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Draco gingerly got to his feet. So far, he had counted 7 tripping hexes, 4 stinging hexes, 1 toenail-growing hex (rather imaginative, that one), 1 vomiting jinx and 3 Howlers. Nothing lethal so far, but it had only been a week since he stepped off the Hogwarts Express. He didn't keep record of the taunts and the hissed threats.

He hadn't chosen this. He didn't want to be here, but the alternative was worse. He loved his home, he really did, but he could never live there again, ever. At the Malfoy Manor his mother walked from room to room, looking mildly surprised that her world had shattered around her, that nothing was the same anymore. Draco couldn't deal with it. Even if he never willingly would've returned to Hogwarts, it was infinitely better. He had to get away somehow.

It would have been a lot easier if they all could just leave him alone. Draco worked hard to keep a low profile; he didn't speak to anyone, tried not to bother anyone. He only wanted to get his N.E.W.T.'s and get on with his life. Such as it was.

With a sigh he stooped to gather his books and quills and all the other things from his satchel that now lay scattered all over the floor outside the Charms classroom, when a pair of dirty trainers came to halt in front of him.

Oh bugger, he knew those trainers. No-one else wore such ratty Muggle footwear at Hogwarts.

"I believe this is yours." A suntanned hand passed him a bottle of ink. Thankfully, it hadn't smashed and covered everything in a black splatter this time.

Draco raised his head and met the intense gaze. The green of the irises behind those ridiculous spectacles was so bright and mesmerising that Draco could have sworn they must have been spelled that way, only to make him, Draco, look like a fool.

"Are you all right?" Harry Potter asked with a frown. He was alone and not accompanied by his sidekicks for once, and the corridor was empty but for the disappearing group of students that were scoffing and sniggering, proud of their successful prank. He turned his head after them, "I saw they draw a wand at you."

He extended a hand for support as Draco clambered up to his full hight. Draco withdrew from him with a scowl and sputtered, "Nothing I can't handle."

Potter shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned slyly. "Weren't that a bunch of fifth-years? And Hufflepuffs too? Sure you don't need my help to scare them away?"

"Ha-ha," Draco said and proceeded to throw his belongings back into his bag. He didn't want to face Potter and reveal the flush that threatened to cover his cheeks as well as his ears. "Very funny."

Draco made himself ready to walk on, but Potter remained where he was, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, blocking his way. "Is there anything else you want, Potter? I'm late for Arithmancy class as it is." Draco kept his voice at his haughtiest, so that the tremor in his throat remained undetected.

"I just thought..." Potter started and looked adorably sheepish. "They shouldn't give you a hard time, the other students, I mean," he babbled on. "Not when the war is over and everything." Potter's gaze wandered, settling on one of the sconces behind Draco's back.

Draco swallowed. "As I said, it's nothing," he stated firmly. Nothing he hadn't expected, anyway.

The whole situation was ridiculous really. What was a bunch of fifteen-year-old schoolboys to the Dark Lord, to all the things they had encountered? Against his will Draco felt the corner of his mouth twist up in a smile. Amazingly, Potter smiled too.

Potter took both of his hands out of his pockets, and while he rubbed the back of his neck with one of them, to Draco's surprise, he held out the other to be shaken. "I've been thinking," Potter said, "that it might be time for us to bury the hatchet, call a truce, after all that's happened. If you like?"

Draco stared silently at Potter's hand and then dropped his satchel to the floor. Something about Potter always made Draco slightly dizzy. He used to mask that dizziness by opening his mouth and spit out foul remarks, jibes and even worse. Now he merely pressed his lips together and let his eyes flutter shut for a while and hoped it would pass.

Slowly he grasped the hand in his. It was warm, dry and a little callused from Quidditch. He didn't know what to say, his mouth had dried up. Potter grinned and gave Draco's hand a good firm shake.

"A truce it is then, Malfoy," he said, still smiling like a fool.

"A truce," Draco croaked. Then, in a raspy whisper, he added, "Thank you."

0o0o0o0o

"Try it yourself, you berk," Dean Thomas huffed at Seamus and crossed his arms. He must have sprinted through the changing room to already be seated at the table in the Great Hall.

"What's up?" Harry asked. He dumped his bag of Quidditch-gear on the floor and placed his brand-new Firebolt lovingly against the bench before he plunked down opposite Ron and the rest of his classmates. He liked to take his time in the shower, avoid the curious stares. Despite the stupid hero-status, he was still short and skinny.

Ron sat with his arm slung over Hermione's shoulder and his nose buried in her bushy hair. He greeted Harry with a goofy grin.

Ginny was already sitting at the table too. She looked flushed from flying, her freckles barely visible on her rosy cheeks, and her red hair was damp. She grinned and waved at him from where she sat with her own year, at the other end of the table. She looked excited. This was her first year as Team Captain, and the tryouts today had been promising. Harry and Dean had helped her look at some of the new applicants since they, as eighth-years, wasn't allowed on the team this year. Afterwards they'd played a fierce two-on two together with Demelza, who was becoming a better Chaser each year.

Harry waved back at her, and then he let his gaze survey the rest of the students at their various House-tables and his eyes rested, as always, at the Slytherins. They were the smallest lot to return.

The rivalry among the different Houses had, if not come to an end, at least lightened. They all made efforts to get along with the interhouse-unity Headmistress McGonagall had spoken so long and passionately about at the start of the term.

Harry searched but couldn't spot a certain blond among them. Whenever he and Malfoy met these days they greeted each other with a nod. They never spoke though.

Dissappointed Harry turned and focused instead on the heated discussion at his own table, while they all waited for the food to arrive. Harry was starving.

"You can't do a thing like this, Seamus." Hermione's voice was brimmed with outrage. "It's too much like an Imperius Curse."

"It's nothing of the sort," shouted Seamus and flung up his hands. "It's not that it'll make you do something against your will. And it wears off within the hour, anyway. I think." He rubbed his face and pulled his hands through his sandy hair and sighed in frustration. "It's just a joke, for a bit of fun."

"Exposing people's hidden desires, removing emotional barriers, what's the fun in that?" Hermione furrowed her brow and pushed a large glass of pumpkin juice to the side.

Ron sniggered, "Well, I don't know..." But he was silenced by Hermione elbowing him.

"You shouldn't just mix potions," Neville said solemnly. "That's not real research, it's only tampering. I'm sure that's not what Slughorn meant when he told us to seek new uses for existing potions. You don't know what the effect might be."

"That's why I wanted a volunteer," Seamus crowed enthusiastically. "To see what happens."

"See what?" Harry asked and took the glass at Hermione's side. Dinner seamed to be delayed and he was still thirsty from flying. 

"Harry, don't drink that!" Hermione yelled, but it was too late.

0o0o0o0o

Ron watched his best friend go blank. He was sitting on the other side of the table and saw how Harry froze and every expression on his face died.

"Oh, Seamus," Hermione shouted. "Now look what you've done!"

"Yeah," Seamus countered. "This'll be fierce. Let's see what he'll do." He propped his elbows up and rested his chin in the palms of his hands, waiting impatiently, like for some rare entertainment to begin.

"We ought to get him out of here," Ron said. He got up and rounded the table. He suddenly felt all calm and efficient, like he had during the last days of the war and all summer, when everyone in the family was beyond themselves with grief. Mum bursting out in tears, suddenly unable to carry out whatever she was doing, Dad hiding out in the shed. Ginny, usually so strong and daring, looking lost and bewildered, and George walking around like a ghost, like a man who'd lost a vital part of himself. Someone had to act the adult and get them all going, take responsibility, see them through. Ron had found it came easy to him and he had grown with the task.

He grabbed Harry by the arm and tried to pull him up from the bench. He turned to Neville. "Nev, will you take Harry's broom and gear, and follow us up to the common room. Seamus!" he spoke more harshly, and the other boy almost jumped at the change of tone. "You'll go with Hermione to the library and see what you can find out about the mix in that bloody concoction of yours."

"What about dinner?" Seamus asked baffled.

"Well, it seems we're all gonna miss it," Ron snapped. "Make a list," he turned to Hermione, "we might need it to show to Pomfrey later. What were the main potions anyway?" He bore his eyes into Seamus again.

Seamus grinned, apparently not sorry at all for what he'd done. "Well, something to dissolve his inhibitions, a dash of Veritaserum, some lust potions and a little bit of Amortentia to start." He glance down at Harry's crotch. "And it's starting to work. Look, he's got a stiffy."

"Just great," Ron grunted and rolled his eyes. "In the Great Hall, where everbody's watching. Dean, will you get Ginny out of the way. I don't want my little sister to see him like this." He took a firmer hold of Harry, who had started to sway.

"You don't recon Gin knows what his prick looks like?" Seamus snickered. "They're shagging, you know."

"This isn't even remotely funny, Seamus," Hermione snarled and came to her feet. "Come on, let's see what we can do to prevent this disaster."

She yanked Seamus off his seat and dragged him up the staircase to the third floor. Ron and Neville started to frogmarch Harry out of the Hall, up the to the first landing, down the corridor leading to Gryffindor Tower, when Harry suddenly sprang to life. He squirmed and resisted, and clearly had no intention to follow them in that direction.

"No, no, no," Harry whined and tried to break away of Ron's hold on him.

"Come with us, Harry," Ron coaxed. "Up to Gryffindor. Ginny's waiting," he lied, hoping that Harry would fall for it, despite leaving her a minute ago in the Hall. But Harry started to thrash around, fighting off Ron's hands. Swiftly he had them at wand-point, something wild gleaming in his eyes.

"Nooo, not Ginny," Harry wailed, repulsion in his voice. The hand that held the wand trembled and his glasses slid down on his nose.

"Calm down, mate," Ron said carefully. This was unexpected, but he quickly decided to go along with it. "You don't have to see Gin if you don't want to. Just come with us, we'll help you get what you want."

"Yeah, just follow us, Harry," Neville helped.

"Not there," Harry said, shaking his head. He lowered his wand-hand and seemed to search for something on the flagstone floor. "Not there. Wrong scent."

"What scent?" Ron shared a glance with Neville.

"What's he talking about? A smell? Could this be the Amortentia?" Neville pondered.

Harry stood almost bent down now, nose to the ground, rubbing his temples. "Stronger there," he mumbled. "Must find it." Ron thought he looked like a wierd shaggy dog, with his tousled black hair, sniffing around in strange circles. A little bit like Sirius as Padfoot.

Ron dared a step closer and reached out his hand again, but Harry flinched and shuddered him off, his eyes wide and frantic. In a flourish of black school-robes Harry twirled and started running in the opposite direction and disappeared around a corner down the corridor.

"Bloody stubborn bastard," Ron groaned. He turned to Neville, "Nev, we'll have to go after him." He set off after the fading clatter of Harry's shoes.

"What shall I do with the broom?" Neville called after him.

"Just leave it," Ron shouted over his shoulder. "Leave it and hurry."

They finally cought up with him in the dungeons. Ron put up his hand to stop Neville, who came rushing after him, out of breath and panting heavily. They had to run for quite a bit, Harry being surprisingly fast, and they'd lost track of him more than once.

Now Harry stood still a little further away from them. He had his wand pointing at a piece of parchment under the light from one of the lit torches on the damp stone wall. Moisture was dripping from the ceiling into a small pool at their feet, indicating that they were deep down under the lake.

Ron swallowed hard. A shiver of chill passed over him. "Oh, I got a really bad feeling about this," he said.

"What?" Neville looked at him.

Ron turned to his fellow-Gryffindor. "He's got the map out. Who's the first one he always looks for on the map?"

Neville sucked in air between his teeth in a reversed sort of gasp. "Blimey, I think you might be right."

They saw how Harry dropped both his wand and the parchment on the floor and walked up to the wall a little bit further ahead. He pressed his palms against it and started to whisper in a hissing wheezing way.

"Parseltongue!" Neville exclaimed. "He's speaking Parseltongue to the wall!"

Ron gave Neville a scared look. He wasn't sure Neville knew exactly where in the dungeons they were, but Ron and Harry had been here before.

"That won't work, would it?" Ron reflected, but as he spoke, and before any of them were able to react, the wall opened and Harry disappeared into Slytherin.

Ron spurted, but the wall sealed itself in front of him. He banged on it with his fists, but it remained solid and closed.

"Now what?" Neville asked.

Ron picked up Harry's wand and the precious Marauder's map. "Oh, this is so not good. We have to get him out again," he stated calmly. "Who do we know in Slytherin who'd be willing to let us in?" They weren't exactly friends with the Slytherins, but since they came back things had developed into a different attitude among the eighth-year students, polite and cordial. It was a fragile truce, and Ron had no desire to have it jeopardised by a drugged Harry, who obviously didn't know what he was doing.

"Parkinson is in my Herbology-class." Neville's ears turned a distinct red. "We work together on a Knotgrass-project. Maybe I could ask her?"

"Brilliant, she ows Harry a favour since she tried to hand him over to old Snake-face." Ron followed the little footsteps marked with Harry's name entering the Slytherin common room. Harry hadn't even bothered with spelling the map closed.

"Zabini's in my Tranfiguration-class. He's an alright sort, I guess, Slytherins considered. Let's see where they are and ask them to help us, without giving away too much. Who knows what Malfoy will do when Harry walks in and starts a fight?"

"You think that's what Harry's there for?" Neville peered at Ron with an unshielded confusion. "A fight?"

Ron looked back at him, confounded. "What else could he possibly want with him?"

0o0o0o0o

Harry woke, but for some reason he kept his eyes closed. Was this another wet dream? He was warm and sweaty, and achingly hard.

Arousal thumped in his veins and roared in his brain, and Harry had to let out a loud moan and pray that the Silencing charms still held around his bed.

But there was something else, something solid and moving. Someone panting and grunting. Someone so close, that Harry was totally engulfed in limbs.

And the sensation of being filled. Stretched out. Touched on the very inside. Once more, something slick stroke a bundle of nerves deep inside of him, that had him gasp and whimper.

Harry flung his eyes open.

The person in Harry's arms covered him in a way that made it impossible to tell who it was, but Harry knew instantly that it wasn't Ginny. He was having sex with someone else.

His vision was blurred and all he could make out at this close range was a shoulder, broad and muscular, a slender neck, blotchy with love-bites, and strays of short blond hair, darkened by perspiration.

Harry had his arms wrapped around a torso with a flat chest and a strong back, and his legs clutched around hips that was thrusting and pumping. A pair of balls slammed against the sensitive skin around his arsehole, where he obviously was getting fucked.

Holy Merlin and Morgana, he was getting fucked by a man!

And it was bloody brilliant.

