Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Early October, 1996. Midday.

Neville was growing plants in their dorm room for a project with Professor Sprout, and so told the other boys not to open the windows. The plants took up all the surface space around both windows, so the boys couldn't reach over the giant leaves anyway, but also (strangely) the wooden seal looked...fused. They wouldn’t have had a chance opening it, as it turned out. This project was the most important thing to Neville since getting back to school for their Sixth Year, so when Neville got sick – and since Harry was one of the very few who came in to visit him – he was the one Neville asked to water them. Harry basically didn't have a choice; either he watered them or Neville killed him.

They had been back at Hogwarts for just over a month, and the plants had grown quite big in that time. As Harry poured the purified and then sugared water into the pots, he toyed with the funny colored leaves, liking how their furry texture felt. They gave off a radiant scent that he greatly liked, especially when he smelled them up close. He couldn't quite describe the scent, but it made him drowsy and all float-like. And when he closed his eyes and just stood there looking at the leaves, a feeling stirred in his body and his pulse raced. He didn't know how long he was standing there in that wonderful trance, but it was interrupted when Ron came into the room. Harry tried to stay where he was – which was miles away – but Ron became worried.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Ron asked coming up around him. Harry turned to him just then, and without the ability or the desire to fight his feelings at all, Harry reached out and gripped both sides of Ron’s face and pulled him in for a heavy kiss on the lips.

Ron froze.

Then he pushed Harry away and sent him tumbling to the floor. Harry wasn't fazed. He got instantly to his feet and threw his body into Ron and they both went falling against Neville's curtains. Harry tried to hold Ron still so he could get another kiss, but Ron was shouting and fighting him off, trying to use his body and strength against Harry, but they were so tangled up in the curtains that eventually Ron couldn't move at all. Harry put all his weight on Ron's stomach and was holding his wrists so firmly that he got his mouth back onto Ron's. Harry rasp with pure bliss, and Ron turned weak with thrall.

There were footsteps outside and the door swung open, letting in Seamus and Dean.

"What's going on in here?" Dean said and then his mouth dropped when he saw Ron and Harry.

"He's eating him!" Hollered Seamus and ran forward, wrapping his arms around Harry's stomach and pulling him off.

The instant Ron was up he pulled back his arm, giving Harry an almighty hit right in the middle of his face. Harry shouted and boggled with the pain that now laced his whole face.

Shocked and completely confused, Seamus dropped Harry on the floor. Blood poured out of Harry's nose.

"What just happened?" Asked Seamus angrily, standing between Harry and Ron. Ron, who was bright red and shaking all over.

"He was kissing me!" Ron accused, finger pointed murderously at the prone culprit.

"He was kissing you?" Seamus blurted and was suddenly wide eyed. A second later he let out a huff. Then a laugh. "Harry was kissing him! I told you it would happen!"

"Shut up!" Ron, angrily, wiping his mouth and trying to get the taste of Harry out of his mouth. Seamus and Dean continued laughing, but their humor turned to fright again when Harry started convulsing on the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Hold him!" Dean hollered and grabbed both his shoulders, pinning him to the floor. Seamus jumped on his chest and put a hand under his head to stop him from cracking his skull, and Ron pounced on his kicking legs. They all yelled for help and people came running.

Not long later, an interweave of disgruntled folk found themselves in the hospital ward, overseeing Harry who was added to the bed across from Neville. After Madam Pomfrey concluded that he was healthy enough, could wake at any moment, and please wait there while she runs to do some tests in the back room, Ron reluctantly recounted the story to Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape – who was in the area and was asked to stay – and Dean and Seamus who were still there as witnesses. Neville was sitting up on his bed looking on and listening, cup of hot tea cradled in both hands.

"Don't know why he did it," Ron said in the end, still blushing furiously and wiping at his mouth. "I'm not any pouf, and neither is Harry!"

"I'd beg to differ," chuckled Seamus. Dean hid his smile with a well-placed nose scratch.

"Shut up! Harry dated Cho last year, remember? And we talk about girls all the time!"

"That's enough, boys! We're just going to have to wait for Harry to wake up and tell his side of the story," said Professor McGonagall.

"This must be some mental thing with his scar," concluded Ron adamantly. "Anything else...rags! Bosh!"

"I bet you Harry is a fairy," Seamus whispered loudly to Dean.

"He doesn’t actually talk about girls, does he. He is always looking at Ron, though."

"And he pulled him out of the lake during the Tournament."

"Shut up! You’re the ones who are gay!" Ron was brimming with hot air.

“No we’re not! You shut up!” Seamus was shooting blanks.

"All of you shut up!" Professor McGonagall demanded. "Mr. Weasley, it is perfectly fine if your friend is gay; there is nothing wrong with that. And you two! Don't think I hadn't heard the rumor about what Miss Abbott and Miss Patil dared you two to do last weekend!"

Seamus and Dean went very quiet then.

"Or this could all be just a misunderstanding," Dumbledore said wisely, stepping forward into the malarkey. "Mr. Weasley, might I ask what Harry was doing when you walked in the room?"

Ron shrugged. "He was just standing by the window looking at Neville's plants."

Everyone looked at quiet Neville sitting on his bed opposite Harry's. He was looking quite guilty.

"Mr. Longbottom?" Probed Headmaster Dumbledore.

"I asked him to water my plants while I was in here," Neville said in a shaky voice. "I think…but he would have had to swallow the pollen for something to have happened!"

"What are you growing in your room, Mr. Longbottom?" Snape asked sternly and gave Neville his best menacing face. Even his worst menacing face had Neville cowering.

"It was…for a final project for Professor Sprout! She gave me the seeds for – for –"

"For what?!"

"Lovewart Splenda, Villa Hoska, and – Evening Dew."

There was a moment of silence between the teachers that had the other three Gryffindor boys waiting for an explanation.

"What sort of project are you doing for Professor Sprout that would require these three plants to grow in your dorm room?" Snape demanded.

"I'm – we're – I'm - studying the potency of – desiderium!"

"Wait!" Seamus said and was looking like he was trying to remember something very important. "You were growing Evening Due? That's used in love potions! You were growing love plants in our room and didn't tell us! I thought we were friends!"

Seamus: offended for all the wrong reason.

"You need special permission to grow those!" Said McGonagall.

"And I got permission! Professor Sprout gave me the seeds and everything like I said! Ask her!"

"You should have informed your roommates. And me!"

Neville looked sternly defensive, even with his tummyrot. "I couldn't. They'd go picking the leaves and hurting the research."

"So," Dumbledore said a bit more amused than the situation called for. "Harry went mad with desire for Mr. Weasley."

Ron looked abashed and a new and brighter shade of red than ever before.

"That isn't surprising," Dean said, and Seamus nodded. "No offence, Ron," continued Dean, "really, I don't mean anything bad by it. But Harry loves you."

"It's obvious," Seamus agreed.

"He'd definitely go mad for you before Seamus or me first."

"What about me?" Asked Neville, a little offended.

"You're more like his brother." Seamus said.

"I'm not like his brother!"

"You look the most alike, and you practically have the same birthday."

"We look nothing alike!" defended Neville.

"Stop talking!" shouted Harry, and they all jumped. Harry pulled his pillow over his head and rolled over, trying to tune them all out.

"He's coherent," informed the nurse, who had quietly returned with a potion to rouse Harry. She stepped back as the three adults and Seamus and Dean circled around him.

"You kissed Ron!" Seamus shouted at him excitedly.

"Do you remember doing it?" Dean said.

"Did you like it?"

"Well, did you?"

"SHUT UP!" Harry hollered and tossed the pillow out behind him and it went flying onto the floor by Ron's feet.

"Yeah, shut up, you tossers! Leave him alone!" Ron said in defense of Harry. Defensive, but still he was standing furthest away, between Harry's and Neville's beds out in the middle of the floor. He didn't want to get too close in case Harry… In case. Just in case.

"Mr. Weasley, boys, that's entirely enough!" Said Professor McGonagall about ready to blow up and take away twenty points each.

"You had us worried," Dumbledore said with a tone to his voice to match the wrinkle in his brow and the stress around his eyes.

"I'm really sorry, Harry," said Neville in a small voice, and Harry groaned, still with his face plastered flat on the mattress.

Madam Pomfrey, standing just behind Dumbledore and Professor Snape, mentioned, "There have been documented cases of the pollen from love plants causing permanent alterations to certain people with sensitivity to it."

Harry groaned again.

"Do you feel any different?" Professor McGonagall asked.

Harry thought about it, then shook his head. "Everything smells a little sweeter. That's about it."

"In situations like this, it takes more than scent to trigger an episode." Snape said. "You'll have to look at someone, Potter. Just don't look at me." With that, Snape took a step back from the bed.

"Everyone, take a step back," said Dumbledore. "Harry, start on your left and go around the room. Slowly, one person at a time."

"This can't be happening to me," he moaned.

"I'm really, really sorry, Harry," said Neville again.

Harry sighed and rolled over onto his side, yet still kept his face flat and his eyes closed. He said, "It's not your fault, Neville."

"Well, it sort of is his fault!" said Ron indignantly.

"It was my fault for getting so close to the leaves," Harry said with certainty.

"Look at someone, already," Seamus said. "We don't have all day to determine if you're mental faculties are still intact."

Harry slowly rolled over and peaked one eye open at a very nervous Professor McGonagall. He would never have been able to set foot in her classroom if he pounced on her like he'd pounced on Ron. The memory of that was still fresh in his mind, and still made his pulse race.

"Anything?" She asked, and Harry shook his head and moved on – still very slowly – to Dean, yet nothing happened again.

"Got the hots for him at all?" Seamus joked.

"No," Harry said and his gaze was brought towards him.

Next, Harry knew, was Ron, with Neville right behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and rolled over into a sitting position. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You better not kiss me again," Ron said a little weakly, nervously taking a step further away.

"Ron…" Harry said, loving the teasing way his senses lit up when he faced him even with his eyes closed. He took another deep breath and opened his eyes. There stood Ron, beautiful like autumn and dappled in pumpkin spice, eyes blue like opal. Harry's blood pressure shot through the roof and adrenaline kicked in like a freight train. Then – quick as a fox – he leapt off the bed straight at Ron.

"AAAHHHHH!" Screamed Ron, back peddling and crashing into Neville's bed, knocking him off. No one had a chance at catching Harry he was so fast, but they chased after him. Too late. He was on Ron, wrapping his arms around his neck, locking their lips together, sucking to make them stick, and throwing him over onto his back onto Neville's bed once again. He locked his knees around Ron's hips and held as tightly as he could.

"Get him! Get him!" Professor McGonagall shouted, and everyone else was shouting too. They all lunged to extract Harry from Ron – all except for Seamus and Dean, who had both doubled over, holding their ribs, breaking in half with laughter.

The story spread like wildfire thanks to those two, and Ron had to live with it on the front lines. Harry was confined to the infirmary until his symptoms cleared up and wasn't allowed visitors at all.

That first day in the hospital ward after Ron was sent away (and soon after Neville was given his early discharge), Harry's daze abated and he was left with all his faculties. Although, truth be told, his pulse still quickened when he thought about his tall, strong, red-haired friend. He wasn't even ashamed of his secret desire, which probably was a sign of the toxin, and so he made a point of telling Pomfrey whenever she asked that he really hated what was happening to him. He had a feeling her medical knowledge knew the truth of the matter, though. He really did especially hate the shower in a magical sanitization potion, and the full examination by Madam Pomfrey she conducted three times that first day, but he felt he deserved whatever discomfort went his way.

The next day. Cloudy and windy.

Around lunch time, something must have altered in the results of Madam Pomfrey's tests, because she sent word out that he could get visitors again, and not ten minutes later Hermione and Neville showed up.

"No Ron?" Was the first thing Harry asked her, and she shook her head, eyebrows high.

The two of them caught him up on the gossip floating around, which while gossip tended to be worse than the actual event, in this case they were about even. They could only stay a few minutes, but Hermione promised to get him to show up that evening so he could see how different Harry was, and so Harry could apologize. What Harry didn't expect when Ron did show up with Hermione that evening – looking rather reluctant – was that his feelings had hardly changed since yesterday. The only improvement from last time was that instead of pouncing on him, Harry was left struck by how attractive Ron was, and how much he truly wanted him.

"Oh. Is this what everyone was talking about?" Hermione said a bit worriedly, looking between Harry and Ron, stepping a bit in front of Harry in case she had to stop him. Harry practically was letting his tongue lull out of his mouth, and Ron looked like a deer in the headlights.

Harry licked his lips, and Ron jumped half a foot into the air. "I've got to go!" He yipped.

"No! Don't go!" Harry called, starting to get out of bed but Hermione pushed him back down a bit roughly. Ron left the room, looking over his shoulder the whole time. Once he was gone, Harry took a deep breath and felt his pulse lesson considerably. A sense of dread and embarrassment flowed over him again. "Will this ever stop?" he moaned, plopping down.

"The affects of the desiderium appear to be fading," said Hermione, sounding upset for some reason.

"What's wrong, Hermione? They aren't giving you trouble as well?"

"Nothing I can't handle," she said, glancing at the door Ron had just left from. "I just hadn't seen before how bad it was."

"What are the other students saying?" He asked, feeling quite guilty.

"It just never ends with those Slytherins. I haven't seen Malfoy or his girlfriend this offensive since forth year. Ron got into a fight with him in the middle of the hall over some letters that are circulating the school."

"Letters – what sorts of letters?" Harry asked with dread and curiosity. His mind swam with images of his and Ron's bodies close together again, but he clamped down hard on that.

"Just letters – with pictures – signed with your name. We burnt them all so – stop that, Harry." Hermione put her hand on Harry's and he looked down at it; his fingers had been clawing into his own skin and making it raw as he tried to scratch an itch that he just couldn't reach. He closed his eyes and rubbed his palm over it.

"I'm sorry. I’m...really sorry. I know how much of a jerk I am for going after Ron like this, especially since I think you…you know…" He looked up at her, and she laughed him off unconvincingly.

"Come on, Harry! I'm not jealous or anything!" Harry narrowed his eyes at her and she cleared her throat. "Well, anyway, Ron should be flattered he's got someone like you after him – even if it is just because of the disiderium. And you don't have anything to be embarrassed about, really. Anyone else would be affected the same way. Think about it: at this rate, you should be back in classes soon enough."

"How am I supposed to face them, though? They'll never let this go."

"Malfoy might never let this go, but he's so horrible anyway that it won't make a difference."

"Thanks for the support." Harry said weakly.

Hermione hugged him and then pulled out a large stack of homework he needed to get started on, and left him to it.

Sobor days ensue. Sunny and warm.

It was another two days before Ron came to visit, and Harry was doing much better about keeping his glances subtle and his emotions in check. He thought he was getting away with it pretty good, and he was – Ron barely noticed at all; but Hermione wasn't fooled.

"We should go!" She said at last, clapping her homework book closed and standing up.

"Why?" Ron said, "Harry's fine now and I haven't seen him all week!"

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Harry asked, not realizing she had been watching him and knew everything.

"I just think Harry still needs more time to get over you, Ron. He's still looking at you in that way, and I don't think it's a good idea that he does!"

"Oh, you are?" Ron asked Harry, and Harry itched his very raw arm where he'd been taking out all his frustrations. He was a little angry that Hermione couldn't just let him have this one moment. But she was probably right…

"I'm sorry, Ron. I am mostly over this! But… I can't help it still."

Ron looked between them both – Harry's misery and Hermione's frustration – and he landed on Hermione and shrugged. "He looks like he's doing fine. I know he's still got some of that toxin in him, but –" and he looked at Harry "– you know I really just like you as a mate, right?"

"Tell me about it! That's all I want you to be!" Harry agreed, although he felt his heart stick.

"See?" Ron told Hermione, and she sank into her chair again, trying to school the storm that raged in her head. "I don't think of him like that, and pretty soon he'll stop feeling things for me."

Hermione looked up at Ron and smiled, finally consenting. Inside of Harry, he felt the first twinges of jealousy develop, and tried to bury them.

That night, Harry was sleeping on his stomach, his bare back exposed to the empty infirmary. Moonlight shown in from the high windows and grazed his shoulders, back and ribs, which rose and fell with each easy breath. The school was mostly quiet and only the Caretaker and his cat roamed the lower floors looking for kids out of bounds. One other person was up, though. He emerged from the basement and snuck silently up to the Hospital Ward, slipping though the double doors without even waking the portrait on the wall.

He walked up to the only occupied bed and pulled the curtains shut around it. He hesitated over Harry's body, and then spread his hand over the soft, warm skin on Harry's developed shoulder and shook him awake. Harry opened his eyes and there was Ron, holding a finger to his lips.

"What're you doing here?" Harry whispered, very glad he didn't pounce, but his body came alive.

"I wanted to tell you something…" Ron said hesitantly.

"What is it?" Harry asked, rolling over onto his side and propping his head up on his hand.

Ron licked his lips and looked down at Harry's stomach, then back up to his face. "You can do it again – if you want."

Harry sat up a little higher, confusion filling him. "What?"

Ron shrugged and moved a little closer, placing one hand on Harry's ribs, making Harry almost jump because of his rising pulse. "You can kiss me," Ron said. "It's okay with me."

Harry sat up quickly. He remembered how wonderful it was to kiss him, but now that he was in control of his actions it felt so much more real, and butterflies filled him. Ron had just finished saying that all he wanted from him was to be his mate – that's it – and here he was asking for more. His heart skipped, and though he had questions he didn't want to ruin the moment with all his worries.

Instead, he slowly reached forward and cupped Ron's face, and Ron leaned into his caress. His heart felt like it was beating for the first time, and his breath came in short. Harry looked closely into Ron's blue eyes and ran the fingers of his other hand down Ron's hairline, loving how soft his hair was. The colors of his friend had never been so close to see. He took a deep breath and slowly leaned in, and Ron closed his eyes. Their lips met softly with just the kindling of heat. Harry pulled back and looked at him again.

"Is this okay?" He asked.

Ron nodded, letting his held breath out. "It's perfect…Harry."

Harry loved the way he said his name; like it was prized. Harry wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in, easily finding Ron's lips again and kissed deeper, longing for all he could get.

Ron held him, smoothing his hands over the planes of Harry's back, and he moved over Harry, putting a knee on the bed so Harry had to entirely fall back onto the pillow, and Ron went with him. Harry guided him between his legs and Ron lay along his body, and both of them felt everything the other had to offer. Harry locked his ankles around Ron's knees, pressing up and sighing when he felt a twin pressure press back. Ron clutched tightly at his shoulders, gently finding the perfect place for his hips to rest on the hot skin of Harry’s neck. When he found it, Harry gasped, closing his eyes and seeing stars burst behind his eyelids. This was the weakest he'd ever felt in his life, and he loved it even if he felt like he was going to be sick over the side of the bed any second now.

"Shh…" Ron whispered against his neck, because Harry had whimpered. But then Ron latched on to the long tendon there and Harry's whole body jerked and he clasped Ron's face, pulling him away because he would yowl if he kept going. Harry went in for the deepest, hottest kiss of all. Their tongues danced together and the heat from their bodies was intense. Ron pulled away and sat up, unlatching his belt.

Ron pulled away. Sat up. And unlatched his belt.

Ron.

Unlatched his belt.

Harry's head hit the pillow again and he listened to the sounds of the zipper pulling down, a tightness cramping his stomach as butterflies filled him.

"I haven't done this before," he said, eyes squeezed shut.

"It's okay," Ron whispered as he pushed his pants down. “Look at me.”

Harry looked. Ron met his eyes and dropped his own. Harry followed his gaze down between them and got his first glimpse of Ron's hard length surrounded in his fist, holding the swolen thing out just inches from his bare stomach. Harry's whole body went numb.

