourself to a memory, as I have. But in my heart I can't help but be pleased that he has found joy, despite everything." She paused and then raised a brow. "I am surprised to see him getting on with a Weasley."

Harry chuckled. "Amazing, isn't it? I wouldn't quite call them friends, but they seem to enjoy competing with one another."

"I remember." Harry grinned, recalling Quidditch matches and Draco's young face twisted with rage. He felt a nostalgic twinge. What he wouldn't give to fly with him now.

By then they had reached the Great Hall and she took a breath and nodded at him firmly. "Thank you for caring for my son, Harry."

"It's certainly no chore. And don't worry." Strangely, hearing his own doubts put into words had steadied his resolve. "The best we can do is take each day as it comes."

"Indeed. And that we shall. Goodbye, Harry." A house-elf appeared holding a heavy woollen cloak. Narcissa took it and wrapped it around herself before pulling the hood over her silvery hair. Then she stepped out into the cold afternoon, leaving Harry to make his way back to his rooms alone.

Harry glanced at the chessboard when he returned and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did you finish that game?"

Harry shook his head. "You two are mad. I'm taking a shower. I have classes to teach tomorrow."

"I'm sure your students will appreciate your nod toward cleanliness," Draco quipped. Ron sniggered. Harry rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and took off his shirt, and then remembered he had purchased some fancy mint soap that Draco had recommended last time he was in Diagon Alley. Where had he put that?

He went into the bedroom and scanned the room before recalling he had been wearing his warmest brown coat that day. He had stuffed the soap into a pocket.

With the soap retrieved, he headed for the bathroom again, but paused near the partially-open bedroom door when he overheard Ron say, "…I'm going to die anyway." Harry frowned and moved closer to the door. The muted splashing of the water from the shower sounded loud and nearly prevented him from hearing the conversation. He wished suddenly for Extendable Ears.

Harry pressed himself to the wall and leaned towards the open door, straining to hear.

"Weasley, as much as it wouldn't pain me to have you give your life for mine, how do you think Harry would feel about it? No, let me finish! You know bloody well he would be eaten up with guilt for the rest of his life. He might grow to accept it in time, but it would still be there every time he looked at me. Is that really what you want for him?"

There was a long silence, during which Harry strained his ears, hoping they weren't talking so loudly he couldn't hear, but then Ron said, "You know, you're making it awfully hard for me to hate you."

"Keep trying; I'm sure you'll manage somehow." Draco's voice was amused and Harry smiled sadly before pushing away from the wall and returning to his shower. As the water sluiced over his hair and down his body, he reflected that he never thought he would see the day that Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley would have such a discussion. The fact that Draco had adamantly refused Ron's offer made his throat close up and he tipped his head back into the spray.

Fucking life. It was bloody unfair that he had found Draco so late. He scowled and scrubbed his hair with shampoo, trying not to lose himself in what-ifs.

That night Harry was too distracted to read. He scanned the same page of the next day's planned lesson over and over without any of it reaching his memory banks. He kept seeing Draco's body lying in a barren room at Malfoy Manor, and thinking of Narcissa's words. "Perhaps when I am an old, old woman he will change his mind."

The thought troubled him. Harry would get old, too. Would Draco still want him? Draco would be nineteen forever. Surely he would lose interest when Harry became old and wrinkled and began to lose his hair, and his eyesight, and his hearing?

"Please don't listen to her. She's clearing growing senile in her geriatric years."

"Thirty-nine, to hear her tell it. For the third or fourth year in a row, I'll wager. Why were you discussing your upcoming fossilhood?"

"We weren't discussing it. She merely mentioned something in passing that made me think of it. You know, someday I will be old and grey and you will be… just as you are now."

"Are you pre-emptively dumping me or is this just you being maudlin?" Despite Draco's teasing tone, Harry sensed tension beneath his words and hurried to reassure him. He certainly did not want a repeat of Draco's disappearing act.

Draco made a huffing noise as if disputing the notion. "Thinking. Because of something my mother said. Is she trying to convince you to kill her?"

"Of course she hasn't. She's Slytherin. She'll plant the seed and wait for you to germinate the idea on your own." He went silent and Harry sensed several unspoken questions.

Draco bit his lip and turned serious silvery eyes on him. "Weasley asked about it today. He asked about the book and why I was so agitated with Mother."

"Not everything; just the gist of it." Draco paused and then added, "He offered to die for me."

Harry forced a laugh, because it was expected, and because he preferred not to reveal he had been eavesdropping. "Ron?"

Draco smiled, although it looked forced. "I expect he was having me on. I refused, of course. Honestly, how stupid does he think I am?" He paused and then added blithely, "But if you should choose to do him in, I won't stop you. It would serve him right for cheating at chess."

Harry could hardly speak through the sudden ache in his heart. Normally he would have reacted with surprise and outrage to such a statement, something Draco obviously expected, judging by his sly glance. He apparently hoped for Harry to lighten the moment, to argue with him or agree that it was a joke—something. Harry tried, forcing his face into a pinched frown, but he kept hearing Draco's earlier words to Ron, not just refusing, but adamantly refusing. How hard must it be to want something so badly, and then have it offered to you, and yet refuse it? Draco watched him expectantly; he should have been smiling, but Harry knew part of him had considered the offer. Ron was already dying; why shouldn't he be allowed to give one gift to Draco—to them both? It had to be incredibly tempting, and yet Harry had heard the sincerity in his earlier words to Ron. Just let it be.

I love you, Harry thought and the truth of it raced through him, filling him alternately with wonder and terror, and leaving him emotionally reeling. It was all he could do to speak. "I know," he whispered. He memorized Draco's face, knowing every curve of it by now, the length of his eyelashes, the softness of his lips, and the way his jaw tightened ever so minutely when he wanted to say something, but refrained.

Draco's eyes dropped as if unable, or unwilling, to process whatever he saw in Harry's stare. He turned back to his book and said, "Kidding about him cheating at chess. Not the rest of it."

A laugh bubbled up through the clenching ache around Harry's heart. He let it loose with a sense of relief. "Sure," he agreed, wanting to reach out and touch Draco so badly his fingers dug hard into the edges of the book until pain crawled through his knuckles and up to his wrists.

Harry took off his school robes, looking forward to a relaxing Friday evening after a gruelling, and somewhat painful, day during which Ned Blackstone, Third-year Hufflepuff, managed to catch Harry's sleeve on fire, along with three desks and an entire stack of essays Harry hadn't yet graded. Harry still hadn't ruled out intentional sabotage, considering Ned's essay had been one amongst the pile and he was far from the best essayist.

He explained the entire fiasco to Draco, who offered dry commentary after every sentence, leaving Harry feeling almost immediately better. It was odd that Draco's once-irritating need for sarcasm was now something he looked forward to.

The flames in the fireplace roared suddenly, startling him. Hermione's face appeared in the flames. "Harry! Thank goodness you're in! I have to go to Romania and I can't find Ron to let him know. Will you tell him?"

"I can't explain now! The Portkey is set to go. Just tell Ron I'm sorry about tonight and I promise to reschedule. Bye!"

And then she was gone, leaving Harry to stare at the flickering flames in bewilderment.

Harry shot him a look and then stalked into the bedroom to change out of his Hogwarts clothing and into jeans. So much for a relaxing evening. Ron was probably at home in the shower, getting ready for his nonexistent date. He hoped to hell Hermione had jaunted off for a good reason. A bit more detail would have been nice before leaving Harry to crush her boyfriend's mood.

Ron decided to spend the evening with him and Draco instead, drinking heavily from a large bottle of Firewhisky he clutched in his hands, refusing a glass.

Harry tugged at his hair, which he'd been doing so frequently in the past hour it probably looked like a nest for field mice, and sighed. "Ron, she has not tossed you over for Charlie."

"Why else would she go to Romania?" Ron demanded. "Charlie is there. He's tall and has all those muscles and… and scars. You know how girls like scars! Plus he's got that whole dragon-tamer thing going. And dragonhide boots. Bloody dragonhide boots! I should have bought myself a pair of those. Can't take my Galleons with me, can I? Was going to spend a bundle on dinner, but now p'raps I'll buy myself a pair of boots. Then she'll see." Ron paused to take another gulp.

Harry looked helplessly at Draco, who seemed likely to burst into laughter at any moment, which was certainly not helping. Harry turned back to his inebriated friend.

"Ron, are you sure you should be drinking that much? The alcohol might react with some of the potions you're taking."

"Fuck the potions," Ron muttered and glared at him balefully. "Fuck everything. I'm bloody dying and my girlfriend abandons me on our special evening to run off and see my brother. D'you know how bloody hard it was to get last minute reservations? I had to pull the 'I fought beside Harry Potter in the war' card."

Harry winced. Draco snickered. Harry glared at him. "Don't you have thestrals to tend to?"

"If you want me to leave, just say so, Potter." Draco tossed his head and looked not the slightest bit contrite.

"See? Malfoy agrees with me." Ron lifted the bottle in Draco's direction and then frowned. "Although there is something really wrong with that, now I think 'bout it."

"Weasley is sick," Draco said when Harry sat up and almost focussed on his face.

Harry rolled out of bed and hurried into the other room where he found Ron heaving into the rubbish bin next to the desk and shaking uncontrollably. The shaking turned into convulsions and after a panicked Floo-trip to St Mungo's, Ron was hustled away by tired-looking hospital staff.

Harry sat in a chair in the waiting room for what seemed like hours, thumbing through a tattered copy of Hair Loss and You and casting repetitious Warming Charms on his bare feet, until a grey-haired medi-witch came to tell him that Ron had been purged of alcohol, and most of the ill-effects, and was sleeping comfortably. Her face was pinched with disapproval, making Harry feel guilty for not wrestling the bottle away from Ron and knocking him out with a Stunner, if necessary.

He debated sending a note to Molly, but decided against it and Flooed back to Hogwarts. The clock on the mantle chimed a quarter past four.

Ron was out of St Mungo's the next day. He sent Harry an owl saying he was fine, but he demanded no visitors. Embarrassment was evident between the lines and Harry could not suppress a sigh of relief. It could have been much worse, he knew.

"I should go home and apologize to Mother," Draco said randomly when Harry returned from breakfast. "I was rather rude to her even if she was being pushy and meddlesome."

"Shut it, you. Do you want to come along? We could…" Draco stopped and looked away, seeming uncomfortable.

Draco nodded curtly. "I miss my bed and my clothes and my things and… hell, I even miss the damned house-elves. No one makes cocoa the way Berry does. I can't drink it, but she could make some for you."

"Yeah, okay," Harry said. He wasn't sure what had prompted Draco's sudden burst of nostalgia, but he had no reason to spend the weekend at Hogwarts. With Ron in self-imposed exile and Hermione in Romania, Harry had nowhere else to be.

Draco held up a finger. "But no drinking and stay away from my mother and her crazy talk, all right?"

Harry gave him a suggestive stare and drew a hand slowly down his torso from his collar to the waistband of his jeans, where he dangled his fingers over the zip. He felt slightly idiotic until the heat from Draco's expression threatened to make him combust.

Draco left while Harry was throwing some clothing into a knapsack. He carefully packed two of Draco's potions and then debated taking along a couple of books. In the end he decided on the latest fictional novel Draco was reading, and the French grimoire Narcissa had brought. Except that he couldn't find the grimoire. He searched all of the logical locations and then tried to remember if she had taken it back after Draco's tirade.

He decided it would be easier to ask Draco than be late, so he grabbed his things and Flooed to Malfoy Manor.

"In my room," Draco agreed, leaning close enough to chill Harry's earlobe as he spoke.

"Damn it, why do I always forget he can do that?" Harry muttered and bolted for the hallway. He took the stairs two at a time. Draco always pretended to walk and sit and lie down like a living, breathing person; perhaps if he acted more like a ghost Harry wouldn't be so completely smitten.

Harry laughed at the idea when he threw open the door to find Draco lounging on the bed with a "What took you so long?" expression. Harry shut the door and fumbled in his knapsack for the potion. The very thought of touching Draco again sent the blood rushing to his cock, especially when coupled with the idea of taking him apart in his fancy bedroom.

Harry practically dove onto the bed. His hands trembled as he pulled at the cork. Draco likely noticed, but said nothing, thankfully. He only opened his mouth and allowed Harry to pour the potion in. The ritual had attained a level of sensuality now that was nearly foreplay. Harry bent down to kiss him before he even swallowed, needing to savour every moment. Draco's lips solidified beneath his and then his face and hair was touchable again. Harry touched with a heartfelt sigh.

The residue of the potion was bitter on Harry's tongue, but he didn't care. It wouldn't last long and the feel of Draco's mouth on his was worth any bitterness. Draco had assured him the potion would have no effect on Harry, even if he chose to drink an entire dose, although it might make him queasy.

They kissed languidly and Harry eased Draco back onto the bed. He was not completely solid; when Harry shifted position his legs went through Draco's, but the parts beneath Harry's mouth and hands remained solid. Harry broke away from Draco's lips and pressed soft kisses to his forehead, nose, and cheeks.

Draco's fingers tightened on the back of Harry's neck. Harry tugged at the buttons on Draco's robes, slowly unpeeling him and nibbling on every smooth portion of skin revealed, neck and collarbone, and that interesting dip where Draco's shoulder muscle began. Harry spent extra time on the inner curve of Draco's elbow, his wrist, and the palm of his hand, marvelling that even as a ghost he was remarkably sensitive, judging by his gasps of pleasure and the way his fingers kept losing tangibility in Harry's hair.

By the time Harry got him half undressed, his cock was stiff and leaking silvery fluid onto his belly. Harry licked at it with a wicked smirk. It was completely tasteless and disappeared the moment it hit his tongue, but Draco's riveted stare sent the blood thudding through Harry's veins every time.

"Not stopping," Harry replied and tugged his trousers down farther to expose Draco's knees. He was actually quite self-conscious about his "bony" knees, which amused Harry to no end, thinking them just as lovely as the rest of him.

"I'll get to it," Harry promised and bit into Draco's thigh. It went intangible, sending Harry's face into the blanket. He shot Draco a wounded look and met with a scowl. "No biting, damn you."

"Un-solid is not a word." Draco's tone was scornful, but his thigh hardened once more. Harry licked the spot he had bitten, drawing forth a pleased moan. "Fucking tart."

Harry ignored his complaints and continued his methodical worship of Draco's body, until no more criticism issued forth, unless it was hissed between gasps and breathy moans. When Harry finally arrived at the juncture of Draco's thighs and licked a long stripe up his cock, Draco bucked and came, much to Harry's delight.

Harry collapsed next to him, jaw aching and tongue raspy-feeling. "I'll just lie here and let you have your wicked way with me, then."

"Mmm, good plan." Harry unfastened his clothing and shrugged out of them. Draco could unbutton his own ghostly clothing easily—Harry's was more difficult. As soon as the last item hit the floor, Draco rolled over and pinned Harry to the bed.

"My turn," he said and then repeated Harry's performance, kissing him everywhere, except that Harry was already so turned-on from touching Draco that the careless cold brush of Draco's hair sliding over his cock had him coming like an inexperienced teenager. Draco regarded him with a frown that contained too much smirk to be taken seriously. "For shame, Harry. I expected a Gryffindor to last much longer. Where is your fortitude?"

Draco crawled up to lie next to him. Harry reached out to touch his face with a tender smile. Draco grabbed his wrist and pulled Harry's fingers to his lips to press a kiss on his fingertips. "Five," he said.

Several hours later, Harry lay half-dozing while Draco rummaged through the contents of his wardrobe. Assorted items were scattered around him, some in neat piles, some tossed haphazardly. There were books and shoes and strange-looking metallic things that Harry didn't recognize. At the moment, Draco seemed to be on a mission involving clothes.

"Nothing," Draco replied. He tossed a black garment into one of the haphazard piles and then carefully folded a second black garment and placed it carefully atop a growing stack to his right. The rejected pile was far bigger.

Harry bit his lip. It almost looked as if Draco were sorting his clothing for charity. Purging his life. It was disturbing, and Harry wondered if it would be wrong to stop him. Without doubt his mother would be mortified. And yet it seemed to be somehow cathartic for Draco, something he needed to do.