Harry screwed his eyes shut again and tried to collect his thoughts.

Was this rape? No, he didn't feel any fear or anger.

So, it was with his consent? It hurt a little, but yes, he was certainly enjoying it. With whom, though? And how had this happened?

He'd had fantasies, but that was all. Very vague and very indistinct fantasies that he'd never dared examine closley in the light of day. He had a girlfriend, even if they weren't intimate anymore, not since this summer. After a long and horrible year of war and losses, Harry only wanted to be like any other normal teenage-boy, but the awkward fumblings with Ginny out in the field behind the Burrow, had made Harry feel anything but.

He had to know who this was.

Harry moved his hand to the man's neck and lifted him up from where his forehead had pressed against Harry's shoulder, and met grey eyes, glazed over and lust-blown.

Draco sodding Malfoy!

His hair fell in front of his face like a curtain and a pearl of sweat gleamed at the top of his pointy nose. He gave Harry a wide smile. "You all right, Potter?"

Harry nodded, too perplexed to speak at the sight of his long-term antagonist, his childhood-bully. But there was no trace of malice in that familiar face, only a shy honest smile. Malfoy looked happy. He wasn't exactly good looking, he had too many sharp angles for that, but he was stunning in his posh way.

Malfoy resumed to lick and kiss Harry's jawline up to his ear, and purred, "I can't believe you wanted this as much as I did."

If Harry was truly honest with himself, and at most times he wasn't, he had thought about this. It was his deepest secret, buried under layers of layers of conventions and prejudice. Repressed feelings that only fluttered to life at unguarded occasions when he lay in the dark of the night, alone in his heavily warded and silenced fourposter. Every interaction he'd had with Malfoy over the years had always made him tingle all over, his magic crack and everything became so intense, like soaring, like flying, like diving.

"Oh, Harry," Malfoy mewled and nicked Harry's earlobe between his teeth.

Hearing Malfoy moan his given name did something to Harry, something wild and relentless. He clutched Malfoy tighter with his arms and legs, and released all his emotions. He pushed up against Malfoy's thrusts, made them deeper, and he couldn't keep silent.

Harry heard himself moan and whimper. He had never been this loud with Ginny, but then, this was a totally different sensation. Every stroke, every thrust Malfoy made had Harry gasping for air. His head was blurred and his heart was pounding, and a pool of warmth was steadily building at the pit of his stomach. It suddenly wasn't enough. Harry sneaked in one of his hands and gripped his leaking cock and started to pull.

Malfoy bit and sucked at the pulse-point right under Harry's ear, scratching his skin with the light stubble on his chin. He mumbled something incoherent, and the low timber of his voice, the constant teasing of that spot inside, the slapping sound of sweaty skin against skin, the rhythm of Malfoy's cock slamming into him, again and again, was all too much. Harry squeezed the head of his cock and came with a cry. He pressed up at Malfoy's chest and trembled as he pulsed out ropes and ropes of cum between them. Malfoy stilled and shook, and with one last thrust he orgasmed and filled Harry with his release.

When Harry came down from his incredible high, he was pressed down on the mattress by Malfoy's limp heavy body. Malfoy ran his fingers idly through Harry's hair and sighed contently.

The coat of sweat and the sticky mess on Harry's stomach started to get cold. Why was the room so cold? He fumbled after his glasses and found them on the nightstand where he usually put them. Harry looked up at the canape of the fourposter and saw deep green hangings instead of the usual red. He turned his face to the windows and met the eerie sight of dark rippling water. Merlin's beard, he must be in Slytherin.

The gravity of what he'd just done hit him. How in Godric's name had he got here? He couldn't remember. Last thing he knew, before having the shag of his life, was being hungry, sitting down in the Great Hall, drinking a glass of juice and... an argument about a potion. Had he been drugged to have sex with Malfoy?

Harry looked at the boy in his arms and something cramped in his chest. Malfoy seemed so at ease, so unguarded and relaxed. It made Harry feel like a freud, a fake. Panic rose like bile in his throat.

"Let me clean us up a bit," Malfoy said and reached  for his wand on the bedside table. Harry stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Erm, despite the truce we have and all that," Harry said, his voice sounded croaky, "I'm still not comfortable with you poiting a wand at my bits, Malfoy."

"Seriously?" Malfoy gave a short disbelieving laugh. He raised his wand again, but Harry gripped his knuckles. Malfoy still had his mother's wand. The hawthorn remained wrapped in a cloth and lay hidden at the bottom of Harry's trunk. He'd planned to give it back, but the opportunity hadn't yet presented itself. "You are serious," Malfoy gasped.

Malfoy rapidly got out of bed and cast a Scourgify on himself before putting on his pants and a t-shirt. Something in the frenzy of his movements made Harry feel more and more uncomfortable. Malfoy turned back to face Harry. His grey eyes blazed with fury. "You don't trust me with that? After this? After what we just did? Then why, in the name of Merlin, did you come here?" He almost yelled the last part.

Harry squirmed. "It's a bit of a blur. I don't really know. I remember Seamus mentioning something about a joke." He gave a nervous giggle and mentally slapped himself in the face for his inhability to handle the situation.

"A joke?" Malfoy's face was all screwed up in rage. He folded his arms. "Am I to understand, that you somehow managed to get into my House, into my dorm, declaring your deepest desire for me, kissing me and begging me to fuck you, for a joke?"

"Well, not exactly..." Harry felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. He let his forefinger follow his swollen lip. Had they kissed?

"Not exactly?" Malfoy repeated. "After all we'd been through?"

Malfoy grabbed his trousers from the floor and put them on in a swift angry flow as he spoke. "After all the the things that's happened between us, the bathroom, the brawl at my home and the Fire, you find having sex with me appropriate for a joke? Yeah, that makes sense. What a laugh you all must have. Let's all make fun of Malfoy the poof. Why not? He's only Death Eater scum anyway." He paced the floor with his wand still in his hand. Harry wanted to get out of bed, but he felt too naked, too exposed.

"I... I don't..." Harry stuttered, once again wishing he could summon words to express himself and what he felt. What did he feel? 

Malfoy didn't seem to pay any attention to what Harry said anymore, wrapped up in his desperate fury as he was.

"You spoke at my trial, for Salazar's sake," Malfoy snapped. "You're the only reason I'm here in this place instead of rotting away at Azkaban. I thought I could never, in any way repay you for all the times you've saved my life. Mother says I owe you a life-debt, and that's not something to take lightly upon. And yet you manage to find my secret, my weakness, and you chose to ridicule me for it. Is it not enough to you that I'm an outcast for my crimes? That I live every day thinking about the mistakes I've made? You had to make me a laughingstock as well?"

Harry gathered his courage and got up. He took a tentative step closer to Malfoy, who had his face turned away and his eyes shut. Harry could clearly see the long pale eyelashes that fanned out over his cheekbones. "I couldn't believe my eyes when you walked in through that door tonight," Malfoy said, "and for a moment I was stupid enough to think this was real, that you were the one good thing that'd happened to me in years. Well, boo-hoo me." He snorted.

"Malfoy, I never meant to..." Harry's voice wavered. He didn't know what to say.

"Just get out of here." Malfoy swept his wand over Harry's clothes that were spread out all over the floor and summoned them into a big heap and thrusted it into Harry's arms. "Get the fuck out of here, Potter, for as sure as hell, I'm not laughing."

0o0o0o0o

She stopped in the stairs up to the boy's dorm. The door slammed open and a naked Saviour backed out with his arms full of clothes. Pansy got a glimpse of Draco inside the room and the look on his face wasn't something she wanted to see. That gaunt horrid expression. Admittedly, it was a look she'd seen before, but it wasn't what she expected here, in the relative safeness of Hogwarts. Relative, because they were Slytherins after a war, but there were no Carrows, no Voldemort and Draco's father couldn't reach him.

To divert attention from Draco -thank all Goddesses that the common room was almost empty - she pouted sourly and said, "Been playing strip-chess and lost, Potter?"

"Very funny, Parkinson," Potter snarled and shoved her with his shoulder on his hasty way down. Draco slammed the door shut after him.

"Oh, for Salazar's sake, cover yourself," she retorted after his departing bum. A genuinely nice bum it was too.

Pansy shot a quick glance at the boy who had fetched her. Longbottom had, very red in the face, walked up to her where she sat in the nook in the wall, where the last rays of the setting sun could reach, her favourite place. How he'd found her there was a mystery. It was her secret place, where she went when she wanted to be alone, to think. Longbottom had mumbled and stuttered something about preventing some sort of chaos, and would she, please, help him and Weasley.

It was so obvious that he had a crush on her, and he seemed totally unaware of how fit he'd become this last year. He still acted as the fumbling boy, pudgy and clumsy, when he was nothing of the sort anymore. Pansy found it quite adorable. She had gone with him, a few steps in front of him, making sure her hips swayed sensually with every step. Her own bum wasn't too bad either.

Potter flung his school-robe on and almost crashed with Blaise and the Weasel on his way out.

"Harry!" Weasley called after him, but Potter didn't stop.

"Well, boys," Pansy said as she slowly decended the stairs, one step at the time. "It seems that the catastrophe, or whatever it was supposed to be, is forestalled. Nothing's happened, time to go back to your own little cosy tower."

Blaise raised a questioning eyebrow at her, but kept his mouth shut.

Weasley looked unconvinced too and cast a dark glare, but instead of protesting, he pulled at Longbottom's sleeve. "Thanks for trying to help, Zabini, but we better follow Harry."

Longbottom shifted awkwardly from one to the other, clearly struggling with conflicting wills, but in the end he gave Pansy a shy smile and took a few steps backwards.

They left.

In two swift strides Blaise was at her side. "Salazar's saggy tits, Pansy, what was that all about?"

"I'm not sure," she bit her lip, "but I think we've got some serious damage-control to take care of in your dorm."

The door was locked and warded. Pansy singed her hand when she tried the handle. "Draco, it's me, open the door." She could hear the sound of things being thrown around and a snappy retort came through the door.

"Go away, I'm leaving."

She sighed. "You can't leave. Taking your N.E.W.T.s is part of your probation-deal, you know that just as well as I do."

Blaise had come up at her side. He banged his fists in a rapid staccato. "Stop being such a drama-queen and open the fucking door. It's my dorm too."

Pansy turned to him. "Maybe you should go and see if you can find us something to drink. I think we all could use some."

"Alright. Tea?"

She snorted a laugh. "Sometimes you're so bloody British, Blaise. No, I think we're beyond tea. Any scenario between Darling Draco and The-Git-Who-Lived that ends up with one of them naked, calls for something a lot stronger than tea." She waved her long purple-varnished nails at him in dissmissal. "See what you can find, dear, and I see if I can get through to this big baby."

Blaise hesitated, but then he quirked a shoulder and took a few steps down.

"Shoo, now run along, there's a good boy," she called after him. He flashed her a wry grin.

When he was out of sight, Pansy turned to the closed door again and with a voice of strength and resilience, that only the few people closest to her knew she had, she hollered, "I think I know what happened, Draco. Talk to me, damn it."

There was a silence, then with a crack of magic the door flung open and Pansy found her friend standing in the middle of the messy room. His hair looked dishevelled and his clothes were haphazardly put on. Not at all the neat, carefully composed boy he worked so hard to be these days, with his voice calm and his head down, always on the guard not to offend anyone. His arms hang at the sides in a totally defeated way. The ugly Mark on his arm, otherwise so carefully covered, fully on display.

He looked at her, and his eyes, his beautiful silvery eyes, were filled with tears. "Oh, Pansy," he sobbed and pressed his quivering lips together into a firm line.

She took a step inside, and the love she felt for this complex boy, with all his wrong decisions and conflicting motives, made her heart flood over. She opened her arms.

0o0o0o0o

Harry startled as Ginny yanked the drapes of his fourposter open. "So, this is where you're hiding." She sat down on the bed beside him and flicked the cascade of red hair to her back. "We missed you in the common room," she said, "and you didn't come down to dinner today either."

Harry kept his eyes on the book in his lap. The letters on the page skipped around and preformed a series of dances on the page. His hands shook a little, but he tried to hide it by pushing up the glasses on his nose. "I didn't feel like seeing anyone, alright." He sounded hoarse.

"You can't believe all the strange rumours that's buzzing around about you," Ginny chuckled. "One says you were under an Imperius Curse and thought you were a dog, one that there was a bet and you were challenged to break into Slytherin and hex Malfoy, and another that you've been running around Hogwarts stark naked."

Harry glared at her. "I can't see what's so funny about it," he muttered. "You'd think they had other things to gossip about by now."

"Right, right, it's only a bit of fun."

"Why can't people just leave it be. As I keep saying, NOTHING HAPPENED!" He yelled the last part and hoped the lie would still hold. So far, nothing indicated that Malfoy had told his part of the story, no jibes, no innuendo, nothing. Harry slammed his book close with a bang.

Ginny looked baffled. "Gee, Harry, you really got your wand in a twist. I'm not the one who's spreading all these rumours. I'm on your side, believe it or not. Even if we're not..." She bit her lip and searched his eyes. Harry clenched his jaws stubbornly, steeled himself for what she was about to say next.

"Look, Harry," Ginny began. She paused and seemed to gather her thoughts before she went on, "I know you don't want to talk about it. In fact, you never really talk to me anymore. Ever since we... I know it's been difficult for you, and things didn't quite work out the way we thought it would between us, but you haven't even touched me since we came back to Hogwarts."

"This is school," Harry shouted defiantly. "There's people everywhere!" He knew the excuse was lame.

"You know damned well that people here find places to shag regulary and even spend nights together. Hermione frequently sleeps in your dorm, haven't you noticied?" There was a hint of frustration in her tone. She clenched her teeth and took a deep breath as if to calm herself.

Harry flushed red of embarrassment. He was going to become a monk. Yeah, that was it. A hermit monk, who met nobody. He wondered if there were any wizard monasteries. A calm secluded place where you could preform magic, play Quidditch and where there were no girls, only men. Men with strong arms, flat chests and broad shoulders, men like Malfoy. Oh bugger, he was really fucked, wasn't he?

He cleared his throat, as he didn't rely on it to hold. "Is there any particular reason you're telling me this right now?"

Ginny picked a hole at the hem of her sleeve, put her finger through it, tore it bigger. "Possibly because this is the first, in a very long time, that we're alone in a room together." The statement felt harsh when spoken out loud, but it was the truth. "I think I want more out of a relationship than Quidditch and chaste kisses." Rapidly she added, "Dean asked me the other day if you and I were still together. He wants to go to Hogsmeade with me."