“It’s fine,” Ron said.

Then he let go of himself, sitting back just a bit. He hooked a thumb under Harry’s pajama bottoms. Harry didn’t know what to do, so he lifted his hips and helped push his pants down. And then Ron touched him – wrapping his big hand around Harry and fazed his brain into dazzling opacity, pulling up his whole length, making it fill until it was so stiff he hurt.

Harry arched up, reaching for Ron and lining up their bodies so Ron could grab them both together. He forced his fear to not freeze him. He was still so afraid. And Ron. Ron wasn't looking back. He was looking at Harry's chest over his heart, a baleful expression about him as he jerked his hand between them.

"Hey!" Harry gasped, pressing his hand over Ron's and slowing his pace. He couldn’t catch his breath. Ron's eyes snapped up and he smiled big and toothy. Harry was smothered with Ron's mouth. A deep kiss.

Harry could hardly move, so pressed in as he was. But he wanted this to last longer, so he shook his head and broke the kiss, gasping, "Slow down!" against Ron's lips.

"I can't. I want you." Ron whispered back.

He squeezed just right. The fog consumed Harry.

Ron kept grinning above him. "I want all of you –" and suddenly his hand left its job of bringing pleasure and turned the other way. His palm pressed against Harry's sack and sent fireworks up and down his body, and Ron's fingers pressed still further than that. New drums were beating in his head and his body arched. He didn't even think when he nodded deliriously, wanting and hating the pleasure and excitement. “Do you want this, too?”

“I want...you,” Harry agreed, nodding.

Ron's hand left him and he reached into the pocket of his pants that were around his ankles. He came out with a bottle. "This will relax you; make it not hurt."

Harry watched silently as he poured some of the liquid into his own hand and quickly spread it over himself, and then he reached down and rubbed the slick stuff against Harry's opening. It was warm and slippery, and he gasped as Ron played circles around him.

His skin tingled and it was frightening. Ron looked at him in a maddening way and gripped his hair tightly, and Harry closed his eyes for the deep kiss that came next. They breathed slowly against the kiss and pushed his pants further down, and Harry wiggled them off his legs.

"Ready?" Ron asked softly. Harry looked into his eyes and opened his legs wider, wrapping his arms firmly around those wide shoulders. He nodded even though he wasn't really ready at all.

He first felt just a strong pressure, and then Ron pressed against him harder still, using his hand to guide his chubby past the ring of tight muscle. The pressure was intense, and there was pain but it was mostly from the fear. It was filling. It was big. It was happening and happening and still, it was sliding in more. Ron sighed when he went the deepest he could at this angle, then he pushed himself up (Harry combusted when he moved) and got a new angle that hit again something in Harry that made his legs clench, pulling Ron that last final bit until he was completely in. Ron rocked slowly, just touching the place in Harry that made his eyes see light, forget his fear. Because this was Ron. Why be afraid?

"Go, go, go –" Harry said, smoothing his hands under Ron's shirt to touch his skin, and keeping his eyes locked onto Ron's perfect expression of pleasure. If it was anyone else, Harry couldn't be doing this right now.

Ron leaned down as he pulled out, and his lips met Harry's the second he pushed back in; he swallowed Harry's first huff of a confused cry and bit on his lip. Harry met him the second time he slid back in and it was so perfect that if he had the sense to think, he might have thought Ron'd done this before. All he could do, though, was keep up with the rhythm and try not to disturb Ron's beautiful pace. Ron seemed to know what he wanted next, before even he did, and pulled back from the kiss to get the angle to reach between Harry’s legs. Harry bit his lip and pressed his head back against the pillow, trying to keep up with the ride.

Ron increased the pace and kept at it steadily, rocking in him. Then Ron's body jerked extra hard into him, and he opened his eyes in time to see what Ron looked like when he came inside him. His hand went still but clenched Harry tightly, and he jerked several more times – pulsing inside of him until he couldn't give any more, and then he pulled out and looked down at Harry, blinking tears out of his blue-diamond eyes, breathing deep.

Harry was delirious with ache and awe; his member still hard. He shifted under Ron's heavy body and reached for himself. Ron looked down and sat up – focusing his gaze between Harry's spread legs where his hand gripped. It was a little late for shame, but Harry couldn't help worry from filling him because of Ron looking at him so intently.

Ron put his hand over Harry's and moved with him over the whole length, and then he gripped Harry's hand and pulled it away – meanwhile leaning forward. Harry watched until hot wet heat and a strong tongue plagued his nervous system, forcing his mind to shutdown and his head to fall back again. He came extremely quickly after just two swipes of Ron's mouth over him. Ron caught it all on his tongue and it disappeared – just like Harry's sanity – and he moved slowly up his body, planting kisses as he went.

Harry wrapped his arms tightly around Ron's shoulders and pulled him against him, turning over so they were on their sides together, burying his face against Ron's neck. He stretched his legs out and felt his ass ache from the working it got, but his body was too sedated to call it uncomfortable. Ron caressed his hair and held him tight.

"That was amazing, you know."

Harry nodded silently, still huddled close.

"Look at me…"

Harry didn't want to, because there were tears in his eyes, and he knew Ron would see them. Ron held his face and lifted it into his view. Harry sniffed and looked at him, feeling a tear fall over his nose.

"Are you okay?"

Harry nodded again, and said, "I don't know what to say. That was amazing, like you said. I don't know how you did it. You know I've…I've had a crush on you forever."

Ron kissed him firmly on his mouth, then once more softly on his cheek, and pulled him close again.

A little while later, they still lay there with their faces close together, their clothes back in place.

"I didn't know you wanted to do that." Harry said worriedly because he was afraid he'd disappointed Ron in some way – for some reason – but Ron smiled.

"I've wanted to for..."

"For how long?"

Ron stopped smiling and for a long moment he was silent. Harry looked worried, but he was really worried when Ron sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Harry suddenly noticed they were very nice pants, and not any pair Ron had ever worn before, but he was too concerned with his feelings to ponder those pants.

"Are you okay?"

Ron stood up off the bed and remained turned away. Harry reached forward and took his arm, easily turning him back around. Ron, so willing. He got to his knees and held Ron's face and kissed him without intention to stop. Ron lifted his hands to caress his arms and slide over his bare ribs, then he wrapped his whole breadth around Harry and relaxed into the kiss. Harry maneuvered so he was kneeling on the bed with his knees open, and pulled Ron against his front, continuing the kiss – letting his lips rove over Ron's soft mouth, letting his tongue get sucked in, and feeling Ron's tongue dance with his own.

Harry lowered his hands to smooth over Ron's ass, pulling him nicely forwards – but then his mind started wandering… At last he could think, and he was thinking about Ron's pants.

Slowly, Harry stopped the kiss. Harry was worried.

He held Ron's shoulders gently in his hands and pushed back, lowering his searching gaze over a nice white shirt and down to the trousers, which were so short they exposed ankles and a pair of black shoes that Harry had never seen before. Nothing Ron was wearing he had ever seen before, because Ron didn't own anything like these clothes.

Harry's eyes snapped back to Ron's and he pulled his hands away like they were on fire, his heart pounding for a new reason. Ron took his own arms back and stood quite still, looking paralyzed. Harry sat back, his breath coming in gasps as still his eyes roamed over his friend's frame…but not his friend.

"Who are you?" Harry whispered, fear and horror in his voice, because he remembered like it was yesterday how he had both taken and been taken advantage of by someone using Polyjuice Potion.

Before he even got a reply, Harry all but sprinted off the bed, ready to fly out of the room screaming for help…but just then the intruder – who had taken his virginity – broke his own spell.

"Stop! Shh!" He said, holding up his hands. "Please don't bring anyone! I'll – I'll tell you!"

Harry stood on the other side of the bed and now he could feel the burn of his used body, and it was uncomfortable and horrible.

"What have you done to me?" Harry whispered, tears stinging his eyes.

He brought his hands up – violently rubbing his cheeks and lips.

"Don't do that…" Ron's voice said, and his face looked sincere, but as he walked around to Harry's side of the bed all Harry saw was someone horrible.

"Stay away!"

Ron stopped, his hands up and his eyes pleading. Harry's legs were weak, and even if this was one of Voldemort's bastards, Harry wouldn't have had the constitution to defend himself. He backed up against the wall of the hospital room and covered his mouth firmly with both hands – tears falling freely from his eyes now, which he couldn't unlock from Ron's familiar face.

Ron's eyes were also tearing up, and he swiped at them once to clear them.

"It's…I'm…" he was lost for words, and all Harry was capable of doing was standing there like a little scared oprhan when his uncle was on the rampage.

Ron suddenly seemed to come up with some idea; he put a hand to his chest and patted it. Harry looked and followed that patting hand around all the pockets on his body. Finally, it reached into his back pocket and pulled out something small and gold – a badge. He held it out and turned it so Harry could see the face, but it was too dark to see the writing from that far away, but he'd seen this badge before on Ron's own chest: it was a Prefect badge.

"Look – closely…" Ron said hesitantly. His hand holding the badge was shaking.

Harry swallowed and leaned forward to see it that much closer. There, on the gold front, it said Slytherin Prefect.

Harry moaned and his body went out of his control with weakness. He collapsed onto his knees, unable to process the news. Ron – the person – the person who Harry could not in good conscience name – followed him down and touched a hand to Harry's bare shoulder. His touch was like a knife that plunged into Harry, and he suddenly heard but could not control his bloodcurdling scream.

The other person in the room jolted away from him and – in a split second – was sprinting for the door. He was out of the hospital wing before Madam Pomfrey came rushing in and found Harry pulling at his hair, screaming at the doors that led out of the infirmary. She hushed him, cooed him, tried to silence him, but she only got Harry down to a gasping wheeze. He fought when Pomfrey tried to lift him. She had to get the help of two house elves so that she could administer a Calming Drought, and then his body fell lax just there on the floor.

Pomfrey wrapped a blanket around his shivering body and Harry held it tight around his head and shoulders. He was quite calm now, but he was still horrified, rocking back and forth to move the memories of shame away.

Pomfrey called on the expertise of every Head of House, except most of the other teachers had arrived as well. Harry knew they were all there looking at him, and it was fine, just fine. The cloud in his head, his blanket, all was fine. He still wanted to stay under here, though.

"Come on, Harry," said Professor McGonagall. "Please let us see you. We need to know what happened."

Harry shook his head, but that only caused his nerves to shake, which in turn caused the blanket he was wrapped in to feel very hot and uncomfortable. He fumbled it over his head and tossed it, and then he stood up and began to pace.

"I thought you gave him a Calming Drought." said Professor Snape.

"I did. This is overly nervous behavior!" Madam Pomfrey said.

"Stop!" Harry shouted, digging his fingernails into his ribs and clawing at his skin, trying to get the last tingling feeling of – the Slytherin Prefect – off his skin. His heavy clawing caused him to bleed.

"Don't do that – " said Madam Pomfrey, reaching for him to stop his self-harm, and Harry flinched away so hard that he slammed his hands against his face instead and shouted, "Don't touch me! Don't – don't – please don't!"

Tears welled up, but they wouldn't fall. There was a block in his head that stopped anything great happening to him, but he needed it to happen; he needed to have something happen, so he gritted his teeth and looked out at all the teachers. They stood far enough away, but they were all looking at him – Snape, Flitwick, Sprout, even Filch the Caretaker was there by the door. All their faces made him dizzy, and that's what did it: he lost the strength in his knees and fell to them, vomiting over the floor. His nose burned.

Carefully, Headmaster Dumbledore kneeled nearby.

"Harry?" He said, and he carefully reached forward and just touched Harry's arm for a brief second. But Harry's head had cleared enough with the potion out of his system, and he jerked away as if struck – and he yelled. He pressed against the side of the bed behind him and pulled at his hair, his head bowed between his legs.

"What's wrong with him?" said Professor Spout.

"It must be a side effect of Longbottom's plants," Snape replied to her.

Sprout defended the missing student, "There is no way they could do this; they're not this potent!"

"Go away! Just go away!" Harry moaned, shaking with bursts of sobs.

Everyone stopped talking, but no one left, because no one knew if they wouldn't be helpful to him. Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly, angry that they weren't gone.

Suddenly there was a bang and the door to the infirmary opened.

"What's going on?!" Shouted Ron, closely followed by Hermione.

"Who told them about this?" Demanded Professor Snape.

"Why are all of you here?" Asked Hermione.

"Is Harry okay?" Ron wondered, trying to get close.

He did get close – close enough for Harry to see Ron just feet from him – and he stared on with horror-filled eyes. Ron was reaching for him by the time Harry's body came back to him, and he stumbled back, crashing over the bed behind him and off the other side, further and tumbling over the nightstand before he got as far away from Ron as he could.

Dumbledore caught Ron and stopped him from moving any more.

"Harry?" Squeaked Hermione, dazed by his action.

Harry slid down the wall with his hands just about crammed down his own throat to stop himself from screaming – tearing eyes still locked on Ron – until Dumbledore pulled and pushed Ron further away.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron asked quietly, confused.

Harry shook his head and buried his face in his knees, weeping, wrapping his arms around his head. There he sat, sobbing, wishing to disappear.

"Harry?" Said Hermione coming forward.

Harry wanted to stop her, because she was on the verge of being with Ron as his girlfriend, but if he sent her away then there wouldn't be anyone. She kneeled down next to him but kept her hands to herself.

"Did you have a bad dream?" She asked.

It wasn't a dream, but he wished it was; it felt like one.

"What happened, Harry?"

Harry looked up into her teary eyes and he looked over at everyone. He reached for her then, gently bringing her closer. She came to him and rested her hands on his bare shoulders. He leaned up to her ear and whispered so quietly to her, "Polyjuice…I thought it was Ron…he…"

"He what?" She had no idea.

Harry swallowed and leaned closer still, whispering so quietly she could barely hear, but what she did hear was 'held me down' and 'sex.'

Her jaw fell and her whole body jerked sharply. Harry covered his face again.

"He…" Her voice was shrill, so she swallowed hard to clear it. "Did he rape you, Harry?"

There were gasps from everyone around and Hermione looked over at them angrily. She leveled them all a look and then said, "Professor McGonagall and…Madam Pomfrey…Everyone else…I think you should leave." She looked at Dumbledore. "Sorry, sir. Everyone else…just…us girls only! No boys at all!"

Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry's shoulders and pressed a kiss to his messy black hair. When it was just the three of them, Hermione said, "It's okay now, Harry. Tell us everything…"

Harry, with great pain, summarized the last half hour, but left out the part where he saw the Slytherin badge; he couldn't fathom letting that information out – it was just too personal. Draco Malfoy – he assumed, anyway – had taken Polyjuice Potion of Ron, then he came in here and got him into bed. But that couldn't possibly be right, because Malfoy hated him more than anyone.

The first thing McGonagall did after Harry told the story was curse Neville's name.

"Longbottom…That stupid, careless, idiotic boy! His plants have done this!"

Harry was hugging his arms around him, and Hermione sat by his side.

"I need to do a few tests to make sure you're alright…" Pomfrey said, her voice more caring than any of them had ever heard.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, unable to imagine what sort of tests she would do and what sort of things she would find.

"Do you want me to stay?" Hermione asked, and McGonagall said, "Yes. You stay. But I'll give you some privacy. We'll find who did this, Harry. I promise you."

She left out into the hall where everyone else stood waiting to see what they could do.

"What's happened, Minerva?" Headmaster Dumbledore asked.

Ron waited with a bated breath – hoping she would take back what Hermione had said.

She took a deep breath and said, "He was – raped – by someone using Polyjuice Potion."

Everyone let out their breath. It was confirmed, then, and there were things to be done.

"That can't be…" Ron whispered.

McGonagall gripped his shoulder and looked sullenly around at the others. "This information cannot get out to the school. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley both have been the victims of foul gossip all week, and we all need this to stay between us. We'll need to contact both their families immediately."

"Why? Why my family?" Ron asked.

"Because…the person using Polyjuice – he looked like you."

Ron was speechless and weak. He stumbled back into the wall behind him.

"Who really did it?" Professor Sprout asked.

"We don't know. By the time Harry realized it wasn't Mr. Weasley…it was too late. He couldn't prevent it."

Ron was pale, a look of horror. "But he's the best dueler at this school! And he's strong! He's escaped You Know Who a dozen times! Why couldn't he stop it?!"

"I'm sure he tried his best…"

Ron's voice dropped, "It wasn't me – I'd never do that!"

"We know that. Harry knows that, too. Believe me – he knows it wasn't you." She looked around again, "But we need to find out who it was, and we must be subtle about it! This is the reputation of two young men; this cannot get out for as long as we can help it!"

That morning.

The test Madam Pomfrey conducted on him allowed her to test against other people's magical signatures and see if there was a match to make. It was a very uncomfortable thing, but Hermione's presence was a godsend. She stayed all night watching over Harry. Neither of them slept. They both cried their eyes out, side by side.

"She'll find out who did this, Harry. Right, Madam Pomfrey?"

There was a moment of silence, and then she was nodded. "We have all the means to find out who did this. Now it's just a matter of time…"

There was something about the way she said that that got Harry worried. He sat up against the headboard, pulling his legs close to him. He was wondering if he should just say now about the Slytherin Prefect badge, but doing that was probably more embarrassing than the test he'd just taken was. He couldn't do it. He'd rather live without.

"Can you really find the person?" He asked her.

"If it was Polyjuice," she said at last, not quite meeting his eyes, "depending on how good the brew was – the magical signature might not…" she looked at their worried expressions and breathed a deep sigh. "I hope we can."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again.

Hermione held his hand in both of hers.

Pomfrey came over with a Dreamless Sleep potion, the morning sun coming up in rays behind her. "Take this, Mr. Potter. Get some sleep. We'll have information later."

Hermione helped it to his lips and she caressed his head as he laid down, the blankets tight around him and up to his shoulders. "I'll stay here, Harry. Don't worry."

Harry felt the drowsiness envelope him, and in a state of weakness, he began to shake. Hermione cooed him to sleep, whispering that everything was going to be okay. Harry's last thought was that he didn't want to stay at Hogwarts – not for a little while, at least. He wanted to go home – that in and of itself was a mindboggling thought to have considering what sort of home he had.

15 October, 1996.

McGonagall told his family what had happened the day before, and they were expecting him. He was given all the time he wanted to be at home with his aunt and uncle, and truthfully, he had no intention of returning to Hogwarts. The school populace was told the toxins he ingested needed to be totally out of his system before he could return to class, so he was transported to St. Mungo's Hospital to be treated by the professionals there. But in reality, Professor McGonagall, Tonks, and Mad Eye Moody escorted him home, while Professor Dumbledore and others escorted a Polyjuice Potter to St. Mungo's. He was sure the papers would be mentioning his leaving Hogwarts by morning.

Harry was glancing off while Petunia and Vernon asked questions about what they were going to do about the person who did this, and they were assured – as Harry was – that the person would be removed from Hogwarts and punished accordingly.

Tonks came up to Harry as they were leaving, looking very sorry for him. "There will be someone watching the house, just in case something happens, but we don't think it will," she said, and came to him closer for a whispered, "Until we see each other again, Harry."

McGonagall, still full of worries and cares, also came close to him. "I'm sorry we could not protect you from this, Harry. I do hope you decide to return soon."

"Professor?" Something had been bothering Harry besides this mess.

"Yes?"

"Who's going to be Gryffindor's Captain now?"

"I was hoping you would keep the position. We can have a stand-in until you return."

"I want Ron to be Captain," Harry said without hesitating, pulling out his Captain's badge and handing it over. This decision would mean the replacement of their second player. Now it was Dean, Demelza Robins, and Ginny as Chasers, Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote as Beaters, and Ron as Keeper and Captain. Ron'd have to find a new Seeker soon. "The real Captain. No stand-in. You'll never find anyone with a better mind for strategy."