In truth, Harry wasn't sure he would ever be ready again. His libido had been sated six times and his cock literally ached from all the attention Draco had paid to it. Of course, simply remembering that attention caused it to twitch limply and Harry grinned. "Not quite yet," he admitted. "But soon."

Draco's features softened and he dropped the cloth he'd been holding and glided back in Harry's direction. He leaned down and met Harry's kiss halfway.

Harry glanced at the partially open curtains. It was nearly dusk, judging by the colour of the sky. "Breakfast."

Harry shook his head. He hated to eat around Draco, knowing food was one thing Draco missed terribly and had no chance of ever tasting again. It had to be torture watching others eat. "How about I just go down to the kitchen? I'm sure I can find something to make a sandwich with."

"They would hate that. Just go wait in the dining room and they will serve you."

"Don't worry; my mother typically eats in her room. The empty dining room disturbs her."

"Not this time. I would prefer her not to admonish me for this." He waved a hand towards the mess scattered all over the floor.

Harry tugged his clothing back on and debated leaving off his shoes, but the damned floors were cold in places and it was a long jaunt to the dining room. He put them on. "I'll be right back."

Draco waved at him distractedly and Harry went out, finding his way to the dining room with only one wrong turn, and being snarled at twice by cold-looking Malfoy ancestors in their dark-framed paintings.

He sat down at the huge, empty table, feeling just a bit foolish, until a house-elf popped up next to him.

"Grumbly wishes a good evening to Mr Harry Potter, sir. Is Mr Harry Potter wanting dinner?" Despite the friendly words, the house-elf issued them in a flat, dour tone that suggested he would rather iron his ears than fetch Harry's supper.

The house-elf did not bother to wait until Harry finished. It vanished with a pop. Three others appeared moments later, laden with bread, jam, soup, half a roast chicken, and a large selection of vegetables, some of which Harry didn't recognize. The smell nearly bowled him over and he realized he was ravenous. Sparing an absent "Thank you" towards the house-elves, he picked up his fork and dug in.

Harry had devoured his chicken, potatoes, sprouts, and some greenish things in a lemony-butter sauce, sopped up with thick bread, when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

Harry swallowed his bread and took a quick gulp of current juice to wash it down before he replied. "Hello, Mrs Malfoy. Um… Narcissa."

"One of the house-elves told me you were here. Is Draco about?" She walked forward and sat down across from him. Without a word, house-elves began to set plates before her.

"He's in his room. I think he's looking for something and wanted me out of his hair for a minute or two."

She met his gaze and then turned her attention to her plate, but it was long enough for Harry's face to heat. She most likely knew exactly what they were getting up to in his room. He took another drink and wished he had opted for something stronger.

Harry's plate was removed and a small platter containing a cakelike custard swimming in fudge sauce appeared before him. He had thought himself stuffed, but denying himself at least a bite or two would have had him dreaming about it later. He took a mouthful of the decadent dessert and shut his eyes against the chocolate explosion. He felt a rush of sadness that Draco would never again be able to taste such brilliance.

Narcissa took a bite of her food and watched him. Harry wanted to bolt through his dessert and flee, but that would be impolite, so he forced himself to eat slowly. She drank from her glass of white wine and replaced it on the table.

Harry frowned and cast his mind back. Right, the French edition. He had barely thought about it since that night, and had not seen it, either. He had vaguely wondered if she had taken it back with her, since Draco wasn't able to touch it, having been in full ghost form until this morning.

"I think you will find the original French contains nuances lost in the English translation."

He was curious, despite knowing that continuing to dabble with the idea of bringing Draco back was dangerous. However, simply discussing the capabilities of a particular spell could not hurt anything, and such research could only be helpful for his job.

She nodded. "The spell is essentially the same one used to create Inferi. Reanimation through exchange of life forces."

Harry grimaced. "A life for a life." From his research, he knew Inferi were imbued with "life" through murder—a fairly common element of darker spells. Typically, the spellcaster would murder an uncooperative enemy in exchange for a biddable, if gruesome, slave. Yet another reason not to attempt it with Draco in mind.

"Intent." Harry took another bite of chocolate and mulled it over. The ultimate intent of the spell was to imbue life. To return life to a dead body. Of course, Draco's body was not exactly dead, being kept alive through magical life support. He wondered if that would make a difference. It seemed likely, but dared they take the chance? And that still did not eliminate the simple fact that someone would have to die to enable the spell to work.

"Yes, when one creates an Inferius, one does it with the desire to bring forth a tool, an undead guardian or a helpless soldier. So have they been used for centuries."

Harry pushed his plate away, suddenly recalling the cave with the locket, and Dumbledore, and the terrible events that had followed. He knew Draco now, well enough to know that he still regretted his part that day, even though his participation had led directly to the final downfall of Voldemort.

"I apologize," she said. "This is probably not the best dinner conversation. But I am not sure when I will see you again and I do want to discuss it."

"Despite the most common use of the spell, I believe it was originally developed for the same reason I am interested in it. Someone strove to conquer death and bring a loved one back through the veil."

"It did not work because the person's spirit had already passed beyond the veil. That particular barrier is hard—perhaps impossible—to break through. Once beyond, souls do not seem willing to return."

"However, in the case of a ghost, the soul has not passed. It is still here, tangible, nearly as real as if the person still existed. It should be possible to reattach them to their bodies, provided that body is still available. Which, in Draco's case, it is."

Harry shook his head. There were too many variables. She held up a slender hand.

"Additionally, my intent is not to create a puppet to do my bidding. I want my son back the way he was, Harry. I do not seek to do this with hatred in my heart, but with love."

"Love does not excuse murder. Regardless of intent, the fact remains that the spell cannot be completed without taking a life. The purity of purpose—wishing to resurrect out of love—cannot overcome the secondary objective, which is the necessity of murder." Harry leaned back, almost mortified that he had started to speak in Teacher Mode, lifting his hands to gesture as he made his point. He continued in a more normal tone. "Perhaps that is why no one has ever been successfully brought back from the dead. The act of murder cancels the act of love. Evil negates good."

"And even if you could, the fact that Draco is unwilling would make the spell incomplete. He might return, but he would not be whole. He would not be himself. He would be—"

Harry nodded sadly. In truth, he had gone over the spell a hundred times on his own, searching for a loophole, an ambiguity, a chance. But no matter how he looked at it, one fact remained. There were three parties involved – the subject, the sacrifice, and the spell-caster. And all three had to be willing and pure of motive, a motive which immediately became tainted at the prospect of murder. It was a conundrum with no solution.

Bizarrely, the knowledge gave Harry grudging respect for Lucius Malfoy. Faced with an impossible situation, and with Narcissa not just willing to attempt the spell, but demanding it, he had fled the country, probably to avoid the growing temptation. Lucius had to know as well as Harry that even willing participants, with the best of intentions, could not guarantee that Draco would return whole and healthy. The odds were far greater that he would come back as a monster.

Narcissa likely knew it also, but she had obviously convinced herself that it was worth the risk. She meant to give Draco a chance, however slim, with the full knowledge that she would not be alive to witness the outcome.

"It will never work," Harry said quietly, hoping she could see the anguish in his eyes.

She looked away and her fork poked aimlessly at her food. After a few moments of awkward silence, Harry got to his feet.

She glanced at him with the haughty Malfoy mask well in place. "No. I certainly do not want to force Draco to do anything he does not want to do." The words were bitter and laced with meaning. Harry had the feeling she would do exactly that, given a choice. He gave her a wan smile and returned to Draco's room.

"Did you stay for all seven courses?" Draco asked when he entered. The messy pile was much larger and covered most of the ornate rug.

"Yes. We had an interesting discussion." Harry made his way to the bed and sat down, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around them to rest his chin on his knees. Draco had reached the back of one wardrobe cabinet now. He disappeared almost completely and returned with a small wooden chest.

"About?" Draco asked, but his attention was on the box in his hands. He walked to the bed and sat down next to Harry, placing it between them. His hair was dishevelled and he looked serious.

"What are you doing?" Harry countered quietly. Simply looking at Draco after the talk he'd had with Narcissa made his heart ache. Draco glanced at the wardrobe and Harry could almost read his thoughts. Time was ticking and soon he would be unable to finish what he'd started. It was just past 8 p.m. and the potion would not wear off until almost 2 a.m., but the room was a mess and there was no telling how much more Draco planned to sort.

"Something I meant to do before I… Before I died. I kept putting it off, thinking I had loads of time." His eyes met Harry's and he smiled wanly. "As it turned out, I had no time. And this takes forever now, because…" He sighed.

Harry nodded with a pang. Because he had no magic. Once Draco would have been able to flick his wand and pull the entire contents from the wardrobe, then sort it in a trice. "Can I help?" he asked carefully, unsure if Draco would resent the intrusion.

Harry shrugged. "They don't know anything else, do they? People born blind don't miss their vision."

Draco looked at the box, then turned his hand over and threaded his fingers through Harry's with a sigh. "I can't even open this. I kept my childhood treasures inside and locked it with a simple locking spell." He turned beseeching eyes on Harry.

"Yeah, hang on." Harry tugged out his wand and tapped the chest with a wordless Alohomora. It popped open with a soft click.

Draco reached inside and pulled out a polished green stone. He rolled it in his fingers and smiled at Harry. "Malachite. I found it in the garden when I was six."

He handed it to Harry, who took the cold stone and clenched it in his palm. The feel of it brought back a nearly forgotten memory with a rush. He was suddenly seven years old again, back at the Dursleys, in the cupboard under the stairs, staring at a long row of colourful stones, gathered from the garden, the playground, and the neighbourhood. Harry had imagined them to be precious gemstones, words he had looked up in a book at the library. Chalcedony, and ruby, and garnet. Obsidian, jasper, and malachite. They had been Harry's prized possessions, rescued from obscurity in road and weed, collected and placed on Harry's meagre shelf. He wondered if they were still there, in Harry's old cupboard.

Unaware of Harry's mental detour, Draco lifted another item. A photograph. Draco smiled when he looked at it. "Mother and Father and I on holiday in Italy. Just before I started Hogwarts. We were still happy then."

He handed Harry the photo. Young, towheaded Draco waved toward Harry and then squirmed out of Narcissa's arms and posed with one hand on his hip and wand held high. Narcissa laughed and beckoned toward the camera. There was a lurch and then Lucius walked into the scene to sit next to Narcissa. His features were very much like Draco's, relaxed and almost smiling. Young Draco struck another pose and Lucius actually laughed, leaning into Narcissa and grinning like a doting father. Young Draco straightened and preened.

Draco snatched the photo with an indignant huff. "Just for that I won't show you any more of my childhood treasures."

"Because they are yours," Harry said simply, even though the real answer was not so simple. He wanted to see them because they were part of Draco, tiny bits of his past and pieces of his life that had created the sensitive, amusing, sometime infuriating man that Harry had fallen for. Man. Ghost. Bloody hell.

Harry couldn't breathe. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Draco's lips, closing his eyes tightly to hide the regret he was finding it harder and harder to hide. If only he had discovered Draco's box as a child, found the wonderful dribs and drabs that had come together to create such an interesting person. If only Harry had tried to save him after the war with as much determination as he had shown saving others.

Ron was on the floor of Harry's classroom, sitting cross-legged on a cushion and tossing a small blue ball at the opposite wall. It bounced off the stone and rebounded into Ron's palm before he threw it again. The rhythmic thump thump thump smack was not distracting Harry from grading exams. He had gone with a multiple choice option for ease of marking, so the answers were either correct or not.

He drew a red circle around an unanswered question with a sigh. Jeremiah was a notorious chatterbox and could barely contain his need to talk long enough to complete a full quiz. His grades were abysmal and Harry hoped he located a job wherein he could do nothing but speak once he left Hogwarts, because he would not be qualified for much else. He set the parchment atop the Complete pile and reached for the next one.

Ron looked tired, as if the effort of tossing a tiny ball across the room was draining what little energy he possessed. It probably was.

"So. You and Malfoy are pretty um… serious, yeah?" Ron asked out of the blue. They had been vaguely discussing Quidditch and the merits of longer versus shorter broom bristles.

Harry glanced at him and then returned his attention to the exam in his hand. Every answer was correct, plus there were unasked-for details written in the margins. Definitely Ravenclaw. "Yeah."

"Ever think what it would be like if he could come back?" Ron's question was casual, but Harry's gaze snapped to him suspiciously.

Ron did not meet his eyes, instead concentrating on the ball's path. "I've been thinking about it, too."

Harry dragged his attention back to the paper before him, but his train of thought was broken. "Why?"

"What book?" Harry asked, but as soon as he asked the question he knew. "You don't read French."

Ron smiled, possibly trying to look apologetic. He glanced at Harry. "Auror Training, mate. I know loads of Translation Charms. They're not perfect, but what didn't make sense I looked up." He tossed the ball. "Interesting spell."

Harry set his teeth, but then sighed and set about explaining his reasoning, going over it just as he had with Narcissa.

"So, if someone is willing to die for Malfoy, say, his mum, and someone else is willing to cast the spell, say, his father, and if Malfoy was willing to give it a go, then the only fly in the ointment is that pesky murder bit, that about right?"

Ron's summary seemed too simplistic and several parts of it bothered Harry, but for the purpose of ending the conversation, Harry conceded with a nod.

"Yeah, I know, Malfoy won't agree and Lucius left the country. Bad luck, yeah?" Ron's tone was mild and Harry's eyes narrowed. Ron was pathetic at being cagey.

Ron threw the ball harder than he had been. It rebounded off the wall and smacked into his hand on the return. Ron winced. "Nothing better to do. I have time on my hands now, don't you know?"

Harry felt a stab of guilt for mistrusting him. "Yeah, sorry. Hermione still in Romania?" As soon as he asked the question he thought about smashing his face into the desk as punishment for his own stupidity.

Ron froze and then threw the ball with deceptive gentleness. "Yeah. She Fire-called a couple of times. Research, she's calling it."

Ron shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I won't be around much longer, so she might as well find someone else, even if he's my brother. I don't suppose she can go wrong with Charlie. Least it's not George." Ron wrinkled his nose.

Harry was disturbed by Ron's defeatist attitude, even more so because he seemed to be accepting his coming fate, instead of railing against it and fighting it as he had been for the past month. Harry didn't know if it was an improvement or not.

"Out petting the thestrals," Harry replied and tried to concentrate on his work. He frowned, momentarily unable to recall the answer to his own question regarding certain spell movements. When the sound of the ball halted long enough to disrupt Harry's thought patterns again, this time with silence, he looked up to see Ron looking at him quizzically. He nodded, "Draco can touch them even in his ethereal form, so he spends a lot of time there. And there is a new foal he's taken with."

"This I need to see," Ron said. "I need to see Draco sodding Malfoy cooing over a thestral foal before I die."

Harry wasn't sure it was such a good idea, and Ron was cheating by using guilt as a weapon, but Harry could not deny he loved seeing Draco interact with the creatures. "All right. Will you be okay going that distance?"

Ron looked to have aged twenty years in the past week. He was frail and walked hunched over like an old man, wincing every so often at unmentioned pain. He snorted, however. "Of course I can. I'm not dead yet." To prove it he got to his feet and strode briskly to the door. Harry knew it had to hurt, but he said nothing.

Ron glared at him as Harry left his paperwork and preceded Ron through the door and out.

Ron was not dead, but Harry thought he bloody well looked close to it by the time they reached the thestral paddock. His breathing heaved with exertion and his limbs trembled, though he strove to hide it. Harry tried not to watch him, biting the inside of his cheek until it bled to avoid spitting out words he knew he would regret.

It was hard to believe only a few short months ago Ron had been hale and hearty, passing his Auror Training classes and looking forward to a shining future. Now he looked exactly like what he was—the victim of a horrifying disease. A coughing fit shook his frame and Harry thought he saw blood when Ron pulled his hand away from his face.

"I'm fine!" Ron snarled when Harry took a step closer. "I'm good. Where is Malfoy?"

Harry dragged his attention away from Ron and peered into the forest. There were no thestrals in sight. He loathed to lead Ron any further distance. "Let me see if I can find them. Wait here."