Harry put the book down and finally looked at her. Her eyes were sad, her warm brown eyes, usually so full of spite. He had always loved the way her eyes sparkled of life. "I didn't know what to tell him. Do you?" Ginny asked, apparently fighting to keep her voice steady.

"He's a very nice bloke," Harry said quietly. He wanted to scream and shout, pull her into his arms and hide there, but how could he. Not after what he'd done, not after what he now knew about himself. He wanted to tell her he was sorry that he'd made her disappointed, that he couldn't be who she wanted him to be.

Ginny nodded. Harry could see the determination, that she'd made up her mind. "I love you, Harry," she said. "I'll always do." She stood, bent down and kissed him on the forehead, just shy of his lightning-bolt scar. "I'll love you as I love all my brothers," she added.

She walked to the door but turned before she opened it. Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed. The cold from the floor seeped up through the soles of his bare feet. He shivered and propped his hands under his thighs. Inside he was a swirling conflicting mess of sorrow, guilt and possibly relief. "I'm sorry, Gin," he choked. It was as if all the air had left his lungs.

"It's fine, you know. For both of us, I guess." The grin she forced didn't hide the moist in her eyes. He loved her for not looking defeated by it. "Now, I'll have to go and find Dean," she said, "and tell him he's got a date next weekend."

0o0o0o0o

43, 44, 45, 46...

Poppy was counting the bedlinen when she heard a distinct knock on the door. The sheets were plain and sensible, but of the finest Irish quality, more than a century old and there ought to be six dozen of them. Blasted kids, now she'd have to start all over again. "It's open," she chirped.

The three students that entered were no strangers. The ones returning to re-do their last year were not children anymore, they were of age almost adults. She still treated them with the same firm motherly spirit, though, and they seemed to find that reassuring.

"Matron, could we have a word?"

"It's Harry here, he's not doing so well, we think."

Poppy looked at the boy in the middle. It was clear that the others had dragged him there, forced him to come and see her. He squirmed, but Weasley kept his grip on Potter's arm. Potter looked pale and his cheeks had hollowed again. He looked pretty much the way he used to, when he arrived at school in beginning of term in the years before.

She and Minnie had spent many long evenings talking about him, while drinking the smoky single malt they both favoured; the tragedy of his childhood, how malnurished he was, the apparent evidance of abuse and their exasperation that they could do nothing about it. But he also had such an unbreakable spirit, a remarkably strong magic and an irrepressible ability to love. The-Boy-Who-Lived. To save them all.

"What is it this time, Potter?" she faked a sigh and gestured him to sit up on the bed. He obeyed reluctantly.

"He fainted," Granger said, "on our way to class this morning, and he's not eating properly." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"And he's been sick a lot." Weasley held up his hand while Potter cast him a dark glare. "I know I promised not to tell, mate, but this has been going on for too long now." His ernest blue eyes were filled of worry. "He's been heaving his guts out almost every day for the last weeks."

"Look, it's nothing," Potter said. "Just a bit of a stomach flu."

"Hm-hm," Poppy hummed and cast a few basic diagnostic spells. Nothing distinct, apart from what she'd been told; nausea, slightly low blood-pressure, low on magnesia and iron. He definitively needed to eat better. She pocketed her wand, put her hands on his stomach and pressed lightly. "Any pain?" she asked.

"No," Potter answered.

"Been feeling extra gassy?" Poppy pressed her fingers deeper a little lower on his abdomen.

The stupid boy went red. "Maybe a little."

She huffed and cast a few other diagnostics, not that she believed them to reveal anything, but just in case. "Any other symptoms I should know about, Mr Potter?"

The boy plucked a little at his robe sleeve. "There's some smells I simply can't stand anymore, like coffee. I've always liked the smell of coffee before, and Neville's collection of dried plants. I had to ask him to take them out of the dorm."

Poppy's brow wrinkled in thought. Nothing apparent came to her mind. If this had been a young witch on the other hand... well.

"You've not been experimenting with any... recreational potions, I hope?" It wasn't unheard of among the senior students, and Poppy was constantly worried, especially after last year's events. Different hallucinate potions, and even Muggle drugs, occationally found their way into Hogwarts, but surprisingly, she'd not heard of any such trend.

Potter shook his head vigorously. "Me? Never. You gave me some Dreamless Sleep after... you know, and I've had some more prescriptions during the summer, but nothing since then."

"If you don't count that blasted thing Seamus gave you." Weasley gave a snorting sound.

Poppy spun around. "When was this?"

"Ages ago, end of September, I think." Weasley turned to the girl for confirmation. Granger nodded and chewed on her lip. "Surely that can't still be in his system?" she asked. "I mean, it's been more than two months since that happened. And it wasn't funny at all," she spat at Weasley, who still grunted a laugh.

"What did you take?" Poppy asked Potter. His bright green eyes, enlarged by the glasses, met hers. "I don't really know," he said in a low voice. "Some kind of Amortentia, I think."

"I knew it was something wrong about that bloody cocktail Seamus made," Granger sputtered and rummaged around in her bag on the floor. "I still have that list here somewhere. Aha!" She ducked up again and shook her bouncing curls out of her face with a frown. "Here's what was in the mix Harry took, if Seamus remembered correctly. He wasn't sure," she added bitterly and handed over the scroll.

Poppy looked at the list of potions. "Finnegan mixed these?" she asked absentmindedly.

"Yes," Granger responded, "and tricked Harry to drink it. It was supposed to be a joke."

Potter and Weasley exchanged glances. "It's not Seamus's fault. I drank it by accident," Potter said.

"Not his fault?" Granger yelled. "He wanted someone to drink it and make a fool of themselves, didn't he?"

Poppy kept scanning the list of potions and tried to analyse what the different ingrediencies did to one another. Finally, she walked over to the cabinet and retrieved a small glass beaker. She gave it to Potter. "I need a urine sample, just to clear something out. Could you fill this for me, please?"

"Here?" Potter croaked, red as a peony in the face. Poppy sighed. These youngsters with their twisted morals. Some things were perfectly alright to do, like semi-public masturbation; she knew what went on in the showers. Other things made them so tiringly embarrassed. "I have no particular preference of where you relieve yourself, Mr Potter, as long as it is in the cup, but there's a loo behind that door over there, as you very well know by now," she said, and her mouth twisted into a skew smile.

"Oh," Potter said and shuffled off. Granger sat down on the bed and bit her nails nervously.

When Potter returned, he gave her the filled beaker with an uneasy grin. Poppy brandished her wand and mumbled a spell. This was only so she could rule out the impossible, but she felt it necessary to do. The sample turned clear blue.

"Oh, goodness me," she gasped.

"What happened?" Weasley shouted. Granger clasped a hand over her mouth.

"Well, you see, the Nightshade mixed with the Ashwinder egg in an essence of Daisyroot makes a pretty strong fertility potion. It's not common, and when it happens this sort of thing is mostly very well planned between long-term wizard couples. I've never, in all my years as a Medi-witch, come across a situation like this."

Potter sat down shakily on the bed again and turned his anxious blood-drained face up at her. "Madam Pomfey, please tell me what's wrong with me?" he pleaded huskily.

"I'm afraid you're pregnant, Mr Potter."

0o0o0o0o

There was a shifting movement at the closed and warded drapes and she heard a familiar voice whisper, "Ron, are you awake?"

Hermione entangled herself from Ron's squid-like embrace and pulled her wand out from under the pillow and dissolved the spells. A quick look at her wristwatch told her it was 3 am.

"Harry?" she called out and hauled the heavy velvet aside. A whoosh of the cold Scottish autumn-air swept in from the dark dorm-room.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb." Harry took a step back at the sight of her and made a move towards his own bed.

"Just get in, you plonker," Ron's voice was grumbled by sleep. "It's freezing."

Harry hesitated, but when Hermione smacked Ron to get him to shuffle over and there was room at her side, he climbed in.

The bed was narrow for three people. Hermione could've easily enlarged it with a simple spell, but she chose not to. She rather liked the way they were forced close together, like a litter of pups. This wasn't the first time they'd shared a bed like this. Sometimes, during those long months on the run, being pressed between these two boys, with their warm bodies, listening to their breathing, feeling their hearts beating, was the only thing Hermione felt could keep her sane in a world that scared her so much she almost lost the ability to function. She loved them both; differently, but just as strong.

Harry shivered. He was fully dressed but ice-cold. "Where've you been? We looked everywhere," Hermione asked. She put an arm around him and pulled him closer. She had her buttercup-yellow nightgown on and she could feel his coarse jeans through the thin fabric.

"Astronomy-tower," Harry pressed out through clattering teeth.

"But I was there," Ron sat up behind her back and put his hand on her arm. "We searched. I couldn't find you."

"I know. I saw you," Harry said. "I had my cloak on. Sorry."

They were silent for a while, all three of them. Harry cleared his throat. He'd stopped shivering and started to relax a little. "I was... I..." he started, but clapped his mouth shut again.

"We understand that this came as a shock," Hermione said. "We were so worried about you. When you ran out of the infirmery, we thought..."

"We didn't want anything to happen to you, mate."

"Something's already happened!" Harry whined. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He must have dropped his glasses somewhere. "Something is always happening to me. Why can't my life just be normal for once? Why did it have to be me who drank Seamus's stupid potion and get pregnant? Why?"

Ron coughed. "To be fair, mate, it wasn't Seamus's potion that got you up the duff."

"Yes, I was wondering about that." Hermione was puzzled. "I knew the potion-mix had the potential to make someone concieve, but..."

"There's only one way a wizard can get that way, no matter how much potion there is," Ron said.

Ron had cast a Lumos and the dim glow fell over their faces. Harry screwed his eyes shut and the shadows gave him a strained expression. "I didn't know it was even remotely possible," he groaned.

Ron grinned. "You're a wizard, mate. Yeah, it's possible." Ron bit his lip and gave Hermione an apologetic look. "It was him, wasn't it? This would never've happened if you haven't always been so bloody obsessed with Malfoy. I can't believe you let that tosser bugger you."

"Ron!" Hermione cried out and swatted his hand away. Harry glared at Ron, clenched his jaws, that was covered by a dark stubble, and buried his face in her hair. It tugged on the roots a bit, but no more than she could handle. Hermione threaded her fingers through the tousled dark locks on Harry's head. "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to, Harry, but we're here for you. We'll always be, no matter what. You know that, don't you?"

Harry sniffed. "It's all such a blur. I don't really recall all that happened, or how."

"But?" She had a feeling there was more to it. She prodded him lightly in the cheek with her forefinger.

Harry exhaled heavily. "It was Malfoy. I sort of woke up in bed... with him," he murmured inarticulately.

After the event of the potion, when Hermione and Seamus had returned to the common room, Harry had stubbornly refused to tell them anything and then he'd stayed in his room for days. Ron told her that he and Neville had found Harry in Slytherin, that he must've had some sort of fight with Malfoy, but that's all he knew. Oh, and that Harry had taken off all his clothes at some point.

Hermione had studied the list of potions she'd managed to extract from Seamus. She knew the different ingredients and what they did. It now seemed plain as a day what had happened. She still felt the need to make something clear.

"Harry, I have to ask, did you... feel forced?" she asked tentatively.

"No," Harry shook his head vigorously, rubbing his head on her hair on the pillow. "It was more like... the other way around. I think I begged and wanted him to... you know."

"Nevertheless, that doesn't sound like consent to me. That lustpotion was strong."

Harry shook his head again. "It was... good. It was afterwards, well... He's still Malfoy, you know."

"But," Ron turned a baffled face towards her, "if it was a lustpotion, why didn't Harry just jump any of us? Why did he rummage around the whole bloody castle to get to Malfoy?

"Well, the Amortentia... and with the Veritaserum..." Hermione was thinking, combinations of all the different ingrediencies whooshing through her head. "You fancy him, don't you, Harry?" she finally said.

Somehow in life's turns and quirks, it made sense.

Ron cleared his throat. "Ginny wouldn't say, but is this why... It's none of our business, mate, but are you..." He gave a short cough. "Did you two split up because you like blokes?"

"No... Yes, maybe, uuugh, I don't know," Harry groaned and mumbled, "I guess I find Malfoy rather fit, but that doesn't matter, you know. That doesn't change who he is or what he did."

"It doesn't change what he's done, but a person can change," Hermione said pensively. "Haven't you seen how different he acts this year, as if he's trying not to be noticed, not at all the way he used to be. Maybe he has changed. We don't know. Did you talk to him?"

"Not since we shook hands at the beginning of term. And I don't think he's much different. He's still a prat." Harry's voice was muffled as he kept his face hidden in her hair. "Oh, what shall I do?" he whined.

The pull on her hair became too much. Hermione pushed him to lay on his back, so she could look him in the eyes. "We'll deal with the matter of Malfoy later. You've got a more pressing business to take care of before anything else. After you ran out, Pomfrey made an appointment for you at a Specialist-Healer at St Mungo's. It's next week. We'll both go with you, of course." She glanced over her shoulder at Ron, who gave a reassuring nod. "You'll have until then to decide what you want to do."

She pulled her eyebrows together and studied him.

Harry sighed. "Well, I can't very well keep it, can I?"

"It's your decision, Harry," Hermione said. "Only yours."

Harry exhaled loudly and covered his face with his elbow. "I only want this to be over."

Ron streched out his hand over Hermione's waist and patted Harry on the arm. "Right, Harry, it's only a couple of days, then we can forget all about this mess. We'll go to the pub afterwards and get properly pissed, what do you say?"

Harry laughed weakly. "Sounds great to me." He yawned. "I'm truly beat. Can I stay here?"

"Sure," Ron said.

"Yes, let's sleep," Hermione yawned too. It had been an exhausting day. She cuddled up against Ron as Harry got out of his jeans, then she pulled the bedcovers over the three of them.

"Imagine what old Lucius would say, Harry," Ron quipped as he extinguished the light. "And I still don't get how Malfoy became affected by a potion you took."

0o0o0o0o

The top of the examination bed was cold. Harry had his underpants on, but otherwise he was naked under the hospital-gown and it didn't sufficiently cover his thighs and backside. He was nervous.

A youthful looking Healer walked in through the door. He had a short well-groomed beard and light-brown wavy hair. He was annoyingly good-looking, but how somebody could've come up with the idea that lime-green robes were benefitting for anyone was beyond Harry. Especially in a situation where one was ill or injured, or in Harry's case, slightly nauseous as it was.