She took the badge and nodded, if not a little chafe "I don’t know, Harry. You’re quite good at it yourself, you know. But I'll inform him of your decision. I'm certain he will fill your shoes adequately. I wish you the best."

They all left and then it was just Harry with his large trunk and his aunt and uncle. They stood still for a moment, then Vernon got up and took his trunk. "Let's get this upstairs.”

Harry was about to follow him when Petunia stopped him and asked for help in the kitchen.

Harry followed her tall form, eyes on the floor and those familiar rugs that had never been changed out in all his life. It was close to dinner and she was cutting up vegetables and gave Harry a cutting board and knife with the tomatoes.

"Are you still hurt?" She asked, reserved.

"No."

"All they kept saying was that you were – assaulted. What really happened?"

Harry bowed his head and stopped cutting. This was so like his aunt. She was so blunt, so indifferent to him, but so...he didn’t know. Familiar. It was a familiar pain, to be with his family. Better than the unfamilar at this point in time.

He edged the words out from somewhere deep. "Someone – I don't know who it was – he…had his face covered…It was night and I was in the hospital ward – because of something I ate. He just…held me down…"

And it was wonderful and amazing, made him feel volcanic. But he couldn't tell anyone that, because it was also all a lie. He knew it was a lie; that wasn't Ron; it was someone playing a trick and taking advantage of him. It wasn't real. It might not have even been Draco Malfoy – he couldn't see how it possibly could have been him. But it was a Slytherin. They just nicked the badge off Malfoy, for sure. Maybe?

Harry couldn’t handle this right now. He focused on the tomatoes, hands frozen.

Petunia at last, after a moment, rubbed the most glancing of fingertip caresses over his hair, "I'm very sorry this happened to you."

And what could Harry do but sigh, relax as he hoped he could do around here.

Harry nodded his agreement.

Vernon came into the kitchen without lambency and said, "It's all in your room."

He couldn’t even whisper if he tried. He nodded he heard, though. Eyes still downcast.

"You didn't deserve this," Vernon said with that one-show-pony tone of his: hard and loud. Harry looked up at him. He was quite stern as he said, "I know you've got some strength in you; you've been through more than any decent man deserves! Nothing can be done about it now, but this shouldn't have happened. It was that damn school; tricks and magic! I knew it would turn sour before the end."

Harry could hardly disagree with him. In fact, he actually agreed wholeheartedly, which was a great surprise to him that he could agree with anything Uncle Vernon said.

"I can call the dean at Smeltings, get you signed up!"

Harry totally put the knife down now. His mouth fell open. Smeltings was Uncle Vernon's old private school, where Dudley had been going for the past five years. Vernon coveted that school.

"Unless you want to sign up at Stonewall High," uncle Vernon continued. "A public school would still be better than that cruddy old Hog-whazzits." The amount of restraint it was taking him to offer this – not to mention bring up his actual school's name – was bringing up the vein on his forehead, but the diet Petunia had been feeding him had greatly reduced the fat on his body, making his blood pressure and coloring a lot less purple than usual. "You aren't planning on going back to that place, are you?"

Harry shook his head, because he couldn't fathom returning there.

"Well! We have to get you into a real school! You got hurt – it's not the end of the world!" Vernon pulled the phone off the receiver and left the room, presumably to go make some calls to Dudley's school. Harry stared in blank horror at the doorway, then he turned to Petunia, who was looking similarly shocked.

"Is he serious?"

Petunia broke out of her state and cleared her throat loudly. "I'm sure he is!"

Harry took a deep breath and turned back to chopping tomatoes into large slices.

Despite the likelihood of Dumbledore refusing to let him go to a Muggle school with so little protection, Harry could feel the weight of having to return to Hogwarts fall off his shoulders. It was like there was hope for his life coming back together.

Later that evening after dinner – in which Vernon never even sat at the table, too busy in the office room – Harry was sitting on his bed with his Firebolt in his hands, spinning it around and thinking how now Ron got to be a Prefect and Quidditch Captain – just like he saw for himself in the Mirror in their first year. He was glad for his friend, and yet disgusted with him. It wasn't Ron's fault – it wasn't – it was Harry's fault. Harry loved him enough to accept him into his bed, and once in it, he loved that too. The feel of his hands, the taste of his mouth…it was gorgeous.

The broom in his hands spun and spun, while his eyes stared at a single spot on the wall. He went though it all in his head, yet he stopped once the kissing was over. He couldn't bring himself to remember what happened after that. That’s when Petunia landed a knock on the door. It made him blink and broke his vision from the hospital ward. He looked up at her. She carried at least ten books under her arm.

"Vernon told me you have an interview at Smeltings in two days."

Harry put the broom down under his bed, and wiped his sweaty hands on his knees.

She came in and deposited the books on his bed next to him. They were old text books by the looks of them. Mathematics for GCSE, A-Level Biology, etc.

"Dudley's old school list. I remember my sister never had to study the things I did at school. I thought these would help."

"Oh yes…thank you, Aunt Petunia." Harry lifted a volume of literature, and under it was another calculus book. "Thanks…" he really wasn't interested in the topics, that was sure.

Petunia went ahead and sat on the bed next to him, her weight tipping him towards her. "How do you feel?"

Harry was more confused than ever by their behavior. But they were helping him. They were healing him.

"Why are you….? Uncle Vernon calling Smeltings, and you giving me these –" he looked at her, "you never were this way about anything that ever happened to me."

Petunia nodded, and for several moments she seemed on the verge of tears or just storming away. Instead, she wiped her eyes.

"I prefer Privet Drive. Nothing comes in this township. It’s far from my old home with my sister. I...prefer…” she took another harsh breath, then closed her eyes and bowed her head. “When I was in school, there was a man in our old town who was raping women…" Harry swallowed hard, never knowing Petunia had a story like this. "My friend and I were walking back home, because you weren't supposed to go anywhere alone at that time, and we were just around the corner from our street when we heard this – awful – scream. We went over to the sound, along with everyone else who was on the street with us. In an alley, just...just out of sight of the public road...a woman had been attacked. She stopped screaming because this man hit her in the head. He ran off, and all of us waited for the police and ambulance to come for her."

Petunia was almost lost in her memory the way Harry had just been lost in his. "What happened next?" Harry whispered.

"It was another two weeks before the police caught the man doing this, and he was put in prison…but it was so – horrible just witnessing it. I told Vernon about it, when we met at college years later. After I did, he always walked me home. Always sorted out the people around me. He encourages Dudley to do the same. Be strong for the women who…"

Harry swallowed hard and Petunia put her hand over her mouth, like she’d just said a curse word. "You being – hurt like you were…I think it reminded him of all that."

"What happened to the woman?"

"She died at the hospital." Petunia let the memory fade from her mind before she got up, bid him good night, and closed the door on her way out.

Harry got under his covers and curled up. Rest eluded him, but he at least felt safe.

Late October. A Friday.

Before Harry knew it, he, Vernon, and Petunia piled into the car and headed for Smeltings. Harry tugged at his buttoned collar and scratched at his new pants. He'd never before had clothes which fit him so well, but Petunia had made the collection for him one afternoon while he stayed at home, returning with an outfit to wear to the interview.

Harry looked at himself in the rear view mirror and tried his best to flatten his hair. He pushed his round glasses up his nose and looked out the window, trying to spot where his escort was surely following. He'd had no communication with the wizarding world other than the morning paper which Hedwig brought to him. He was front page news Saturday morning, and sure enough the article was written by Rita Skeeter, so it went deep into detail of just how Harry felt as he kissed his male classmate, and that the toxin which made him incapable of resisting men had sent him to St. Mungo's where he was kept under heavy female security.

Dumbledore even commented, "We hope to have him back at Hogwarts soon – the staff at St. Mungo's are doing a wonderful job treating him and we wish him the best of luck in his recovery. As for the rumor of this being an attack on Hogwarts like the incident with Katie Bell last month, this was simply an unfortunate accident with pollen that has been corrected, and all the students are safe."

They got to Dudley's school. It was large, surrounded by acres of autumn leaf covered lawn. Large trees lined the drive, and there was valet at the front doors. Vernon tossed the keys over the hood to the driver, and Harry stepped out and looked up at the ornate building. He then looked all around him, but still he didn't see his escort. He followed behind Vernon and Petunia and they went in and stood waiting in the hall.

A door opened and out came an older man dressed in the Smeltings uniform and a scarf.

"Mr. Dursley!" He greeted warmly, shaking Harry's uncle's hand and then Petunia’s. Then he faced Harry and looked him over with a keen eye. "Well, Mr. Potter? I'm Headmaster Clarkson. You're cousin has made quite the impression on Smeltings. Let's see if you'll get the chance to do the same."

Harry held out his hand and they shook.

They followed Headmaster Clarkson to his office,Vernon discreetly touching the tip of his nose. Tea was offered and accepted by all, and Harry was reminded by every inch of this pristine office of how Muggle-ish this all was. He and Uncle Vernon talked golf and cars, catching up and even making a date to go out when the snow cleared. At last things seemed to get down to business, because Clarkson steepled his fingers over a folder sitting in front of him on his desk, and looked sullenly at Harry.

"So…Mr. Potter…I have your records from Stonewall High…"

This was news to Harry. He looked at Vernon and Petunia, and they also looked just as surprised.

"You have very good marks, and they speak highly of you. It all seems to be in order, but I wonder why you didn't apply for Smeltings with your cousin in the first place?"

Harry glanced at Vernon, then said, "Well…my friends were all going to Stonewall."

"Ah!" He shuffled about in the file, and Harry looked sideways at his aunt and uncle.

Petunia cleared her throat. "Does it say – why he left, erm, Stonewall?"

Headmaster Clarkson folded the file up and put it down. "Yes, I'm afraid…" he looked quickly through the documents and pulled out a single sheet. "…an assault?"

Petunia used her long neck to the best of its ability to peer over the document, so Clarkson just handed it over to her. She scanned it and passed it back.

"Yes, that's right. Yes…" she confirmed.

Harry looked between them, and Clarkson seemed suddenly extremely compassionate. "We've never had an incident like the one described in your records, Harry. I'm very sorry to hear it happened to you."

Harry looked at Petunia, but she was looking at Vernon – who was looking angrily at the file.

"So," Vernon said, sounding loud in the quiet room. "You can see we couldn't keep him at Stonewall! That place was a disaster of a situation all around. He's a good kid. Pays attention. Obeys the rules. Captain of some team or other."

Harry glanced at Vernon, rather shocked that all the compliments stuffed into this conversation were more than he ever got in ten years. Headmaster Clarkson pursed his lips and wobbled in his chair, examining Harry closely.

"What do you think, Harry? Do you like the campus? Do you think you would fit in here?"

Harry nodded hesitantly, wondering if this whole mess was really happening.

"Yes, I guess," he said.

"You guess? This is your future, Harry. Do you really only guess?"

Vernon cleared his throat and Harry looked at him. He suddenly felt like letting Uncle Vernon down now would be the end of any hope he had left in the world. He looked back at Clarkson and sat up taller in his chair.

"I mean I'm sure of it. What happened to me was…you know…but coming here is a chance to turn things around. I can't go back there – to Stonewall – and all those people. I'm not…used to most of this, but I like it. I think this is a great school. And I think coming here is the only thing that will help me get over – what happened."

Clarkson nodded agreeably. "We do have one of the best children's therapists in the city…"

Harry and the Dursley's glanced around at each other, because it was slowly sounding like Harry made it into the school.

"You would have to see her every day for the first month, Harry. Something like what you went through cannot be talked through enough." Harry nodded in agreement. "Well, Vernon, I would be happy to take Harry in under the Smeltings wing. Congratulations!"

Vernon smiled and reached forward, shaking his hand vigorously. "Thank you, Dean Clarkson! This means a lot to the family."

Clarkson looked Harry over once again. "Congratulations, Mr. Potter. I'd like you to start on Monday. We board our students here for the week, but you have the weekends to yourself. Is it possible for you to have the Smeltings essentials and be back here with your cousin Sunday evening at the latest?" He asked this last to the guardians.

"It is," Petunia said.

Harry never knew before, but it was rather heartening to have his aunt on his side.

"So…" Harry said, but didn't know quite what to say.

"So, this means you're a Smelting!" Clarkson said gleefully, standing and shaking all their hands again. "The paperwork will be all set up, and the teachers will be expecting you in class. And I'll personally see to it that you have one-on-one meetings scheduled with our councilor. Smeltings might be the perfect fit for you, son."

Harry summoned up a smile and walked out with his aunt and uncle, feeling rather uncomfortable with the whole thing; it was all so very convenient and set-up.

The halls to the school that were once empty were now bustling with kids walking around with large bags. They walked towards the front exit zigzagging through the crowd of boys, and then they all heard Dudley's voice over the crowd. "Mom! Dad!"

He walked over grinning, but his smile faded when he saw Harry. "What's he doing here?"

"He’s come home to stay. He also will start at Smeltings on Monday," Vernon said, not exactly sounding like a doting father.

Dudley's jaw dropped to the point that he couldn't use it to help him form words. Only a few strange sounds came out of him. He followed next to Harry as they went outside. Their car was waiting for them in front of the building and they piled in. Dudley had a million questions but they all appeared to be vying for priority, leaving him with a puckered expression, so Vernon took the brunt of explaining in a round-about way to Dudley that Harry left Hogwarts because it was a horrible place, and now he was let into Smeltings.

"But they don't let just anyone in! They've never let someone in past registration!"

"Don't you see?" Harry said, sounding like it was obvious.

"See what?" Dudley asked.

"They helped make this happen. Dumbledore, magic, them. Headmaster Clarkson had a file from Stonewall High; how do you think he got that if it wasn't by magic? Unless one of you did that…"

"You're driving rather fast, dear," Petunia said to Vernon, and he let off the peddle he'd been pressing as he listened to Harry.

Harry sighed and slumped next to the window. "They had something to do with this…probably so I'd get therapy. They knew I didn't want to go back, so they're setting up a safe environment."

"Why do you need a safe environment? I thought you liked it there. Did something happen?" Dudley was getting some of those questions out now.

Harry said, "I did like it there…but, yeah, something happened…" He glanced over at Dudley and then back out his own window, unable to take in the look of concern from his cousin.

"Mum?"

"Yes, dear?"

"What happened to Harry? He looks…different."

Petunia looked behind herself and Harry met her blue eyes with his green; she looked sad. "Don't ask questions, dear." That was probably the first time she ever said that to Dudley.

They drove in silence, but Harry could feel Dudley's eyes on him the whole time. He finally looked over, at last too tired to keep avoiding him.

"Go ahead and ask."

Dudley swallowed hard. "Who hurt you?"

Harry started, because he never imagined Dudley would have guessed what happened to him.

"I never saw his face, so I don't know."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Thanks."

Harry went back to staring out the window.

Dudley usually hung out with his friends on the weekends, but this weekend he stayed in with his family and hung out with Harry. He was overall excited to have him at his school, which Harry thought was very strange behavior, and wondered if the wizards tainted their food with some personality changing potion. They talked about Smeltings things and Harry was introduced to Dudley's homework and teachers, and overall by the time his Smeltings things had taken the place of his Hogwarts things in his large trunk, he was ready to run for the hills.

Vernon met him at the bottom of the stairs in the evening he came down that Sunday.

"So, you're going to be normal now, right? No hocus-pocus?"

"No hocus-pocus," Harry agreed. He felt his wand by his hip out of sight, and it felt like some strange growth attached to his body; it was a part of him he – strangely – no longer cared to have. At least…not for now.

"And you're ready to start at Smeltings?"

"It seems like the only option." Overall, Harry had no idea why he was being so agreeable; it just seemed like the only thing he could do.

"You could stay here…" Petunia said, but she didn't sound too sure about it.

"The boy needs to stay in school, no matter what happens," Vernon said, lugging the heavy trunk to the car.

No matter what happens? Harry wondered, a small amount of anger appearing deep within him. If I die? If I run away? If everyone died or ran away from me? Would I still have to go to school? If I got married and had a dozen kids…would I still have to go?

"What's going to happen to the owl?" Dudley asked.

"I sent her to my friend Hermione last night. She'll look after her."

"What's her name, again?" He asked curiously.

"Hedwig."

Dudley smiled and said, "Like the big wigs in parliament?"

"Yeah," Harry said, even though that wasn't who he named her after, "because she's all white."

Dudley liked that.

It was only Vernon, Dudley, and Harry in the car. It was an hour drive to Smeltings, but it felt like the Hogwarts Express and seemed to take all afternoon. When they got there, Dudley was greeted by a large group of boys from all different ages. To meet Harry was the Dorm Leader, an older boy who introduced himself as Kenny Johansen.

"You are Potter?"

Okay. Not a nice guy, then.

Harry looked over his shoulder at Vernon tugging out the trunk, glad at least he might have not heard Harry’s welcoming committee. "Yes, that's me."

"I'm here to take you to your room…my room, actually. I'll be your bunkmate."

"The Dorm Leader never had to share a room in my day," Vernon said, tisking. Harry was a bit nervous by the look his uncle was giving the teenager.

"Normally we don't, but someone decided to enlist one more student than we have the room for, so I have to split mine." The dislike in Kenny's voice was obvious.

Vernon indicated Harry follow him, over to the car and out of earshot of Kenny.

"Don't let him give you trouble. And stay away from him," Vernon said, eying Kenny.

"I'm sharing his room."

"Don’t sas. Show him you're tough. Smeltings kids like to show off, and that boy looks like he wrestles."

"I'm not a wrestler."

He’d never seen his uncle roll his eyes before.

"But you're quick. If he goes after you, just put your weight behind it."

"Thanks." Harry really wasn't sure if this past weekend was real or not, because his whole family was treating him like he was an actual person. He supposed that had to do with his decision to hang up magic. "Really…thanks for doing this. I'll pay you back, you know – the tuition."

Vernon puffed out his chest and looked around to see if anyone was listening in, then he said, "I got a letter in the mail yesterday – the receipt for enrolling you. It looks like those people of yours paid already."

"Oh." Harry thought that was big of them.

"Making good by you?"

"Maybe."

Vernon got in the car and gave him a last look. Harry held up his hand in a wave, and Vernon pulled out.

"Get your stuff, Potter!"

Harry sighed, but just went with it. He lugged his trunk past Dudley and all the boys there looking at him.

"Is he a fag?" One said quietly to another, not thinking Harry could overhear.

"Shut it, Bonk!" Dudley said, putting on his menacing face. Harry kept his eyes forward, following the leader, a smirk twisting the corners of his lips.

Settling in was harder than he expected. This was his first time going to a Muggle boarding school, and an all-boy's school at that. There was a time when he would have loved not having girls around, but these days every sideways look put him on edge. Because, really, how could there be so many sour people all in once place? What sort of message was this school sending?

And Kenny – the Dorm Leader and supposed guide for all under his wing – wasn't much help in any way at all. He left Harry to get on for himself and went to dinner.

Harry, though peckish, decided to skip it tonight and unpack. He pulled out his reading for tomorrow and got started on an essay about how he felt about the current Muggle novel, which he had never heard of before yesterday.

Some hours later, Kenny returned and plopped onto his own bed, turning on some music and playing it too loudly for Harry to concentrate. Harry knew this sort of behavior was coming, and didn't think fighting it was the right thing tonight. He just tried to ignore it and finish his book.

If I die, if I run away, if this asshole played his music all day, would I still have to go to school?

Harry wasn't bugged; he was just beginning to feel very, very tired.

Monday. Smeltings.

His first day passed in silence. Literally, no one talked to him. His teachers introduced him but didn't call on him – that was about it for speach. He didn't find the subjects as interesting as even Divination; they were really useless – well, useless for someone who wanted to be an Auror. But if he kept it up here, he really had no chance for that at all.