Before he could move, a sound drew his gaze upward and several of the winged beasts soared over the treetops, circling twice before they dropped to the earth in a flutter of skeletal-looking wings. Harry noticed Draco's shining silver hair immediately—he rode atop one of the beasts. Draco did not see Harry and Ron standing in the shadows. His inattention was evident when he leaned down and threw his arms around the thestral in abandon. Harry had never seen him display much affection for the creatures, so he drew in a surprised breath.

The thestral foal leaped out from behind his dam and bounded over to Draco. The animal opened its mouth and fastened its teeth on Draco's ankle. Draco sat up with a sharp cry.

"No, Scintille! Bad colt! No eating people!" He raised his hand and Harry half-expected a sharp spank, but instead Draco lowered his hand and fondled the baby thestral's head, stroking around its ears.

"Stop that. You know I would get you a tasty weasel if I could pick the bloody things up."

"I don't think he meant you, Ron," Harry said quietly, not quite ready to draw Draco's attention. He seemed so free and unguarded at the moment, patting the head of the thestral foal and completely lost in his pseudo-real world. He gleamed like a silvery vision in dim light, looking less like a ghost and more like a being of pure magic to Harry.

"What's that?" Harry asked absently. The thestral foal nibbled at Draco's ghostly robes and Draco pushed his face away and grabbed the end of his robe. The thestral foal did not let go and there was a quick tug of war that threatened to pull Draco from the back of the thestral he rode. Draco swore and Harry smiled.

"You are a very naughty thestral!" Draco scolded and used his foot to push the foal away as he tugged hard on his robe. The thestral let go, nearly sending Draco over the other side at the sudden release of his garment.

Harry chuckled, delighted. "Isn't he just…?" He caught himself before spewing out some romantic sentiment and cleared his throat. The sound drew the attention of one of the thestrals, who trotted in Harry's direction.

"Hello, Crumpet," Harry said, recognizing the animal from the circular patch of grey on its forehead.

Draco's head snapped up and his eyes met Harry's for a moment. Tension melted into something warm that turned Harry's insides to porridge. He smiled and Draco returned the expression, until his gazed shifted to Ron. The Malfoy mask snapped back into place and Draco lifted a leg and slung it over the thestral's neck before hopping to the forest floor. Or floating, since gravity did not quite work on ghosts and required them to put forth some effort to assist it.

Draco approached them, followed by the thestral colt, who fastened his teeth on Draco's sleeve and allowed himself to be tugged along. It was difficult to think of the borderline-terrifying creatures as cute, but Scintille was certainly amusing.

"Damned beast," Draco muttered and reached up to stroke the colt's muzzle. "What brings you two out here? The weather is not exactly conducive to a walk."

"You look awful, Weasley," Draco said. "Worse than usual, I mean. You always look pretty terrible. And ginger."

"We should probably get back inside before Weasley expires," Draco said and looked at Harry questioningly. Harry tugged at his hair. It suddenly seemed like a foolish idea to have left the castle.

"Yeah, okay," Harry said. "I just thought it might be good to get some fresh air."

"Will you please not talk about me as though I'm not here?" Ron demanded with a glare.

"Did someone speak?" Draco asked, cocking his head and looking somewhere past Ron.

"You know, I really don't get what you see in him, Harry, besides the fact that he cuddles thestrals. And that's actually a bit disturbing."

"I was not cuddling them," Draco protested and stopped patting Scintilla, who shoved him with her bony head, releasing his robe with the movement.

"I'm going back. This has been enlightening." Ron snickered and turned towards the castle, walking briskly for Draco's sake, Harry knew.

"I shouldn't have brought him out here," he said to Draco in a low tone. "He's trying to maintain a façade, but I know he's in pain."

"Let's go. Perhaps you can convince him to stop and smell the roses, or whatever Gryffindors do when they aren't marching headlong to their own doom."

Harry grimaced. Normally Draco said such things in jest, but this time it was actually true.

"I'm sorry. I spoke without thinking." Harry felt a touch of cold against his arm.

Harry threw him a grateful look and saw that Draco looked genuinely contrite. "Thanks. I know what you meant. I'll try and slow him down. Are you coming?"

Draco shook his head. "He will likely be less inclined to exhibit foolish machismo if I'm not there."

"Don't forget to finish grading those exams," Draco warned as Harry trotted after Ron.

"Nag, nag, nag," Harry muttered, but he felt a flutter of warmth at the reminder. He caught up to Ron, who had stopped and leaned down with both hands on his knees. His head dangled forwards and his pose suggested he was about to be sick—or staving off vertigo.

Ron toppled forward and sprawled on the grass. Harry flung himself to his knees and turned Ron over. His eyes were closed and his jaw slack. Air wheezed into and out of his lungs with a tortured sound, as if he could not get enough oxygen to sustain him.

Draco was at his side in a moment. Harry clutched at Ron and tried to think of a spell—any spell—that might help. "I'll get Hagrid," Draco said and vanished.

Harry gripped Ron's robes. "Come on! Don't you dare die on me," he said through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare! We've been through too much together, Ron, don't—" Words failed him and his vision blurred. He cursed Hogwarts' wards and debated trying to Apparate anyway. "You can't go," he whispered. "Not like this."

Thundering footsteps announced the arrival of Hagrid, who crouched at Ron's other side with a worried look. Draco hovered just past his shoulder. Hagrid scooped Ron up in his huge arms. "He's still breathin'. Poppy'll sort him out." He lurched to his feet and jogged towards the castle, carrying Ron as though he weighed nothing. Harry ran behind, and then sent a Patronus to warn Madam Pomfrey that they were coming.

"Thanks," he said absently to Draco, who floated beside him, not even trying to appear human and run at the moment. Draco only nodded and said nothing.

Harry stayed in a chair at Ron's bedside until Poppy clucked her tongue and ordered him into the empty bed next to Ron's. Harry had been in the Hospital Wing all afternoon and into the night, not even leaving to eat. He reluctantly lay down, not wanting to sleep until Ron awakened.

"Are you sure he'll be all right?" Harry questioned anxiously as he kicked off his shoes and stretched out lest she run out of sympathy and make him go to his room.

"Harry, for the sixth time, it looks to me like he's suffering from exhaustion. I've given him a number of potions to replenish his energy. Give the poor boy some time to rest. You don't look far from dropping, yourself. Don't make me give you a Sleeping Draught." She looked at him sternly and then headed back towards her office, hopefully not to fetch another potion.

Harry placed his head obediently on the pillow. He bit his lip to hold back another question and his teeth nearly drew blood as guilt flooded through him. Exhaustion. It was his fault.

"Stop wallowing in guilt. If it had been Weasley's time, don't you think he would rather die outside, walking like a man instead of…" Draco gestured towards Ron's comatose form.

"That's not the point!" Harry snapped. Draco's matter-of-fact view of life and death was particularly unhelpful at the moment. Harry did not want to hear logic or rationalization of his own stupidity. He just wanted… He wanted Ron to get better.

Harry did not want to talk anymore. He didn't even want to think. He shut his eyes and interrupted Draco. "I'm going to try and sleep. Wake me up if there is any change. Promise me."

There was a long silence, long enough that Harry nearly opened his eyes and fixed Draco with a cold stare, but then he heard a whispered, "I promise."

Harry tried to think of nothing and will himself to sleep, but even so it was a long time before he drifted off.

A cold touch on his face awakened him and he sat up with a gasp that increased in intensity when he found himself enveloped by Draco's icy presence. Draco drew back, but surprisingly did not mention it. Harry knew he hated it when people treated him like he wasn't there, even though he mostly wasn't.

Harry flung himself off the bed and hurried to perch on Ron's. He grabbed his friend's hand anxiously. Ron's eyes fluttered open and he groaned.

"That's good," Ron whispered. "Now maybe you'll see reason. Time is running out, you know?"

Harry shied away from his implication. Obviously the potions were addling his mind. He pulled out his wand and cast a Tempus Charm. "It's four o'clock in the morning. Go back to sleep or Madam Pomphrey will dose you with something foul tasting. I'll be right here if you need anything."

Ron's lips curved in a smile and then his breathing slowly deepened. In moments he was sound asleep. Harry sighed with relief.

He returned to the other bed and lay down, not wanting to think about Ron's words. Time was running out.

During the next week, Harry began to think the world had gone mad. Ron pronounced himself well enough to return home the day after his collapse, Molly Weasley sent Harry a Howler chastising him for not Floo-calling her immediately, and Hermione popped in only long enough to demand the entire story before disappearing without a word about where she had been.

To make matters worse, Valentine's Day was in the air and Harry's students had issues concentrating on anything other than how to charm singing paper hearts, transfigure pebbles into precious stones, and produce cologne guaranteed to entice the object of their affections. He knew the next two weeks would grow progressively worse.

His grim prediction came true almost immediately when Narcissa Malfoy paid them a visit. She arrived shortly before Harry's first afternoon class and decided to take a walk about the grounds with Draco during Harry's lesson. Her arrival was unexpected and he wondered about her purpose during the two hour class, which felt like four.

When his lesson ended, it took him another thirty minutes to locate them, made easier when he gave up searching the usual places and retrieved the Marauder's Map from his room.

Rain spat fitfully at Harry as he trudged to Greenhouse Three and wished he had thought to wear a cloak rather than the light jacket he'd snagged on his way out the door. The temperature was colder than he'd expected.

The Greenhouse was filled with orchids of every colour, size, and shape. Few of them were used as potion ingredients, mostly they were just for display and were frequently rotated throughout the castle as decorative elements. Harry had seen several of them in Minerva's office.

Narcissa was admiring a deep violet flower with bone-white centres when Harry approached. Draco stood a few feet from her, looking annoyed, although his expression changed when he caught sight of Harry.

"Very well, thank you. What brings you here on this gloomy day?" He knew she preferred the trappings of superficial banter to his direct approach, but he had worked himself into a state of near-panic, sensing that her visit had not been prompted by a desire to chat with Draco.

She sighed. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. I've exhausted my sources for mole crickets. I even utilized some of Lucius', how shall I put this…? Some of his less savoury sources, but it can be dangerous to work with that sort. If they sense one is doing something less than aboveboard, they tend to use the information to their advantage."

Harry barely heard her. A sinking sensation settled in the pit of his stomach. No more mole crickets meant no more potions, and no more touching Draco, however fleetingly. They had only two potions remaining.

His eyes met Draco's and they shared a haunted look for a moment before Draco smiled and shrugged.

"I have found someone willing to cast the spell. Or to be the catalyst, whichever you prefer."

Harry gasped. Someone other than Lucius? It had to be, or she would have mentioned his return. Hell, someone at the Ministry would have mentioned Lucius' return. They kept close tabs on the elder Malfoy, regardless of the fact that he had not been in the country in years.

She lifted a hand and cupped a fragile pink orchid bud. One twist and it would be torn from the plant, instantly cut off from all that sustained it. Just like humans, Harry thought morbidly. Death seldom made sense.

"That information is not mine to impart," she said. "He will tell you when he chooses. I simply wanted you to consider the fact."

Her lips thinned, as though she were annoyed at having her secret uncovered. "He had many questions. I had answers."

"Not even for Draco?" Narcissa asked. Harry blanched, realizing the perceived meaning behind his comment. He had not meant to imply he had chosen between them.

Harry sought for hurt beneath the words, but if it lay there, Draco masked it well. Despite Draco's lack of censure, or perhaps because of it, Harry's heart ached. It was not a fair choice to ask him to make. Ron was still living and breathing, despite the fact that he seemed fully accepting of his imminent demise, and the spell to bring Draco back was a long shot, a pipe dream. If it failed, Harry would lose them both. At least now… He swallowed hard and moved closer to Draco. At least now he had some small part of Draco here. He refused to risk losing what little they had.

Narcissa's voice was gentle, but the reprimand was blatant. "Mr Weasley wishes his death to be meaningful. You would refuse him that?"

"I can't think about this anymore," Harry said. He turned and strode to the door, walking so quickly he was nearly running. The greenhouse had become cloying and far too warm; he needed to escape.

Neither of the Malfoys stopped him. When he hit the open air he broke into a run, hurtling towards the castle. He ran until his lungs ached from the cold air and his leg muscles protested the unfamiliar abuse. When he reached the entrance, his chest heaved with sobbing breaths and he leaned against the stone wall outside the doors, trying to regain his composure.

The portal opened and Harry cast an instinctive Disillusionment Charm, trying not to breathe as a group of Ravenclaws pushed past him and headed for the greenhouses. None of them seemed to notice when the doors stayed open a moment longer than usual, long enough for Harry to slip inside the castle. He thought about going back to his rooms and fetching his invisibility cloak, but he did not want to be inside the too-familiar walls at the moment, surrounded by memories of Draco. He closed his eyes and walked through the halls, reaching the stairs to the Astronomy Tower without being noticed by anyone.

He climbed the steps, pausing every so often to rest aching thigh muscles and catch his breath. He encountered no one on the way up—it was a far more popular place at night than during the day. The top of the tower was deserted and Harry leaned against the battlement and surveyed the view. The evening sun was starting to dip beneath the clouds and touch the horizon, sending a few rays to sparkle over the rippling waves of the lake. It had stopped raining, but a stiff breeze ruffled his hair and cut through his thin jacket.

Harry rested his cheek against the cool stone and shut his eyes. Narcissa would never give up, not when her obsession had become her life's mission. He winced when he thought of it, and wondered when she would remember the life-debt Harry owed her. Would she call it into question and demand he accede to her wishes? Not that it mattered as long as Draco refused, but would he continue to do so? Did he not long for a chance to live again? Did he want—?

"A broom will take you closer to the sky with far less effort." Draco's voice was quiet and rather than startling Harry it felt like a cool blanket on a hot day. He wanted to lose himself in Draco's arms and the force of that desire was almost too much to bear.

"I don't really feel like flying," Harry admitted. Even as he said it, he thought it might have been better if he had. Flying usually left him feeling more relaxed and clearheaded.

Harry glanced back to find Draco hovering nearby. "What do you mean by 'such as it is'?"

Draco snorted. "Gryffindors are not good at mental anguish. Generally they display a frown and possibly a wrinkled forehead—which doesn't do a thing for your famous scar, by the way—and then they give up on emotional analysis and charge into battle."

Harry felt a smile trying to take over his mouth. "Is that what you think I plan to do? Charge into battle?"

Harry turned to him in surprise. "I don't know how to fight this. At least Voldemort was tangible. The Horcruxes were real and gave me something to look for, something to strike at, but this…" Harry touched his hair in frustration, but managed not to tug at it. "I don't know how to keep a wasting illness from taking Ron. I don't know how to bring you back! I feel so… fucking helpless." He took a shaky breath. "The only solution is no solution at all. I don't know what to do."

Draco moved closer and Harry took a step forward to press himself into Draco's coldness, wishing more than ever that he could simply hold him and lean into his strength, if only for a moment. He shut his eyes at hot tears prickled against his lids. Why did he have to fall in love with a ghost? He lifted his arms anyway and wrapped them around nothing but cold air, but he knew Draco was there, sustaining him.

"Shut up. We've been through that. I don't want anyone other than you. Even Ron knows—" Harry's voice broke and he swallowed hard. "Even Ron knows how I feel."

"I have to admit, Weasley's willingness to die for me came as a bit of a shock." Draco's voice was soft in Harry's ear.

Harry laughed, and it felt like balm to his wounded soul. He wished he could tell Draco how he felt, but he suspected the ghost already knew.

Draco moved away. "Come on, you'll catch your death snuggling up to me like that out here. Stupid Gryffindor." He turned and strode toward the steps without looking back, and Harry smiled and followed him into the warmth of the castle.

Draco made himself scarce on Valentine's Day, for which Harry was grateful. It was bad enough suffering the lovesick students' heart-filled crackers, singing cards, magical balloons, and excruciating sonnets from Peeves, without the additional irritant of Draco's smirk making it worse.