The Healer read from a scroll of parchment, hummed, then attached the scroll to a clip-board and held out his hand. "I'm Healer Kristoffer Towler. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter. We've recieved an extensive report from the Hogwarts Medi-witch. It's quite an impressive medical history you have there. It seems she's been treating you for something every year you've attended." He walked closer and hummed again. "And then the war on top of that."

Harry swallowed. He hated being recognized and noticed as the famous one. He wasn't the only one who faught the bloody war, for Merlin's sake.

"But now you're going to have a baby, and that's a much more pleasant situation, isn't it?"

Harry wanted to protest but found his mouth had gone completely dry and he couldn't get a word out. "Erm," was all he managed.

"As you must have been told, Mr Potter," Healer Towler continued, "I specialize in wizard-pregnancies here at St Mungo's. You're quite safe under my care, since I'm the one with most experience in this field of magic." He gave a short laugh. "As a matter of fact, my partner and I are expecting our third child in a few weeks' time, so you see, you can relax, and I'll be with you all the way through this."

Brilliant, Harry thought, a fit gay dictor, who apparently had the impression Harry wanted to go through with this pregnancy. He regretted he'd let Ron and Hermione wait outside; he could've used their support right now. Harry thought he'd never been in a more embarrassing situation.

He was wrong.

"You can put your legs down again, Mr Potter," Healer Towler said and removed the plastic gloves, "but stay on the bed. Everything looks fine down there. Your temporary uterus is fully developed. Now, all that's left is for me to cast a few diagnostic spells on the foetus." The Healer raised his wand again and flourished it over Harry's stomach.

"We count the pregnancy weeks a little differently when it's a wizard carrying, as we usually know the exact date of conception, when for witches that seldom is the case. You're almost 11 weeks pregnant, Mr Potter, and the baby is still small, no bigger than a plum, but all fingers and toes are fully formed now. Here," he pointed.

A sphere of light-blue hovered over Harry's midriff at the tip of the Healer's wand. "This is only a projection, but you can clearly see the baby here, the head and the spine. It's far too early to make out anything else." He grinned at Harry. "Amazing, isn't it?"

Harry stared at the sphere morphing around like some wierd jellyfish. He had difficulty making out what the Healer had showed him, but there was something there, a tiny hand clutching its fingers.

"You can get dressed again," Healer Towler said, and the light-blue projection disappeared with a pop. "Make another appointment with the Medi-witch outside, about three weeks from now. I'm sure she can fit you in some time right after Christmas. We like to monitor magical pregnancies more frequently than ordinary ones, but since you're young and strong, there's nothing to worry about at this point. I'll also prescribe a potion for your morning sickness and another one with all the vitamins and minerals you need, but please, Mr Potter, even if it's difficult, try to eat some more. Both you and the baby need the nutrition right now."

Harry walked out to the waiting area. His friends were on their feet at once and rushed up to meet him.

"How did it go? You look absolutely pale, Harry. Was it awful?"

"Yeah, you don't look too good, mate. Have a seat. Can I get you something? A glass of water, perhaps?"

"We should've gone with you. I should have insisted. Why didn't you let us come with you?"

"Careful there, mate, I've got you. There you go, Harry."

"Oh, Ron, what have they done to him?"

Harry slumped down in the plastic chair Ron had steered him to and looked at his hand in his lap. He opened and closed his fingers a few times, mimicking what he'd seen. Harry raised his head and met his friends worried inquiring gazes. "I'm all right," he said. His voice didn't sound like it used to, it cracked and wobbled. Hermione pushed a water-filled papercup to his lips and he drank thankfully.

"It's a little person," Harry said, and looked down at his hand again. "I couldn't go through with it. There's been too much death as it is." He gave a hollow laugh. "We'll have to have that pub-night another time, Ron. It seems I'm having a baby."

0o0o0o0o

He formed neat lines and meticulously shaped letters and swore out loud when the ink came out in a big blot and smudged his chart. In the heat of the moment, he banished the whole parchment and then regretted it immediately. Now he had to do the whole thing over again.

He felt edgy and agitated. In all honesty, he was always a bit edgy, but this was different. Draco was nervous. 

What had she meant by coming up to him in the library and ask if they could compare notes? Hermione Granger sure as hell had no need to be insecure about her ability to pay attention in class. Draco had been as obliging as he could, of course. He certainly didn't want there to be any rumours about him still being a prejudice prat, a condescending blood-supremist. Not anymore, not now that he had seen it for what it was, realized that what he'd been told was nothing more than a load of shit. It still hurt that he had been so easy to manipulate, so unaware of the world to follow so loyally. The shock when his eyes finally opened.

He checked the star-chart one more time. It had a lot of inconsistencies; the Moon had aligned with Venus in the eighth House and there was a shift in the fourth that dealt with home and family. About parenthood. Maybe it had something to do with his father being in prison, but that should have shown six month ago. He couldn't understand what it meant. He'd have to ask his mother in his next letter. She'd always loved enigmas in horoscopes, and she was the one who encouraged him to do his twice a year, in time of every solstice, winter and summer.

Draco sighed. This approach from Granger bothered him. He had forced a smile and she had looked at what he had written about the runes found at Old Upsala. Clearly it wasn't what she'd been after because her own notes had been almost exactly the same. What was she up to? A friendly chat?

Draco bit his lip, dipped the quill and started again on a new parchment.

The door opened and Blaise came in and threw his schoolbag on the other occupied fourposter. The three empty ones stood as a constant reminder of their missing classmates. It was only the two of them left, with Vince dead and Greg with eight weeks left of his six month sentence to Azkaban. They'd heard that Theo was home again from St Mungo's. The cuts on his wrists had mended fine but he didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to speak to any of them. Draco was convinced McGonagall had left the three empty beds in their dorm on purpose, so he wouldn't forget. As if he ever could.

"You can't believe where I've been," Blaise called out.

"Then, by all means, enlighten me," Draco drawled without lifting his eyes from the parchment.

Blaise came up to him, pushed aside the books and scrolls, hopped up and sat on Draco's desk, dangling his feet so they bumped Draco's knee. Draco gritted his teeth and gave him a dark look.

"Gryffindor tower," Blaise said. The easiness in his tone was loaded with meaning.

Draco dropped his quill. "What?"

"Weasley invited me to a game of chess."

Draco found he still had his mouth open and closed it. "What happened?"

"I lost," Blaise grinned. "Three times out of three."

"Of course, you did," Draco snorted and picked up his quill, pretending to pay attention to his star-chart again. "You always lose at chess, Blaise."

"I do not!" His perfectly shaped eyebrows rose indignantly, and he jumped off the desk and threw himself down on the chair at his own desk instead.

"Yes, you do, at least when you play someone decent." Draco felt puzzled. "But why? Why did he want to play chess with you?" He swallowed and admitted. "Granger talked to me in the library today."

Blaise shrugged and put his feet up on the desk. "I guess they've decided to give a go at that inter-House unity thing we're all supposed to be striving at."

"No," Draco shook his head. "I think they're up to something. They're still our enemies, you know."

"Nobody speaks in those terms anymore, Draco. The rivalry among the Houses is in the past." Blaise paused. "You know I'm seeing a Ravenclaw-girl, right?"

Draco snorted a laugh. "Not Loony Lovegood, I hope?" Draco rather liked Luna. She was one of the few who talked to him in classes, and they were related in some intricate way as most pureblood families were. Strangely enough, Luna didn't seem to hold it against him that she'd been a prisoner in Draco's home. He had done what he could for her at the time, without Aunt Bella finding out. He'd brought her and the wandmaker food and water, healed cuts and bruises, but still.

"No," Blaise smiled dreamily. "Mandy Brocklehurst, the pretty blond one. She's intelligent and interesting and it's rather liberating to talk to people with a different view on things. See what the division of the Houses has brought us. Nothing good, I'll tell you that."

Draco shot him a demonic glare. Long strands of his hair had loosened and fell around his forehead. he pushed them back."Was Potter there?" he asked darkly.

"Oh, come off it, will you," Blaise grunted. "Not everything is about you and Potter, you know."

"How can you say that?" Draco came to his feet and clenched his hands into fists. "After what happened, that lovely little prank Potter played on me."

Blaise looked at him silently for a while and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I've been thinking about that," he said. "It doesn't make any sense at all. How could it ever be a joke on you, if it happened the way you say it did?"

"Are you accusing me of lying?" Draco narrowed his eyes at his friend. This was, after all, a sensitive subject. Only Pansy knew what really happened, and a lot of other things regarding Potter.

"No, but from what I've heard, there's no talk about you, no jibes about what happened floating around. Only about Potter being a dog or something. I just think you got it all wrong."

"Oh, no," Draco ranted on and begun pacing the floor. "I was a fool to believe he meant what he said when he proffered his hand at me, a fool to think things could be different... Me, being the scum of the Wizarding World." He stopped at the small window. A greyish twig of seaweed brushed the pane. A fool indeed to think Potter had wanted him.

"Can you for once stop being so bloody dramatic," Blaise heaved a deep sigh. 

Draco scowled at him.

"So, you had a bit of a tumble in the sack and he got cold feet." Blaise shrugged. "Well, he's not exactly the first bloke, is he? Maybe he just wanted to experiment, and you being the only poof he knew, he took a chance."

Draco huffed.

"Or..." Blaise dragged on the syllable, "perhaps he really fancies you and that scared him."

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard," Draco sputtered. He fixed his eyes on the seaweed again.

"Look, Draco," Blaise sat up and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "Maybe, just maybe, you should try to talk to Potter."

Draco turned at him, eyes wide and eyebrows arched high on his forehead. Before he got to say anything, Blaise held up a hand to silence the stream of protests that threatened to burst out.

"Quite frankly, I'm sick and tired of this old hate-game between our Houses. In a few months we're all out of here and we must learn how to get along with all kinds of people in various ways of life. I think now is our chance to make amends and create a better future for ourselves. We ought to make them all a peace offering. It's about time we show this school that we're not the same as we used to be, that we're sorry, that we've changed. What happened last year wasn't our fault. What our parents did had nothing to do with us. We were kids, for Salazar's sake!" He shut his mouth and swallowed.

Draco couldn't remember a time during the seven years he'd known Blaise Zabini when he had spoken this passionately about anything. Always cool and composed, Blaise, so unlike Draco's own immature outbursts.

"Christmas hols is soon here, then there's less than six months left for us in this place," Blaise continued. "I'd like to take my N.E.W.T.s and get out of here in one piece, if you don't mind. If inter-House unity is what it takes, then I'm all for it."

Draco watched the dark water ripple. The seaweed had drifted away with the current. If he fixed his eyes and focused, he thought he saw a tentacle of the Giant Squid further away. Once, in second year, it had come up right outside the window and scared the shit out of him. Draco had avoided looking out of the windows for a long time after that. Now, after living under the same roof as the Dark Lord, after Nagini, and after Greyback and his band of werewolves, he found it almost amusing that he'd thought it'd been scary at all.

"Do as you please, Blaise," he said blandly. "But don't count me in. In any case, I seriously doubt my company is wanted."

0o0o0o0o

His eyes fell on him again, he couldn't help himself.

Harry was restless and fidgety, so he let his gaze roam over his fellow classmates, and over and over again it stopped at the blond two rows up front.

Malfoy's hair seemed to be newly cut and it was unusually short at the neck. He rubbed his hand over the stubble from time to time, as if he weren't yet used to how it felt. In the front it was longer and he wore it softer than the strict hairstyle he used to have. Strands from the top fell over his face, obscuring his eyes, but Malfoy's quill kept scratching at a speed that only matched Hermione's, so Harry guessed it didn't bother him.

It bothered Harry, though. Because he knew how it felt. He'd used to wonder if that white-blond hair would feel as silky as it looked and now he knew. He'd had his fingers through it, for Merlin's sake.

He looked at Malfoy's neck and was jolted by the urge to rub his nose to it, to inhale the sweet smell of citrus and sandalwood that must be Malfoy's shampoo or something. Harry sometimes caught whiffs of it when they passed in the corridors.

Harry couldn't get Malfoy out of his mind. Then, when had he ever? Now, Harry thought about him all the time, watched his every move, even dreamt about him. Dreams that made Harry wake rock-hard and wank himself raw over.

It was no use denying it anymore, Harry wanted more of him, but his feelings were conflicted.

On one hand, it truly looked as if Malfoy had changed. He was quiet and withdrawn, studied hard and was polite to everyone as far as Harry knew. He'd even seen Malfoy help one of the Slytherin first-years with her Potions homework in the library.

On the other hand, Malfoy still had done all those things and said what he'd said. He had stomped on Harry's nose, bullied his friends, tried to kill Dumbledore, and been a cruel spoilt brat through all their years together.

On the other, he'd saved them all by not revealing Harry's identity at the Malfoy Manor, and yet he'd gone after them into the Room of Hidden Things, where Crabbe had started the Fiend-fire, possibly to seize him and hand him over to Voldemort.

But Harry had also seen the shy smile on his face, the glint in his eyes, heard the giddiness in his voice when Harry lay in his arms.

Harry thought about what Ron offhanded had said about that night, about Malfoy being affected by the potion. Because he couldn't have been, and if he weren't, what did that mean?

Harry really had acted like a complete berk, hadn't he? But the flood of emotions that hit Harry when he came to in Malfoy's bed, under Malfoy, with Malfoy inside him, had taken him totally by surprise and had scared the shit out of him. Harry didn't plan to hurt Malfoy, not exactly, but he'd done it anyway.

And now... Harry knew he had to talk to him. He had to tell him.

How do you tell your long-time nemesis that he's to be a father? Father of a child you never planned to have and at first felt as a mistake, the result of a mixture of potions and a longing Harry wasn't yet really ready to admit. That everything's going to change forever. And no matter what happens, there will always be this bond between them.

It started to stir around him and Harry saw the others putting away their books and quills. The lesson must be over. He exhaled, closed his book and rolled up his mostly empty parchment, and threw it all haphazardly in his bag and looked up.

Most of the class had already filed out, but Malfoy was still there, sorting through his parchments, all neatly filled with row upon row of notes. His brow was furrowed and he seemed absorbed in organizing and in no hurry to leave. Could this be a good time for Harry to talk to him?

Harry gestured Ron and Hermione to go on without him. Hermione turned her head, and nodded when she saw Malfoy. Ron made a face but gave Harry the thumbs up. Harry rolled his eyes at their too obvious signs of support.

When it was only the two of them left in the room, Harry wiped his clammy hands on the front of his thighs and got up of his seat. "Malfoy," he said, "could I have a word?"

Malfoy whipped around. "No," he hissed. "I refuse to listen to any more of your lies, Potter. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Lies? I've never lied to you," Harry sputtered.