In the middle of Literature, Harry found himself contemplating his new career path, but then settled for dying young and not having to worry about it. Honestly, by the time he was walking to therapy he was about ready to find a pond or river or something. He knocked on the open door that had the number he was looking for written in silver letters, M. Rosenburge Ph.D.

"Harry Potter!" She said happily enough. "Welcome. I'm Martha Rosenburge, but you can call me Marty."

"Hi Marty," Harry said without even a tenth of the warmth she had.

"I think we'll be seeing too much of each other to be on a last name basis, so I'll call you Harry. How about that?"

Harry nodded and took a seat on the couch she indicated, and she sat down in the chair near to it.

"Just so you know," she said, "these sessions aren't timed; you can leave whenever you wish, but you must stop in every evening to at least say hello and tell me you're too busy to talk. If you don't show up I'll have to go looking for you, and trust me, after walking around in these heels I won't be in the best mood."

Harry looked at her blue high heels and agreed they didn't look like the best shoes for walking.

"Okay."

"And, you should know, I have read your file from Stonewall High. We can talk about what's in there whenever you want – it doesn't have to be today, or even this week – but I'll bring it up from time to time. Is that going to be okay with you?"

"Yes, sure." Harry found the floor by the closed door very interesting for the moment, because he was suddenly feeling quite hot and bothered.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to conclude today's meeting?"

"Yes!" He stood up fast and met her eyes for the first time.

"Well, it was great meeting you. I really only wanted to get that over and done with, as I'm sure you did. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He nodded and hurried to the door, looking back once to see her smiling fondly at his retreating back. He gave her a small smile – his first in days – and then made his way back to his dorm.

He found Kenny in bed listening to music and reading – didn't even look up at him – and thought a longer session wasn't such a bad idea suddenly. Harry sat down heavily on his bed and pulled out the math homework that was going to take some serious studying to undestand; he didn't have a Hogwarts class that taught anything close to this sort of subject. He buried himself in the numbers and symbols, trying to forget about the students, the unhappy teachers, Kenny, and Marty and his therapy sessions. He forgot about so much that evening, he even forgot to learn any math, and just fell asleep on his text book.

The rest of his week went in a blur of notes and confusion…and some pretty memorable moments thanks to Dudley. It was the Smeltings way to haze, but no one was brave enough to really try it since Dudley was looking out for Harry. The first incident happened in a class Harry shared with him – Modern Marvels. From somewhere in the back a letter was passed up. Harry opened it discretely and saw a stick figure with a lightning bolt-shaped scar on its head, on his knees with its face stuffed in the crotch of another laughing stick figure.

A sudden memory flashed through his mind, of pseudo-Ron's mouth coming down on him and sucking him in deep, and just the memory of that blinding pleasure brought sparks to Harry's eyes. Then suddenly that feeling was overshadowed with the idea that they knew he had had sex with a guy, and fear tainted the memory. His hand crushed the drawing into a fist-sized ball, only for a bigger hand to clasped over his fist. Harry jumped and jerked around, but it was Dudley, who had gotten up from his desk two rows back to see what the note was.

He took it from Harry's hand and he opened it up, and his pudgy face turned instantly hollow.

"WHO DREW THIS?!" He bellowed in the room. The teacher, up front talking and writing notes on the board, broke his chalk in half and turned around in shock. "WHO DREW THIS?! WAS IT YOU, QUIMBURG?"

Quimburg was a skinny, prissy boy sitting near the back of the room. He'd frequently jabbed Harry in the halls, and Harry was glad now to have a name for his aggressor. Quimburg's eyes had opened to the size of watermelons and he furiously shook his head.

"Sit down, Dursley!" The teacher said, and though Dudley went to his desk he told the class in his angriest Big-D voice, "Any of you give my cousin notes like this again –" he held the crumpled drawing up in the air in his fist "– and I'll break BOTH your arms!"

Harry had never before been so pleased to be related to Dudley.

There was a few elbow jabs in the halls, and a few good knocks while he took his tray of food to a table, but Harry was a seasoned Quidditch player and dodged any severe mishaps. On top of this, if Dudley caught sight of any of the fowl behavior he'd storm over with the idea to give the kid such a good kicking that the kid would run away in fear. Harry had no idea Dudley could be so ferocious, but it was clear now why he was the leader of his big group of wrestling friends.

And the best thing about all of this: Harry had something to talk to Marty about that didn't go anywhere close to his ordeal at his last school.

That Friday, Harry was stopped in the hall by Headmaster Clarkson as he was walking towards Marty's room.

"Mr. Potter, mind if we have a little word?"

Clarkson moved to the side of the hall and stood tall, looking down on Harry sternly. Harry was just glad he was far enough away that he couldn't be grabbed at; at this point, anyone looking at him like that usually led to some form of harassment.

"I've been asking around and no one has you signed up for their extracurricular activity. I just want you to know that here at Smeltings we like all our boys to have a hobby. So think about it, and tell your Dorm Leader by Monday what you've chosen."

The idea of having to talk to Kenny at all was wrenching, but Harry nodded and said, "I will, Sir. Thank you."

"How has your first week gone? Keeping up with your classes?"

"Yes sir. Very well." He wasn't really, but no need to tell the Headmaster that.

"Well, off you get to therapy. That's very important!"

As Harry watched him leave, he was sure the idea to stress therapy sessions had been planted in the Headmaster's head because of magic. A little while later, Marty was looking wisely at him with her pen between her teeth.

"What are you thinking about, Harry? You're awfully quiet."

"Do you believe in magic?" He said, surprised he found the courage to finally ask her. He'd been wondering if she knew he was a wizard, but there was no telling.

"I believe there are things that can't be explained by science," she said in that usual disguised way she had been using for the past few weeks.

"No, I mean, do you believe in real magic? Like…hocus-pocus."

"Do you believe in hocus-pocus?"

Harry wondered how this was going to be a productive therapy session if he couldn't talk about that which defined him most. He wondered for so long that she had to ask again.

"Do you believe magic is real, Harry?"

He nodded, unable to hide really how truthfully he did believed.

"What does magic mean to you?"

"It's…a lot of trouble most of the time. But it can also be good. I think life would be easier without it. There would be a lot less…tricks." Treachery.

"Do you think magic was involved in what happened to you at Stonewall High?" That was the first time she'd brought it up, and it took Harry off guard. "Harry?" she urged.

"Times up," he said somewhat angrily as that was a very twisted way to bring the subject up.

Marty sighed but consented. "We made good progress today. I think we know each other a little better, and that's good. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Harry was about to leave, but hesitated by the door. "Marty?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"The Headmaster wants me to choose a sport or hobby to train in. Do you have any idea what I'd be good at?"

Her eyes trailed over his shoulders to his hands, to his knees and feet. "You look fit, Harry. You look like you could compete in anything. What do you like to do?"

He knew she meant what did he like to play – yet, he wasn't exactly able to tell her he liked playing a Seeker in Quidditch – but all Harry could think was that what he liked these days was shrouded in pain and disappointment. He liked being wrapped around a body that felt so good he never wanted it to stop; and he liked letting his mind go and fucking in rhythm with someone as perfect as his best friend. He wanted all that back, but every time he remembered how perfect it was, he would be crushed yet again under the pain of the truth.

"Harry, you're drifting off again, you know?"

Harry looked up at her. "Sorry. I have to go."

He left quickly and went up to his room. Kenny was at wrestling practice that wouldn't finish until after dinner, so he had the room to himself, and so what he did with that brief moment of privacy was to lock the door and drop his pants.

He leaned one arm against the door and wrapped his other hand around his growing arousal and imagined he was back at Hogwarts, in the hospital ward, alone at night with the darkness all around him. Strong hands held his body and played with his nerves, and hot kisses landed against his mouth. He pumped himself fast with one hand and – as the memories returned to him – grabbed a handful of the hair on the back of his head. A few deep breathes later and he made a mess against the back of the door, biting his bottom lip, his head fallen back.

He stayed that way until the sweat that coated his lower back and throat turned cold, just imagining he was on his back with someone endlessly fucking him. He tired himself out thinking about it, and then reality came back to him. He came back to himself and pulled his pants back up, then searched for something to clean the drying mess on the back of the door.

He really hated how lonely he was here at Smeltings.

Hours after his moment alone in his dorm room, he had his school bag and was waiting just off from Dudley's group of boys in the main hall for Vernon to take him home for the weekend. He was looking around at all the groups of other boys also waiting for their rides home for the weekend. None of them paid him any attention. They were all such normal people with normal issues and normal, stupid behavior. Harry's brow furrowed thinking of just how different his life had turned out compared to how he thought it would, when someone plopped against the wall next to him. The boy was an upper classman, tall, bleached blond hair, and ears covered in piercings. He was smiling, leaning up there against Harry's wall, and he was gorgeous. Harry had never seen him before at all. He frankly would have remembered someone as good looking as him.

"Who are you waiting for?" he asked Harry.

"My uncle."

"Dursley's dad?"

Harry nodded, and then looked around at a few faces looking over at the two of them. He got a little worried and said, "Aren't you going to get hassled for talking to me?"

"Naw! Even Kenny Johansen can try all he wants to rule the school, but I talk to who I want to talk to."

Harry smiled for the first time in ages; it hurt his cheeks. Something came across the other’s eyes that Harry didn't recognize, but it looked a little along the lines of worry. Harry didn't particularly want him to feel whatever this feeling was, so he asked quickly, "What's your name?"

He held out his hand and Harry shook it. "I'm Peter Cosset. Call me Pete."

"Harry Potter."

"I know, Harry Potter. Big D's little cousin."

Harry got the impression that Pete liked him, and he liked that.

"Are you going home for the weekend?" Harry asked.

"Naw. I’m a weekender. My parents travel and aren’t home, so the school won’t let me go."

Just then something caught Pete's eye and Harry looked to see what it was. He was surprised to see that it was Dudley glaring menacingly at Pete.

"I think your bodyguard wants you to be left alone."

"Yeah," Harry said, his smile now gone. "He looks about ready to crush you. I never thought he'd treat me like this."

"Treat you like what?" Pete never took his eyes away from Dudley, but changed his expression to look menacingly back, which made Dudley fume and Harry's heart lighten.

"Like he needed to protect me," Harry said, giving Dudley a little wave off, and Dudley seemed to let out some of the steam that had collected in his head.

Pete let his expression go and smiled at Harry. Squeezing his shoulder warmly, he said, "Well, someone has to. You have Johansen on your ass." A twinkle came into Pete's eyes and he leaned far forward and whispered quietly right against Harry's ear, "You're very nice ass."

Harry stood still, neither giving nor letting anything go by that remark, but his pulse raced a little more. Pete's chestnut brown eyes danced between Harry's, and his smile broadened. Slowly he leaned away and took his hand back from Harry's shoulder.

"Have a good weekend, Harry," he said nicely, and walked away towards the back doors that led to the gym.

Harry stared at his broad shoulders moving under his loose shirt, wondering if he was being tested or played.

He was still thinking about that encounter back home at the Dursleys. Before Dudley was going to go out for a few hours with his friends, Harry approached him in the privacy of his room.

"Hey, Dudley?"

"Hmm?" Dudley asked, seeming to be looking around for something in his very cluttered room.

"Thanks for…you know…your help this week."

"You're welcome. But you know, it was Mum who asked me to help you," Dudley said, pulling a warm hat on to cover his thin yellow hair, making him look not so baby-faced.

"Really?"

Dudley shrugged Harry's awe off and went to a mirror to check his self out. "Yeah. She knew they'd hassle you, and she said you didn't need that on top of everything else."

Harry couldn't imagine what the week would have been like without Dudley – although, he wondered if he really wanted Dudley's protection from Pete and his big brown eyes.

November, 1996.

It was rather a big deal for Harry to go to Kenny to get his help signing up for track and field. He had to wait for the right time when Kenny would be too busy to be rude and yet within reach of an adult so he wouldn't be unhelpful. In the end, what Harry got from Kenny was an impolite direction to the coach for that sport, and told to take it up with him instead. So at dinner, Harry asked the nearest person to point out the coach for track and field, and he directed him to Coach – it's what everyone called him, apparently.

Harry was rather glad that he got a bit of conversation at the table that night, so it seemed Kenny's ban on him had lifted a little. All through dinner, though, Harry kept his eye out for Pete, and was rewarded with a view of him with his friends a few tables away, but Pete didn't notice him at all, which sobered Harry up and got his head down from the clouds.

Harry waited until Coach got up to leave, then met him by the doors and, after a quick introduction, was told he needed a physical from the school's doctor before he could try out. That idea greatly turned Harry off the notion of taking up a sports hobby, and the whole of the rest of the day was spent feeling quite disappointed.

It wasn't until meeting Marty that Harry got any good news at all that day. She told him she could give him a waiver from having to take the physical to join practice, but he still couldn't compete in any competitions until he got an exam from the doctor. Harry was so thrilled with this that he walked into his dorm with a smile on his face, still holding the waver she wrote out for him during their session in his hand. Honestly, he should have been wiser than to walk in with that smile, because it peaked Kenny's interest.

"What are you grinning about, Potter?" Kenny asked.

"Nothing," Harry said, and sobered up his face, trying to look like it was any other miserable day; Kenny left him alone when he was looking miserable.

Kenny slapped his book closed. "As your Dorm Leader, you're required to answer me, Potter. Did Coach let you on his team?"

Harry shrugged, slipping his waver form into his math text book. Almost instantly, though, Kenny tried to snatch it away, but Harry's Seeking ability had Kenny beat.

"That's mine!" Harry said, tucking the book into his bag.

"Show it to me, Potter! Right now!"

Harry glared at him, but Kenny really was mostly harmless, and he would probably blare his music all night if he didn't get what he wanted, so Harry passed the slip of paper over with a glare.

Once Kenny's eyes landed on the heading and the signature, he laughed.

"You have a psych waver! Potter!" He said and then abruptly his laugh stopped and he took a step back from Harry. "Wait! You're seeing the psych doctor? And I didn't know about this? What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"I'm not –" Harry snatched the paper back from Kenny. "– mental or anything, Kenny!"

"Then why are you seeing Rosenburge?" Kenny was very disturbed that he didn't know this information. The fact that Harry didn't even know he didn't know told him how very little they talked at all.

"That's none of your business," Harry said and got up on his bed and put the letter in his bedside table. He ignored Kenny still standing near his bed and opened the closest text book to him and put his eyes to the pages.

Still, for nearly a minute, Kenny just stood there, until Harry couldn't take it and slammed his book closed.

"WHAT?"

Kenny suddenly dove onto him, which Harry wasn't expecting. Kenny got a hold of him in one of the wrestling locks Dudley had always caught Harry in when they were kids. Harry yelled as much as his airway would let him, and struggled fiercely to escape. Kenny wasn't like Dudley, though – he was a middle weight where Dudley was heavy weight, so Harry had more of a chance to push him off. But even so, every move Harry tried was countered easily thanks to Kenny's greatly superior knowledge of wrestling.

"Tell me, Potter! Why are you seeing the psych doc!"

Harry refused to say. He struggled hard and for a second he got his elbow free and got a nice jab into Kenny's side, but this made Kenny counter by flipping Harry over onto his stomach and then sitting on his upper thighs, locking both of Harry's arms painfully behind him so that he really couldn't move at all. He was totally pinned, except Kenny didn't have his mouth.

"Fuck you!" He shouted, and Kenny laughed.

"Come on, Potter, I can keep at this all night. Tell me, or I'll tell the whole school you have a psych waver!"

"Tell them whatever you want! Get off me!"

Kenny rocked from side to side, causing lightning pain to shoot up through Harry's shoulders thanks to the brutal way they were pinned, making him breathless.

"I don't know, I kind of like it here, and don't tell me you don't like it. Fags like you would pay to have me nail them, even if it is just on the mat!"

Embarrassment clouded Harry's vision, and he stopped struggling so fiercely. It was just the Smeltings way to call anyone who seemed different a fag, but the worse part for Harry was not knowing if he just seemed different to the guys here, or if they really knew he was starting to only like people of the male persuasion.

"Stop it, Kenny," he said, his voice barely audible. He had barely a breath of fight left in him; it seemed like he had been fighting being in this position nonstop for weeks now.

"Tell me first!" Kenny demanded, not giving an inch.

Harry cringed in pain, but he didn't see a way out, and he just wanted the pain in his shoulders to stop and Kenny to get up, so he finally consented and said softly – embarrassedly – through all the pain of this moment and the weeks before, "I was raped – at my other school – that's why I'm here."

It took Kenny a moment, but then he loosened his grip on Harry's arms and released him, stepping off completely.

Harry sat up and rotated his shoulders gently, blinking the tears out of his eyes. He was unable to meet Kenny's face, so he just looked at his bedspread.

"Go on, then," Harry said somberly, "let's hear it. Too weak to fight him off – Fag probably begged for it anyway. What, Kenny? What are you going to say next about me?"

Kenny shook his head, speechless. Harry glanced up at him and held his frozen expression. He almost couldn't stop his explanation that came next…

"Smeltings was the last place I could go. So I'm sorry I'm here, really I am…I would rather be where I was, but I just – can't! I'm sorry I have to room with you…I'm sorry I don't want the doctor to touch me…I'm sorry I need a psych waver just to run circles on a track field! Okay? But I just – can't! I can't do – anything – else!"

Sobs were about ready to wrack Harry's body, so instead of give into them, he ran from them. He wiped the tears that had fallen unbidden from his eyes, and got off his bed. Kenny didn't give him any trouble as he went around him and out the door, and Harry didn't look back once after he slammed the door.

He went to the bathroom on that floor and hid in a stall for about an hour before his tears stopped and he could come out. He couldn't go back to his room and face the possibility that Kenny was still awake, so he went to Dudley's room and knocked on the door. It was some time before Dudley's roommate – Piers Polkiss, a boy from the school Harry went to when they were all children – answered.

"What?" He said, voice soft from sleep, and he rubbed at his eyes.

"Dudley here?" Harry wondered, speaking quietly in the still night.

"Yeah, Dud's here. He's sleeping!"

Harry pushed the door open and Piers let him in, too tired to disagree. Harry went in the room and up to the bed with the large rotating lump.

"What'er you doing here, Harry?" Dudley asked.

"Can I sleep in here? I can't go back to my room." Dudley sighed heavily and then shrugged his heavy shoulders and said, "Floor's free."

Harry sighed and laid out on the small carpet in the middle of the freezing cold floor, feeling too exhausted to care. Piers was still by the door and shut it with a roll of his eyes. He stepped over Harry without a word and got back into bed. It wasn't long before something heavy from Dudley's side of the room collided with his back, and he pulled the pillow under his head and fell instantly to sleep.

It was a heavy foot that dug under his stomach and flipped him to his back, waking him up.

"Get up!" Piers said, rolling him over again until Harry groaned as his body rolled onto the icy wooden floor.

"Get up, Harry!" Dudley said, looming over him in full Smeltings uniform.

"Why?" Harry groaned.

"Breakfast!"

Harry groaned again and sat up. "I'm not hungry."

"Who cares, we are, and we need to lock the door, so you need to get out of here!"

Harry scratched his messy head and got weakly to his feet. He was never a very good morning person, let alone a good person to wake up from the floor.

"By the way, are you alright?" Dudley asked, now sounding like he cared. "Do I need to pummel anyone?"

"No, you don't need to – pummel – anyone." Harry muttered, tramping out of the room and down the hall to the end, where he was bunked.

He could have just walked in, seeing as it was his room, but he had forgotten his room key and he didn't think jiggling the handle would have gone over one way or another. So he knocked on the closed door first and waited.