Harry thought it was possible that Draco was jealous of Harry's mountain of Valentines, even though they mostly consisted of ridiculous fan mail from people Harry had never met, attracted to his celebrity status and initiated because of a stupid article in Witch Weekly that ran every February, citing Harry's likes (chocolate frogs, wet kisses, and Quidditch) and dislikes (love potions, tattoos, and dragons), even though the content had been gleaned from unauthorized sources shortly after the war.

Harry spent all of his non-class hours sequestered in his room, poring over a potion recipe and thinking. Ever since his confrontation with Narcissa in the greenhouse, he had expected a renewed salvo from her or Ron, but both of them had been disturbingly silent. Ron had even visited twice, once to chat inanely about the Cannons chances at the World Cup and once to play chess with Draco. Harry had waited suspiciously for him to bring up his meeting with Narcissa Malfoy, but it remained a tense, unmentioned topic.

To avoid the silly holiday, Draco had gone to visit his mother and hopefully stress the fact that there would be no sacrificial spell casting. Draco still wasn't back by the time Harry requested a house-elf bring a plate of food to his room for dinner. He ate and was debating changing into his pyjamas when the fireplace flared and Ron's head poked through.

Ron's head disappeared and he stepped through a minute later. "Where's the git?"

Ron rolled his eyes and lowered himself carefully onto the sofa. Harry bit his lip and forced himself not to assist his friend. "I was. We went to a fancy dinner—finally—and she rushed through dessert and then disappeared. She claimed she had something to finish for work. I'm lucky I got a cursory snog."

Ron shrugged. "He says he's taking a break and missed Mum and Dad. I don't buy it. Something is up, but I don't suppose it matters."

Harry nodded, although he made a mental note to talk to Hermione. Something was definitely not aboveboard, but Harry had been avoiding Hermione lest she figure out the situation between him and Draco. Consequently, he had no idea what was going on with her. He supposed it was time to come clean.

"Good. Because I wanted to talk to you about something without seeing his disapproving look. You know he gets that from his mum? It's uncanny, really. Sometimes I just stare at her and think that they could be the same person except that… You don't really need to hear this."

"I mean, not the bit about Malfoy being just like his mum, because that's not important, but the other thing you have to listen to."

"The thing about the spell. The one to bring Malfoy back. Narcissa, well she's pretty convinced it will work. And so am I. Don't shake your head like that. I know you want him for more than whatever kinky ghost games you've been playing. You're in love with him, mate. It's plain as day."

"I'm not denying that I'm in love with him, but I am telling you—and Narcissa—that the spell won't work, no matter how much she wants it, no matter how much I want it! Dark Magic has a fundamental flaw when you try to use it for good. It's Dark Magic. The very nature of it prevents it from being beneficial. And there is always a price."

"We're willing to pay that price, Harry. And we've worked out the flaws. Love is the key—you said it yourself. Love can counter any Dark Magic. Isn't that how your mum saved you from the Killing Curse?"

"It is the same. Malfoy's mum loves him as much as yours loved you. She lied straight in the face of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She's counting on that love to counter the whole Dark thing. I'll help but… we could really use you."

Ron's earnest, too-thin, too-pale face wrenched at Harry. "You can't be serious about this," Harry said in an almost whisper. "You can't actually be willing to die for Draco Malfoy."

Ron glared. "Why can't I? And for your information, I'm not planning to die for Malfoy. I'm planning to die for you."

"I know you don't want it, but look at me! I'm dying anyway, and don't tell me you can't see it. Every day it gets harder to force myself out of bed. It would be so much easier to lie there like a lump of mutton and waste away. Do you know why I don't? Because of you. And Hermione, of course, even though she… Well, never mind that. The point is that I fucking want to do this, all right?" Ron's eyes were fierce and bored into Harry. "And the thing is, I plan to do it. Narcissa and me. We are going to do it with or without your help, but we think it will be more successful with your assistance."

"And if you really hate the thought of me dying for you, then Narcissa is perfectly willing to be the victim—she thinks maybe it would be best for the spell, with her love being the stronger and all. I don't want to kill her, either, but I figure it won't hurt my soul all that much if I'm doing it for a good cause—"

"Stop it, Ron." Harry fought the urge to close his eyes and put his hands over his ears to shut out the sound of Ron's voice and the resulting images.

Ron's hand closed over Harry's wrist, gripping tightly even with half his usual strength. "Harry, you need him. And if it doesn't work, then you need to move on. Either way, we have to try."

"Draco will never agree." The words were uttered with something close to relief, because he knew them to be true. Draco would never allow it.

Ron pushed himself to his feet and released Harry's wrist. "He will if you convince him, mate." He shuffled to the fireplace and reached up to grab a handful of Floo Powder. "Just think about it. But don't take too long." He tossed the powder into the flames, stepped inside, and was gone.

It was late when Draco returned, but Harry was still awake, lying beneath the blankets with his eyes fixedly shut, pretending to sleep. Even though Draco was silent, Harry could always tell when he was in the room by the almost indiscernible drop in temperature. He had grown so accustomed to Draco's chill that the room seemed too-warm when he was not around.

"Annoying." The flat response brooked no further questions and Harry suspected Narcissa was no closer to dropping her mad idea than Ron.

Draco snorted. He was a pale shadow in the dark room and he moved closer to kneel next to the bed and place a cold hand near Harry's chest. "Yeah. Get anything good?"

Harry thought he saw Draco's lips curl into a smile. "They must be slipping. Or perhaps you're getting too old."

"That must be it," Harry agreed and reached up to cup his hand over Draco's, even though he could feel nothing but cold. He bit his lip, suddenly wishing he could touch Draco, even for a moment, because it was ridiculous and stupid, but it was Valentine's Day and somehow it just seemed wrong to be unable to share a single kiss.

Harry sat up, startling Draco, who moved away as Harry swung his legs off the bed. "I think I'll go get a glass of milk. Might help me sleep."

Draco backed into his usual spot by the window and watched him with a frown. "Do you want me to come?"

"No, I won't be long." Harry shrugged into his dressing gown and stepped into a pair of slippers. He pocketed his wand, gave Draco a wan smile, and went out. He wasn't lying, exactly, and made sure to stop by the kitchen and drink a small glass of milk, just to be truthful. When he finished it, he walked into the Front Hall and out through Hogwarts' main doors.

The night was bitterly cold and Harry wished he had grabbed his cloak, or even a jacket, but that would have made Draco suspicious. Instead he cast a Warming Charm and then headed for the lake.

The sky was filled with patchy clouds and the moon gleamed through the breaks, nearly full. Waves rippled on the lake, fuelled by a breeze that cut through Harry's dressing gown and quickly dispelled his Warming Charm, forcing him to renew it by the time he reached the banks. He avoided the mud and walked quickly to the stand of trees that marked a place he had not visited since his return to Hogwarts.

The tomb shone brightly in the moonlight and Harry reached out a hand to touch the cold marble. "Hello, Professor Dumbledore," he said quietly. He wondered why he hadn't been to visit Dumbledore's portrait. Perhaps the former Headmaster would have been able to help with Harry's dilemma, although Harry admitted to himself that he did not want to face the possibility of Dumbledore's disapproval.

Harry fingered the wand in his pocket and looked at the tomb. Flowers littered the ground around it, along with small handwritten notes, magical trinkets, and items of jewellery and assorted sweets. House-elves tended the offerings to ensure they were not destroyed by the weather or snatched by the unscrupulous. Harry frowned and realized he had not brought anything. He knew it was not required, but in light of the other tribute it seemed callous.

He plucked a weed from the ground and Transfigured it into a lily. A smooth stone became a makeshift vase and Harry propped the flower against the tomb next to a bunch of snapdragons and a plush puppy.

He stepped back and renewed his Warming Charm once more. The tomb was warded, of course, and some of the wards were Harry's.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked and Harry started guiltily. He glanced at his boyfriend, glittering silver in the pale light.

Harry did not bother to ask what he meant. "I'm not. Well, I admit I have been thinking about it. First your mother and now Ron…"

Harry nodded. "He told me they are determined to do it. Ron has become nearly as obsessed as your mother. I'm afraid they might try it on their own."

"This isn't about what I want. Between your mother and Ron, and even your father, this whole situation seems to have taken on a life of its own." Harry replied wryly. "If you want to discuss what I want, then yes, I would love to have you alive again. There, I've said it. And there's no harm in thinking about it, is there?"

"There is when you can't change it. I knew you would tire of having a ghost for a boyfriend."

He turned and walked to Draco, standing close enough to touch if it had been possible. "Never think I regret that," he said. "In spite of everything, I can only be glad for what we have. Yes, I wish I had got to know you before, and I wish more than anything that I had been here to save you, but I don't regret a moment we've spent together since I… since I stopped looking at you with blind eyes."

"Damn it, Harry, this isn't what you need and if I had an ounce of courage I would leave and never come back, to give you a chance at a normal life."

"Promise me," Draco said suddenly, vehemently. "Promise me you won't try to convince me, because part of me wants it. Part of me wants my mother to try and bring me back, because if it works, then I will be with you, and if it doesn't work then I will be gone forever. At times, both seem like acceptable alternatives to this half-life I'm leading, especially times when I want to touch you so badly it's worse than physical pain." When Harry sought to speak, Draco held up a hand and touched Harry's lips with coldness that mimicked fingers. "But even if the spell worked, the guilt would eat me alive. If my mother died for me, how would I live with that? You can barely stand your mother's sacrifice and you were an infant when it happened. And if Weasley died for me?" Draco barked a laugh. "Eventually, I would hate myself. Or hate you. I know it would happen, Harry, so promise me. Swear that you will never try to convince me."

Harry swallowed hard as something crystallized within him. Draco's proud, beautiful face was set with determination and his eyes blazed, waiting for Harry's response. He could have asked for anything and Harry would have granted it. "I promise," Harry whispered.

"I, Harry James Potter, promise that I will never attempt to convince Draco Lucius Abraxus Cygnus Malfoy to participate in the ritual spell found in the Grimoire of Armadel, or any variation thereof, even should he later becomes stricken with stupidity and changes his mind. Say it!"

Harry smiled reluctantly, even through the ache in his heart, and repeated the words. Draco sighed with visible relief when he finished.

"Thank you. Now come back inside and go to bed before you freeze, you stupid man."

Draco turned and started back towards the castle. Harry looked at Dumbledore's tomb once more, tugged a thoughtful hand through his hair, and hurried after Draco.

The next morning Harry woke up alone, as he did on most Saturdays. Draco normally allowed him a lie-in while he went and visited the thestrals, returning mid-morning after Harry had eaten breakfast.

He swung his legs out of bed and quickly dressed, noting that the hour was much earlier than usual. He hurried to the Owlery and sent an owl to Ron before returning to his room and snatching up his invisibility cloak. If he skipped breakfast, he would have just over an hour to accomplish his task.

Harry was back in his room, nibbling on a piece of house-elf-purloined toast with marmalade and reading a book, when Draco returned. He stuffed the last of his pseudo-meal into his mouth and washed it down with several gulps of tea.

Harry smiled and hoped he had cleaned the mud from his shoes well enough that Draco would not notice. He wondered how long it would be before Ron crawled out of bed and answered his owl post. Now that he had set events into motion, his stomach churned with impatience and warred with a large dose of apprehension.

"What do you want to do today?" Draco asked and then lifted a brow when Harry's teacup tipped and sloshed tea dregs all over the table.

"Clean up tea, apparently," Harry replied and Vanished the mess after righting the cup. He grimaced.

At that moment an owl fluttered at the window and tapped impatiently. Harry leaped to his feet and opened the window. The owl hopped inside and ruffled its feathers, shaking off water droplets. It seemed to watch Harry reproachfully, blaming him for forcing it out into the wet. He unfastened the message and then fished through the bowl on the sill for an owl treat.

"No return message," Harry said and the owl turned around and flew out. Harry shut the window against a gush of wind-driven rain. It was turning out to be a miserable day. Harry hoped the weather was not a portent.

Harry nearly cringed. The simple question could only be safely answered with a lie, and he wasn't willing to lie to Draco. "It doesn't matter," he replied.

Harry turned away and busied himself with picking up some papers he had scattered over his desk. "Nothing," he said, "Just having lunch with Ron." So much for not lying, he thought with a mental sigh.

"Of course you do. Most of the time it is bright red tinted with orange, like flame. Full of fire and life..." Draco trailed off and looked away, as if mortified to have been caught waxing almost poetic. Then he glared at Harry. "Never mind that. Cinereous is not nearly so attractive. It doesn't suit you."

"For the spell you promised you would not mention?" Draco's tone was dangerous.

Harry nodded. "Yes, and therefore I am not mentioning it." Harry left off shuffling papers and walked to the bed where he sat down and put on his trainers.

"I am not trying to convince you of anything, I just need to speak to Ron and your mother." Harry laced his shoes and picked up the knapsack he had prepared earlier. He wished he had thought of a way to enact his plan without Draco's presence, but he was not entirely certain Draco's participation was unnecessary. The whole thing was murky and he was less than confident about the outcome. "I'll be back later," he added brightly.

He hurried to the fireplace and tossed in a handful of Floo Powder to send himself to Malfoy Manor.

Ron leaned against the wall and then allowed his legs to buckle slowly. He slid down the smooth wood and sat on the floor, glad that he had worn thick wool robes. Most of the rooms in the Manor were too cold for comfort, and this one was no exception.

"Would you prefer a chair?" Narcissa asked politely. She was always polite, even though Ron suspected most of it was surface politeness. She didn't particularly care if he was comfortable or not.

"This is fine," he said. The thought of climbing to his feet in order to sit in a chair was tiring in and of itself. Ron just wanted to lie down and sleep, even though he had been doing little else for the past week, and would soon be sleeping forever.

The thought caused him to switch his gaze to the prone form of Draco Malfoy, floating just above the only piece of furniture in the room. Ron spared a moment of bitterness to note that Malfoy's body, frozen in stasis, was bloody perfect, while Ron's was falling apart around him.

The door opened and Harry stepped inside, accompanied by a house-elf. Ron raised a hand in a tired wave, but did not bother to get to his feet. He noticed Harry was carrying a knapsack, one that looked remarkably like the one he had traipsed through the Forest of Dean carrying.

"Hello, Harry. Ronald informs me that you have changed your mind?" Narcissa's question was delivered in her usual tones of cool politeness, but there was a hint of audible hope beneath her words.

"I haven't changed my mind, exactly, but I've come to realize that you are both very determined. Obstinate. Stubborn as mules."

Harry sighed. "I've been thinking that I should probably get involved, since Ron told me that you two plan to do this thing with or without my consent." Harry gave them each one final disapproving look and then opened the knapsack. He withdrew a slender object. "Therefore, I've brought this."

He held it up for their inspection. Ron drew in a surprised breath and Narcissa looked puzzled.

Ron pushed against the wall and climbed slowly to his feet, watching Harry with confusion.

"But it will only work for you," Ron said, knowing well the power of the Elder Wand.

"What will only work for you?" a sharp voice demanded and Harry visibly winced as Malfoy floated through the door and stood next to him. His glare switched from Harry's face to the wand in his hand. "The wand. I see. That is why you were lurking at Dumbledore's tomb yesterday. When did you retrieve it?"

"To cast a spell that cannot fail," he whispered, not looking at Malfoy, who seemed to glare at him with hurt betrayal. Ron bit his lip, suddenly less than certain about the course they were determined to embark upon. Now that it was here, it seemed far less theoretical and far more dangerous.

Malfoy's voice turned pleading. "Harry, don't do this. You know it isn't possible."

"It might be possible," Harry insisted. "I came back from death. Granted, there were special circumstances, but I know it can be done."

Draco shook his head and moved closer to Harry, fingers twitching as if he wished he could reach for the Elder Wand and snatch it from Harry's grasp.

"I've been trying to work it out," Harry continued. "I've been over it so many times I don't even know what to think. It should be enough for me that you're here with me, even if I can't touch you, but since I have touched you… God, I probably should never have made that potion, because a taste can sometimes make a craving worse and, damn it, this is so unfair! I want to go to Azkaban and Crucio Goyle for killing you and making my life so fucking complicated. If only you were alive—"

Harry almost smiled, even though Ron could see the words must have hit him like a dagger thrust. Trust Malfoy to see through Harry's tirade as a distraction. It was obvious to Ron that Harry had already made up his mind.