Malfoy gave a disbelieving humourless chuckle and shook his head as he closed his bag and swung it up on his shoulder. "They all think you're so righteous and noble, don't they? The Golden Hero. But I know how full of shit you really are, Scarhead. No more, this is it. I won't let you deceive me one more time."

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you think you can trick me again?" Malfoy wheezed. He took a step closer to Harry. He was few inches taller and took the advantage to look down at Harry. Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "What is it this time? You've already covered the pretence of being cordial, of friendship, fake kisses and... other feelings. You used me, Potter."

"I never meant to, the potion..."

"Ah, yes, of course, the mysterious potion," Malfoy smirked, then his face turned serious. He let his gaze wander and huffed a sigh. "Look," he said in a clipped tone, "if you were curious, if you just wanted to blow off some steam, it's understandable. But you could have said so, instead of blabbering about how you longed for me, how my hair smelled and my skin felt."

"I honestly don't know what I said." Harry looked down at his nervously shuffling trainers.

"Well, how convenient for you, Potter, that you have such a weak memory. Then you never have to face what a bloody coward you really are."

Before Harry looked up again, Malfoy had turned and was walking out of the classroom.

0o0o0o0o

The Ravenclaws were the first to arrive. They stood silently pressed together in the frame of the open door for a while, gazing around the unfamiliar common room. Then Lovegood skipped over to one of the sofas, where Millicent Bulstrode sat and started chatting, gesturing vividly with her hands. Millie raised a questioning eyebrow at her but seemed rather amused. Luna looked tiny, almost childlike beside Millicent's bulky frame.

Then he spotted Mandy's smiling face behind Goldstein and Corner, and Blaise walked over to greet her. Salazar's tits, he really liked this girl. She was smart and pretty, and she made him laugh at the most unexpected things.

"Hi," she said, and her cheeks flushed a little.

"Welcome to the Snake-pit," Blaise retorted with a wry sort of smile that made his teeth blaze, and he knew by experience effected witches of all ages. At least it used to. What he wasn't used to at all, was the way the warmth in her eyes made his stomach churn and his oesophagus clench up. He cleared his throat and let his eyes sweep over all of them. "Can I tempt you with something to drink?"

Blaise glanced at the door as he steered the group over to the makeshift bar. A horde of Hufflepuffs this time, eight or ten of them, laughing and chatting, arms slung over each other's shoulders. They were clearly in the mood to have some fun.

Blaise drew a steadying breath. This party was the first attempt of interaction ever made by his House. The Slytherin students younger than seventeen had all been bribed with tons of treats from Honeydukes to stay in the dorms for the night, and the remaining witches and wizards, that were of age, had all chipped in to make the most of the evening. The latest Wierd Sister's hits was pouring out of the portable record-player, conjured lights glowed in every corner and created a soft atmosphere. There was a lot at stake tonight and the Hufflepuffs helped, bless their simple souls. He exchanged a brief look of relief with Pansy.

She was sitting in one of the other sofas with Draco at her side, his hand in a firm grip in hers, as if she prevented him from bolting right back up to the dorm again.

A moment later the clatter died down and all heads turned to the entrance. The Gryffindors had arrived.

Granger and the Weasley girl stood up front. None of them were smiling. Granger had that determined frown on her brow she always sported when faced with a difficult case and Weasley stuck her chin up and flicked her red ponytail bouncing. Nobody said anything. Blaise held himself still, hand midway to the bowl of punch and waited.

Then Granger took a step inside and looked around at the decorations. "Oh, how lovely, it's a Yuletide party!" she exclaimed with a forced cheerfulness. Some of the seven-years had put up a holly wreath over the mantlepiece, and a string of fairy-lights at the ceiling flickered in bright red, green and yellow. Blaise couldn't give a rat's arse about Christmas this year, but he had to admit it made the room feel more welcoming.

It was like everyone in the room exhaled at the same time.

Mandy smiled again and left him for her cluster of friends, and Blaise found that he had positioned himself on the wrong side of the bar, like a fucking bartender, when Draco swaggered up and handed him his cup for a refill. The punch wasn't heavy on the alcohol, but this must have been his third or fourth in less than half an hour.

"Are you sure you want more already?" Blaise asked and watched his friend.

"Oh, piss off, Zabini," Draco snarled. "It's a party, isn't it? You're supposed to drink and have fun at a party, aren't you?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. So, it was going to be that kind of night. He shrugged and poured some more of the rather pinkish drink into Draco's cup.

"Oh, that looks nice. Can we also have some?" A bright voice approached from the side, and Blaise looked up to meet the eyes of Granger and the rest of the Golden Trio.

"Certainly," Blaise said accommodating, and filled three more cups. He handed the first two to Granger and Weasley. "Thanks, mate," Ron said and grinned, but Potter shook his head when Blaise offered him the third. "You don't happen to have any pumpkin-juice, do you?"

Blaise heard a mean snigger at the side and saw his friend's face screwed up into that ugly scowl he used to put on towards Potter through all their years together. "Scared to have a little drink, Potty?" Draco smirked. "Afraid of what it will get you to do? Don't worry. Have some more and thankfully you'll forget all about it."

Potter's face darkened. "Believe me, I'd rather empty the entire bowl right now, but thanks to you, I can't," he growled between clenched teeth.

Blaise felt a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. Draco spun around and faced Potter, his eyes narrowing into slits of hard steel. "Why do you think I care what you do and don't do? How can it possibly have something to do with me?"

Potter gave him a furious glare. "If you weren't such a stuck-up sodding twat, I might tell you, but as it is, you can stay an ignorant son of a bitch."

Blaise knew the pretence of a friendly evening was lost the moment Draco's fist touched Potter's chin.

0o0o0o0o

Harry crouched a little under the stare the Headmistress gave him as he was standing in front of her desk with Malfoy at his side. Blood was dripping from the git's nose and Malfoy tried to hold his head high and still keep eye-contact with the furious witch. Harry's lip ached and had swollen to its double size. He could taste blood in his mouth and his knuckles hurt. Malfoy had a black eye.

It'd felt good at the time to have a go at Malfoy with his fists, but now Harry felt like a huge idiot. It was ridiculous really, how fast they'd both resumed to their old habits, worse even, and Harry didn't want that. Not anymore.

"I have never..." McGonagall started and glared at them. "In all my years as a teacher and now as Headmistress at this school, had students fighting like a pair of drunken Muggles in Public-house brawl. Explain yourselves."

Harry swallowed. What could he say? That the sight of Malfoy made his blood burn in ways nothing else did?

He opened his mouth, but winced as his jaw hurt.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," McGonagall muttered and with a few flicks of her wand and some mumbled incantations she mended Harry's lip and Malfoy's nose. "You might as well sit," she said, and a pair of chairs flew up to them from their position at the wall. 

"I don't know how to begin to tell you how disappointed I am of the two of you," she said and tied the sash tighter on her tartan dressing gown. "As figures of leadership in your respective Houses," she held up her hand to stop Harry from protesting, "well, you are, there's no point in arguing that. I thought what happened last year should put a stop to all this rivalry nonsense between you, that you finally could act your age and put all that behind you. You're adult wizards now, even if you're still at school. You have the responsibility and the ability to make a difference. Your experiences in the war must have shown you how far animosity can get, and I'm not talking about losing House-points." She paused and somehow seemed to deflate as she exhaled.

"May I speak?" Harry asked when she had finished. The Headmistress nodded.

Harry bit his lip and glanced over at Malfoy, who was sitting with his arms crossed and his eyes at a blank spot behind the Headmistress's desk. The wizards and witches on the wall seemed to be heavy asleep in their frames, though Harry had the suspicion that the snoring sounds were slightly exaggerated. Dumbledore's picture was thankfully empty, but Harry caught a glimpse of a curious piercing eye from the small dark portrait of Phineas Nigellus. 

"I'm sorry for all this trouble, professor, but there's something that I need to say." Harry talked slow and hesitant, and kept his gaze on Malfoy, who didn't move, though Harry could see his jaw-muscle clench. "Something I have to tell Malfoy, something important. I've tried, but as you can see Malfoy and I aren't that good at talking. What happened tonight was stupid and immature, and I don't think any of us wants to be like this anymore."

Malfoy scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Harry turned to McGonagall, whose eyebrows had knotted together. "I know it's quite late, but I need to get this done right now. If I don't, I'll probably never will and that wouldn't be right. But I feel I need a little help and support to do this, and in all fairness, maybe Malfoy should have that too." Harry stood and braced himself with a few steadying breaths. "Professor, could you, please, fire-call Molly Weasley and ask her to come over for a moment?" Harry turned to Malfoy again. "Are the grates at Malfoy Manor open to the Floo-system?"

"Of course, they are, you half-witted moron," Malfoy snorted. "If anything should happen to me, how else would mother..."

"Call for Narcissa Malfoy too," Harry interrupted him. Malfoy gaped.

Minerva McGonagall gave them both a long silent look over her square spectacles. Then she rose and walked over to the crackling fire and threw a pinch of glittering powder into the flames and called out for the Burrow. A sleep-tousled Mr Weasley emerged in the flames, in his pyjamas and with his glasses a little askew.

"I'm sorry to have awaken you, Arthur," McGonagall said and crouched down on the floor. "No, no, everyone's all right, but we have a little situation here. Can I speak to Molly, please?"

"Minerva," Mrs Weasley called out over her husband's shoulder. "Has anything happened?"

"It's Harry here. He's fine, but he's wondering if you could come through." McGonagall cast Harry a probing look. "It seems he needs your support."

"Oh my, oh my," Harry heard Mrs Weasley mutter, and in a whirl of soot she appeared in her patched burgundy dressing-gown and enveloped Harry in a fierce embrace. As always, she smelled homely of lavender-soap and vanilla. "What've you been up to now, boy?" she scolded, but Harry just hugged her back and buried his face in her hair.

When he looked up again Mrs Malfoy stepped out of the fireplace with a twirl. She was fully dressed in an elegant robe; only her hair showed signs of being done up in a haste.

"Minerva. Molly." She nodded at the two other witches.

"Narcissa," Mrs Weasley said sharply and let go of Harry. They all stood silent and stared at each other.

"I believe we could all do with some tea," McGonagall eventually said and clapped her hands.

In seconds, a tray of cups and a steaming pot was delivered by two house-elves and McGonagall opened her tin of shortbreads and put it on her desk before she transfigured it into a round table.

Mrs Weasley drank her tea, hot and sweet, in large thankful gulps. Narcissa Malfoy lifted her cup and took a minuscular sip. Malfoy didn't touch his. He sat at his mother's side with his face turned away and chewed on his lip.

Harry looked at the four of them around the table and realized they were all waiting for him to talk. Harry fixed his eyes on Molly, it seemed easier to speak only to her. He cleared his throat.

"I have something to say that involves everyone in this room, and it's not easy to tell," he begun. Mrs Malfoy quirked an astonished eyebrow. Molly clasped her hand over his for support and nodded at him to carry on.

Harry drew a deep breath. "A while ago, I accidently swallowed a potion, or rather a mix of different potions. Seamus Finnegan made it. I don't really know what it contained, there were a lot of ... erm, lust-potions and such... I belive Madam Pomfrey has the full list. Anyway, I ended up in bed with Malf...Draco."

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who still had his eyes to the side. His face was now a flaming scarlet from his hairline to his neck.

"It turned out I got pregnant." Harry took a too large gulp of his tea to hide his embarrassment and burnt his throat.

Narsissa Malfoy shifted to look at her son. "Draco, is this true?"

"I... I..." Malfoy stuttered and looked a bit like a fish, gasping for air.

With a distinct clinking sound the Headmistress put her teacup down and fixed Harry with her stern eyes. "I thought... that was taken care of," she said and looked puzzled. "Matron and I... we made an appointment for you at St Mungo's."

"Well, I sort of changed my mind." Harry squirmed in his seat and looked into Molly's kind brown eyes. He felt his throat clench and burn. "There's going to be a baby," he croaked.

"Oh, my dear boy," Molly said, and once again Harry found himself almost suffocating in her embrace. The prickling and stabbing behind his eyes became worse. He tried to hold it back, but the sob came anyway and then another one. Molly patted him on the back of his head and rocked him as they sat. "Hush, hush, my sweet," she murmured. "It's going to be all right, it's all going to be all right."

The tears welled up and Harry cried. He allowed himself to let the shame and all his fears take over, as he cried in the arms of the woman who was the only mother he knew.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Malfoy said, his voice was strained and muffled. There was a loud scraping of chairs and a retching sound close to the door.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Harry heard McGonagall through his own uncontrollable sobs and Malfoy's convulsions. "I think they're both in shock. Perhaps it's for the best to take them to the hospital wing overnight."

The crisp sheet felt cool and smooth against the heated skin of his tear-soaked cheek. It eased all the thoughts that were spinning around in his head. Harry closed his eyes and let the muted sound of the four women wash over him.

"They're both completely exhausted by the turmoil of emotions," said a voice that must belong to Madam Pomfrey. "I gave Draco some Dreamless Sleep, but that could harm the foetus, so Harry is on Calming Draught only."

"This must be a very stressing situation for both of them, considering their history. I hope Harry knows what he's doing."

"So, he's keeping the baby after all?" Pomfrey asked. "Well, I thought he might."

"I guess the hormones in Harry are running amok right know," came Molly's voice. "I don't envy him that. I remember how awful it was, all six times." She tittered a little. "Crying and screaming, falling apart over the silliest things."

"I know," sounded the cool melodic drawl of Mrs Malfoy. "I used to drive Lucius mad when I carried Draco." She paused and then added. "I didn't realize they were intimate. I know Draco's been on and on about Harry Potter since the day he began at Hogwarts, and I certainly had my suspicions that there was something more than a childish rivalry, but this surprised me, to be honest."

"I bet it was a surprise for them too, but there's always been strong emotions between these two," Pomfrey said. "We've seen them at each other's throats all the time. Only this term it suddenly stopped. Like a flip of a coin."

"A coin-flip with consequences. They have a lot to figure out now, haven't they?" 

"Well, they're both asleep. They can deal with what's a head of them tomorrow," McGonagall stated, "but for now they need to rest. Can I offer you a nightcap before we call it a day? I certainly know I could use one." The soft voices drifted away out of the door.

Harry let his breath out in one relaxing sigh and allowed the potion to work in his system. Sleep, he only wanted to sleep and not to think for a long time again.

0o0o0o0o

It was still dark when Draco woke. Through the high windows a grey haze was the only thing that indicated that dawn was approaching. He could barely make out the contents of the room or the form of the body in the bed next to him.