He was about to try for the handle when it was pulled open by Kenny. Harry had really hoped he wasn't in – even if it meant he had to go to classes in the crumpled uniform he was already wearing – but no such luck for him. After his first look at Kenny's naturally stern face, he settled for looking permanently over his shoulders.

"Where'd you sleep – the floor?" Kenny asked in a voice that was neither here nor there.

"Yeah," Harry muttered, trying not to lose his nerve. He also tried not to remember that Kenny was the first person he mentioned the secret in his case file to.

Kenny just stood there for another moment, then said, "Your hair is a mess. You need a shower," and he walked past Harry out of the room, his bag over one shoulder and the scent of his aftershave left behind.

Harry looked after him, and Kenny looked with soft eyes over his shoulder back to him just before he walked out of sight. Harry went into his room and closed the door, leaning against it. He was in the grip of something strange today; he liked to think that maybe it was the feeling that things had gotten as worse as they could, and might get better from here.

Harry gathered up his clothes to rush to the bathroom for a shower. All the week before, Kenny had been in about half his classes, and this week was no different, only this time he didn't harass Harry at all; he just left him alone – occasionally commenting on something Harry was lacking, such as a shower or a meal. Harry wasn't sure if he liked this new Kenny or not, but in a strange way, Kenny seemed to have accepted his presence – as a little kid accepts the presence of a new baby in the house; it had to be cared for and you had to be gentle with it, but even if it changed things it couldn't hurt you.

The weeks get colder.

He’s been doing this awhile now, and every time: Coach blew the whistle and yelled, "No glasses on the track! Lose them or get lost!"

His mind was frayed with the number of rules. Boundaries. Diagrams of living.

Harry and two others took them off and put them in back pockets.

He set his feet and looked ahead of him at the completely blurry world. The one thing he could see was the two white lines on either side of his row. The muscles in his legs felt tight after the week of pushing it. The set was going to be another pain in his ass.

"Go!" Blared the coach, and the whistle sounded.

Harry was off, right away behind all seven of the other players, and finished a full eight seconds behind the slowest one. His coach gave him a few words of encouragement, but they were the same words Harry had told to the players who tried out for Quidditch and never made it.

He pulled his glasses out and put them back on.

He couldn’t see the ground where his feet land. How was he supposed to run at full speed like this?

The coach blared some nonsense at a group of gaggling boys there for their friend. They all ignored Harry as he stretched in place, waiting for the new set.

The group lined up again and Harry took a deep breath. He looked ahead of him at the curve of the track, then down at his own feet. He toed the ground and jumped a couple times.

“Take them off,” said the boy to his side.

Harry signed. Didn’t listen.

“Do it.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

"Some kid tripped and fell on the track years ago. His glasses broke and went into one of his eyes, and he was blind in that eye. Coach was his coach."

Harry looked back at Coach, who was preparing his whistle. He quickly removed his glasses and prepared his feet.

"Set!"

Harry took a deep breath and concentrated on the finish, not the path. The whistle sounded and he was off, this time not as hesitantly. He finished fifth.

"Better, Potter!" Coach yelled.

He didn’t put his glasses back on between sets. Coach kept yelling, but it didn’t feel so bad.

Overall, the weeks at Smeltings did improve. Kenny became overbearing but in a new way, ordering Harry around and telling him to do everything from shape up to get some sleep. Harry could admit, if it wasn't for Kenny, he'd spend all his time looking at walls and freezing to death because he forgot his jacket. It had started snowing the last few days, but it was mostly melted by midday. Kenny took to leaving Harry's jacket on the door handle so he wouldn't forget it.

The worst of it was Harry's stressful night. He could be fretting over Ron or his homework just before bed, but then dreaming of Lord Voldemort the next second. While Harry used to be able to hide his nightmares from his roommates with those large Hogwarts curtains, he wasn't allowed to do magic here, and there weren't any curtains on these beds. A dozen times already, Harry awoke to Kenny shaking him and shoving a glass of water to his lips.

Harry didn't bring this up to Marty in counseling, but he did say Kenny was nicer as a roommate these days. Marty explained it that he was the Dorm Leader for a reason, and it was because of his years of helping boys in need that he was recognized and promoted to his position.

"Have you ever been recognized for a talent and given special privileges?" Marty asked him, running with the conversation like she was rather good at.

"I was captain of a sports team before I came here. We hadn't played any matches yet, though, but I chose the players."

"Did your team respect you?"

"I had the most experience, so yeah. Guess so."

"Do you miss being the captain?"

Harry shook his head. "I left my best friend in charge, and I know he's doing a good job."

Marty looked a bit surprised at what he said. "You have a best friend? You haven't mentioned that before. What's he like?"

Harry swallowed hard. Overall, this wasn't the way he wanted this conversation to go, but he missed Ron, and talking about him felt good. "Funny. Strong. Smart - not as smart as our friend Hermione, but no one can beat him at chess."

"You get along well, I take it?"

"Yes."

"And you miss him?"

Harry nodded, and then shrugged indifferently. "But he's probably doing better without me."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because…"

"Because…?"

Harry was really unwilling to talk about the Battle at the Department of Mysteries, and the brains that nearly killed him, and the death of his godfather. All those things centered on magic, and Marty had so far found his belief of supernatural things very unusual; there was no need to make things worse.

"Because I'm not there to get him in trouble," he said instead. It was still the truth, he reasoned. "He'd never had had these scars on his arms if it wasn't for me. But…he brags about them. No matter how much they hurt to get, he still laughs. I like that."

"Harry…do you mind if I make an observation?"

Harry wondered if she was going to tell him he thought too much of himself, but shrugged anyway. "Go ahead."

"It sounds like you’ve coexisted with Ron through some hard times, but this is the first time you've ever mentioned him, or...Hermione?"

Harry bit his lip and rubbed his forehead, wondering if he really wanted to continue this conversation. But he didn't, really.

"Did something happen between you three?"

"Yes," he said hesitantly.

"What was it?"

"I started feeling jealous."

"Of Ron?"

"Of Hermione."

Marty pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow, offering him her best doe eyes and concern.

"Because…of Ron?" She asked, and Harry nodded in consent. "And Hermione found out that – you had feelings for Ron? Or…Ron found out you had feelings for him?"

Harry didn't really know one way or the other, all he knew was that once he kissed Ron because of those plant toxins, he couldn't stop his affection from showing itself. Furthermore, he didn't want his affections to go back in the closet. Either way, they both thought it was just the plants; they didn't know the toxin was nearly out of his system when Harry had sex with the pseudo-Ron.

"No. Neither. They never really found out the truth."

"So, you kept it a secret that you were falling for your friend?"

"No. I never kept it a secret. I just never had the chance to tell them."

"Why?"

Harry looked at her, almost angry that she didn't realize. He gathered up his bag and stood up. "Why do you think?" He asked spitefully.

"Harry," she said before he made it to the door, "is there any chance that Ron would reciprocate your feelings?"

Harry stopped with his hand on the door, thinking about it. Ron was a Prefect, from a large family of proper wizards, childish and naïve sometimes, and now saddled with Quidditch captainship. He had everything except Harry, and that wasn't even such a bad thing. Not to mention, Harry loved him and he loved Hermione long before he started having a crush on Ron. He wouldn't – almost couldn't – hurt her in the way he would if he told her he wanted Ron. She might let him have him; worse, she might never try to have him.

None of that mattered now, though, because Harry was at Smeltings a million miles from Hogwarts. He was out of the picture.

Finally, Harry looked back and said with certainty, "No. He'll want Hermione."

And he left.

Harry tried to imagine bringing before his two friends his feelings. He saw Hermione ready to rebut him. He saw Ron ready to deny the truth; say it was and always will be just a reaction to Neville’s plants.

Harry stormed from Marty’s office and that thought entirely.

Late December, 1996.

Towards the on-coming Christmas break, the snow fell heavy at Smeltings, making it impossible for track and field to practice outside, so they ran laps through the halls of the building. Harry ran three miles every day with the rest of them, still with his glasses off, to keep up his strength.

Coach hadn't once tried to get him to take the physical and compete, which Harry was glad about. Then again, he was still only average in his speed compared to the other seven top contenders.

He was getting better at his classes, but again, he was only barely average. It wasn't like at Hogwarts, where talent was judged on spell work instead of grades. He had to admit, though, that not practicing magic left him more time to learn bookwork and study. He wondered how Hermione had always found time for both.

He rarely saw Pete, but whenever he did he got these butterflies in his stomach that reminded him of sex. It was a feeling he both hated and wanted, because it made him begin to think past his night with Ron, and towards a future of some kind.

Still, though, Harry hadn't tried to make friends or get to know anyone, not even Kenny, really. He was told by Dudley one weekend at the Dursleys that the reason still no one talks to him is because he has an angry expression on his face most of the time. Harry denied it at the time, but truth be told his face hurt with how stiff and crunched up it was, and yet he didn't know how to change that.

Christmas was almost here. Harry had been at Smeltings for almost two months now. He hadn't accomplished much of anything, and lately he was feeling trapped within these walls. He wanted to escape. He wanted to leave.

They had just one more day of finals left and Harry so far hadn't been impressed with his work on the tests, but then, he hadn't been playing a Muggle for long. Kenny gave him a long lecture about putting in some major studying over the holiday to prepare for his return.

"You're such a bummer, Harry! I don't know why you haven't been kicked out sooner! Clarkson would have kicked anyone else out already!"

"Maybe he's just a nice guy," Harry said as he glared right back at Kenny's stubborn face.

"No, he just feels sorry for you."

It was a low blow, but it didn't affect Harry too badly; he knew Headmaster Clarkson was under a spell to keep Harry here and safe, and so it didn't matter how bad he was – even if he studied his brains out – Clarkson was going to keep him. Trouble was, Kenny didn’t know this and kept encouraging him.

The upper classman tisked once, harshly, at Harry and faced away from him. Harry felt a little bad, because Kenny had become rather an important person to him the past few weeks.

"I know you're trying…" Harry beared a resemblance to someone thoughtful.

"And I know you're trying, too, but if you keep this up, it'll be like you don't care about anything anymore."

Harry shifted in place. "I do care."

"Not about anything important," Kenny said practically.

"That's not true…" Harry did care about a lot of things. Kenny was on that list, he supposed. Not that he would tell him. He cared about his family: his aunt who kept him company when he went home for the weekends, and his uncle and how he got Harry into this school, and about Dudley and all the fights he fought for Harry's sake. "I care about a lot of people," Harry said firmly.

Kenny just eyeballed him over his notebook. Harry sighed and turned back to his own study book, clicking his mechanical pencil to give him more lead so he could doodle a few more teeth into his dragon mouth he was drawing in the margin.

He fell asleep fretting about tomorrow, and had a horrible nightmare about Sirius. The whole time he was terrified and trying everything he could to save him, but still he was just out of reach. And then a big surprise happened, because suddenly his body was so sweaty and his heart raced so much. Harry held onto the memory of Sirius as tightly as he could, even as it began to fade and he began to feel rough hands on him, shaking him, and a deep voice calling his name softly. He still felt like he was in his dream, and he began to fight off Kenny's hands.

Angry, disoriented, looking around at the darkness in confusion, he pushed past Kenny and stumbled to the door, tugging and struggling with the door handle, but it remained locked.

"Let me out! Let me out!" he begged, weak and shaky.

He needed to find Sirius – no – he needed to avenge Sirius – no…

Harry shook the handle until Kenny slipped by him and unlocked it, opening it. It swung towards him and Harry stared out the open door at the dark passageway with all the other dorm doors on either side.

He finally was fully aware of where he was, but still the hollowness spread through him. He looked over at Kenny, who was staring at him like he was seeing a ghost for the first time, and then Harry left him standing there and quick-paced out of there into the dark hall.

He didn't know where he was going, but when he made it to the bathroom and locked himself in a stall, he finally knew he was looking for somewhere safe. He put the toilet lid down and pulled his legs up onto the seat, then let the darkness return. After that, the next thing he knew he was listening to someone banging something loudly nearby.

He opened his eyes and found he was curled up on the closed lid of a toilet, locked in, and resting on his arms that were nearly frozen to the porcelain backing.

Outside, someone said to someone else, "Go get Kenny; tell him I found Potter."

The pounding didn't resume, so in Harry's frozen, shirtless state, he closed his eyes and wished for just the blackness to return. It was all too soon that the knocking resumed more softly. It was Kenny.

"Harry? You missed finals, you know? It's already lunch time. Open the door, okay? Let us in."

He knocked on the door again and then there were whispers on the other side. Harry shut his eyes tightly and tried to ignore it, hating it all. He tried to let the cold devour his body so he wouldn't have to remember just how lonely he was. No Sirius, not any more. No Ron, not any more. Nothing.

"What's going on?" This person sounded a little familiar.

"Potter's in there. He won't come out. He missed classes all morning."

"Maybe I can try," said Pete, stepping forward and knocking lightly on the door. "Harry? It's Pete. Remember me? We met your first week here. Want to open the door for me?"

Harry raised his head and looked over. He did rather want to see Pete – he'd been looking at him from across rooms for months now.

"Harry?" Pete said urgently again.

The latch was right there, so Harry reached a cold, bare arm over and pulled the lock. There was a loud click and the door swung inwards by Pete's hand, and he was there with a hot hand against his cold shoulder, like he'd done that first day they'd met.

"Hey, Harry. What's going on? Just couldn't put down a really good magazine?"

Harry shook his head, too weak to answer. Pete looked over his shoulder and gave Kenny a look Harry didn't see, and right away Kenny squeezed into the tight stall and helped Pete pull Harry to his feet and out into the bathroom that was filled with a dozen other boys, all from Kenny's and Pete's circles.

Pete stood him still and Harry shivered in the cold room, and he looked up the inch it took to meet Pete's eyes. He had always thought of Pete as tall, but they were really close to being the same height.

Pete had a worry crease in his brow and said, "You're lips are blue."

The only response Harry had to that was to reach for the back of his neck and pull him in for a soft kiss.

There were a few startled sounds that escaped the people in the room, but Harry only had a mind for the mouth he was pressed against. Pete didn't struggle against him at all; what he did do was pull his school jacket off and slide it around and up Harry's back, pulling it tightly around his neck and body. This motion broke the kiss, which was fine with Harry, who folded his arms and brought the warm jacket closer.

"Let's get you to the doctor," Pete said, gently pushing him towards Kenny, who looked a little confused as he led him – with a hand on his shoulder – out the bathroom to get some help. The whole way to the doctor's, Pete and Kenny had a hand on him for support. These two were such a strong presence that Harry began to forget he'd ever felt quite as lonely as he had before.

Needless to say, Harry got a cold from being in the icy bathroom for so long. He was given some medicine – real Muggle medicine, in a plastic measure cup and everything – and put under a heating blanket in a bed in the doctor's office. Marty came by as he was getting set up and asked him if he didn't want to stay in there, but it was fine with him if he did.

She sat down in a chair by the bed, and that's where she was now ten minutes later. It was just the two of them – the doctor got Marty's silent request to be left alone.

"You need to talk to me now, Harry," she said sternly. "This incident isn't the first time you've not slept in your dorm room, but it's the first time you've put yourself in danger here at Smeltings."

"I didn't mean to put myself in danger."

"Didn't you? You slept on a toilet in an icy bathroom stall all night! There was a very real chance you might not have woken up from that. You understand that, right?"

Harry chose not to respond. He knew where this was going: Marty was going to try compassion on him to open him up, and then she was going to bring up a sore subject, and then Harry was going to leave the room. It was a game they played, but it wasn't any fun on Harry's side. He hated when she started to get too close. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to someone, but he just didn't know about her. She might be a good therapist, but she might also be a good liar. He just didn't know.

Marty continued, more compassionately now, as expected.

"Your dorm mate told me you suffer from nightmares. Why didn't you ever bring this up in our therapy sessions?"

"For the same reason I don't want to bring it up now."

"Well, this isn't our usual therapy session. You have to talk now, Harry, because if you don't, I'm going to have to write in your permanent record that you're refusing your therapy, and then you're going to have to leave Smeltings."

"I don't like it here, anyway…" Not wholly true. If Harry was kicked out he'd never forgive himself. He'd rather leave on an even accord.

Marty sighed. Frustration, or maybe just worry. Harry wondered if she thought he didn't care about much of anything either, just like Kenny. "What don't you like about it, son?"

"It's not my home. Hogwarts – Smeltings – is my home. I want to go back there."

Marty didn't seem to be bothered by the stray word he'd said. She thought it was an expletive.

"You're going to have to tell me about the night you were raped, Harry. You have to talk about it. It can’t stay locked away to fester. I can't let you leave me unless I know you won't try to kill yourself again."

"I didn't try to kill myself!" Harry said loudly, shocked that she would say that and cringing at the thought of it.

"You didn't take a razor to your wrists, but you have very little respect for your own life."

Harry shook his head, at a loss for how to convince her to be on his side – or even just how to make her back off. "If I don't, it's only because it doesn't feel like my life anymore."

Marty nodded with encouragement. "Good, Harry. Good. Start there. Tell me about your life before. Tell me about you."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because…" Harry said, tears of weakness and regrets beginning to fall out of his big green eyes. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, because they were getting so close to the secrets he tried to keep. "…I don't trust you."

"You don't? Why not?" She was sorry he felt that way.

"You know why."

And Marty nodded, because maybe she did know why, or maybe she just thought she did. "Because the last person you trusted – broke that trust."

Harry nodded, because that was close enough to the truth for him to agree. He wiped his tears off his face and sniffed.

"Have I done anything to break your trust yet?" Marty asked quietly.

Harry shook his head. "No, but you might be just pretending to be an ordinary therapist, but you…maybe you're not…maybe you're just pretending to get me to talk. I don't know…I don't trust…"

"Me." Marty whispered, and she shook her head and pressed a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes and taking a moment for herself. Harry waited for her to say something – anything.

Harry didn’t want to cry, because he was just so miserable and alone. Crying would make it hurt more. Marty soothed him and rubbed his back, and Harry didn't stop her, because her comfort was the only thing letting him hang on to what little control he had.

"I think I understand you better, Harry," she said gently, "and I think you're very brave to have come this far. But now you need to go the rest of the way. You need to trust again."

"How can I – do that?" Harry said between breaths, "I can’t trust – anyone. Even my best friend."

"Someone isn’t your best friend if he betrays you, Harry. Is that part of your story?”

Harry nodded.

“I think the only thing you can do is forgive him."

"Why? How?" Harry pushed her away so he could see her face, and it was sincere.

"I truly believe this, Harry. I've seen people come through years of abuse only because they forgave their abusers. It's awful…and a little twisted. You think you can't trust me, Harry? Well, imagine going through the rest of your life not trusting another living soul."

Harry tried to fathom that, but he just couldn't, because he wanted to trust people again. He wanted to see Hagrid and Hermione and – yes – Ron. He missed his friends, and he hated mistrusting. It wasn't Ron's fault – Ron wasn't the one with the Slytherin Prefect badge – but it was just so natural to hate the person with the face he knew had hurt him.

"I know who did that me. Who it was I slept with." he whispered.

"Was he your friend?" Marty asked, just as quietly.

Harry shook his head. "I hated him from the first day we met, and he hated me the same."

Marty put both her hands on his head and smoothed down his hair, to sooth him. "Sometimes the person you hate the worst is someone who can understand you, but this person took it too far. When you had sex with him…if you think just because you let some parts of it happen willingly, that doesn’t mean you wanted all parts of it to happen. Because it doesn’t have to mean you consented just because you said yes at first. Things can change in the blink of an eye. You can change your mind."