Malfoy hissed, pleading tone gone as he clenched his fists. "You cannot seriously tell me you are going to allow either Ron Weasley or my mother to die. Which one do you plan to sacrifice for me?"

Harry smiled and it chilled Ron a little. He had seen that smile before, when Harry was on the path of No Turning Back. He spoke to Malfoy as though explaining a concept to one of his students. "It's a curious thing, sacrifice. The willingness to die for someone else. It's the one thing Voldemort never understood. Dumbledore called the power of love the greatest force, the strongest magic. Your mother loves you enough to die for you without a second thought. Ron loves me enough to give up his life on the meagre chance it might bring me some happiness." Harry turned and looked at Ron for a moment. "About that, Ron, I'm sorry, but I don't think it would work. Platonic love can be as strong as any other, but in this case I think the spell requires love for Draco. Your recent feelings of grudging kinship might not be enough."

The cold fist around Ron's heart intensified at Harry's words and he frowned. "What are you saying?"

Harry seemed not to hear Malfoy as he nodded at Narcissa. "Yeah, I already know a mother's love is more than strong enough. It just might work. Do you have the potion?"

"Harry, wait," Ron said, suddenly uncertain. Something was very wrong. In truth, Ron hadn't expected Harry to capitulate. Not this easily and not without a fight. "Wait, I'm the one already dying. She can't be the one. This is all wrong!" He pushed away from the wall and stumbled, cursing his weakness.

Narcissa reached into a pocket and pulled out a vial of purplish liquid. She made as if to pull the cap, but Harry strode towards her and held out his hand. She hesitated. "I can administer it," she said.

Narcissa bit her lip and then placed the vial in Harry's hand. Harry slipped the potion into his shirt pocket and Ron thought he heard the clink of glass against glass.

"This idiocy has gone on long enough," Malfoy snapped. "No one is going to die for me. I refuse. I will never consent to this. Not ever! Not. Bloody. Ever. And I am very disappointed in you, Harry. You lied to me."

Harry took a deep breath and turned to Malfoy, looking as if it might be the last time he ever gazed upon him. Malfoy's fists were clenched and his face was set in determined lines. His glare was potent. Ron's heart ached at the expression on Harry's face, so full of love and pride as he faced down what was probably his toughest challenge yet. It was suddenly very clear why he had been, and always would be, the Chosen One.

"Draco," Harry said. "Words can't encompass all that I feel for you, even those three words that are handed out so casually by those lucky enough never to have to fight for them. Regardless, I'm not much of a speaker, so I will just let my actions speak for me."

"I didn't lie, exactly, because I haven't tried to convince you. But the thing is, I don't think your consent is necessary. And for what it's worth, I do love you. And I'm really sorry for this next bit." With that, Harry took a deep breath, lifted the Elder Wand, and said, "Expecto Patronum!"

Ron gasped as the stag burst from the end of the wand and exploded through Malfoy, whose face did not even have time to register surprise before he dissipated.

Harry lowered the wand as the last of the sparkling bits of silver faded away. He turned towards Malfoy's body and fumbled for the potion in his pocket—not the one Narcissa had given him, but a different one. Ron was a full Auror now and he had been trained to observe; the cork on the potion in Harry's hand was not the same as the one Narcissa had prepared.

"Harry, what did you do?" Ron asked, still in shock that Harry had basically exploded his boyfriend into nothingness.

"We don't have much time," Harry said and glanced at Narcissa's horrified face. "Draco pulled himself together once before after my Patronus scattered him into a million bits. I expect him to reform himself much quicker this time, but at the moment he can't withhold his consent, and he won't distract me or talk me out of this."

"What are you doing, Harry?" Ron asked and forced himself forwards, cursing his old-man's body. "What is that potion?"

Harry ignored him and pulled the cork on the potion before sliding a hand beneath Draco's head and tipping the vial against his lips.

"Narcissa, wait! There is something wrong here," Ron cried. Everything was moving too quickly and Harry was behaving far too suspiciously.

Harry's mouth was set in a determined line. "There's no time, Ron. Draco will be back soon and I don't trust myself to stand up to him again."

Narcissa pulled out her wand and murmured an incantation. Harry poured the purplish liquid into Malfoy's mouth, looking visibly relieved when the potion disappeared, guided down Malfoy's throat by Narcissa's spell. As she did so, Harry immediately cast the other spell, the one that would bind Malfoy's wandering spirit back to his body. Ron knew the incantation by heart, having read the spell dozens of times, going over it in his mind until he could have recited it backwards. When he finished, a pale glow surrounded Malfoy's form.

"Are you sure about this?" Narcissa asked and shot a worried glance at Ron, who scowled. It was a bit late to be having second thoughts, now that the potion and spell had been administered. Ron opened his mouth to point out that fact, but Harry quirked a strange-looking grin.

"Are any of us? Time to die, I think. Are you ready?" He shook the Elder Wand in his fingers, seeming far too jaunty for the sobriety of the situation.

Narcissa nodded solemnly and stood tall and proud, looking like a dozen other Malfoys whose portraits lined the walls of the cold Manor. She was definitely fit to join them.

But Harry only pointed the wand at Narcissa Malfoy and said quietly, "Avada Kedavra."

Ron watched with horror as the flash of green light burst from the Elder Wand and streaked towards Narcissa, who stood stock-still with her eyes closed, placidly awaiting the inevitable. Except the inevitable had not counted on Harry Potter. The green bolt veered before hitting Narcissa, looking almost as if it hit a wall, and then rebounded back upon itself.

It slammed into Harry instead, knocking him to the floor and sending the Elder Wand rolling across the wood. Ron heard a loud crack, barely audible over his own scream.

Ron flung himself at Harry and gripped him by the face. Harry's head lolled and his green eyes stared blankly through the skewed frames of his glasses. Oh no, Ron thought. Oh no, no, no, no. He felt desperately for a pulse.

"Damn you, Harry!" Ron fought the urge to shake him and tried to calm himself as he pushed his fingers against Harry's jugular. Don't be dead, don't be dead, please don't be dead. Bloody buggering hell, please, please don't let him die. Ron fought his panic and steadied his fingers on Harry's throat. Nothing. "Fuck! I'm taking him to St Mungo's! Where is the nearest Floo?" His voice was strident and sounded hysterical even to himself. He did not dare try to Apparate. He was barely strong enough to Apparate himself these days; there was no way he could manage a Side-along.

"Up the stairs," Narcissa said. "First door on the right. Draco. Oh, Draco!" Her voice sounded panicked and Ron glanced behind him to see Malfoy's body convulsing. "Oh, no, no, no!"

For a moment, Ron was tempted to help her, but if he could get Harry to St Mungo's quick enough, they might be able to save him. There had to be spells or potions or something they could utilize, because they fucking owed it to Harry to do everything they could. Despite the fact that no one could "recover" from Avada Kedavra, Ron had to try, because it was Harry and he had come back from death once, so why not again?

Ron used every last bit of his strength to hoist Harry onto one hip, holding tightly with one arm as he dragged him from the room. Stairs. Bloody hell, there would have to be stairs involved. Ron clenched his teeth and kept going.

When he reached the top of the staircase, sobbing raggedly for breath and coughing up spotty patches of blood with every other gulp of air, Ron paused at the sound of a drawn-out scream behind him. A horrible image of Malfoy rising from the table as an Inferius filled Ron's mind and he shuddered, knowing he had to go back. But he could see the door to the room with the Floo a mere sixteen paces ahead. He was so close. "Harry first," he muttered. Harry first and then he would go back and help Narcissa.

Harry opened his eyes to nothingness… and smiled. He rolled to his feet and wondered at the pale solidity even as he cast his mind out for something to wear. Red robes appeared at his feet and he put them on, not needing them for comfort, but possibly for modesty if anyone should show up to greet him this time.

He frowned and gazed around. Last time he had created something like King's Cross Station, but it seemed different now. Instead of benches, rows of tables seemed to form themselves out of the mist, which dissipated in slow degrees until Harry recognized a passable likeness to the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

There was no horrible, tormented child this time, thankfully, but neither was there Dumbledore… But even as Harry thought it, a door near the staff tables opened and Albus Dumbledore strode through.

"Hello, sir," Harry replied and walked forward with a grin. "I didn't really expect to be back so soon."

Harry frowned. "Well, Narcissa and Ron were both determined to die so that Draco could live. And Draco was just as determined that no one should die for him."

Harry tugged at his hair, wondering if he should be proud of his deception. "I had to. I wanted it to kill me and I wasn't sure my own wand would do it. I had to make sure it would obey its master, without regard to right or wrong, life or death. Ron would have tried to stop me if I had pointed the wand at myself, so I had to pretend to choose Narcissa. Even though I seemed to be casting the spell at her, my intent was to cast it upon myself. Clearly, the wand knew that. And here I am."

"Yes. I am hoping that my mother's sacrifice will tie me to Draco, the way it tied me to Voldemort the last time I was here. I hope it will allow me to go back." Harry bit his lip, worried for the first time. He wasn't completely certain he would be able to get back. And even if he did, he was terrified at the thought of what he would find. Had the spell worked, or was Draco still a ghost? Or worse, was he nonexistent, or an Inferius? He looked at Dumbledore. "You said you frequently guessed correctly, so that is what I tried to do. What do you think?"

"I think you are still a very selfless man, Harry." Dumbledore's gaze was as kindly as Harry remembered.

Harry sighed and nodded. "Yeah, and because I want him to be alive again. I'm so tired of losing everyone I love. And now Ron… His sacrifice would not have worked, would it? If I had let him die in my place?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I believe your assumption to be correct. The part of the spell that the others could not accept was the inclusion of murder. This is what made it Dark Magic. In order to return Mr Malfoy's soul, an exchange had to be made. A life for a life. However, if you had slain Ron Weasley or Narcissa Malfoy, the gift of their sacrifice would have been tainted by your act of murder. That particular spell has never been successful in the past, even when performed with the best of intentions. All that ever resulted were Inferi."

"Your sacrifice was pure, Harry. Untainted. The spell demanded the spellcaster be someone other than the sacrificial victim, in part because no other wand would be so callous as to destroy its own master. The sentience inside of a wizard's wand is largely self-serving. It is a conduit for the magic inside of the wizard. To turn that magic upon its holder would be contrary to its own usefulness, its very purpose for existing. Only when malfunctioning—as in the case of Ron Weasley's broken wand—will it turn upon its master. The Elder Wand never malfunctions. Every spell it casts is perfection."

Harry frowned. He had not quite reasoned it out that far. He had only wanted to be certain that when he cast the spell, it would truly kill him and not Narcissa, despite his apparent aim.

"Well, that part of my plan worked, at any rate. You can't tell me about the rest of it?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Perhaps you should go back and discover the results for yourself, Harry. Good luck to you." He turned away and then paused, giving Harry a stern frown. "And Harry? Try not to do this again. The next time you end up here could very well be your last."

Harry awoke and was immediately disoriented. Everything seemed to be moving and his feet were bumping on the ground. His toes hurt.

"Wha…?" he tried and lifted a hand. He couldn't see and wasn't sure if he had moved at all. Something was wrong.

Harry blinked, but saw nothing but blackness. He tried to speak again, but there was no sound.

"Hold on, mate, I'm taking you to St Mungo's. Curse this bloody weakness! Just hang on."

There was another sensation of motion and Harry winced when his toes began to bump once more.

When he awakened the second time, it was under much more peaceful circumstances. There was no movement and no sound. Harry tentatively opened his eyes, to find everything still black. He felt a moment of panic until he caught sight of a flicker of light. His gaze flew to it and fixed on a faraway lamp, burning with dim light on a bedside table.

Slowly, other images began to intrude, seeming to seep out of the blackness. Neatly made beds, window embrasures, and floating curtains. Harry wondered if he were still back in the strange limbo with Dumbledore, or even beyond that place, but then the scene gelled into familiarity.

He frowned and turned his head, only to hear a loud gasp. Someone flung themselves at him. He heard a soft cry. "Harry!"

When he was enveloped in perfume-scented arms and a mass of hair obscured his vision, he realized it was Hermione.

"Oh god, Harry, we thought you would never return!" She clung to him a moment longer and then pulled away to look at him. A quick spell lit the lamp at his bedside, making him blink at the sudden brightness. "Sorry," she said, but her eyes shone with moisture. "How are you? Do you need anything? Water?"

He tried to speak, but his throat felt suddenly dry as a desert and he realized water sounded like the best thing on earth. He nodded.

She cast Aguamenti on a glass and handed it to him when it was partially filled. Harry drank greedily and the water seemed to soak into his parched tissues. Bloody hell, how long since he'd had something to drink? And why was he at Hogwarts? He remembered the Manor…

"You've been out cold for three weeks, Harry," she said. "We all feared the worst. We moved you here from St Mungo's, since they couldn't seem to do anything for you."

"What about Draco?" Harry asked, lifting a hand to grip her wrist. He didn't care about any of that. Whatever had happened to him could wait; it was Draco he needed to know about.

Running footsteps sounded and the main doors slammed shut. "The alarm went off! Bloody hell, it figures the moment I leave to—" The approaching figure halted at the foot of Harry's bed and Harry's heart seemed to leap into his throat.

Draco Malfoy stood there, looking as hale and hearty and… alive… as he ever had. Harry could not find words; he simply stared, trying to take in Draco's presence. His hair was slightly tousled and his clothing—he wore only a pale shirt and dark trousers. Gone were the ever-present robes and his skin… His skin gleamed with life, not with the silvery phosphorescence of ghostly luminescence.

Harry swallowed and fought to speak through the rush of emotion that threatened to strangle him. "Draco," he managed.

Draco rounded the bed and fell upon him, pulling him into an embrace even more life-threatening than Hermione's had been. Harry began to fear strangulation in earnest, except that it didn't seem to matter, because Draco was alive. Draco was alive! And… livid.

Draco pulled back and his fingers dug sharply into Harry's shoulders. He began to shake Harry quite painfully, punctuating each word with a sharp snap of movement. "I have been waiting for days to shout at you! Do you have any idea what might have happened? First you sneak around behind my back, then you hit me with a bloody Patronus, and then… and then…!"

Harry laughed out loud. He couldn't help it. Draco was yelling at him and his fingers really hurt and the shaking was unpleasant, but Harry didn't care. Hermione was trying vainly to tug Draco's hands away.

Harry felt near to bursting with joy. He silenced his laughter because it threatened to turn hysterical. It was hard to breathe and now he couldn't see properly again, and not just because his glasses were missing.

"Of course I'm alive. You certainly did not expect to go through all of that ridiculousness with the potion and the spell and the wand without it all working, did you?" Draco rolled his eyes, but at least he had stopped shaking Harry. "Of course you did. You expected it all to blow up in your face and take the lot of us with you."

"Fine. She's fine. Lucky she was there, apparently, because she had to do some fancy spellwork to keep me breathing after the shock of coming back. You nearly died, as well, probably would have if Weasley hadn't dragged you to St Mungo's. You complete idiot."

"Hospital," Hermione said simply. Harry looked at her and noticed how haggard she appeared. The strain seemed to be taking a toll on her and Harry winced at the knowledge that he had added to that pressure.

She nodded. "I was distracted. I probably would not have been much help, other than to try and talk you out of it."

Draco made as if to pull away, but Harry clutched at him, gripping his wrists tightly. He focussed on Draco again, the sheer immensity of being able to touch him taking over Harry's senses. "Don't go!"

Draco relaxed and his hands tightened on Harry's shoulders again, not painfully this time, but reassuring. "I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled. "Yes, I sort of guessed that after you died for him and he refused to leave your bedside as soon as he was strong enough to move."

Hermione got to her feet. "I am going to go and owl everyone to let them know Harry is back with us. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will be here soon to run a barrage of tests. How do you feel?"

"Wonderful," Harry said and it was true, even though his head was pounding and his chest ached and he felt weak as a kitten, with Draco beside him he thought he might be able to fly to the moon, if needed.