"What time is it?" A low voice broke the silence.

"I don't know," Draco answered. He searched under and beside his pillow, but his hand came up empty. "It seems I haven't got my wand. But since it's late December in the north of Scotland, it could be anything from stupid o'clock in the morning to breakfast is about to be served in the Hall."

Potter chuckled sleepily. "I know what you mean. It's bloody dark all day this time of year, isn't it?" He yawned and Draco heard him shuffle around in the sheets for a while. "Mine's not here either. D'you think they were afraid we'd wake up and start duelling or something?"

The thought was probably not that farfetched in McGonagall's mind. Draco closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. This made him uneasy, lying here talking to Potter in the dark. It wasn't normal. "Our wands are probably locked away in the Headmistress's office right now," Draco muttered, mostly to himself.

"Maybe..." Potter seemed to hesitate, but sat up and streched out his hand towards the door. "Accio Hawthorn-wand!" he pronounced high and clear. Draco turned his eyes wide-open at him and stared. Did Potter still have his old wand?

For a long time nothing happened, but then the door to the infirmary flung open and something small and slim whooshed over Draco's head and landed in Potter's outstreched hand.

"You had it here this whole time?" Draco asked astonished.

"Lumos," Potter said, and the tip of the wand ignited with a pale amber light that reflected in his unshielded eyes. He held out the wand towards Draco. "I've been meaning to give it back to you since the start of term, but you're not the easiest person to approach. I also wanted to say, thank you for letting me have it. I know I snatched it from you, but without it we wouldn't be here today. None of us would."

Draco reached out and took the wand. The ebony hilt fit his hand perfectly and the buzz of the magic was familiar and reassuring. He held it up and the warm light of the Lumos  Potter had cast lit up their corner of the ward.

The reality of how things could have ended if Draco had held on to the wands was paralyzing.

Potter lay silent but cleared his throat. "I'm also sorry for a lot of other things," he said and plucked a little at the top of the blanket. "I never meant to hurt you with the Sectumsempra. I didn't know what it would do. I was stupid."

Draco turned his head and looked at him. "I was about to cast an Unforgivable, Potter," he said and snorted a little through his nose.

"I don't think it would have worked," Potter said and shook his head. "You have to mean them, you know, and I don't think you did at the time."

Oh, Draco knew how to make them work, alright. His father had forced him to practice, so there never could be any doubt where his alliances lay, but against Potter, that day...?

"I'm sorry for your nose yesterday." Potter sounded a little defeated.

Draco couldn't help the mirth that erupted in a chuckle at the thought of yesterday's fight. It had been immensely satisfying to let go of all his restrain and feel Potter's lip burst open under his knuckle. He shrugged. "A nose now for the nose I broke in sixth year. I'm not sorry for splitting your lip, though. You deserved it."

"No, I didn't!" Potter raised his voice. "It's not my fault we're in this mess. Seamus can be a real dickhead sometimes." He lowered his voice again. "But I'm not sorry about the baby. I know this isn't what you wanted..."

"You don't know shit about what I want," Draco interrupted, his anger suddenly flaring up.

"Then tell me." Potter set his jaws stubbornly.

"What?" Draco huffed. "Are we supposed to lay here and exchange confidences?"

"Why not? We've exchanged... other things." Potter bit his lip and looked embarrassed.

Draco kept his eyes on the wand in his hand, refusing to meet Potter's gaze. "We did, didn't we?"

"And like it or not, before the end of next term we're going to be parents." Potter fell back into the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Draco could see Potter move his hands and place them on the lower part of his abdomen, which still seemed perfectly flat.

Draco was silent for a while. The truth about what was to come hit him. He too lay down on the pillow again with his wand clutched in his hand. It was all so improbable that he felt as if he was in one of the carts at Gringotts, at crazy speed, totally out of control and with the imminent crash unavoidable.

When the silence had stretched out between them for some time, Draco had to ask the question that kept nagging at the back of his mind. "You honestly want to have a child... with me?"

Potter turned his head and met Draco's eyes. "Could you have killed it? After all the people we know that've died, all the lives that were lost? No, I like to see it as I was handed a gift. It's not how I planned things, but I think it's all going to be all right." He blinked.

Draco swallowed. The grey dawn outside the windows made the rest of the room distinguishable. He put out the Lumos and placed the hawthorn wand under his pillow. He cleared his throat.

"Sometimes I imagine..." Draco started. He felt a heat flush over his face and was grateful for the lack of light. "Sometimes, all I wish for are the simple things in life, a nice couch and a fireplace. Someone to share it with."

Potter was silent for a long time. "I didn't lie, you know," he eventually said. "I do like the way you smell."

Draco's heart almost stopped. Hope, the most dangerous thing of all, tried to press itself up from the abysmal place deep inside, where Draco long ago had placed it.

Potter coughed and continued raspily. "You know, I have a house with a fireplace. Several, actually. It's a big house. My Godfather left it to me, on Grimmauld Place."

Draco ignored the swelling in his throat and asked, "The Black family townhouse?"

"Yes."

Draco remembered visiting old relatives there with his mother. The bleak house with its dark walls had scared him and he recalled being whiny and petualant the whole time, and his mother had been very cross with his bad behaviour.

"Sweet Salazar! That will take some time to get inhabitable."

"I guess." Potter turned and his eyes glistened in the semi-darkness. "That day... when we... You didn't stop me. You didn't hex me or turn me away."

"No, I didn't." Draco held his breath and saw Potter swallow hard.

"You think we could... I mean, could we... maybe...?"

The door to the ward opened and someone turned the harsh light on. It was blinding and Draco screwed his eyes shut and swore.

"Good morning, boys. Time to get up and start a fresh new day, isn't it?"

0o0o0o0o

They all left for Christmas, and in the few days before the end of the term, Harry got no opportunity to speak to Malfoy. He looked for him, but he seemed to have vanished. Either he had left school early or he was hiding in the Slytherin common room.

They sat in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express on their way to spend the holidays at the Burrow, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, and since Molly knew, then probably Mr Weasley knew, and because of that Harry felt it necessary to tell Ginny. She'd soon find out anyway. It wasn't as if he could keep it hidden much longer anyway.

Ginny bore her eyes into Harry and gaped. "You're what? I can't believe it," she gasped. "With Malfoy the git, of all people."

"Harry's always been weird about Malfoy," Ron chipped in and Hermione nodded.

"You've been carrying on with Malfoy behind my back, is that it?" A red flame flared up at the tip of her wand, but to Harry's relief it died out again.

"No, no," he hurried to explain. "It was just this one time, with Seamus's potion."

"Wow, Harry," Ginny said and leaned back against her seat. "This is bizarre in so many ways. I didn't even know you were into blokes."

"Sorry," Harry said.

"He's a bloody Death Eater, for Merlin's sake!" Her brown eyes turned dark.

"Sorry," Harry said again, feeling his throat dry up.

"And you plan to keep this baby?" Her voice had now risen and people passing in the corridor outside stopped and shot curious glances at them through the pane in the door. Harry said nothing but looked at Ron and Hermione for support. They kept their mouths shut and refused to meet his eyes.

Ginny crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You said nothing happened when you took that blasted potion. You lied." Hermione gave a snorting sound and turned to the window.

"We were, technically, still together at the time," Ginny went on.

"I'm sorry." Harry was starting to feel like a broken record.

Ginny glared at him. "So, are you gay?" she asked after a short silence. "Or is it just him you fancy?"

"Sorry?" Was there any other word in his vocabulary?

"Malfoy. Do you like him?"

Harry rubbed his chin. "I think so." His voice sounded small and squeaky.

Ginny looked at Ron and Hermione. "You knew this, didn't you?"

They both shrugged.

"So, what's the plan?"

Harry stared at her and felt totally blank. "Plan?"

"You must have a plan, there's a baby coming." She tightened her arms around her. "Malfoy's from a rich pureblood family, in case you've forgotten. Having a child would mean something to him. It'll be his first-born."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Having a child means something to me too, thankyouverymuch. It's not something that comes un-noticed, you know."

Ginny scowled. "But you don't see, do you? This is the new Malfoy heir. Families like his value blood and genes and all the crap that comes with it. It wasn't just old Voldy who taught those believes, it's century-old Wizarding tradition."

"And your point?" Hermione urged.

"What if Malfoy wants this baby? How do we know he's not planning to take it away from Harry once it's born?"

"You don't trust him very much, do you?"

"Do you? Any of you?" Ginny's voice had become shrill and high pitched. "Have you gone mad, all three of you?" She unfolded her arms and gestured wildly with her hands. "You can't possibly want Harry, who's obviously lost his marbles, to have anything to do with Malfoy? This is the peson who let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, who plotted and tried to kill Dumbledore, who almost killed Ron and Katie. Fred..." She swallowed. "Fred might still be alive if it weren't for him and his kind. Don't you remember what he's like?"

"He's not the same anymore," Harry said. "He's changed. I think he really regrets all he's done." Was he fooling himself when he hoped to make them see what he had glimpsed of this new Malfoy? What if he really was fooling himself?

"So, you want to be with him, is that it? If that is so, why aren't you already?" Ginny's eyes pierced Harry's again.

"'Cause their only way of communicating is through wands and fists and, obviously, dicks," Ron muttered.

Harry glared at him. "Thanks for the support, mate."

Ron rolled his eyes and Ginny huffd a dry laugh. "Yeah, that used to drive me insane too, you know, Harry. Your total inability to say what you actually think or feel. I bet Malfoy's biting his nails bloody right now, wondering what it all means, what you want."

Harry blushed. "You think so?"

"I bet you a hundred galleons he is." Ginny reached out to grab Harry's hands.

She bore her eyes into his for a long time. Then she sighed. "I honestly don't understand this, Harry, I really don't. You're too young. What about your Auror-training? We're about to start our careers when school is finished. You can't do that with a small child. Now that your life is about to begin, now that you're supposed to find out what you want to do, you'll have this baby hindering you from becoming who you are. Is this really what you want? To settle down and play house with Malfoy?"

Harry turned his head and looked out of the window. A deep mist covered the undulating landscape. The greyish-green fields with their wobbly old stone-hedges were all softened by the haze. "My parents weren't much older when they had me. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, it'd turned out all right for them and I think it will for me too. I'll have a family of my own. Merlin help me, but I have to give it a try."

"Can't belive I'm saying this, Harry," Ron said. "I mean, he's still Malfoy, but if that smart-mouthed ferret-y thing is what you want, then go get him."

Harry turned to his friend. "Really? Seriously, you wouldn't mind?" He felt his heart take a giant leap up his throat.

"Nah," Ron shrugged. "I can't see the appeal, but I'm not the one marrying him."

"Oh, Ronnikins," Ginny laughed and made a disgusted face. "You're such a sap, always trusting in the happily ever after."

"I think it's sweet." Hermione smiled and patted Ron on the arm.

"Even with Malfoy?" Harry couldn't believe his ears.

"He's the other father of Harry's baby," Ron stated and looked at all of them before his blue eyes met Harry's. "And I know you, Harry. That means something to you." He leaned over and put both his hands on Harry's knees. "You have to bloody talk to him, mate. Find out what he thinks, what he wants, instead of making all these crappy assumptions," he said resolutely. "For what it's worth, Harry, we all think you deserve some happiness."

0o0o0o0o

At the Burrow everything had been covered in a thin layer of frost, that made every dry leave, every straw of grass sparkle, crisp and delicate. It created an atmosphere of calm, like all nature was holding its breath. Here in London it rained.

Harry sat in the bay-window of the dark parlour on the first floor, watching the Muggles hurrying along under umbrellas on the wet pavements and regretted his decition to leave. He almost regretted sending the owl.

When he left the Burrow yesterday, Ron had forced Pigwidgeon into his hands and muttered something about Harry might want to contact someone. He had wiggled his eyebrows in the most exaggerated way, so Harry just shoved the little bird into his coat-pocked and rolled his eyes at his friend, before he Apparated home.

Home, as it was, cold and dark, with all the suffocating memories of Sirius. He had sent a note, asking Malfoy over to... see him, to talk. Harry wasn't at all sure what he wanted to say.

There was a knock on the door.

Harry ran downstairs, past the empty space where there used to be a wall with a vicious portrait. With joint wands, Butterbeers and a lot of laughs, Harry, Ron and Ginny had torn the wall down with a loud Bombarda Maxima last summer, vanished the awful Elf-heads and finally set Mrs. Black on fire with a carefully cast Incendio. Hermione had watched them with a disapproving frown, but Harry had seen the twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Now the landing opened up into a more modern style, but there were still bits of debris laying around.

Harry opened the door.

"What makes you think I'm the one to contact about your broken Floo?" Draco Malfoy drawled and narrowed his eyes, his pointy chin jutted out stubbornly. "Just because I mended that blasted cabinet, doesn't make me an expert on Magical Transportation."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Malfoy held out a scunched-up scroll and read aloud. "'Would you like to come over there's something wrong with my fireplace. Apparate to Grimmauld Place 12. Harry When I managed to decipher the scrawl, that's what you wrote."

Harry pushed his hands through his hair and tugged at it. "No, no, that's not what I meant. There is something wrong with my fireplace, though. That's why I asked you not to use the Floo." He paused and felt anxious and awkward. He knew he must look like a bufoon and tried to flatten his hair down again. "Would you like to come in?"

Malfoy took a few steps inside and his gaze wandered over the dark mouldy wallpaper, the serpent-shaped sconces and the high ceiling. "Black-house," he uttered, almost dreamily under his breath, "haven't been here for some time."

"I'll make some tea," Harry said and hurried downstairs to the kitchen. It too was dark and with no fire in the hearth Harry heated two cups of water with his wand and placed them on the table together with a plate of Molly's gingersnaps.

"So, what's wrong with your fireplace?" Malfoy had followed Harry down and stood leaning against the doorpost, all long legs and elegant robes.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Can't get a fire starting in any of them, it seems." He held up two teabags. "Indian or Chinese?"

Malfoy scrunched up his nose as if disgusted by the thought. "What about the house-elves?"

"I'm perfectly capable of making tea on my own," Harry snapped. This wasn't going to be easy.

Malfoy pulled out a chair and sat down with a sigh. "The tea's fine. I'll have the Earl Grey, thank you. I meant the hearths. There must be house-elves in this kind of house?"

"Only one, Kreacher," Harry said a little taken aback. "But he's at Hogwarts now. He doesn't like me very much." He poured a large amount of milk in his cup. "I guess you can say he's retired."