Harry swallowed hard. He was willing right now. Willing to talk. "I kissed him. He asked me to, but I kissed him first. He came onto the bed and got on top of me, and we just kissed at first, but then he asked to go all the way, and I wanted to…"

Harry nervously swallowed and his shoulders shook. All this trouble and he might have just faced the facts that it was never any mystery that Draco Malfoy slept with him. He couldn't stop describing it now, though. It was like he needed to face the memory.

"He had this stuff he put on himself, and he was really careful, and it felt like – a rush – the whole time. When it was over…when we were done…I saw that his pants were too short."

Marty blinked. "His pants were...short?"

"My friend doesn't have pants that short. Or shoes like that. Or a shirt like he had. And when I realized that it wasn't him, he didn't deny it."

Marty was shaking her head, "I don't understand. Did you see his face?"

It was only because he still didn’t know if she knew about magic, that he just said, "I did, but it wasn't really his face."

Marty sat back and took a deep breath.

"Harry, do you know what…post traumatic stress is?" Harry shook his head, cringing, because he was beginning to think that Marty really was a Muggle, and she was beginning to think he was totally mental. "It's when you go through some sort of trauma, and afterwards you have horrible nightmares – like the ones Kenny's said you've been having – and you might develop symptoms of paranoia – such as not trusting anyone – even your best friend – even yourself – anymore."

Though this bit of news sounded somewhat like him, he was pretty sure he hadn't imagined Hogwarts or Lord Voldemort. If he had imagined all of that, then he was pretty sure a place like Smeltings would have kicked him out by now.

Harry tries to breathe through the flood of problems added to his pile. But because at last his mind was actually beginning to go in some semblance of the right direction since his night in the hospital wing, he was finding his breath.

Talking. He was talking. He could breathe.

"You might even mistake someone standing right in front of you as a completely – different – person."

"So…you think I could have been having sex with my friend, but my head cracked and I…" forgot?

"Maybe…or maybe who you considered your friend was actually your enemy. And maybe you connected with him like you do with your friend."

Draco Malfoy. Friend?

"But he really isn't."

"Is he, Harry? Is he your friend?"

Deep, deep breath.

Draco Malfoy?

Harry shook his head.

"No. Definitely not."

Harry and Marty might have both been more enthusiastic about Harry suddenly beginning to talk about his trauma, but it didn't really seem to change anything at the moment. Harry was still shivering on a bed in Smeltings, and she was worrying that there was something more deeply broken in his mind than she previously thought. It was like an unspoken agreement that they were just going to sit there and wait, and hope that things turned out for the better in the end.

The next day.

Harry never thought he would be so relieved to see his aunt and uncle driving up to bring him home, but he had a weight off his shoulders that just wouldn't go away. By his side was his trunk with all his things; he didn't think he'd be returning, so he packed it all.

He was leaving Smeltings. It had given him two solid months of healing, but now it was Christmas and he was going home, just like everyone else. The place was bustling with boys waiting for parents, saying so long to school friends.

Dudley was standing off with such friends, talking about what they hoped to get for their presents and saying goodbye. No one stood by Harry, but he'd gotten quite a number of well wishes for his holiday, and all the people who knew he wasn't going to return had already said their goodbyes.

Kenny might have been the most unhappy to see him go, actually. In their dorm just as Harry was about to pull his trunk out behind him, Kenny had hugged Harry tightly and given him a great big, sad smile.

"You'll be okay, Harry," he said, and Harry was pretty sure there was something extra shining in his eyes.

"Cheers," Harry said back, meaning it, because even the bad things weren't so bad anymore.

Kenny still had to pack, so Harry had left him in the dorm and was where he'd been standing since.

There were just two people who hadn't come up to him to say goodbye, but Pete had winked at him from across the room, and that was enough of a cheer from him, in Harry's opinion.

There was just one more person left, and there was no way he was going to go into her office again in his lifetime.

"Harry?" Marty said coming up to him. Harry looked over and smiled, because she was walking through the thick snow in her blue high heels, not at all dressed warmly.

"It doesn't look like you have much respect for your life dressed like that, you know," he said.

Marty shook her head disapprovingly at him and pulled him in for a hug.

"Good bye, Harry. I'm going to miss you."

Harry pressed into her curly hair and held her tightly back for a short moment.

"Thanks for everything, Marty."

"You're welcome, Harry."

She pulled back and touched his face lightly, seeming to be looking for something there.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Oh, you know. It's hard to say goodbye to some people. Some people…you just want to keep forever."

It brought a lump to his throat to think that most of the people he wanted to keep forever were already dead and gone.

"Goodbye," she said again.

Harry nodded, unable to say what he was thinking, and she went back into Smeltings, looking back just once when she was at the door. Harry waved and she went inside, and he never would see her again.

He turned back to the road and kept an eye out for his ride home.

A new year. 1997.

Harry sent out letters to Ron and Hermione that he was going to return to Hogwarts in January. He got immediate replies of excitement, but they refrained from asking questions and just wished him a good holiday.

On the day of the Hogwarts Express, an envoy arrived and parked in front of Number 4. Harry was inside – all packed and ready to go – when he saw they arrived. There was a knock on the door and Harry went to answer it. Standing on the stoop was Arthur Weasley and his son Bill, and Aurors Moody and Tonks.

"Harry. Harry!” Mr. Weasley was gushing with happiness to see him. He gave Harry a tight handshake with a rough shake. “Are you all ready to go? We’re ready to take you back. We’re really – I mean, I’m really – it’s just...great to see you!"

"Yes. Yes, I’m ready. Mr. Weasley." Harry gave in and reached forward for a hug from Mr. Weasley, who hugged him right back.

"Harry," Bill said, holding out his for a shake once Harry was free, and Harry took it firmly.

"Let's get a move on. Say your last goodbyes now." Moody said but he sounded rather cheerful compared to most days, and Harry noticed that even his magical eye was looking firmly at him, taking him all in.

Bill followed him in and took his trunk easily. Harry walked up to his family.

"Thank you so much, all of you…" he was losing his voice he was so emotional. He felt tears prickle behind his eyes.

Petunia leaned forwards and touched his shoulder as she kissed him on the cheek. "See you in the summer," she said.

Vernon held out his hand and Harry took it. Vernon crushed it badly in his beefy hand, but Harry wouldn't have had it any other way.

"Thank you for Smeltings," Harry said, staring him right in the eyes.

"It's a place for men, remember that," Vernon said sternly.

"I will." Harry nodded and took his hand back, only to shove it right into Dudley's equally beefy hand, but was rewarded with a soft shake. "Bye, Dudley. I'll never forget what you did for me."

"Bye, Harry," he said with a shrug.

That was about it for goodbyes. Harry went to the door and gave them a last small wave goodbye, and they nodded and followed him to the door to see him off.

Harry got in the back seat of a dark sedan between Moody, Arthur and Bill, with Tonks and the other Aurors who hadn’t come into the house piling into similar cars on the street. They must be decoys. It was obvious the space was magicked for them to fit. They set off with all the other vehicles a short way behind or in front. Harry looked behind at Number 4 until it was out of sight.

"You okay, Harry?" Arthur asked, patting his knee gently.

"Yes, I'm okay. I'm sorry I was gone for so long."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Arthur said.

No one talked, and that was the most uncomfortable part of the whole thing. Towards London when they were nearing the end of their trip, Harry turned to Moody.

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

"What is it?" Moody said in his gravelly voice.

"I know that you probably had agents – or someone – at Smeltings. Was the therapist one of them?"

Moody pursed his lips and shook his head. "No. She wasn't one of them."

Harry nodded, and then after a moment asked, "Was Peter Cosset?"

Moody tipped his head forward, and Harry blushed.

"Who was he, really? Was it Polyjuice Potion?" He would have to do something in protest if it was Polyjuice.

"No!" Moody said to Harry's relief, but hesitated before he said, "It was Tonks."

Harry licked and pursed his lips, remembering how he'd kissed him – her – in the bathroom. He still felt the pressure of kiss there, but couldn't help thinking it was still a good kiss. He liked Tonks. She was young and always good intentioned, not to mention her mask was her real face.

He nodded. "Okay, then," he whispered.

Moody, Arthur, and Bill probably knew what had transpired at Smeltings, but they didn't comment.

Harry was boarded on the Hogwarts Express an hour before other people started arriving. He stayed in a locked compartment and waited for a familiar knock on the door. He didn't know when it'd come, but when he started to hear voices and storming footsteps, he knew it would happen soon.

"What will they say?" He wondered aloud to himself.

He was feeling antsy. Gooseflesh rose here and there. Skin unusually hot. Body unusually tight. The dark tunnel outside the train window was no help in calming his mood swings – one second calm, the next second hot and sweaty, almost dizzy. He had come to terms with Ron; he wasn't the one to blame for any of this. If anyone was the victim, really, it was Ron. Harry had been poisoned with the toxin and took advantage of him, whereas Harry hadn't done much fighting off of his intimate moment. Also, it was Ron who was framed, and Harry hadn't even done anything to lead the proper authorities into finding his attacker – if attacker was even the word for it.

Maybe Marty was right…maybe he had to forgive to forget. Whoever had had sex with him didn't do it out of spite or to hurt him; they did it because they loved him – or just wanted him. He didn't know many things and Smeltings was proof of that, but he did know the panic and worry in the pseudo-Ron's voice and face was legitimate. Harry just hadn't given him a chance to explain. Well…he was going back to Hogwarts, and Draco Malfoy could explain then.

Harry sat there with resolve of this notion. He was going to get Draco to talk, and yes, he was afraid, but his fear couldn't be that which stood between him and his answers. He needed answers, and once he got them then time would tell what happened next. Would he tell people that he consented to the union of him and his mid-night visitor, even though that visitor wasn't Ron? Could he do something like that? Could he accept that it was Draco Malfoy?

A knock came and interrupted his thoughts, and he opened the door and there was Hermione and Ron, both grinning and pushing their way in. Hermione gave him a big hug and didn't let go for quite awhile. It hurt, strangely. Hurt, not painfully. But it hurt to feel her ease when he was so not at ease himself deep inside.

"Hey, Harry," Ron said, a bit uneasily. "How are you?"

Harry looked at him over Hermione's head. Ron looked shifty. Looked almost wild.

Harry untangled an arm and reached out. Ron casped his hand in a tight shake.

"I'm better, Ron. I'm sorry for…everything. I'm sorry I didn't write more."

"You wrote just enough," Hermione said, holding his face in hers, tears stinging her eyes. She wouldn’t let him go, demanding to make sure he was real, or something. "We were so happy to hear you were coming back! It's been so long! Hogwarts just isn't the same since you left."

"Life hasn't been the same since I left. How's the team?" Harry asked Ron.

Ron held still at first. Silent. Harry finally caught the look in his eye.

Harry thought something might be really wrong the longer Ron just stood there. That maybe...Ron didn’t think he was the same guy. That Harry had had too much happen. That Harry was…

Ron finally eased the rest of the way into the cart. He tossed a bag down they all settled in seats, the boys a bit more stiffly than Hermione. Hermione gave Harry at least three inches of space. Bless her generosity.

"We were in the lead up until the last match," Ron said finally.

"We’ll get it back. Bet you’re a good captain," Harry said with a coaxing smile. "I couldn't think of anyone better to give the title to."

Ron did look away, but he nodded in agreement. Hermione looked between them and then settled for looking daggers at Ron.

"Ron's not the captain," she said sternly.

That took a moment for Harry to understand. "Why not? I asked Professor McGonagall to give it to him!”

Ron looked angrily at Hermione. "Why'd you have to tell him now? He just got back."

"Who's the captain?" Harry looked between them both. "Ron, I swear, I wanted you to be captain!"

Ron shook his head forlornly and sat back heavily. "She did! Stop it! She did. McGonagall gave it to me after you left. I tried. I tried it but I couldn't do it, Harry. You know? I was lousy at it."

"We lost by over a hundred points to Hufflepuff in the first match."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ron put his head in his hands.

Harry's first instinct was to shout some more, but seeing Ron this way made him too shaken. He was this hurt not long ago. He was the one who felt he couldn’t do anything he tried.

He sympathized with Ron.

Harry sighed, leaning forward. He waited, but Ron was just aching with no end in sight. Harry at last reached out, pulling Ron's hands off his head, letting them drop onto Ron's knees. He looked him right in the eyes and thought about the last thing Marty told him.

"I'm sorry. I gave the trouble to you. It was a heavy burden, and I knew it would be hard, I just didn't trust anyone else with it. You did the right thing giving it to someone else, if that’s what you had to do. You shouldn't live with this on your shoulders. I’m sorry."

Ron blinked away a bit of confusion.

"Wow, what's happened to you, Harry?" He said in awe.

Harry smiled. "Therapy. Lots and lots of therapy. So, who's the captain now?"

"Brace yourself," Hermione said, and Ron nodded in agreement and said, "Cormac McLaggen."

"No!" Harry exclaimed and jumped to his feet. Shouting it was then. Ron expected as much, and nodded sadly and put his head back in his hands. "Why would you give it to him?!"

"You see? That's why this is so horrible!"

Harry briefly felt sorry for Ron's misery, and then felt real misery himself.

"You're still Keeper, though, right?"

For a second, Harry thought Ron had completely given up Quidditch, but then Ron nodded.

"McLaggen took over as Seeker. When I held the tryouts I was so sure Ginny was going to take the spot, but she wanted to keep being a Chaser in case – you know – you showed up before the first match."

"And McLaggen was the best Seeker?"

Hermione nodded, but looked really sour about it. "It was horrible, Harry. He caught every Golden Snitch there was. The only one better than him was a Second Year girl, and she caught half as many as him."

"He got your spot and your Captain's badge," Ron said sourly, still beating himself up. "No one could believe it. And the way he struts around the halls – it's like he's pretending to be you."

"I never strutted!" Harry said defensively.

"I know! That's what makes it worse!"

They all sat for a moment of silence, mourning something unspeakably sad. Then Hermione looked Harry over. "You are different."

"I got a haircut," Harry confessed. His hair was cropped rather short in the back, and it wasn't even long enough in the front to cover his scar – which was completely new for him, actually.

"You're really thin, too. Like…way thinner than before."

"You look like a Muggle!" Ron exclaimed, and got shushed by Hermione.

He was still wearing clothes his aunt picked out for him. Not the Smeltings uniform, thank goodness.

Harry shrugged. "I wasn't…doing too well for awhile. Don't worry, there were people looking after me. Really good people."

Harry knew he would tell them the truth about the last two months eventually, so he took a deep breath and dove into it since now he had the chance. He told them about the change in the Dursleys and his enrollment at Smeltings, and a few of the private boarding school Muggle boys he got along with.

Overall, they were shocked at the news, figuring he was actually in some hospital in France, or a secret corridor in St. Mungo's where they kept all their special patience. They didn't talk about that night in the hospital ward. They all wanted to put that behind them, and Harry was willing to let them think that's the way he wanted it, too. Truthfully – and he only told himself this way deep down inside – there was no way that was going to happen. What happened to him happened, yes, but what came now had to be built on answers as to why it happened. He couldn’t keep running.

Draco Malfoy, I think it was you. Why did you do it?

He was getting closer. Every moment he sat on the train towards Hogwarts, Harry could feel him getting closer. Never mind the fact he was on the very train Harry was on, Harry was only going to have the chance to talk with him once they were at school. Therefore, he was getting closer.

When they got off the train and people spotted Harry, they all swarmed him and gave him a huge welcome back.

Dumbledore, McGonagall, and several more of the staff met him by the front doors to greet him personally, and he was again greeted in Dumbledore's opening announcement at the feast. Harry had probably seen every face of Hogwarts looking at him – including Draco Malfoy's. Harry found himself cringing from the sight of Draco, feeling his stomach roll and his head heat up. He wanted to openly look back at Draco, try to judge whether his surprise was mingled with any other feelings. But the Slytherin was well versed in keeping himself compartmentalized; if he didn't want Harry to see him squirming, Harry wouldn't see it. But like everyone, there was surprise.

One face Harry hadn't seen was Neville's. As it turned out, he was there; he was just keeping his distance. He was sitting as far away from Harry as he could, and yet he continuously kept glancing at Harry. Harry leaned over and asked Hermione how he was.

"Oh…Neville. Harry, don't blame yourself or anything, but he hasn't been the same since you left. He feels guilty for what happened to you."

Harry didn't like thinking Neville felt that way. Guilt was one thing that is hard to swallow, even months after the deed was done. Neville's plants may have started it all, but they didn't do this to him.

Harry didn't get a chance to talk to him until late that night, as he waited for Neville to come up to the room. He was waiting an awfully long time, so decided to go down and find him.

Neville was sitting by the fire, dozing. Harry woke him with a gentle shake.

"I don't blame you, Neville, just so you know. I don't blame you at all."

It was a good long time before the grogginess left Neville's face and he found his voice.

"Everyone else does," he said. "Professor McGonagall gave me detention until the end of the year."

"I'll talk to her. I'll tell her it was all just an accident."

"But it was my plants that made you go – all – you know."

"It wasn't the plants. I should have told you this two months ago, but it wasn't them. It wasn't – all – the plants."

Harry sat close to Neville and rung his hands in front of himself nervously. He didn't know how to approach this subject, but he felt like Neville should know the truth if it meant he'd feel better. "Did Ron and Hermione ever tell you what really happened?"

Neville nodded sullenly. "Yes…" he seemed to have lost his voice after that.

That surprised Harry. "Does everyone know?"

Neville shook his head, "No! Those who do are keeping it real secret. I know because Hermione told me. She said they don't want everyone knowing or you…"

"Or I'll what? Curse you all?"

Neville shook his head. "No…or you might never recover."

Harry let that sink in. So, his friends were pretty close to the truth of how badly this affected him. No wonder they didn't want to bring up the sore subject.

"I'm better, now. I'm better."

Better enough to forgive Draco Malfoy?

"But it was my fault. I made you think it was Ron, and that made it possible for…you know. It was my plants, and I swear to you, Harry, I haven't grown a single plant since then!"

That was some unfortunate news. "You love growing things, though."

"Not after what happened.”

Harry sighed and shook his head. He hadn't ever told anyone this, but this was almost like an opportunity in disguise: Harry would get to tell his secret to someone else, and Neville would probably feel better. So, he took a deep breath, and he went for it.

He said, "The plant toxins were mostly gone by the time it happened. I knew what I was doing… and I wanted to do it…but I wanted to do it with Ron, not whoever it was."

Neville just looked at him with wide eyes and his mouth almost hanging open.

"Don't tell Ron that, okay? He would hate me if he knew."

"No one will hate you…" He said compassionately.

"I had sex with a bloke and liked it. You really think absolutely no one will hate me for that?"

Neville smiled, "All the girls will hate you."

Harry couldn't help smiling a little, but sobered quickly. He couldn't imagine what would happen if Ron knew he was mostly sane when it happened. Ron had come to believe that the event didn't count against Harry at all because he was delirious with passion for him. Harry tried to imagine broaching this with his two friends, but always evaded the end of that thought.

"So, you promise you won't tell Ron? Or Hermione?"

"I promise. I won't tell." The way he said it – Harry believed him, but he had to be sure.

He said, "Ron would be the one to never recover."

"I promise, Harry. I won't tell!"

Harry nodded.

"Come on. Come upstairs. It's cold down here."

Neville started to rise, but then stopped and looked at him sincerely. "Do you know who really…you were with?"

Harry shook his head, unwilling to tell that part of his story.

"I think you should find out. I think he should be punished."

Harry shrugged, looking down and away because he hated lying at this moment.

"You seem…almost okay about it…like you don't care if whoever did it will be found."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I had a lot of help since it happened. What matters now are the people who help me, not the ones who hurt me."

"St. Mungo's is a really great place," Neville said agreeably.

Harry swallowed hard and nodded. He knew Neville's mom and dad were living there. Suddenly he felt even guiltier. He never thought about it before, but the lie that he was at St. Mungo's must have been a little bit frightening to Neville, but it was still a lie he wasn't yet willing to dispel to everyone.