Hermione departed, closing the door quietly behind her and Harry drank in the sight of Draco once more. He let go of Draco's wrists and lifted both hands to his face. His fingers caressed the smooth lines of Draco's brow, nose, and cheeks, and one thumb brushed over his lips, touching almost reverently.

Draco leaned forward and kissed him. Despite the fact that they had kissed hundreds of times before, it felt entirely new. Draco's lips were warm, so warm, and pressed almost gingerly against Harry's before he opened to allow him ingress. His tongue was even warmer and felt better than it ever had, wet and hot and tantalizing. Draco tasted of…

Draco groaned and rested his forehead against Harry's. His fingers carded through Harry's hair, solid and wonderful. "I am going to get fat. I have been gorging myself on everything I missed. I will never again take eating for granted. It's nearly as good as sex."

Harry breathed in the scent of him and his hands slipped down Draco's back to pull him closer. "Have you been having sex, then?"

"I'm awake now," Harry said and kissed him again, hungrily this time. The awkwardness of finding him alive and real was beginning to fade, drowned by the bliss of holding him, touching him, tasting him…

Footsteps dragged them reluctantly apart. Harry smiled lazily at Draco's dazed look as he straightened and then got to his feet with a cough.

"Harry! Nice to see you've finally returned to us." Madam Pomfrey clucked at him disapprovingly and pulled out her wand. "Experimenting with Dark Magic. I hope you've learned your lesson, although I'm sure Draco probably appreciates it."

"Be off with you, now. I need to run some tests to make sure our Harry is back to normal."

"Very well. I'll see you later, Harry." Draco's voice was thick with suggestion and Harry blushed, breath catching with anticipation. His body was already in a state after the kissing. He hoped the physical signs would diminish before Madam Pomfrey started her examination. It helped that Draco was leaving, although the sight of his arse in his fitted trousers was not assisting. Draco paused and turned back for a moment. "And, Harry? Thank you."

Hermione returned shortly before Madam Pomfrey finished. To Harry's relief, she had found nothing wrong and could not account for his comatose state. With a final admonition that he should return to St Mungo's for additional analysis, she left him with a clean bill of health.

"She doesn't know why I was out for so long," Harry explained to Hermione as she sat on the edge of his bed. "Neither do I, actually. When I was… killed, by Voldemort, I came right back. There were no ill effects."

Hermione nodded. "I have a theory about that. I've been doing a lot of research on medical issues lately, as you may have guessed. Anyway, I think it had more to do with the first spell you cast than the Killing Curse. That spell specified one spellcaster and one sacrifice. The energy transfer from the spellcaster is what forced the soul back into the body, and the sacrifice kept it there. Since you were both spellcaster and sacrifice, you were effectively drained of both energy and life. When your life force returned… well, your energy did not. That is the simplified version of my theory, of course."

Harry flung his blankets aside with a nod. He felt a bit lightheaded when he swung his legs over the bed and sat up, but he figured that was probably due to being in a reclining position for so long. At least, he hoped it was from being prone and not due to anything the tests had not revealed.

Harry looked at her sharply and then realized he was wearing only pyjamas. "Isn't that a Muggle hospital? Where are my clothes?"

A quick Summoning Charm sent Harry's clothes winging towards him from a nearby cupboard. He caught them and disrobed without modesty. The other hospital ward occupants were all sleeping behind curtains and Hermione had spent months with him in the wilderness. His glasses were on the bedside table and he put them on with a sigh of relief.

She reached into a small bag at her hip and pulled out two pale pieces of wood. She handed them to him and he recognized the Elder Wand. It had snapped in half. Harry frowned and looked at her. "I wondered what it would do."

Harry nodded. "That seems to be the cost of too much power. I suppose there's a lesson there." He grinned and felt his spirits rise. "That's the end of it, then. No more Deathly Hallows."

Harry nodded and handed her back the broken pieces. He would put them back in Dumbledore's tomb later. She took out Harry's old wand and he gripped it gratefully before casting a Tempus Charm. It was nearly midnight.

Hermione smiled. "Muggle hospital, remember? They won't even see us. Come on, we'll use the Floo in your room. It's closest."

She chuckled. "Waiting for you. Would you please stop asking so many questions?"

He wanted to ask again why Ron was in a Muggle hospital, but feared she might hex him, so he kept quiet until they reached his room. As soon as Harry opened the door he found his arms full of Draco. As Harry clutched him tightly, he realized it was a sensation he could easily grow accustomed to.

"Honestly, you are still impossible. Meet me in the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. And I will not wait for you." She tossed her Floo Powder and vanished into the flames.

"She'll wait for a minute or two," Harry replied and kissed him. His hands touched Draco's back, and hair, and shoulders, and… "I can't believe I can touch you. I can't believe you're alive."

"Much better," Draco agreed. "Come on, she won't wait that long and I know you want to see the Weasel."

Harry pushed himself away from Draco. He did want to see Ron; it was just hard to accept the fact that Draco wasn't going to vanish in fourteen hours. He turned and picked up a handful of Floo Powder, threw it into the fire, and went to join Hermione.

The hospital was quiet and their passage was unnoticed by the Muggle staff members, assisted by Hermione's Disillusionment Charm and some prudently cast Silencing Spells. Draco offered to keep watch by the door and gave Harry a wink before he followed Hermione into the dark room. For some reason, the gesture steadied Harry, who had grown more and more apprehensive as they walked. He wished he had been sterner about demanding to know why Ron was in a Muggle hospital.

Ron lay in a partially reclining bed, looking paler than ever, thin and frail as a skeleton. His mouth was open and rough snores issued from his mouth.

"He looks dreadful," Harry said in a hushed tone as he hurried forward to stand by Ron's bed. Harry took up one pale hand and held it tightly, hoping for a pulse. Ron looked more like the nonliving than Draco ever had.

"How long does he…?" Harry snapped his head around to look at her. "What did you say?"

She smiled with something that looked like quiet joy. "He's getting better. It doesn't look it, but he's doing great. They say he should be able to go home tomorrow."

Hermione sat down in an uncomfortable-looking chair and drew her legs up. "It was one of those Dark Magic books of yours that gave me the idea. One spell was meant to be cast upon the liver, which was the 'centre of magical energies' or some such nonsense. I thought it was rot, of course, but it kept nagging at me, so I started doing research, wondering if there could really be a connection between the liver and magical maladies."

"Surprisingly, there was! I went to China, where they have been drawing connections between the organs and magical energies for centuries. That led me to Switzerland, oddly enough, where they have been performing some breakthrough medicine using a combination of Muggle surgical techniques and magic. It's really fascinating. In one case they actually—"

"Can we stick with Ron, for the moment?" Harry interrupted, knowing her tendency to go off on tangents and forget her original topic entirely.

She pouted. "Yes, fine. Anyway, after discussing Ron's case with several specialists, they concluded that Ron's liver was likely malfunctioning, sending out some sort of signal that caused Ron's magic to turn on him. We decided that a liver transplant was his only hope."

She nodded. "His entire family and me. It took some work to bring Molly round, but she would grasp at any possibility rather than lose him. And Charlie was on my side, so that helped."

"What sort of question is that?" Her voice was heated and he double-checked to make sure her wand was not in her hand.

"Of all the…" She rolled her eyes. "I was in Romania talking to Charlie about donating half his liver to Ron. He was the closest match, both in Muggle blood type and magical signature. He was perfect."

"Yes, that was pretty much Ron's reaction, as well. It was decided that we would enlist a Muggle hospital to perform the operation, since they have been doing it regularly and well for so long. They say the effects should be almost immediate, and once he can properly move we will be off to Switzerland for the magical portion of his healing. They are hopeful that he will be nearly good as new in six months, perhaps less."

Harry looked at Ron, who suddenly seemed far less pale, even though Harry knew it was only his viewpoint that had changed. He had been so resigned to Ron dying that hearing he might live… it felt like a miracle.

She grimaced. "It was touch and go for awhile. I was gravely doubting my ability to find anything useful. Of course, this has taught me that there is a dearth of shared knowledge between the Muggle world and ours. Think how many more lives can be saved if we incorporate Muggle and magical techniques in the field of healing!"

With that, Hermione was off, expanding on the subject of transplants, gene-splicing, regenerative-magical medicine, and other things Harry quickly tuned out. He suspected there would be more activism and acronyms in Hermione's future.

"H'mione?" Ron's voice was weak and he turned his head towards the sound of her voice. "Harry?"

"And I'm alive. And Malfoy, too. We're all alive. And Charlie. Is Charlie alive?"

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. I get to leave tomorrow. How are you, Harry? You look kind of floaty. You sure you aren't a ghost?"

"I'm sure," Harry said and squeezed his hand again with a questioning look at Hermione.

She shrugged. "They have him on some pretty potent painkillers. He was singing earlier."

Hermione laughed. "Yes, you were. Celestina Warbeck, in fact. Probably because your mum was in here."

Ron wrinkled his nose. "It's disturbing that I actually know the lyrics. Hey, why aren't you dead, Harry? Are you some sort of unkillable beast now? Does Avada Kedavra not work on you? How many of them have you survived? Three?"

Harry blinked when he realized Ron was right. He had, in effect, survived three Killing Curses. It made him feel a bit catlike, but he didn't feel like pushing his luck and trying for nine. Or even four.

"I credit my mum, actually," Harry admitted. "I gave Draco a potion made with my blood. It sort of tied me to him the way it tied me to Voldemort back when he took that potion in the graveyard."

Harry looked at Hermione, who frowned, obviously thinking it through more than Harry had. "Yeah, I suppose, maybe. I guess we'll just have to find that out, eventually. Maybe I'll die when he dies, and vice versa." To be honest, Harry didn't care about the logistics of death, not when Draco stood just outside the door, waiting for him with warm breath and touchable skin.

"He's been sort of nice to have around. I guess you're not completely stupid for liking him."

"Come on," Hermione said and stood up. "We'll let you rest now. I'll be back in the morning. I just wanted you to know that Harry was awake, and vice versa." She leaned over Ron and planted a soft kiss on his mouth as Harry got up and went to the door to give them a moment of privacy. He glanced back once to see them wrapped in a fond embrace.

Draco was leaning against the wall. He rolled his head to the side and looked at Harry in a familiar gesture. "Everything all right?"

Harry stopped in to see Charlie, who looked remarkably fit considering he had been through major Muggle surgery. He proudly showed off his scar and informed Harry that he planned to keep it rather than allow the Healers to remove it. After all, how many wizards could say they had been operated on by Muggles?

Despite the late hour and a strange, growing exhaustion—hadn't he been asleep for weeks?—Harry was glad when they finally returned to his room at Hogwarts.

To his surprise, the place looked different. Furnishings were in odd locations and there seemed to be more plants and assorted bric-a-brac. He hadn't noticed it before, since they had only popped in long enough to Floo to the Ministry.

"I've been staying here," Draco explained without looking at Harry. A blush stained his cheeks, which Harry found fascinating. The novelty of Draco with non-silvery skin that reacted to everything was not likely to wear off for some time. "I wanted to be close to you while you were in Pomfrey's care. Do you mind? I may have moved things around some. And brought a few items from the Manor."

"Of course I don't mind," Harry replied, warmed at the thought of Draco making himself at home. He bit his lip and then blurted, "Will you stay?"

Harry let out a relieved breath and caught his hand. "If I'll have you? What sort of ridiculous statement is that? Do you honestly think I plan to toss you over now that you're alive and whole and… so incredibly gorgeous and kissable and… and more?"

"Your ability to speak coherently is slipping again, Potter, but I do like the sound of that more."

Draco seemed to melt into his embrace and Harry's tiredness seemed to melt away. He kissed Draco as thought he might disappear again, holding him with something close to desperation.

Draco stepped back with a chuckle and shook his head. "Easy, Harry. We have more than fourteen hours now. No need to do everything in one night, although there is one thing I would rather like to try." He moved away, headed for the bedchamber, and turned to give Harry a wicked grin over his shoulder. He took two more steps and his shirt slipped away from his shoulders to drop on the floor. "Coming?"

The rise of another Dark Lord could not have kept Harry away. He hurried after Draco, pausing only once to scoop the shirt from the floor. He draped it over a chair in the bedroom and watched, riveted, as Draco unfastened his trousers and let them fall.

"You have no idea how lovely it is to remove your clothing and have it stay off. And to change outfits. The first day I must have gone through fifteen outfits. My mother was delighted, probably because it kept me popping back to the Manor to change before rushing back to St Mungo's."

"Now who is being ridiculous? Do you plan to remain clothed? It would be an interesting change, mind you."

Harry dragged his t-shirt over his head in one with motion and tossed it over his shoulder. Draco's approving smirk made him quickly remove his jeans and kick those aside, as well, doffing his shoes in the same motion.

Harry blinked. "Are those my boxers?" It seemed so, if only because of the colour. They were Gryffindor red with gold thread throughout.

"Maybe. If you want them back, you'll have to take them." Draco's voice was deep and challenging.

Harry suppressed a chuckle and he sauntered forward, cocking his head to the side and putting his hands on his hips as though considering it. "I do like those," he admitted. "Although they look very nice on you." He pursed his lips and paused dramatically. His heart warmed when Draco's eyes danced with merriment. "I believe I'll take them back."

With that, Harry pounced. He leaped onto the bed and threw himself on Draco, gripping his wrists and pinning him to the bed before sinking his teeth into the flesh of Draco's shoulder in a mock-bite. Harry made a growling noise and asked, "Do you plan to fight me for them?"

Draco's laugh finally escaped, breathy and beautiful. "Certainly not, Gryffindor brute. I had no idea turning fleshy would bring out your beastly nature." He paused and added, "I think I like it."

Harry groaned into his neck. His erection had been steadily growing since watching Draco's shirt flutter to the floor, and now it sprang to instant, near-painful hardness at his purring tone. And Draco did, indeed, like it. Harry had spent many enjoyable hours biting at Draco's ghostly skin and he was eager to see if Draco's return to life gave him any increased sensitivity.

He nibbled at Draco's neck gently and dragged his teeth down to Draco's collarbone. "Where to start?" he murmured, almost bewildered by his need to touch all of him all at once.

"You can start by fucking me," Draco said as he plucked off Harry's glasses and tossed them near the corner of the bed. Harry's head snapped up and he stared at Draco in surprise. Despite everything they had done, they had never done that. Harry had been unsure of Draco's control over his solidity and had balked at penetration, while Draco had been unwilling to spill his ghostly fluid into Harry. After one awkward discussion about it, they had both expressed willingness to continue with hands and mouths.

Harry scrambled up and nearly wrenched the drawer out of the bedside table in his rush to grab the lubricant. When he turned back, the red pants smacked him in the face. Harry pulled them away and gave Draco a stern look.

A smile tugged at Harry's lips and he made a show of lobbing the pants aside and then shimmied out of his. Draco's eyes fixed on his cock and then fixed back on Harry's face. He said nothing, which was all the encouragement Harry needed. He slipped between Draco's spread legs and then stopped, almost mesmerized by the sight. Even as a ghost Draco had been gorgeous, but now the dim lamplight played over his skin, rosy and gleaming with health.

Harry's teeth fixed into his lower lip to hold back a laugh. Draco was gorgeous and impossible and Harry loved him to distraction. With that in mind, he set out to prove it.

The lubricant was familiar and warm and Harry applied it to Draco's cock at first, needing to touch it. He watched with a predatory grin as Draco arched into his touch, fingering digging into the bed, grey eyes fluttering shut. All of him was deliciously solid and real. Harry wondered how long it would take to get past the sheer amazement of that awareness.

He continued to stroke while his other hand moved down to cup Draco's balls, holding them gently before touching the soft skin beneath them. Draco's legs fell open wider and he shifted his hips to give Harry better access. Harry swallowed hard and circled Draco's hole with his index finger.

Draco made a noise that seemed a cross between approving and needy. Harry dipped his fingers into the lubricant and repeated the motion, swirling several times before pushing his index finger inside. They had done this before; it was familiar, and yet completely new.

"Yes," Draco admitted. "It's… more. I can't explain it. But I don't have to concentrate on staying solid, which is a bloody nice change, let me tell you."