"But that's it then," Malfoy said, and to Harry's surprise he dunked a biscuit in his tea and hastily put it in his mouth before it fell to pieces. "That's why you can't light the fires. The house and the elves are connected. That's why this place feels so... empty and desolate. Magical houses needs the elves to function and vice versa."

Harry knew the house had felt dark and desolate even with Kreacher living in it, but he decided not to go with that. "I thought you just said you were no expert on Magical transportations," he said instead, in an attempt to joke."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows this. All magical houses has elves."

"Not all of them. The Burrow, the Weasley's home, haven't."

"Or some other permanent magical creature," Malfoy lectured.

Harry thought. "There's this ghoul in the attic..."

"See," Malfoy pointed at him with another gingersnap. "I'm right. Now call your elf and fix the fires. It's freezing in here."

Harry took a gulp of his now cold tea. It really wasn't the same with magically heated water. "You mean, to call him, from Scotland, just like that?"

"Obviously." Malfoy rolled his eyes again but hid a smile behind the rim of his cup. "I'll bet he'll be pleasantly surprised."

Harry gave him a sceptical look but put his cup down and folded his hands in his lap. He didn't like the idea of having the grumpy old elf in the house again, but if Malfoy knew anything, it was probably about house-elves. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled, "Kreacher!"

A crack and the ugliest living thing Harry knew stood in the kitchen. "Master called for Kracher," he said and preformed a low ingratiating bow. He still had the fake gold locket around his neck and it dangled in front of him as he bent. Then his head flew up, and with wide astonished eyes, he croaked, "Master!"

"Yes, Kreacher?" Harry asked and exchanged a brief look with Malfoy.

"Oh, Master!" Kreacher clapped his knobbly hands together in delight and his face contorted into what Harry was afraid was an attempt to smile. "Such wonderful news. What a treat, what a treat!" he exclaimed and begun bouncing up and down.

Kreacher turned to Malfoy, who had covered the lower part of his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking of repressed laughter. "Young Master Malfoy, such an honour," the elf said. "May I say, how generous and thoughtful of you, son of Narcissa, to help restore the bloodline of the Noble House of Black. To make sure there is an heir to carry the magical blood of the Black family. This is most pleasant, most pleasant indeed. Thank you, sir, thank you." He bowed so low this time his snout-like nose grazed the floor.

Harry sat puzzled. "He knows about the baby?"

Malfoy removed his hands from his grinning mouth. "I told you. The elves and the house are connected by magic. Of course, he knows there's a baby of the old bloodline. Although it's mixed with the Malfoys and the Potters."

"And Muggle," Harry added darkly.

"Yes," Malfoy said, and all the joy was gone from his face. "It's time families like mine start marrying out of the Sacred twenty-eight. We're a vicious inbred defected lot, all of us."

There was a long silence.

"Is there anything Kreacher can do for Master and young Master Malfoy, sir?" the elf asked eagerly, still at Harry's elbow.

Harry turned and regarded the beaming wrinkled old face. "There seems to be a problem with the fireplaces," Harry said. "Can you, please, light a fire in every room, so we can chase the damp out of the walls and get some warmth?"

"Certainly, Master. Very good, sir," Kreacher said and with the speed of an elf half his age, he jumped over to the gigantic stove at the far end of the kitchen and lit a roaring fire with a flick of his hand before he, with a crack, disappeared upstairs.

Malfoy's eyes pierced steely grey into Harry's and the silence became long and palpable.

"So," Malfoy said.

"So?" echoed Harry.

"You clearly didn't summon me here because of your broken Floo-system?"

"No," Harry answered.

"So?" Malfoy cocked his head to the side.

Harry shifted in his seat, fidgeted a little with his teacup and felt the urge to move, run, scream or somethimg. He got to his feet. "Do you want a tour around the house? I can show you where I plan to have the nursery."

"All right." Malfoy stood. "But in this kind of house there probably already is a nursery at the top floor where the Black children used to stay." 

Harry put his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, I know, but it's too far from where I sleep." He began to walk upstairs.

"Naturally," Malfoy scoffed and followed. "Pureblood children are brought up by house-elves as far away from their parents as possible, until they come of an age where they've learned how to behave with decorum."

Harry turned and gave him a curious look. "Is that how you grew up? I thought you were close to your parents?"

"I was very close to my parents. My mother used to come up and kiss me good night every evening, and we spent hours together in the park, walking and playing. And I was allowed to sit in my father's study while he worked if I didn't fuss, and sometimes he'd put down his quill and read me a story." He stopped at the landing with the missing wall. "What happened here? Been having trolls as renovaters?"

"Something like that," Harry deadpanned and kept walking.

Malfoy peeped into the parlour. "It's much nicer than I remembered," he said. "Lighter, somehow."

Harry shot a glance inside. Now that the room was lit up by the fire and the candles it gave a totally different impression than it had a while ago. The old furniture seemed to have shaken off their heavy layer of dust and stood a little taller. Even the dark tapestry on the far-off wall glimmered with golden threads and shiny silk.

They continued up another floor. Here was the room Harry had chosen for his own bedroom, the only one with new paint, and the connecting bathroom was also finished with new tiles.

Harry opened a door. "This is where I plan will be the baby's room." It was bigger than the one he'd chosen for himself, but he liked to sleep where he once had stayed with Ron when the house was Headquarter for the Order.

Malfoy took a step inside and wrinkled his nose. "There's a kind of stable-smell in here. How's that?"

Harry laughed. "A fugitive Hippogriff used to live here, a good friend of my Godfather's."

Malfoy gave him a sceptical look, but Harry shrugged  and looked around the room. "Don't worry. It'll be gone when I'm finished in here. Some wallpaper, new furniture and a little wand-work will do the trick."

Malfoy pressed passed him with a huff and flung open the door on the other side of the corridor. "And this is your bedroom?"

Harry hadn't planned on taking Malfoy directly up to his bedroom, but here they were. He took an embarrassed glance over Malfoy's shoulder, but the bed was made and the pile of dirty underwear Harry knew he'd left on the floor was miraculously gone. The room was seductively lit, warm and... inviting.

Malfoy walked inside. "Well, here we are then," he said, putting words to Harry's thoughts.

Harry's mouth went completely dry and he rubbed the back of his neck. He felt sheepish and awkward and hot all over.

Malfoy started to open the fastening hooks on his robe, tossed it off in one elegant shrug and put it on the upholstered chair next to a set of drawers. Undernearth he wore a plain white button-down shirt and black Muggle jeans. Malfoy removed his boots and lay down on the bed and turned to Harry. "Are you just going to stand there, Potter?" He patted the spot on the bed next to him.

Harry toed off his trainers and sat on the side of the bed. "I thought we should talk," he mumbled. "Ron says we're unable to communicate except with wands, fists and... erm... cocks." The blush washed over Harry's face and burned his ears.

Malfoy tilted his head and his gaze pierced Harry. "Yeah," he said dawdlingly, "but we do that pretty well, I believe." He leaned closer to Harry. "The duels we've had, rather spectacular, don't you think? And the bare-knuckle fights were quite satisfactory too."

He placed a hand on Harry's chest. "Remember our Quidditch-matches, up on our brooms," he licked his lips. "It was always only about the two of us, wasn't it? The one I tried to beat; it was always you."

"What about... cocks?" Harry's hand was shaking but he moved it anyway and put it ever so lightly over Malfoy's crotch. He could feel Malfoy swell under the fabric and push against him.

"I'd say they're responding very well." Malfoy's head fell back and he closed his eyes. The top buttons of his shirt were open and revealed the long slender column of his throat and the smooth pale skin at the dip of his collarbone. His eyelashes fluttered on his cheekbones as his lips parted and he exhaled a deep ragged breath.

"God, you're beautiful!" Harry heard his voice sound raw and low-pitched. Malfoy opened his eyes wide and after a second's breath Harry had pressed his lips against his.

0o0o0o0o

Draco had never been any good at deception. His father used to exel in how to never reveal his true feelings, and had worked hard at instructing Draco to never show anything but superiority and confidance, the traits of a true Malfoy. In the past, before everything went to shit, Draco had tried, even when he felt insecure and out of his league.

This evening he had, because of his nervousness, resumed to these old teachings. He had swaggered into Potter's home, fully aware of how he was supposed to act. He'd even flirted, confidently knowing where this could lead, but Potter's kiss rendered him completely off guard.

Potter's lips were soft and searching, they nipped and nibbled, tentatively asking for something. Nothing like the hard frantic kisses they'd shared that time in Draco's bed, not so long ago and yet in another lifetime. Something warm erupted inside of him and Draco heard a needy whine slip out of his throat.

Potter pulled back and his impossibly green eyes met Draco's. He huffed a short laugh. "Wanted to say something?"

Draco held up his hand and pressed his thumb to that plump lower lip of Potter's mouth. It seemed like all acting was impossible from now on. "Why did you ask me here?"

"Believe it or not, but I thought I'd like to get to know you a little better. And not only because of the baby."

The baby.

Draco couldn't even fathom what it would mean. He looked down at Potter's abdomen. He had a knitted old jumper on and it strained a little over his body. There was a slight swell there at the middle, the small beginning of a belly.

Draco looked at it and then met Potter's gaze. "I can't believe this is for real," he said. "None of it."

"Yeah?" Potter laughed a little breathless, but added more seriously, "It is, if you want it."

Draco reached out and started to pull at the hem of the garment. He needed to see, with his own eyes, without any layers of clothes in between. Potter picked up at what he wanted and yanked the jumper over his head and threw it on the floor. Then with some hesitation he zipped down his jeans and opened the flaps.

Draco looked at Potter's body. This was nothing like the soft bulge over Gregory Goyle's waistband. Potter's belly was small but taught and protruded firmly from his skinny frame. He really ought to eat more, Draco could see the outline of his ribcage.

Potter lifted his arms and with slightly shaking hands he started unbuttoning Draco's shirt.

Draco swallowed hard. He was very conscious about his body, not that it was anything wrong with it, it was just that...

"Oh," Potter said as he opened the shirt. His hands shook harder, but he let his fingers follow the welted lines that criss-crossed Draco's torso. "I didn't know it left such scars," he said. "Snape said it would heal..."

"They're healed," Draco stated. "They're not just very pretty."

Potter withdrew his hands and crossed his arms painfully tight over his chest, his hands fisted in his armpits. Potter had scars too, but Draco doubted they related to shame in the way his did. On Potter's pectoral, a little to the right over his left nipple, was an oval-shaped reddish mark where no dark chest-hairs grew, and there was, of course, the famous one on his forehead.

"The things we've done to each other," Potter said. He looked so sad, so vulnerable, so young. Draco took a deep breath and removed his shirt altogether.

He never showed his left arm, not if he could help it. He always wore long sleeves, always got up early in the dorm, to shower and change when he knew he'd be alone. He'd almost forgotten how ugly it was, how black and blotchy it stood out against his pale skain. It didn't hurt anymore, none of his scars did, but they would always be there, a constant reminder of his stupidity.

Potter inhaled sharply at the sight of it. "Can we ever get through our past, d'you think?" he asked incredibly low, almost in a whisper.

Draco had to be honest; he shook his head. "How can we? How could anyone.. how could you ever forgive me for what I've done?" There was a big lump in his throat now and he had to struggle to swallow.

"Draco," Potter put his hand on Draco's arm. "I think I already have."

It sounded honest and Draco wanted it to be true. He wanted the possibility of forgiveness, that all the things he'd done really was in the past, that he could move on to be the person he wanted to be, a wizard of his own integrity, a man of his own choices. He made a weak sound, part laugh, part sob. "Do you really mean that?"

Potter nodded. He slung his arm around Draco's neck and pulled him closer. Their breaths mingled and the frame of Potter's glasses felt sharp against his cheek, but Draco didn't care. He wanted it to hurt, to feel real. He pressed even closer and covered Potter's mouth with his own, pushed his tongue inside, ran it over Potter's teeth, explored every inch of that smooth cavity.

Potter moaned and sort of melted on top of him, the length of his body over his, their naked torsos against each other. Everything inside Draco screamed YES, YES, YES!

This was it. He was doomed for all eternity, forever damaged. He would never be able to feel anything for any other man than this boy in his arms. He already knew that, had so for a long time, but now he felt it in every fibre of his body, every nerve-ending on his skin, in his blood, with his magic thrumming and his prick stirring painfully in his pants.

And Potter gave as good as he got. He withdrew a second from Draco's fierce kisses and ripped the glasses from his face and threw them aside, before he dove right back again, kissing and biting Draco's lips, starting over the battle of their tongues. His hot hands roamed the sides of Draco's body, pinching and caressing on their way down. At the top of Draco's trousers, he slipped a finger inside and followed the waistband to the front, but there he lost his patience.

He stopped the kissing again and for a moment Draco met his eyes, dark of lust with only a tiny ring of green around the pupils. Potter moved his hand over the remaining clothes and mumbled the incantation, "Evanesco."

Draco gasped at the sensation as the wandless spell washed over him. They were now completely naked, and Potter's erection pressed into the upper part of Draco's thigh. He swallowed, and in a try to appear to have at least a small part of control left over the situation, he muttered, "You're such a show-off, Potter."

Potter grinned, but the truth was that this was the hottest thing Draco had ever experienced. He devoured Potter's tongue again and felt it resume its examination of Draco's tonsils at the back of the throat. This gave Draco an idea, and he pushed and flipped Potter onto his back on the bed, meandered southwards on the outstretched body with his mouth.

Potter made the headiest noices as Draco reached the nest of dark curl that surrounded Potter's cock. Draco buried his nose in them and inhaled, and let his gaze wander up at Potter's face. Potter was biting his lip and holding his breath. Draco opened his mouth and gave the side of the throbbing cock an experimental lick.

It wasn't his first blowjob, but he'd only been on the receiving end before. This was also one of the reasons he washed alone these days; the communal shower-stalls reminded him too much of his former self. Some of the younger boys had obliged eagerly, others...

Draco heard Potter whimper and gave another long lick, and this time he let his tongue swivel around the foreskin and the leaking slit at the top. The sensation of the smooth glans on his receptive tastebuds made him dizzy with desire. It tasted salty and a little bit bitter, but was in no way unpleasant. Potter let out one long ragged exhale and his head fell back on the pillow. He moaned, but lifted his head again and locked eyes with Draco. "Merlin's beard, Draco," he panted and then Draco took him all the way into his mouth.

His cock was long and immediately slammed into the back of Draco's throat and made him gag, but Draco forced himself to stay calm and not retch, and soon enough he found a pace at how to bob his head up and down Potter's shaft, hollow his cheeks on his way up and breathe through his nose.