He pulled Neville to his feet. "Come on. Let's go."

Harry got into his bunk and closed the curtains, and then he relaxed. At last he was home safe.

End of the first week in January, 1997.

McLaggen stormed up the hall as Harry, Ron and Hermione were going into Transfiguration.

"Potter! Welcome back!" But he didn't sound all that welcoming at all.

Harry suddenly missed Dudley like crazy. He'd evaded all attacks at Smeltings and was far out of practice for confrontations. He was very glad when Ron and Hermione came up close on his shoulders.

"McLaggen," Harry said sternly. "I heard you became Seeker – and Gryffindor's Captain."

Bringing this up seemed to please McLaggen, because he puffed his chest out and Harry caught sight of a flash of gold from the Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain's badge pinned just there. "That's right! That's what I'm here about."

Ron took a strong step forward into McLaggen and said, "Well you can just go and not be here, because Harry's taking over captaining again!"

Harry grabbed a hold of Ron's arm, keeping him – he presumed – from clogging McLaggen right in the face.

"Is that right, Potter?" McLaggen said, looking him over from head to toe, shaking his head, "Look at you! You just got back from the mental hospital! You don't look fit to sit through class, let alone play on the team!"

Ron, too, gave Harry a once-over, looking a little deflated at Harry's thin frame and that sorry excuse for a flame burning behind his eyes. For Harry's part, he thought he was doing well with his current situation. Holding it together by the skin of his teeth sometimes – yes – but he had all his faculties about him.

"He's still Gryffindor's Captain, even if he doesn't play on the team. You can't deny that!" Ron said harshly.

"Come on, Ron. Let's get to class," Harry said, tugging him away.

"Are you taking the badge back?" McLaggen demanded.

Harry just tugged Ron inside the doors to the Transfiguration room, avoiding the question.

Actually, Harry distinctly remembered giving up the position of captain. In his mind, he had no hold over the position at all. He wondered why McLaggen felt so defensive, and thought he ought to talk with Professor McGonagall after class so she could clear things up. Did he really have a chance to get the Captain badge back? In all honesty, all the mental space Harry had room for was to find some way to talk to Draco Malfoy. But he should clear up with McGonagall just what the rules are. He thought he had told her to tell Ron the position was his – through and through. She was the person who gave Ron the badge in the first place; maybe she hadn't given him all of Harry's instructions along with it.

Professor McGonagall introduced the lesson (transfiguring a glass cup into a porcelain bathtub) which went right over Harry's head, and then set them off to doing the work. Before Harry even had a chance to examine his cup, Dean Thomas, the stand-in Chaser who replaced Katie Bell, came over to Harry's group.

"Hey, Harry, I heard what McLaggen was saying, and you have to get him off the team! He's a tyrant! Always telling everyone what to do and –"

"He already knows," Ron said, pushing him away from being so close to Harry. "He's going to do something already. Aren't you, Harry?"

Harry didn't want to let the team down, but honestly, he'd never been so distracted in his whole life. Being back at Hogwarts, and looking at Ron just about every moment of the day, was draining his reserve of confidence Marty had given him that last therapy session. It was beginning to be clear that life at Hogwarts hadn't stopped without him; not that he figured it would, but he just hadn't figured on his being back being such a central cog in the machine suddenly.

"Yeah, I'll do something. Soon, okay?" Harry promised.

Dean smiled widely, "Thanks, mate! Really glad to have you back, by the way!"

And Dean leaned in and hugged Harry. It was one of those things Dean did often enough to anyone. A simple gesture – arms around the shoulders, breath on the neck, the scent of him brief – but it fired every nerve in Harry's body. His joints locked up in place and he couldn't bring himself to even fake a smile.

Ron was by Harry's side in an instant. He didn't coddle, he didn't ask even one question, he just stood right by Harry's side looking at him – protecting him as Harry did what he could with the information he was just given.

One hug.

Ron stood faithfully until Harry's hands twitched.

Hogwarts was very different than Smeltings. At Smeltings, every student was male and many of them brushed by him in none-so-friendly a manner. The difference was that here he expected to have more control. Dean was a friend and a very good boy – that was innocent enough of a hug – but it was unwelcome.

"Are you okay?" Ron finally asked.

Harry's eyes rose from the depths they had sunk, and he shook his head.

"You will be," Ron said as a promise.

All through that lesson Harry hesitated from doing the magic, holding his wand awkwardly and realizing it had been so long since he last cast a spell that he almost didn't want to. He had told himself two months ago that he was going to throw in the towel to magic, and he was so committed to Smeltings that sometimes he noticed it had been hours before he even thought of a spell.

So he sat there on his bench, Ron casting him doubtful glances, wand held lazily in his hand, until McGonagall came over.

"Have you given it a try at least?" she asked.

"I can't do this one, Professor."

"Sure you can," she said, stepping up next to him and performing the charm herself, and then undoing it with another few swipes. "You've been out of circulation, Potter, but you're not inept. Try it."

So Harry did, but hardly tried to get it right. McGonagall corrected a few things, and then moved on to the next student, and Harry tried it a few more times but didn't get anywhere close to doing it right. He could feel himself holding back, still thinking about the Quidditch team, the hug, and still wondering how he was going to get Draco Malfoy alone to ask him if it was him who he slept with. He now had a great many doubts if that conversation was going to go the way he will plan. He was just too stressed to get to work.

Touching…he'd have to accept it from magical people. He'd have to accept that it was a part of daily occurrences. Everyone touched and hugged and kissed. He'd have to start doing those things again.

Professor McGonagall bid the class goodbye, and told Harry she was sure he'd catch up with the rest of the kids soon enough – he was only two months behind. Harry agreed with her, only because he was sure she was right. Maybe he wouldn't be caught up with the work, but he'd certainly keep up after he got to their level.

After Transfiguration was Care of Magical Creatures, and they were performing cleaning spells on small animals with the new teacher, but even using that spell the mud was hardly brushed from the tip of the rabbit's fir. In the end, he had the dirtiest rabbit of all, and Professor Grubbly-Plank told him to wash his rabbit by hand. Harry sighed inwardly and reached out to the soft creature, getting ready to pour his beaker of water over it. He wondered suddenly if it held still because it was forced to by magic, or if it knew what was coming and liked getting baths. He had to stop; he couldn't go on unless he knew.

"Professor Grubbly-Plank?" Harry called, and she came over. "Is this rabbit alright?"

"What do you mean by that? They're very healthy rabbits."

Harry looked down on it. Its whiskers were twitching.

"I mean…it's…"

"I have to get back to my class, Mr. Potter. If you have any questions about your rabbit you can ask me later. We haven't got much time left."

She went back to the larger group, leaving Harry back by the work station where the rabbits were, feeling stupid and yet still a little worried that his rabbit wouldn't like getting a bath.

Harry sat for the rest of the class without cleaning the creature. The little thing hopped about on the table and came up to him for petting, and he caressed it as gently as he could. He sat there mostly wondering about his level of trust in others at this school. Things were as normal as ever for the people here, so should he let them go back to normal for himself? Dean had only caught him off guard; brought up something he needed to work through. He wished he didn't have to do this alone.

By the end of the day, word got out that Harry's magic had gone down the drain, and Hermione was scared to death that it was true.

"I'm not going to practice a Levitation spell, Hermione!" Harry declared and threw down his fork. They were at dinner, and she was hounding him to start with the basics.

"Just try it, Harry! You just need to warm up again!"

Harry began to ignore her, and Ron changed the subject to something lighter – Ginny's new date, actually. As it turns out, she'd been going with him for a month now, and yet Ron still wasn't the happiest camper in the troop about it. Harry was content just to listen as he raged, and put in his two cents to keep the conversation going.

Ginny didn't know about what happened to him. Ron thought that was best, considering her crush on him. In his own way, Ron didn't want to destroy Harry's image any more than it already had been. If she knew the boy she thought the world of – the boy she's had a crush on since she was a kid listening to those stories of him – well, that would have been heartbreak. So, Ginny thought Voldemort had gotten into Harry's head again and messed him up, so he had to go to get him out of there. She'd already said hi and expressed her sympathy. It was something Harry didn't want to think about.

Just after dinner, a first year came up to Harry with a note from Dumbledore, asking him to meet him in his office. Harry walked up with Ron and Hermione, and they said they'd wait for him in the library so they could go up to the Common Room together. Dumbledore called him in and Harry took a seat in the large chair.

Seeing Dumbledore again was a relief in its own way. He was like a pillar of moral strength and knowledge; Harry always felt like anything was possible with him around. Dumbledore looked kindly at him from across his desk, stroking his long white beard as he did.

He asked, "How was your first day back?"

Harry shrugged, "It was fine. It's good to be back. It's a lot different than Smeltings, though."

"Do you miss that school?"

Harry shrugged again, a little unsure if he did or didn't. He missed how safe he felt there.

"Harry…I was told by all your teachers today that you're having a problem with your spell work. Have you successfully performed any spells since arriving back at Hogwarts?"

"I haven't really tried…" Harry didn't altogether want to talk about this; it was like having a school full of Marty's around: always a subject to be avoided.

"So, would you say you're just a little too challenged with the work the other students are doing? Or is it something else?"

Harry didn't want to say one way or another. He just wasn't that interested in trying. He had thought Kenny was wrong – that he did care about some things – but maybe that list of things he thought he cared about was shorter than he thought. Dumbledore was becoming a little bothered by Harry's lack of communication.

"Harry, what you went through was a big ordeal, and to come back after just a few months has taken some real bravery on your part. But if you still need help – maybe in other areas – maybe someone to talk to – all you need to do is ask for it."

"Who would I talk to?" Harry wondered.

"Me, of course. Or Professor McGonagall. Or someone else trustworthy."

Trust. That word again.

Harry nodded, “Thanks, thanks a lot, sir. But I think I just need some time to get used to this again. Tomorrow, I promise."

"That's great news, Harry. Now, is there anything you might need to ask now, while you're here?"

Harry thought about it. He wanted just to get out of here, but then he did have something he needed to know. "You can tell me who you think was using the Polyjuice Potion."

If Harry knew where Dumbledore stood in this matter, it might make it easier to live with. If he did know, and still left Draco here at his school, that wasn't going to be good news; it meant he was protecting Draco or using Draco as a piece in the war against Voldemort. But if he didn't know, then there was still a secret to be kept; that meant some privacy was still to be had.

Dumbledore let out a big sigh and shook his head sadly. "Alas, we still don't know. We've checked every student short of administering Veritaserum, but nothing has shown up. All the teachers are still keeping an eye and an ear out, and as soon as we hear something, you'll be the first to know."

This was a strengthening feeling, but he couldn't show Dumbledore this.

"Until then, the person is just here at the school, free as a Golden Snitch?" Harry asked.

"Harry –"

"It doesn't matter," Harry said suddenly, standing up and brushing his shirt flat. "I guess I'm just going to go. Really, it doesn't matter."

"It does matter, my boy. I know it matters a lot, and I will not let this go so easily."

Harry pursed his lips tightly and held his bag tightly to his side. "Thank you, Headmaster. I'm going to go."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "I can see you are determined to find out who your attacker was. I know that much about you would not have changed. But do you not think that –"

"No," Harry said firmly. "I don't think I should forget."

Dumbledore consented. "Very well, Harry. Neither will I."

Harry left his office feeling upset and letdown, but now determined to talk with Draco – because if there was anyone who could have trumped a tried and true system, it was Draco Malfoy. So, he had a secret as private as Harry's. There – something in common.

Harry was glad Dumbledore wouldn't let this part of his life turn into just a bad memory, but he wished his friends would. They gave him too much space too much attention. He never thought about just hanging out and playing games and talking about Quidditch as being a form of comfort, but now that he didn't have it, it was rather uneasy at Hogwarts.

He was in the Common Room trying to do his homework. A fire was blazing bright and the whole place was quiet with the occasional whisper. It was study time for the Gryffindors, and no one wanted to break the silence just yet. Pretty soon, like usual, some pair would start whispering and one would burst out laughing hysterically, and then the noise would spread, and homework time would have officially passed. As it was, Hermione was sitting near to him with a book on her lap, and it was so quiet he could hear her breathing. She looked up at him constantly, as if to make sure he was still there. He was pretty sure that all around him, all the Gryffindors were doing the same thing; he just couldn't catch them at it.

"Hermione," he whispered at last, "stop looking at me like that. I'm fine."

"Sorry, Harry," she whispered back.

"What's wrong?" Ron wondered, equally as quiet.

"Hermione keeps looking at me."

Ron gave her a wide-eyed, extravagant look. "Hermione," he whispered, "how dare you!"

She pursed her lips in disapproval, but her eyes looked softly over him. Harry committed that look she gave him to memory, because it was a look he hadn't seen her use before. He wondered suddenly…if she were flirting.

"Don't be upset, mate," Ron said, a small smile tweaking the corners of his lips as he looked away from Hermione and went back to scribbling on his parchment with his quill.

Harry scratched his brow to hide the discomfort that he couldn't stop from crossing his features. To distract himself from his thoughts, his eyes roved over the room and finally he caught at least five faces snap quickly back to their work. He glared at them all and sank lower in his seat, pulling his legs up and leaning his text book against them, above his face. At least now they couldn't see him, he thought.

He was the one who was glancing up at Hermione, now, though, but she kept her eyes on her book.

The next day was found to be similar to the last. The Quidditch team still eyed him with worry, wondering when he'd be taking over the team again; the teachers still gave him leeway even though he was awful at the spellwork; and everyone else just bugged him. He was caught by surprise many times when he saw people holding hands or casually touching each other. He'd lost that with his friends; they didn't do that since Dean. Ron had maybe said something about it.

He had Potions for the first time that day, but for now it was still morning, and Harry had a free period after History of Magic along with Ron. Hermione went to her class, and the two of them went to one of Hogwart's many courtyards to play in the snow.

It was nice, just the two of them. With Hermione things seemed to be centered on his feelings, but with Ron it was all about forgetting life. When they were too cold to play and yet unwilling to go back inside, Ron conjured them a jar of blue fire and they sat on a bench, alone in the courtyard trying to warm up. The proximity was comfortable; Harry was relaxed.

Harry rubbed his bare hands together, pulling his black wool coat tight around his stomach. Ron had gloves and a hat, and Harry was suddenly wishing he'd dressed for visiting outside, but he didn't know they'd have done this as he was getting ready in the warm Sixth Year boy's room.

"That was fun," Ron said, breathing hard; his whole face was pink from the cold, and Harry assumed his was the same way.

"Was," Harry agreed.

Ron looked at him and smiled. "It's nice having you back, you know. Christmas wasn't the same without you."

Harry was glad to hear that, and he couldn't help but smile. "Did you have a good time? How are your parents, anyway? Your dad looked okay when I saw him."

Ron shrugged and looked up at the sky, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "They're fine. Dad's busy with the Ministry, and Mum's busy with the Order. Bill and Charlie Flooed in, with Fleur. Everyone was there."

Harry asked, "How's Fred and George?"

"Their shop is doing great. Some of the things they've invented are strictly for Order use, too, you know. Cool stuff, like for diversions and disguises. You wouldn't believe. Are you okay with being around me considering the guy who attacked you looked like me?"

A deep, cold shiver went down Harry's spine. It was a chill that washed his soul. There was a ring in his ears suddenly. His body wouldn't move except to shiver, so it took a great deal of time and effort to turn his face a little to look at Ron.

He wanted to tell him the truth suddenly – that he thought it was love and he thought it would last forever. He thought – after that night in the hospital ward – that by this time of year they would have had the courage to fight for their relationship against all those who opposed it. By this time, they would have been cuddling night and day in Ron's bed, laughing and kissing all the time. Dreaming and dreaming.

It was so suddenly ripped from his life that Harry almost forgot the meaning of the words; almost forgot completely about love.

Finally, his voice weak, looking at Ron's worry evident all over his freckled face, Harry whispered, "Yes."

The affirmative: he was okay. Ron was helping him remember that.

"Are you sure?" Ron sounded afraid.

Harry hugged himself tighter and looked away. "I'm not afraid of you, Ron. I was…but I'm not anymore. It was more confusing than you might ever know getting over it. I thought it was you. I thought…"

"You didn't understand what was happening," Ron supplied.

Harry nodded and looked at him. "I thought it was you, but now I'm over that. Now, I don't really remember much of how it happened, or what happened. It's all blurry. But you're not there anymore."

Ron wiped a hand over his face and wouldn't look at Harry. "I wasn't. Honestly. I wasn't…there."

The way he said it…sounded strange. Like a code. Like Harry should inquire about this, but that would imply it was Ron's fault at all. Like if he asked where Ron was, and the answer was that he wasn't there, then it was his fault; he wasn't there to protect Harry. And if he had been there, then none of this would have happened.

Suddenly Harry got control of his body again, and he gripped Ron's sleeve tightly and shook his arm, jiggling the blue flame about in the jar. He peered closely at Ron's blue eyes with their feathers of lashes all around, urging him to hear the truth he was about to speak.

"It's not your fault!" Harry said loudly and clearly. "So what if you weren't there! I was caught by surprise!"

Ron shook his head. "No – you don't understand, I need you to know…I should have been there. I wanted to be there that night so you wouldn't be alone. But I…something was happening between…I didn't –"

"Shut up," Harry said, but not venomously. He tossed a hand as if to toss Ron’s protest away. Ron was beating himself up, but there was no reason for that. Harry didn't know why he was still going on about this, but there was no reason to feel like this was his fault. It was just Polyjuice Potion. It was just someone taking advantage of Harry's trust.

"Harry," Ron said quietly, "There's something…you should know…about why I wasn't there…"

Harry sighed. Ron was about to tell him he was with Hermione. It would figure, really. Only a deaf-blind man would know they hadn't been subtly flirting lately. Harry didn't really want to hear it, though, because Ron did want Hermione, just like he'd told Marty. But Harry didn't know for how long he'd actually had her.

If Ron said he wasn't in the hospital ward because he was with Hermione and being her boyfriend, then that meant Harry was more stupid than he ever realized, because the boy he kept in his heart wasn't really in his heart at all…but out with a girl.

"Just don't!" Harry said sternly, standing up and glaring at Ron. "It's not your fault! Any of this! Just forget about it!"

"Harry!"

But Harry was already turned around and going through the arches of the small courtyard, on his way back into the castle. Ron stayed behind.

Dim-wit, Harry thought, angry at Ron now.

He was cold, he was lonely, he was dizzy, and he'd forgotten his Potions books down there in the court yard. Lucky, really; he didn't want to go to Potions anyway.

Harry stomped up the stairs to the third floor heading back to the Gryffindor Common Room so he could be angry where no one could see, but just as he turned the corner he got a shock – Draco Malfoy! They nearly crashed into each other. Harry, startled, backed up a considerable amount away from the Slytherin, breath caught in his throat. Draco seemed just as surprised to have been so close to Harry; he stopped right where he was and an uncharacteristic look of surprise passed across his features. All around and behind Draco was his group of horrible people, who looked taken with surprise as well…and a bit of glee.

And Harry was alone. Vulnerable. There was no one else in the halls except for him and these eight Slytherins. Ron would miss his chance to save Harry yet again.

"Potter," Draco said through clenched teeth, staring at him ferociously as he'd been doing for the past three days. Harry hadn't realized the fire that was behind Draco's eyes from across the room, but now – so close – those pale blue eyes were like cold, inverted lava from a blasting volcano. If Harry had seen this before, he never would have wanted to talk to Draco.

His session with Ron had cut open wounds and left him easily susceptible to showing his emotions. They were only scabs, then. He wanted to talk to Draco, but he needed to wait until those scabs were scars. He needed to get away from here fast.