Harry chuckled. "You just lie back and relax, then, while I take care of you." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Draco's abdomen as he added a second finger. He pushed them in and out with languid strokes of Draco's cock, smiling when Draco's breath caught and his hand snagged in Harry's hair, only to touch gently.

Harry gave him an approving hum and continued his work. When Draco was gasping and began to pull his hair in earnest, Harry figured it was time. He removed his fingers and let go of Draco's cock in order to ready his own. He slathered it with lubricant, lined it up, and locked eyes with Draco.

Draco's hand tightened painfully in his hair and Harry stopped his movement even though it was so incredible and hot and tight that he wanted nothing more than to bury himself completely. "Okay, Draco?"

Harry laughed. He couldn't help it. "I would say thank you, but it doesn't sound like much of a compliment at the moment."

"I am sure I will appreciate it again in the future. Just give me a…" Draco shifted his hips and Harry groaned when the movement created a delicious slide over his cock. Bloody hell, he wouldn't last long. "All right, you can move again. Gently!"

Harry froze. "Was that a good oh, or an 'I'm going to kill you if you do that again' oh?"

Draco's hand left his hair and then both wrapped around Harry's hips. "Good. Keep moving just like… mmmmm, like that." He pulled and pushed at Harry, directing his movements. Harry relaxed and let Draco guide him, closing his eyes at the blissful sensations, and biting his lip to hold back the litany of so hot, tight, good that threatened to spill forth. He wanted to concentrate on the sounds Draco made instead.

Like that one, he decided with a rush of emotion. He stopped moving long enough to press his mouth to Draco's and kiss him near-breathless before smiling down at him with what he was certain was a completely lovesick expression. Draco smiled back and shook his head.

Draco's hands tightened on Harry's hips and pulled him deeper before holding him there, as if emphasizing their connection.

"I feel the same way about you. But don't expect me to go all Gryffindor with hearts and flowers and declarations."

Laughter bubbled up in Harry's chest. "I'll just have to be Gryffindor enough for the both of us, then." Harry pulled out a bit and then pushed in again, striking up a rhythm that Draco's grip did nothing to correct. "Do love you," he murmured through panted breaths. "Love you so much."

"Sap," Draco whispered, but he reached up and pulled Harry into a bruising kiss that left little doubt that he did, indeed, reciprocate.

When the mind-melting kiss ended, Harry took Draco's cock in hand and set about making him come undone, matching his strokes with thrusts and trying to stave off his own orgasm. He credited his Gryffindor determination for lasting as long as he had.

Only when Draco shuddered beneath him and spilled hot fluid over his fingers—leaving Harry wondering anew at the sensation, so different from Draco's former cold release—that he allowed himself to come. He quivered to his toes with the force of it and kept his eyes locked with Draco's, drowning in the grey depths.

He collapsed atop Draco, yet another thing he had never been able to do, and panted into his neck. Strands of Draco's hair tickled his face, damp with sweat. Harry licked at it experimentally. It was salty and not at all tasty. Harry loved it.

"You're crushing me," Draco commented. Harry made to move away, but Draco's arms tightened around his back. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."

Harry chuckled and relaxed, very much liking the feel of his erection softening and slipped free of Draco on its own while their bodies cooled. He felt the tension of the past few months finally draining away and the last thing he remembered before sleep took him was the feel of Draco's fingers gliding over his skin.

The next morning Harry was treated to another gift, this time the wonder of waking up in Draco Malfoy's arms. Or rather, waking up with Draco's elbow gouging him painfully in the side while one thigh—flung over Harry's possessively—pinned him to the bed. Draco also had most of the blankets. And his hair was tickling Harry's face.

Harry lay still and breathed him in, until the chill on his uncovered skin and the growing bruise in his ribcage forced him to move. He raised his head and tried to find an edge of blanket to drag up around him.

The motion woke Draco, or seemed to awaken Draco, who moved his elbow and flung an arm over Harry's waist to pull him closer. Harry snagged the cloth and pulled.

"I'll warm you up," Draco said, but he didn't move again, even when Harry gave a wrench on the blankets and settled more closely around Draco's body.

Sunlight streamed into the room when he awoke the second time. He opened his eyes to find Draco watching him.

"Astute observation skills," Draco said with a half-smile. "It's nearly noon. I'm hungry."

As soon as he said the word, Harry's stomach seemed to clench in response. He felt suddenly hollow. "Me, too. I feel like I haven't eaten in weeks."

Draco poked him. "That's because you haven't. You're been living on potions. Shall I have the house-elves bring something up? We can eat in bed."

"I think so, too," said a cheerful voice and Harry turned his head so quickly he felt a muscle twinge in his neck.

Myrtle floated near the bathroom door, grinning at them. "Nice to see you back, Harry. I wish someone loved me enough to die for me." Her grin disappeared and her bottom lip shook before she gasped out a sob. "Of course, that will never happen." To Harry's surprise she seemed to shake off her momentary depression and brightened. "Will you two shower soon?"

Draco fumbled under the pillow and pulled out a wand Harry had not seen in a long time. Draco's hawthorn wand.

"Expecto Patronum!" Draco yelled. A silvery shape exploded from the end of the wand and burst through Myrtle, dissipating her before she could get out more than a squeak of alarm.

"Serves her right, the little spy. Besides, it's not that difficult to re-incorporate. I should know." He gave Harry a disapproving look and slid his wand back beneath the pillow. Only then did it occur to Harry that Draco was truly back, magic and everything intact.

Draco flushed. "It's embarrassing," he muttered. "I should not have shown you it."

Harry tsked in false sympathy. "A Slytherin with a lion Patronus. The horror! What will your friends say?" Harry started at his own words. "What did they say, actually? I assume your old friends have been to see you?"

Draco nodded. "Pansy cried all over my chest. It was disgusting. Blaise took it in stride and invited me to his mother's next wedding. And Theo… Well, Theo works for the Department of Mysteries, so he asked about a thousand questions. Expect a visit from him. I believe they plan to grill you mercilessly in regards to every detail."

Harry's stomach growled, reminding him of food, but before he could suggest anything, a tapping sounded on the window. An unfamiliar pale-coloured owl rested on the sill.

Draco cast a spell to open the window and the bird flapped inside and landed upon the bed.

Harry stroked the bird's head. "Treats are over there," Harry said and gestured towards the perch near the window. The owl fluttered that way and pecked at the tray with a low hoot.

Draco unrolled the message. "Odd. She requests my presence at tea. And she adds 'Please come'. That sounds ominous."

"Too polite. This is very formal. Something is up." Draco sat up, exposing his bare torso to Harry's admiring gaze. "She doesn't know you're awake. I suppose I should go, if only to give her that news." He turned his grey stare on Harry. "Come with me?"

Such was the power of Harry's reluctance to be parted from Draco that he did not even hesitate. "Of course."

They stepped out of the Floo at the Manor to find a familiar house-elf waiting for them.

"Good afternoon, Master Draco and Mister Harry Potter, sirs. Mistress Narcissa is waiting in the West Parlour."

"Thank you, Jolli," Draco said and threw Harry a pained look. "It's worse than I thought. We never meet in the West Parlour."

"Why not?" Harry asked, but Draco was already striding out of the room. Harry hurried to catch up.

They headed towards a section of the house Harry had not been in. It seemed even colder and more formal than the parts he had been in. Everything shone with gilt and heavy, dark wood, elaborately carved, was the furniture of choice. Portraits of haughty-looking Malfoys glared at them as they passed.

Patterned wooden doors stood open in the centre of one long hallway and Draco faltered. Harry reached out a hand to touch him and Draco shot him a smile. "Too many memories in this room. Not all of them good," he said.

With that, he straightened, donned the impassive Malfoy mask, and strode through the doors. Harry, with a far less certain step, followed. He nearly walked into Draco, who had stopped short. Harry immediately knew why when his eyes went to the man on the sofa.

"Harry!" Narcissa cried. She was seated next to Lucius, but she leaped to her feet and rushed across the room to throw her arms around Harry's neck. He froze, too shocked to move, and unwilling to return the embrace with Lucius Malfoy watching him like a Hungarian Horntail. "Draco, you did not tell me Harry was awake!"

"He just came out of his sleep last night, Mother. I wanted to surprise you. Hello, Father." Draco's tone was cautious.

Lucius set his teacup on the table and stood up slowly. His eyes were fixed on Draco. Narcissa released Harry and stepped away just as Lucius reached Draco. To Harry's surprise, there were tears in the elder Malfoy's eyes.

Narcissa watched them with a tremulous smile and a tear slipped down her cheek. She beamed at Harry and mouthed, "Thank you."

Harry's throat tightened and he felt tears prickling at his eyes as Narcissa wrapped her arms around her husband and son. The Malfoys clung together, holding tightly. Harry felt like an intruder on a very private moment, so he turned and walked out of the room. He leaned against the wall in the hallway, staring at a Grecian style urn that sat on a mahogany table. Fresh flowers spilled from its opening, but for some reason they failed to cheer the gloomy space. The Manor, Harry decided, could use some lighter colours.

After a few minutes, movement drew Harry's attention and he turned his head to see Draco standing in the doorway, watching him with a soft smile.

Draco shook his head. "You belong in here, if anyone does." He took Harry's hand and tugged gently. Harry shifted away from the wall and allowed himself to be led. He was not looking forward to interacting with Lucius Malfoy, but seeing the man act like a decent father had been enlightening.

"Mr Potter," Lucius said. He was seated once more and held a teacup and saucer. Narcissa had returned to her place next to him. "Apparently I have you to thank for my son's return."

Harry nodded. Draco squeezed his hand painfully and Harry coughed before replying, "Yes."

Draco refused to let go and instead pulled him down to sit on the sofa across from the other Malfoys. Lucius kept his stare on his son, seeming unable to take his gaze away. Harry knew how he felt.

"Obviously, our gratitude has no limit. Walk with me, Mr Potter." With that, Lucius replaced his cup on the table, got fluidly to his feet, and strode to the French doors that opened onto a largely-barren garden.

Harry threw Draco a look, but Draco only patted his hand and urged him to his feet.

Harry groaned and stood. Lucius was already in the garden, striding down the white steps and walking upon the cobbled path and Harry followed reluctantly.

They walked to the centre of the garden where a fountain splashed listlessly. The edges of the pool were edged with ice. It was quite cold for March, even though Harry had a tough time accepting that it wasn't still mid-February. He shivered and wished he had grabbed a cloak, but they hadn't expected "tea at Malfoy Manor" to involve walks outside. He would have cast a Warming Charm, but thought it better not to draw his wand in Lucius' presence.

"If there is anything you require," Lucius said, although he appeared to be talking to the alabaster goddess in the middle of the pool rather than to Harry, "You have only to ask. Gold, Galleons, artwork, rare wine…" Lucius paused and glanced at him before continuing in a monotonous tone, "A decent wardrobe."

Harry's jaw clenched as he was forcibly reminded how much he disliked Lucius Malfoy. "I didn't bring Draco back for a reward," he snapped.

To his surprise, Lucius said nothing. After a moment he sighed heavily. In the afternoon light, he seemed older than his years. Harry could almost see the frail old man he would eventually become. The thought gave him no satisfaction.

"I know," Lucius said at last. "You brought him back because you love him. And he loves you. I am sure it is all very romantic and sentimental." He grimaced.

Harry bit back another retort, sensing that Lucius wasn't finished. He held his tongue and waited, raising his hands to grip his arms and hold them tightly in a vain effort to trap a bit of body heat.

Lucius turned a sharp-eyed stare on him and his mouth twisted in something that was almost a smile. "I do not pretend to understand it, but I will accept it. You do not lose your only child without facing a few unpleasant truths about yourself, and without going over your past a thousand times to lament the things you should have done."

He looked away and plucked at his sleeve absently, as if removing a bit of lint or dust. "Or should not have done. So, in reply to your unspoken question, no, I will not make things difficult for Draco, nor will I question his choices. And even though I find it galling, albeit ironic, that I owe you, of all people, for his return, the fact remains that I am, indeed, indebted to you. I am very happy to have my son back, Harry Potter, and I always pay my debts." Lucius paused and added, "Treat him well."

Harry nearly smiled, even through his surprise, because the final statement had been a clear threat. "I plan to. "

Lucius turned and walked back towards the Manor. "I still don't like you," he said without turning around.

"Likewise!" Harry called after him in a singsong voice. He bit his lip on a grin, thinking it was turning out to be an amazing day.

Harry awoke to the most delicious feeling in the word—Draco Malfoy sucking his cock. He arched and groaned as a shudder of delight shook him, penetrating his languor in a most excellent fashion, melding with the dream he'd been having. Since the dream had been of Draco, it wasn't a disappointment.

Draco swallowed him to the root and Harry swore he could feel Draco's nose bump into the flesh beneath his pubic hair. The man was a veritable god of fellatio.

"Draco," he moaned and pushed his hand into Draco's soft hair. "God, you are gorgeous."

And then he was coming, already near the edge because of what he had thought to be a dream, pumping down Draco's throat and staring into his intense grey eyes. Harry's heart jolted to life; he was fully awake now.

Draco released his cock and then lapped at the tip playfully, earning a final shudder from Harry.

Draco chuckled. "I'll remember you said that, later." He pushed himself up to fling himself next to Harry and then planted a kiss on his jaw.

"No need. Consider it the first of your many birthday gifts. I will allow you to reward me this evening, if the festivities don't wear you out too badly."

"Festivities. Right." Harry closed his eyes and stroked a hand over Draco's bare shoulder. It was his birthday and Draco had planned some ridiculous gathering for his party. Already, Harry just wanted it to be over. "Are you sure I can't just stay in bed today?"

"Never mind," Harry said quickly. "Only joking. I'm ready to party!" He felt for his wand to cast a Tempus Charm, but it was out of reach. "Um… what time is it?"

When Draco replied, Harry could only shut his eyes and will himself to sink into the bed and stay there forever. His boyfriend was a sadist. Really, it was the only explanation for why Harry had to rise before 8 a.m. on his birthday.

"We have time for a quick breakfast, a shower, and then you need to go and pick up the flowers from Mandala's. Up you get, birthday boy." Draco gave his arse a pinch and then hopped to his feet and strode towards the bathroom. He paused and looked back at Harry saucily. "Of course, if you hurry, we do have time for an… extended shower."

Harry dawdled at his task, knowing that Draco had sent him to Diagon Alley largely to keep Harry out of his hair while he attended to every last detail. In truth, Harry was looking forward to celebrating his birthday with a party. He wasn't quite sure what Draco had planned, but he hoped it was a smallish event with a few friends and family attending. The presence of fresh flower "table displays" made that seem like a vain hope, but Draco had been so in his element that Harry didn't have the heart to curtail his glee. Whatever it was, Harry was certain he would survive.

The weather was miserable for July, pouring buckets and unseasonably cold. Despite that, Harry dawdled at his task and browsed the books at Flourish and Blotts before he stopped in at Fortescue's for a raspberry ice. Draco had been casual about Harry not returning to Hogwarts before 2pm, but Harry knew it had been an order.

When he finally Flooed home, just past two, he was not surprised to find Hermione waiting for him.

"I prefer the term escort, thank you very much. But yes, I am to keep you from wandering down to the Great Hall until Draco gives me the signal."

"I don't know, I was not consulted," she said, sounding slightly offended until she relented and added, "Very much."

Harry laughed. The thought of Draco consulting her wasn't nearly as shocking as it might once have been. "You've been busy," Harry pointed out.

Harry didn't mention that sometimes her helping was less "help" and more "taking over", but it must have shown in his face because she huffed and tossed her head. Thankfully, Harry was saved from commenting by the arrival of Draco's lion Patronus.

It padded around Hermione, shimmering silver, and said only, "It's time" before vanishing.

She clasped her hands together, suddenly looking like an excited child. "Are you ready?" she asked.

The Great Hall was a riot of colour, sound, and people. When he walked through the doors he could barely take it all in. The entire place had been spelled to look like a perfect summer day. The ceiling displayed warm sunlight and tufts of white clouds, opposite the reality of the squalling rain and inky clouds outside. Trees lined the edges of the room, bursting with green leaves and bright flowers. Colourful birds soared overhead and landed in twittering flocks upon the tree branches.