The sounds Potter made. He had his fingers tangled in Draco's hair, pulling at the roots in waves, clutching and un-clutching. Then his breath hitched and he pushed Draco's head away. "Stop!" he yelled. "Stop, Draco, I'm gonna come."

"I thought that was the general idea." Draco just had to add the smirk in his tone. Potter was far too delicious for his own good.

"I want to come with you inside me," Potter panted. "Like last time."

Draco stilled. He had not anticipated this. He felt his blood pumping violently in his chest. "Are you sure?" he had to ask. When Potter came to him that time, he'd been all loose and wet, more than ready for Draco to plough into. Draco had thought he'd prepared himself, but now he knew it must have been the potion. "I thought last time was a mistake, a joke. That the potion accident..."

"I've been thinking about it ever since," Potter said breathlessly, "and I want it. I want you." He fumbled around a little at his bedside table and handed Draco a book. "Ginny got me this for Christmas. She's a menace. It's a spell-book for same-sex couples and there are preparation spells and... lubrication spells." He smiled goofily. "I seem to have lost my glasses, so you have to cast them. I've marked the page."

Draco studied him. "You're suddenly alright with my wand at your bits?" Memories of how humiliated he'd felt washed over him like a bucket of cold water.

"I'm so sorry for that," Potter said and took Draco's hand, and his fingers laced with Draco's. "I was confused and embarrassed, and I'm really sorry for ending it that way. It was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to me, and I didn't know what to do, what to say." He grinned. "Having the most earth-shattering orgasm in your life with your old enemy can do that to a fellow."

Draco huffed, his cheeks burned a little. "You're such a moron, Potter. Give me that blasted book." He held out his hand and waited, but Potter hid the book behind his back.

"Only if you call me by my name. No more of this Potter-Malfoy nonsense."

Draco straightened up. "Why not?" he asked with his haughtiest tone. "It's the adequate way of adressing one another."

Potter shook his head. "Not if we're doing this, not if we're... lovers. Besides, you've called me Harry before."

"I have not!" Draco blushed liked crazy now.

"Yeah, you moaned 'Harry, oh Harry' when balls-deep inside me," Potter laughed and wrestled him, then switched them around and Draco found himself on his back with Potter on top.

"Never," Draco yelped. "That's the most preposterous thing I've ever heard." He'd deny it to the day he'd die if necessary. Potter's hot hand moved over Draco's belly and wrapped itself around Draco's cock. The treacherous thing leaped in delight and leaked a pearl of pre-come.

Potter lowered his head and his atrocious hair tickled Draco in the face. "Do the bloody spells, Draco. That book was highly informative, and I reckon I'm in a good position here on top of you. You're gorgeous like this and I'd like to see if I can make you fall apart."

0o0o0o0o

After their return from the Christmas break things started to change. Neville thought it was weird, not in a bad way, but still.

It all begun with Harry and Malfoy. They came back to school, and to everyone's astonishment they started to have their meals together; lunch at the Slytherin table, dinner at Gryffindor. Sometimes they sat together in classes too, like they had some secret pact of becomming friends after that disastrous Yule-party in the Slytherin common room. They must've gotten a stern reprimand from the Headmistress when they were taken to her office, kicking and bleeding, but surprisingly no detention for either of them. That McGonagall had a soft spot for Harry was understandable, but Malfoy? He was the one who started the fight, after all. It was weird.

Then Gregory Goyle came back. He was released from Azkaban half the size he used to be, and with a deflated look about him. Before the war, Neville could never have imagined a time when somebody like Goyle were reluctant to look someone like himself in the eyes, but this was the new reality.

Goyle appeared to be Spello-taped at Malfoy's side, out of fear or insecurity Neville didn't know, but where Harry and Malfoy were sitting, Goyle was there too. This seemed to spur other Slytherins to join them at the Gryffindor table; Zabini, Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson.

Others followed. Luna came over with Zabini's girlfriend Brocklehurst from Ravenclaw, and that seemed to be the point where all students, not only the senior years, swapped tables and sat with whomever they chose at the time. Neville could see on McGonagall's face that she didn't really approve, but if anything were inter-House unity, this was.

So, here they were, crammed up in the comfortable old sitting area by the fire in the common room, watching a game of chess that never seemed to end. Earlier at dinner, Ron had asked Zabini if he cared for a round later, and Malfoy had smirked and muttered under his breath, "Afraid of some real competition, Weasley? So keen on winning all the time you only play the safe ones?"

This had caused a rather heated argument but ended with them all here in Gryffindor tower, watching the two well-matched players, both determined to crush one another. They had moved the small table with the chessboard right in front of the fireplace so the others could follow the game while they read or studied.

Ron chewed on his fingernails and Malfoy had a sheen of sweat on his brow and his blond fringe got stuck on it as he sat bent over the board. His queen was furious with him and shouted contradictive directions, but he ignored her.

Pansy sat on the floor beside Malfoy's chair with her legs crossed, idly flipping the pages of a copy of Witch-Weekly. Neville couldn't take his eyes from her.

Sha had the prettiest ears. They were pink and small and shaped like a delicate shell. A black and silver earring dangled from the lobe. She pushed her shoulder-length dark hair behind it with her hand and wrinkled her small, upturned nose. The imperfection of her nose, in all her otherwise perfect appearance made Neville love her even more.

She was, in no way perfect, Neville knew that of course. She had been mean and haughty as a young girl, and during the year when the Carrows controlled Hogwarts she had done nothing to protest against the injustices. She had kept a low profile, but Neville knew she'd been scared, scared out of her wits, scared enough to try to end it all by pointing out Harry that day of the final battle. Neville'd heard later from Harry, that she had come up to him after it all was over and, in tears, had begged Harry to forgive her for what she'd done.

She must have felt Neville's eyes on her, for she lifted her head and winked, and he felt his face heat up and turned away at once.

Harry was sitting at his side on the sofa. He had his Potions textbook in front of him, but he didn't seem to study anymore. He wasn't watching the chess-players either. Harry had placed both his hands on his belly and had a rather awestruck look on his face. "Hermione," he said slowly, "I felt something move."

Malfoy dropped the knight he was currently moving and turned to stare at Harry. Hermione, who sat at the nearby desk, studying Ancient Runes together with Mandy, put her quill down with shaking hands. "The baby?" she asked, her voice quivering.

Harry turned to Malfoy. "Draco, the baby moved."

Hermione made a stifled sound and clutched her hand over her mouth. Malfoy sprang up and stood like stunned at Harry's feet before he dropped to his knees.

"What baby?" Pansy's question rang shrill and sharp in the quiet room. She got up and wrapped her arms around her slender body. "Potter, what baby?" There was a hint of hysteria in her voice.

Malfoy put his hands over Harry's, over Harry's lower abdomen, where there really was, Neville could see that now, a small belly. He saw Malfoy's eyes fill with tears, and they shone as he smiled widely up at Harry. He had rather nice eyes, Neville realized, when he wasn't scowling.

"Will anyone here care to explain what's going on?" Pansy's voice had now pitched to a hysterical squeal as she stared at the two boys. She looked so lost and bewildered that Neville didn't think. He rose and swept her into a hug and she thankfully let him.

Her hair was silky against his cheek and she smelled faintly of violets. A gush of warmth welled up inside him at the incredible sensation of her body against his. He could hardly breathe. She turned in his arms but stayed closed and pressed her back against his chest. Neville secured his arms around her waist and forced his attention back to the astonishing events in the room.

"Potter's havin' a baby?" Goyle mumbled from the depths of the soft chair he was sprawled in. "That's nice, in' nit?"

Malfoy stood and faced his friends. "I've been meaning to tell you," he began and glanced back at Harry, who nodded in support. "Harry's pregnant. The baby's due in June, about the same time we're about to take our exams." He laughed nervously and clutched Harry's hand even harder. "And I love him."

At this Harry's face turned blood-red. "Blimey, Draco, you could warn a bloke," he croaked and came to his feet too.

They stood face to face, Harry and Malfoy, just like they had seen them through the years, in fights and duels, but now Harry slung his arms around Malfoy's neck and grinned like a fool. "I love you too, you wanker," he said and kissed him.

"Well, congratulations," Mandy Brocklehurst cheered and some of the others chimed in, but Neville could feel how the girl in his arms started to shake, and she gasped for air as if she were about to cry.

Neville understood. She was in love with Malfoy and this must be a terrible blow to her, to find out like this, in front of all these people. He had to protect her from their curious eyes, take her somewhere safe where she could fall apart without a bunch of gloating bystanders. He had to act now.

With a strange he didn't know he possessed, he hoisted her up in his arms and carried her away, out through the portrait-hole, down the stairs. On the landing below he carried her through a thankfully empty corridor and into a deserted storage room, where he put her down.

"Here," he said and stroke his fingers over her wet face. "You're safe to cry here. I won't tell." He tried to express himself so she'd understand that he knew how she felt. "I guess it must've come as a shock to you, him liking blokes."

"What?" she laughed, and her tearstained eyes twinkled.

"Malfoy," he said, then clarified, "Draco. I know you two used to date. You still love him, don't you?"

"Of course, I love him. He's the best friend I have." She straightened up and tilted her head back a little so she could meet his eyes. "If you think, Neville Longbottom, that it was news to me that Draco's arse over tits for Harry Potter, then think again. It's been the worst kept secret in Slytherin since fourth year. I'm so happy for him I think I burst."

"Oh." He'd made a fool out of himself again. Why did he have to be this clumsy blabbering idiot? She would laugh at him and they all would mock him for this until the end of term, he knew it.

"That there was to be a baby, on the other hand..." She shook her head with a dazed look on her face. "Did you know?"

"No," he said and tried to maintain some sort of dignity in his voice. "But I knew it was something fishy about that potion Seamus made Harry drink. Remember? It all fits."

Pansy nodded. "I need to think this through," she said slowly and glanced out of the window. "If I hurry, I can still catch the last of the sun at my special place..." She paused and looked at him. "Would you like to come with me? You know the place."

"Me?" He felt all air leave his lungs.

"Who else?" There was laughter in her voice, but her eyes were serious. "Who else but you, Longbottom, would turn out to be my knight in shiny armours? That was one hell of an abduction just now. A girl isn't often swept off her feet like that, you know." She came closer and her eyes roamed his face. "Fuck, you're even pureblood. Mother will pee in her pants of delight."

He dared not believe what he thought she was saying. "Pansy," he croaked.

"Yes, Neville," she said and heaved herself up on her toes and kissed him.

0o0o0o0o

The girls planned some sort of Easter vaccation for them, with Portkeys and everything. The budding friendship between Ginny and Pansy Parkinson had turned out to be a rather scary combination, and all kinds of wild ideas were hurtling over the desk. Harry thought he just heard skiing in Austria contra island-hopping on brooms in the Aegean Sea. "Why can't we just kip at Harry's and visit the local pubs?" Ron asked.

Greg grunted his support in this, but they were booed at as being boring and predictable.

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione said, and Harry knew she would make them choose something sensible in the end, something Harry too could participate in. They knew he couldn't ski and the last time he'd tried flying was two months ago and then he nearly fell off because his balance was all wrong, and his belly had grown since then. A lot.

It was strange to see that they had become a group of friends.

Some were couples, like Ron and Hermione, Ginny and Dean, Blaise and Mandy, and Neville and Pansy. Him and Draco. Then there was Seamus, the only single Gryffindor left among them, the other Slytherins, Millie and Greg, and of course, Luna.

They were in the Slytherin common room this time and music poured out of Millie's radio, that was placed on a shelf in the bookcase nearby. The Lee Jordan show was on the WWN and he played something of the Muggle band Oasis, which Harry found he rather liked, and he hummed along to the tune. He wasn't very musical, but his singing appeared to calm the baby, even if it was a bit off key, and this baby needed all the calming Harry could muster.

"We have no Hufflepuffs," he uttered suddenly.

Draco lowered the book he was reading and looked at Harry with raised eyebrows. "What are you on about?"

Harry shifted a little to face Draco. He lay on the sofa with his head in his boyfriend's lap, and on his back seemed to be the most comfortable position for his aching spine. "Among our close friends, there's no Hufflepuffs."

"And...?" A small smile played at the corner of Draco's lips.

Harry searched for words. They were a good group; it wasn't like there was something missing. "Why aren't we friends with anyone from Hufflepuff?"

"You want us to befriend someone, only so we can say that we're friends with people from all Houses?" The drawl in Draco's voice hadn't changed, and Harry marvelled over the fact that he found it such a turn on.

"No, of course not. I just thought it odd, that's all." Harry resumed the appeasing strokes of his belly, where his boy, their little baby-boy, was again playing Quidditch with Harry's bladder. The little bugger would be grounded for life for the way he was treating Harry's intestines.

"You're too fixated on Hogwarts-houses, Harry," Draco huffed. "The real world doesn't work that way." Their eyes met and they both burst out laughing. Harry threw a quick glance over at Hermione, who was the origin of this often-recited tirade, but it seemed she hadn't over-heard. She was happily engulfed in the debate on where they would be spending their last school-break. Her beaming face gave Harry a warm fuzzy feeling. He really loved them all.

They had all been so supporting and understanding, even the Slytherins. Pansy had hugged him until it almost hurt and had said, "If you don't make me Godmother of the little brat, I'll hex your balls off, Harry Potter. I want to spoil this baby rotten."

Blaise had clapped Harry on the back and muttered something like, "Hope you know what you're doing, mate. He's awful high maintenance, that one," and winked at Draco.

But Harry felt happy, happier than he could ever imagine he'd be. He wrapped his fingers around Draco's neck and pulled him down for a kiss. It was meant to be a soft affectionate one, but like so many times before, it became heated almost instantaneous.

They were interrupted by Seamus. "Hey, cut it out," he chuckled. "There're unborn children present in this room."

Draco snorted. "Then you'd be appalled to know what this baby's been witness to."

Harry blushed and laughed.

Seamus winced and croutched down at the side of the sofa. "You were at the Healer's yesterday," he said. "I heard it's going to be a boy. S' that right?"

Harry nodded. "We decided to find out after all. It's a boy." He smiled up at Draco and felt Draco's fingers reach after his hand on top of Harry's huge belly.

"So," Seamus went on. He smiled his trade-mark loopsided grin and his eyes glinted of mischief. "Will you name him after me, then? Since I'm the one who helped create him, an' all."

Rage flared and Harry sat up promptly. "We most certainly will not," he shouted. The nerve of that troublemaker!

"Yeah, piss off, Finnegan," Draco snarled crudely.

"Alright, alright," Seamus laughed. He rose and backed away with his hands up in defeat. "It was only a bit of a joke."

The end.