Dozens of round tables had been scattered throughout the room, covered in pure white linen. The flowers—mostly groups of orange lilies and white chrysanthemums—topped each table.

Harry's attention was pulled away from the décor when Draco approached, impeccably dressed in forest green dress robes trimmed in white. He looked stunning and Harry found himself without words as he drank in the sight. He swallowed hard as Draco took his hand with a soft smile.

Draco turned and lifted Harry's hand into the air. "Ladies and Gentlemen, our guest of honor, Harry Potter."

A bedlam of cheers shook the room and then everyone seemed to start forward en masse to offer Harry well wishes. The Weasleys were first, approaching in a ginger swarm. Molly folded Harry into a tearful hug and Arthur shook his hand happily. Bill shook Harry's hand, as well, but Harry wisely avoided George's outstretched palm. Wisely, as it turned out, since the prat was holding an Arctic Button, which would send an icy burst travelling up the arm of the unwary hand-shaker and leaving them shivering with cold and clutching their rapidly beating heart. It was mild for a Weasley product, but Draco gave George a warning stare.

George clapped Draco on the arm. "Not to worry, mate. I didn't bring anything that will permanently maim. And the punch is spiked enough without me adding to it. Happy birthday, Harry!"

Harry murmured thanks and then found his breath nearly squeezed out as another familiar body clung to him. Ginny pressed a noisy kiss into his cheek.

She pulled away and wrinkled her nose in Draco's direction. "Oh shut it, Malfoy. I can give him a hug if I like. Besides, I'm spoken for." She jerked a finger towards a dark-skinned man with thick curls who lurked nearby, looking uncomfortable. "Isn't he dreamy?" She beckoned and the man joined them. "Harry, Draco, this is my boyfriend, Joaquin. He's the best Keeper in the Argentine league."

The man showed perfect white teeth and shook their hands. Draco smiled at him and draped an arm around Harry's shoulders to pull him close. Harry felt a rush of amused pride at the movement, which was obviously a possessive gesture of warning, even though the handsome Argentine seemed to have eyes only for Ginny.

She bid Harry a happy birthday and then pulled her man away when she spotted a floating tray of drinks.

Harry chuckled and then left off talking to Draco for some time when a group of his old friends assailed him: Neville, Luna, Dean, Seamus, and the Patil sisters. Harry was so happy to see them again and catch up on their lives that he almost didn't notice when Draco gave his hand a squeeze and moved away.

Draco chuckled. "I have things to attend to, birthday boy. Mingle, have a drink, and enjoy yourself. It's your party."

Harry frowned, but nodded, and hardly watched at all as Draco moved gracefully across the room in a strange déjà-vu of his ghostly self. Dean nudged him in the ribs. "Plain to see you're besotted, mate."

Twenty minutes later, Harry was having a brilliant time. He had forgotten how much he'd missed the people who were now only infrequently in his life. Andromeda Tonks had brought Teddy, who had grown into a rambunctious toddler. Teddy clung to Harry's leg and showed off a toy dragon clutched in one hand.

Andromeda stood next to Narcissa Malfoy and the familial resemblance was unmistakable, as was the unspoken tension between them. They both greeted Harry warmly, however, Andromeda with a kiss on his cheek and Narcissa with an embrace. She had been surprisingly affectionate towards Harry, who had expected her to retreat back to standoffishness with the return of Lucius, but it hadn't happened.

"I am, thanks," Harry replied and took her hand to give it a squeeze. His other hand held a fruity, iced drink that he should probably enjoy in moderation—already he felt a bit fuzzy-headed. "Draco outdid himself. This is brilliant." He waved his glass to encompass everything.

Something bumped his arm and Harry nearly spilled his drink all over Andromeda. He credited his still-decent reflexes for saving them both from embarrassment.

"Oh, apologies, Potter, I didn't see you." Lucius Malfoy's voice was overlaid with insincere amusement. He handed Narcissa a full wineglass and ignored her pointed frown.

Harry righted himself with a sigh. Encounters with Lucius never got any easier, in spite of the efforts of both Draco and Narcissa. Their interaction generally consisted of barbed pleasantries, snide comments, borderline hexes. Harry found it draining, but Lucius seemed to regard it as more and more of a game.

"Eyesight going, then?" Harry replied with false concern. "I can recommend a good Optiwizard."

Narcissa choked on her wine and Andromeda's brows rose. Lucius' glare turned positively glacial for a moment, and then his mouth twisted into a familiar smirk. "If he supplied you those… attractive frames, I think I'd prefer to find my own, should the need arise. Fortunately, my vision is still perfect."

"Unlike the rest of you," Harry muttered, low enough that he thought no one would hear, but Andromeda chuckled.

Harry made a clucking sound. "Hearing going, as well? Age is a terrible thing." Harry smiled like a Cheshire cat and Narcissa clamped a hand quickly on Lucius' arm.

"Come along, dear. Harry won this round, which is fitting since it's his birthday. Leave him be."

"Lucius," Harry returned, mirroring the gesture and taking long pull from his drink. Despite his intention of drinking in moderation, he needed another after dealing with Draco's father. Narcissa guided the elder Malfoy away towards a group of official-looking men Harry thought he should recognize, but didn't. It was likely Draco had invited them in order to give Lucius someone else to torment with his superiority. He wished them well.

"You're holding your own," Andromeda said with a grin. "Nicely done. Have you seen Teddy?"

"He was with Luna, last I saw." Harry scanned the crowd and spotted the little boy seated on Luna's lap, listening to her with rapt attention. She was full of enough fantastical stories to keep him entertained for hours. Movement just beyond Luna caught Harry's attention and he turned to Andromeda apologetically. "I'm sorry, but I need to—"

She nodded. "Go. I'll go annoy my brother-in-law some more. Harry birthday, Harry."

He smiled his thanks and hurried across the room to leap on Ron in a happy hug, nearly knocking his friend over. "Ron! You made it!"

Ron pulled away and punched him on the arm. "As if I would miss your birthday party! But even dropping your name couldn't get me out of work too early. Bushnell is a bloody slave driver."

"You love it," Hermione said and rolled her eyes, but her arm, linked through Ron's, tightened and she smiled at him.

Harry grinned. Ron's recovery had been steady and almost miraculous. His care alternated between Muggle doctors and Medi-wizards, each dealing with different aspects of Ron's treatment. Ron's new liver was apparently growing nicely and working well, too well, according to the astounded Muggle doctors, who were unaware of Ron leaving off their drugs in order to imbibe custom-brewed potions that aided the healing process far better than their poisonous concoctions.

Even with those, however, Ron's recuperation was far from complete. His magic had returned, but he had little control over it, at first. His only explanation was that it felt "different" and he was forced to relearn even the simplest of spells, as though attempting them for the first time as a child. It was frustrating for him, but the wizarding medical community was fascinated. Hermione told Harry that new volumes were being written every day, despite Ron's abhorrence at being a test case. The consensus seemed to be that the liver produced each wizard's magical essence, and since Ron's liver had once been Charlie's, it had led to creation of completely new magic that Ron had to learn to control.

His physical recovery had been swifter, at first leading him to believe that he might rejoin the active Auror Corp. Except for one leg that randomly ached and left him with a slight limp, plus an occasional twitch in his left wrist, he claimed to feel good as new. He had regained muscle tone and colour and looked vibrant and healthy once more.

Until his magic could be controlled, however, he had been prevented from returning to his former Auror duties. The decision had led to several days of depressed rage, many broken items due to magical backlash, and finally an offer to become a Forensic Analyzer, at least until he fully recovered.

Ron had been disgusted at first. The field-Aurors tended to look down upon the "chair riders", even though they relied upon them to analyse the data for their cases. Older Aurors respected them, but the younger crowd seemed to think they weren't "real" Aurors. Ron's boss, Delia Bushnell, had been head of the Forensic team for a long time, and paid no mind to that nonsense.

"It doesn't matter how many criminals they track down and arrest if the evidence can't put them in Azkaban," she had stated. "Now stop wishing you were out banging on doors and do your bloody job."

To Ron's surprise, he had taken to it. His analytical mind loved ferreting out clues and making connections, plus his relationship with Hermione allowed him access to her considerable intellect, helping to piece together seemingly unrelated items. The job required far less magic and far more mental agility. Ron had grown to love it and now wondered if he would even return to field duty, if given the chance.

Harry was not only happy for him, but felt very proud of his accomplishments, as well.

"Your gift is on the table with the others," Ron said and jerked his head towards a table laden with an embarrassing number of gifts. "Bet you can't guess which it is."

Harry could not stop laughing and Hermione joined him, as did Ron after a moment. The broom had been wrapped in colourful paper and topped with a gigantic golden bow.

"An expensive broom!" Harry said through his chuckles. "Now I can't wait to open it."

"Yeah, he was a complete git to shop with. We looked at every bloody broom in the country. Not that it was a bad thing to look at brooms, mind you, but spending that much time with the argumentative prat… Well, half the gift was my putting up with that torture, I hope you appreciate that."

They chatted until an announcement from Draco called them to dinner, where Harry found another pleasant surprise. Despite the fancy flowers and crisp tablecloths, the dinnerware was colourful and mismatched, far more suited to Harry's taste than Draco's. It was another small detail that caused Harry's heart to swell with love and he squeezed Draco's hand beneath the table. Draco's fingers tightened, a welcome pressure on his thigh.

Harry sat between Draco and Ron, and next to Draco was Narcissa and Lucius. Also at their table were Andromeda and Teddy, and Luna and Neville. Snide comments from Lucius were quickly diverted—or headed off entirely—by Narcissa and, surprisingly, Luna, who engaged Lucius in a discussion of Japanese customs that lasted nearly the entirety of dinner.

By the time the remains of his treacle tart were cleared away, Harry was pleasantly full, a bit drunk on the fruity punch, and more than ready to go back to his room and spend the rest of the night exploring the bits of Draco he hadn't yet memorized.

His boyfriend, however, had other ideas, and most of the tables vanished to make room for dancing. Harry would have sworn he couldn't move, but watching Draco twirl around the dance floor with Narcissa gave him an unexpected burst of energy and he gladly cut in and held Draco tightly as they moved to the strains of music from Harry's favourite band—Harry could only imagine how much it had cost Draco to bring them to Hogwarts—and he tried very hard not to stamp on Draco's feet.

"Having a good time?" Draco asked with a grin that was definitely smug, and deservedly so.

"Without a doubt, this is the best birthday I've ever had," Harry said. "Thank you."

Draco leaned closer and his breath was hot in Harry's ear. "The night isn't over yet."

A certain part of Harry's anatomy woke up with alacrity at the words and Harry chuckled. "Does that mean you have another present for me?"

"We'd better keep dancing for a bit or I'm going to embarrass myself," Harry said breathlessly.

Draco shifted against him and Harry realized he had the same problem. "Excellent plan. Let's think unsexy thoughts. You have to open your gifts soon."

"Unsexy thoughts, Potter," Draco admonished. "Bringing up the word bed is not helping."

Harry tossed his robes over the back of the chair. Unbuttoning them had been an event—even his fingers were tired.

Draco was on the other side of the room, hanging his clothing in the wardrobe where, as he would likely point out to Harry the next day, they belonged. Harry dropped the rest of his clothing on the floor and slipped between the sheets. It was his birthday, well, it was technically August 1st and had been for a few hours, but close enough, so he could do as he pleased.

Draco wore only his dark boxers when he pulled back the sheets and sprawled on the bed next to Harry, pushing his wand under the pillow. His hair fell over his eyes and Harry noted he could use another haircut. Draco loved wearing his hair shorter, since he had been stuck with it the same length during his duration as a ghost.

Harry smiled. He had already told him a dozen times, but Draco's need for admiration was akin to a black hole. He could never get enough.

"I would consider that the most successful party of all time, ever," Harry assured him. The gifts had been numerous and humbling. The Malfoy, not to be outdone, had given Harry a house. "A ramshackle hovel in Camden Town," Lucius had said. "It should suit your wardrobe, Potter." Harry thought such an extravagant gift might insult all of Harry's other guests, especially the Weasleys, but Narcissa and Molly Weasley seemed to have become reluctant friends, largely due to Ron, and had spent the remainder of the evening drinking many glasses of wine and reminiscing about their school days.

"Draco, this entire party was a gift. And the broom! You don't need to give me anything else." Harry clamped his jaw shut, thinking that he might do with one more gift, as long as it involved hands and mouths and cocks, even though he was stupidly tired and would almost prefer to sleep.

"I like seeing you happy. We might have to have parties more often, although not on this scale, of course, and hopefully with fewer parents involved."

Harry chuckled. "It was amusing when your father had one too many glasses of brandy and attempted to dance."

Draco groaned. "To modern music. I am going to pull out that memory and replay it for him at every holiday gathering from now on."

Draco laughed and poked him in the ribs. "No, silly." He sobered, suddenly looking very serious in the flickering light of the bedside candles Draco had insisted were "birthday appropriate". Harry had to admit the soft light made Draco look even more gorgeous than usual. Strangely, Draco bit his lip, looking suddenly nervous.

"Harry. I want you to know how much I appreciate you bringing me back. I know I've told you already, but I want you to know that you did more than put me back into my body. You gathered up the broken pieces of my soul and patched them back together to make me better than I was before." Draco rolled his eyes. "Merlin, this sounds utterly ridiculous and I really shouldn't have had that that last glass of wine."

Harry couldn't speak through the tightness in his throat. Draco was rarely sentimental. Harry knew how he felt, of course, but to hear him voice it was a gift beyond measure. He leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a gentle kiss, giving him leave to not say any more, and assuring him without words that he already knew how Draco felt, because it was precisely the same for Harry. The past few months should have been difficult, with the two of them struggling to adjust their lives around Draco's newfound solidity, but it hadn't been hard at all. It still seemed like a miracle to Harry and every time he reached out and touched Draco he felt a thrilling sense of wonder.

The kiss deepened and Draco's hand slipped into Harry's hair, tugging gently. Harry's fingers traced over Draco's ribs and his thumb drew circles around Draco's navel, enjoying the feel of soft skin beneath his fingers. Their tongues twined together pleasantly; Draco tasted of alcohol for a moment, and then he only tasted of Draco.

The kiss was slow and easy. Harry was willing for it to go either way, to deepen into passion or ease into slumber.

"Anyway, what I'm trying, with a lack of eloquence usually more your forte than mine, is that we seem to be stuck together due to the nature of the spell that brought me back, and your blood, and the power of sacrifice, and whatnot."

Harry frowned, trying to make sense of Draco's words, which bordered uncharacteristically on babbling.

"Which is to say, I am not unhappy to be stuck with you. Quite the opposite, in fact." Draco sighed explosively and removed the hand from Harry's hair to draw it across his own forehead. "Bloody hell, why is this so difficult? Fuck it." Draco reached beneath the pillow and withdrew a tiny box. He cracked open the burgundy velvet to expose a bright silver band. "Harry, will you…?"

Harry thought his heart might have stopped. Of a certainty his drowsiness was gone, his fuzziness of mind sharpened into clarity as though dowsed with ice water. He stared at the ring in shock.

Time seemed to stretch out while Harry rallied vainly for coherence. Only when Draco's hand twitched, as if itching to withdraw the gift, did Harry realize he had been silent far too long. His fingers shot out and closed over the box, holding it and Draco's hand in place.

Draco's guarded expression melted into an uncertain-looking smile. "Are you sure?"

For answer, Harry plucked the ring from the box, held it up to the light to admire it for a moment, and then slipped it over his left ring finger. He felt as if he were the one floating now, not quite attached to the world the way Draco had once been. Draco's fingers, linking through his, were reassuringly solid. He leaned forward again and kissed him, not sweetly and comfortably this time, but with promise.

Breathless minutes later, Draco pulled away, looking temptingly dishevelled. "Of course, we'll have to have some sort of ceremony to make it official. And I'll have to make preparations for father's demise, since the news will most likely kill him. And we'll have to go shopping for my ring..."

Harry laughed against Draco's lips, loving his sardonic, impulsive, amazing boyfriend. "Both."