How so many bad children could be together could only be explained if it was a fact that bad people tended to like to be in a crowd of even worse people. Of all of these people, Harry was very unsure who the best and the worse of them were.

"Mm – Mm…" Harry tried, he really did, but he just couldn't bring himself to say that name. His body had frozen. His mouth was stuck closed. His eyes were pinned. How did this happen? Where had his courage gone?

On Draco's arm was latched Pansy Parkinson. She broke out into a fit of giggles as she stared at Harry, and said gaily, "Look at him! He's scared of us! He's actually scared of us!"

"Weak, Potter," Blaise Zabini said from behind Draco. "Very weak."

Harry found it hard to breathe either in or out. He was too shaky to do anything without a deep level of difficulty. He wanted to grab his wand, but his arms wouldn’t bend.

Pansy Parkinson unlatched from Draco and came forward, her steps light and swift. Harry held his ground even though she was right in his face looking up at him – her neck arched nearly full back and her pug face stretched in a smile. Though she grinned, her face still looked stern. Harry was hot now after being outside for so long, and a bead of sweat trailed down his temple.

And then Pansy said with an impish smile, "How's your wand?"

And she covertly grabbed right between his legs and squeezed.

Harry jolted and pushed her hands away, pushing her away as well. But her toothy grin followed him and she was grabbing for him again, and he was to the wall with nowhere left to go.

They surrounded him, laughing and jabbing at him, calling him names and asking mean questions. Harry jumped here and there, but was constantly fighting off the three girls who were touching his body below his belt and laughing.

Images came back to him. He'd told Ron it had all blurred together from that night at the hospital, but really it hadn't. He remembered what it felt like to be touched and kissed, and it was so comfortable and such an important part of life. In fact, he knew even as it was happening that it was going to be the most important part of his life for a very long time.

This, too, then, was going to be important.

"Move!"

The laughing stopped. Harry looked over them all and saw Draco coming forward, pulling and pushing everyone away. They moved back and Harry was face to face now, with Draco's body blocking him from the others. His pale skin was without blemish except for the dark circles that were long under his eyes. Everything had angles, from his smooth nose and chin, to his arched eyebrows that were pinched as he glared intently at Harry, to his mouth with its pink double-u shape. The only thing of any color about him was his dark green tie, which matched Harry's eye-color exactly. His pale blond hair was long and caressed his temples, a few strands lying against his nose and circling around his ears, along his neck above his white collar and black robes.

He was a beautiful monster, deliriously thought Harry.

Harry's teeth were clenched and he was shaking. He was slouching against the wall so much below Draco that he felt insignificant. He was ready to close his eyes, lay down on the floor, and just wait for the end to come. Finally, he was at a place in life where giving up seemed appropriate.

"What's wrong with you, Potter?" Draco asked, his breath touching Harry's mouth like the brush of a butterfly's wing. His voice was quiet and yet challenging. There was nothing about it that was familiar or suggested anything like a secret shared only between them. Harry didn't know how he was doing it – whether he was pretending it wasn't him who slept with Harry or not. He was immobilized with uncertainty.

Harry's eyes dropped from his face to his chest, where the gold Slytherin Prefect badge glared at him with its shiny polish. It looked like the same badge from his memory. He glanced over to Pansy's robed chest and saw the exact same badge. He looked between them once more, wishing for any difference between them but saw none.

He met Draco's eyes again and it was suddenly clear to him: it might really have not been Draco Malfoy who he slept with.

Harry swallowed hard and looked over at everyone else.

There was Zabini, tall and dark and looming with his smirk and glistening eyes. There were the bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, who Harry suddenly understood were cherished members of the group; when he had Dudley on his side, Harry felt like he was safe no matter what got in his way. There was the rather violent boy, Nott, whose parents were known Death Eaters. And there were the girls who grabbed at his body to hurt him: Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracy Davis. It could have been one of them who took the badge and showed it to him.

Could have been someone else entirely.

Harry thought he was losing his mind.

"You're pathetic," Draco finally said, shaking his head with disgust.

"Real pathetic," Pansy agreed.

He thought he would have been calm when he confronted Draco, but he was only scared now that his life had been blown to pieces by someone as horrible as Goyle, Nott, or even Pansy.

"Let's go," Draco said at last, and the eight of them glared at him but would follow his order.

Draco was no more than a step away when Harry got his body back to him and grabbed at Draco's arm. He didn't mean it to bring him back, or really to stop him. Harry just needed a moment to think. He squeezed like a vice and found his legs, standing himself up straight.

"What?!" Draco demanded.

Harry stared unblinking at Draco, and then he took a shuttering breath.

He whispered to the Slytherin, "Tell me…was it you?"

Draco cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "Was what me?"

Harry and Draco both glanced at the Slytherins when they noticed Pansy begin to walk over. Draco shook his head at her and held up his hand to stop her. She stopped.

"Was it you who tricked me with the Polyjuice? Don't tell me you didn't hear about that."

Draco narrowed his eyes in anger. "You think it was me who did that to you?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat and his stomach suddenly cramped.

"It wasn't me, Potter," Draco said evenly.

Harry set his jaw and glared. "Tell the truth!"

Draco shook his head and repeated with more venom, "It wasn't me."

And then Draco looked quite seriously over at the other Slytherins, who so far hadn't heard a word of their conversation. "Why would you think it was me? I hate your Muggle-loving guts, Potter."

Harry licked his lips and bit them, gripping his stomach and Draco's arm even tighter.

"Why?" Draco asked again, trying without much effort to detach Harry's hand.

"Because he had your clothes on," Harry said, looking at Draco's shoes and remembering pseudo-Ron's being just as shiny and black. "And he showed me your badge."

Malfoy shook his head. "Disgusting, Potter. Really. It – wasn't – me."

Harry still couldn't believe it. He let the idea of it being Draco Malfoy go almost completely and shook his head in despair of what that entailed. He thought back to when he was just as cold outside as he was inside – when he was in the doctor's room at Smeltings, and Marty was talking with him.

"I was so sure. Enemies sometimes…fall in love." He looked up at Draco and went on, "They fight so hard – and learn everything about each other – they have a lot in common – and then they fall in love."

Draco glared at him and completely tore his arm away from Harry, and then he jabbed a finger hard against Harry's chest where his coat was separated by his collar.

"I – don't – love – you!" He stated, enunciating each whispered word with a jab and getting angrier with each breath; his blue eyes glaring daggers and wishing Harry dead. "The idea is preposterous!"

Harry slapped his hand away and moved out from against the wall, further away from Draco and the other Slytherins, who were focused on the two of them like moths to a flame.

"Sorry!" Harry snapped. Not sorry. Hurt. Painfully, painfully hurt.

"Better be, Potter!"

Harry shook his head in despair, gave Draco and the others one last look, and then moved on up the hall. He didn't look behind him, he didn't seek help, and he didn't go to Potions. He went to his room and he closed his curtains, and he curled up tight.

He thought it was Draco; he could live with it being Draco. Draco was handsome and – no – he was beautiful! He was more gorgeous than Tonks' disguise. He was beautiful whether Harry was under the power of a toxin or not.

Harry didn't know who else it could be; it could now be anyone. Well…it could now be any one of the Slytherins; any one of those bastards.

Later that day.

"Harry?" Ron said gently, shaking him awake. "Harry?"

Harry awoke to see Ron halfway into his curtains. Ron leaned away from him and was clearly releaved he was fine, but still worried.

"The Slytherins were talking about you, and Snape docked points because you were absent – the git. He's worse than ever since you left, you know. I came up as soon as class finished."

Harry had slept for four hours, then – straight through Potions. He hadn't dreamed a thing as he slept. He didn't even realize he had fallen asleep.

"Why?" Harry asked.

Ron put himself on the defensive suddenly. "Why what?"

As if Harry would ask why he came up to check on him.

"Why is Snape worse than ever?" Harry clarified, trying to wrap his mind around being alert.

Ron shrugged. "Well, maybe he's the same as ever, but today he was worse. I think he was looking forward to having you back in his class; probably wanted to hang you from his rafters as celebration of your return."

That got a smile out of Harry, and Ron finally relaxed.

"I'm sorry, Ron…" Harry shook his head and sighed deeply, then mumbled, "I met a group of Slytherins in the hall. Malfoy, too."

Ron pulled his curtains open a few feet further and sat on the edge of his bed. With them open this far Harry could see the whole other half of the room – where Neville and Dean's beds were – and all the baby plants surrounding them. It seemed that Neville took up his hobby of planting right after Harry had arrived back at Hogwarts and had that little chat. It was a good sight to see. Neville was a great boy.

"What happened, mate? What'd they do?" Ron asked, bringing Harry back to the present.

"Nothing," Harry lied, unable to look Ron in the face. It wasn't that he didn't want Ron to know, it was just that he hated how weak he was in the face of them all. How could he have been so useless? He wanted to corner Draco, but instead it was Draco who cornered him – Draco and all the Slytherins, anyway. He wasn't expecting that. Really, he was lucky to have gotten out of that alive. Any other day they would have just killed him and been well rewarded by Voldemort, no doubt.

Ron wasn't about to let up. He carried on, "Well…what'd they say, then? Anything…about…"

"Whatever it was," Harry said sourly, now able to focus his blurry eyes on Ron with a small amount of menace, "at least it wasn't a lie."

"What –"

"Don't even," Harry warned with a jerk of his head, now ready to face the facts of Ron's relationship. "You weren't there at the hospital because you were with Hermione."

Ron's mouth hung open – ready to defend his self – but nothing came out. He was like Harry was just hours before: surprised, trapped, and useless.

"You were going to tell me that weren't you? You and Hermione are together. You have been together since before I left." Harry said bitterly.

Ron at last nodded. He was beginning to blush, his ears bright red. Harry had forgotten that they got that way when he was embarrassed.

"We are friends, Ron," Harry whispered, jaded. "I know I was brainwashed and kissed you a few times, and yeah…I did have a crush on you for awhile – even – even before the toxin…"

Ron pursed his lips and his brow wrinkled up. He couldn't find his voice, though.

"Don't worry," Harry said sternly, "I got over it. Trust me. I like you as a mate now. Only. But you should have just told me. You should have just – told me."

"Couldn't," Ron whispered dolefully.

"Because you thought you'd hurt me?" Harry wondered.

"No…because you weren't here. I never thought it'd hurt you."

Harry swallowed hard.

"That night you got hurt was the first night anything happened. You have no idea how guilty I felt. I had your invisibility cloak and your map, and I was all ready to come down, but as I was leaving Hermione was coming up the boy's stairs. I surprised her and she talked me into going back up to the room so she could talk to me in private behind my curtains."

Harry pulled his legs up under him. This story he was telling took place in this room…right in the bed next to his.

"We…didn't go all the way, but you have no idea, mate…" Ron tried to smile but it was very shaky.

"I thought you got started long before I left."

"I know," Ron said, now a bit sad.

Ron reached up and scratched the back of his neck, looking at Harry offhandedly. "Um…did you really…have a crush on me?"

Harry tugged at his shirt and shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

Compared to how hurt Harry was still feeling, it definitely didn't matter.

"Since when?" Ron seemed shy just asking, and Harry shrugged again. "Okay…well…"

Harry was looking at his bed covers for the longest time, and then finally he looked up at the back of Ron's head. Ron was looking at the floor. Some sort of solution had to be found, that much was clear. Ron was the one who needed answers now.

"Kind of since always, Ron." Harry said quietly.

Ron hesitantly looked back at him.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

"Don't be. I should be sorry. I should…maybe have spotted that."

"So you could have told me to stop it?" Harry wondered, and he thought it was a small miracle that Ron shook his head, no.

"So that I would have just known. I…never really thought about two blokes before. It never really came up."

"I…" Harry thought a long time about how he needed to say this. Ron waited for him, but looked quite ready to urge him onwards if he didn't say something soon. "…want you to know that I don't want to be with you…anymore."

Ron nodded, still looking at him.

Harry went on, "Because I can't. It – it was your face. It wasn't you but it was your face."

His face that kissed him in the hospital ward. His face that made him so afraid.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you."

"Yeah."

Okay, so, now Ron knew he had his crush, and he knew that now it was...over. As over as love ever gets. Albeit, Ron missed all the space between figuring that out. It was time, then. Time to move on a little more.

"And it was Hermione's idea we not tell you in a letter," Ron said in his defense.

That figured. "Of course it was. She's the brains of your outfit, right?"

He got shoved for that, and not all that softly, either.

Days pass.

Ron finally convinced Harry to come along to Quidditch practice to take the Captain badge back. Professor McGonagall was adamant when she had given it to Ron: it was on loan. Harry Potter was the Quidditch Captain, and until his return there would only be stand-ins.

The best part about it was that she'd told this in front of her entire Transfiguration class back then. So when Harry and Ron arrived, Cormack McLaggen had the badge ready for him.

"Don't forget this," he added acidly, shoving over his broom and swiping off his uniform cloak as well, dropping it into Harry’s arms.

Harry had words for this.

"You're staying Seeker, McLaggen. I'm on backup."

The whole team – who had been standing around with relieved smiles – lost their grins and started to protest.

"You're a working team," Harry declared to them all, "and I'm out of shape and out of practice to compete against the other House teams, who have been going strong all year. It stays this way. McLaggen," he looked the boy over with a stern glare – making him uncomfortable.

"Yeah?" McLaggen asked.

"Gear up,” and he shoved the cloak and broom back upon him.

Practice was over a few hours later. It was nice, actually, staying down on the ground with his voice blaring orders at the others. It made him feel strong again, and after the days he’s had, he really needed to feel strong about something.

Ron and Dean had stayed behind with him after the others had gone in, and they were jogging circles around the Quidditch Pitch. The idea to run was Harry's, and he was just going to do it alone, but Ron insisted, and then Dean had overheard and said he'd fancy doing that, considering it'd been ages since he ran anywhere; McLaggen never had them do ground-work.

On their second lap around, jogging shoulder to shoulder, Dean said breathlessly, "You're lucky you told McGonagall to have Ron as stand-in captain."

"I didn't," Harry confessed, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. "I told her to make him the real Captain."

"Really?" Ron asked, also breathlessly on Harry's right.

"Are you surprised?!" Dean wondered, leaning forward to look around Harry to Ron.

"The reason – I wanted Ron to be Captain – was because of his strategy. We'd never lose with that." Harry was probably more out of breath than the other two, but he kept his body moving. He took Muggle track and field for two months, for crying out loud.

"We did lose," Ron said miserably.

"You lost by a hundred points?"

"Yeah. To Hufflepuff," Dean said.

"Where was your Seeker in all this?" Harry asked, looking right at Ron as he did. Ron didn't have anything to say, though. "Really?" Harry asked in wonder. "You're telling me that – McLaggen was the best Seeker at tryouts – and he kept the team afloat while he was Captain – and the first game he was in – you guys lost?"

"Holy fucking mother!" Dean exclaimed.

Ron pulled them all to a halting stop and held his hands out, palms forward. "Don't say it, Harry. You're telling me he scammed me?"

"It makes sense," Harry said, leaning far back, arching his spine and taking a few deep breaths of the cold winter air. At Smeltings, they'd be jogging through the halls of the school; it was just too cold to do this without risking pneumonia. For Muggles, anyway.

"McLaggen's not exactly the nicest guy in the school," Dean advised.

"That little twerp!" Ron said fiercely, pounding his fist into his other hand.

"Will you do me a favor, Ron?" Harry asked, leaning side to side as best he could. He was exhausted; sweat soaked his forehead and plastered his black hair down; the tips had crystallized in the cold January air.

"Yeah. What is it?"

Harry looked Ron over, and then – now suddenly quite a bit calmer – he reached into his pocket and pulled out his silver Captain's badge, and he handed it over.

"Will you be the Captain?"

Ron was speechless, and he only stared at the badge in Harry's open hand.

"Please?" Harry asked, reaching for Ron's hand and plopping the badge into it. He continued to hold onto Ron's wrist and press the badge into his hand, because Ron's arm was lax with shock and he might have just dropped the badge otherwise.

Dean stared on at the transaction with shock and awe.

"Why are you doing this, Harry?" Dean asked.

Harry looked at their tall friend, and said, "Because I'm not stupid. I won't be flying this year, and you need to be in the air to be the Captain. You need to be up there –" he looked up at the sky between the goal posts, and then back into Ron's anguished opal blue eyes – "to see everything, to help everyone, and I can't do that."

"Why not?" Ron whispered. He was squinting now, as if Harry was across the other side of the Quidditch Pitch and not standing right in front of him.

Harry fully pushed Ron to hold the badge on his own, and Ron gripped it tightly in his hand.

Harry licked his lips and swallowed thickly. His body was becoming stiff again, as if Draco Malfoy were standing before him instead of Ron. "I just can't. There are other things I have to do. I'm not really…focused these days on school things. I've got other things on my mind."

Ron's eyes dropped to the badge and he studied it. At long last, he put it in his pocket.

Harry smiled. "Thanks."

Ron shook his head. "Thank you."

Dean smiled broadly and wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders, and turned them towards the castle across the pitch. "Well, this is going to be a surprise to the rest of the team!"

"No kidding!" Ron breathed, still shaking his head with the excessive awe he was experiencing.

They were nearly to the castle when Dean caught sight of Seamus through the window and took off ahead of them. Ron stared at him running away.

"Do you think Dean and Seamus have ever wanted to try things with each other?"

Harry about glared at Ron in disbelief. Ron shrugged, smiling a little, and took that moment to say, "Harry, I just want to know…do you want to know who hurt you? Why they did it?"

"I do," Harry said, nodding his head.

"Well…I don't know who did it, but I know why. That's obvious," Ron said, and Harry looked startled up at him. Ron raised his eyebrow, as if it wasn't completely apparent. "You Know Who told them to."

That might be right.

"We'll get him, but meanwhile –" Ron stated with a morbid sort of glee, oblivious of Harry's inner demons but not willing to let them destroy his best friend, "– I can get McLaggen back for stealing the Captain's badge from me, because you left him on the team!"

Harry smiled at that. "I didn't know what else to do with him. I want Gryffindor to win.”

“I do, too. I also have five brothers who taught me a thing or two about counter strikes!”

If Harry felt he could, he would have wrapped his arm over Ron’s shoulders, too.

Late January. 1997.

Ron was feeling the pressure of the win until after the first one happened, and then he was thrilled. It was just a practice match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, something the kids arranged, and not the adults. It boosted everyone’s spirits. Everyone’s...except Harry, however, had other things on his mind.

First and foremost, confronting his fears and talking to Draco again. If Draco knew he had been assaulted – if soft kisses in a soft bed can be called assaulted – then Draco might also know who had done it. Chances were that he knew anyway just for being the lead of Slytherin’s pack. Either way, he was the only one with answers.

Every time Harry saw him across the Great Hall or in class, Draco either ignored him or laughed at his expense, but there was one thing that was certain: he never talked about what happened to Harry that night, but he had said he knew. Oh yes, he did know; but he never talked about it. Was he ashamed of himself, or was he disgusted by what one of his friends had done?

Draco caught him looking at him a few times. Harry did it carefully – during tests and meals while there were familiar people to look at beside him. It slowly got to the point that Draco was becoming annoyed with him. That's what Harry took a semi-pleasure in. It was a sick sort of revenge towards his school-yard nemesis; get under his skin as he'd done to get under Harry's the past five and a half years.

Sixteen-year-old Draco was a lot different than the eleven-year-old he used to know. That young man was hot-headed and never ending. This one was stand-offish and secretive. Harry was quite good about tracking him on the Murader's map, and in fact got him cornered before he was well prepared for it.

Bathroom, fourth floor, during his Transfiguration lesson and Draco's Advanced Rune lesson. Harry left his bag and his coat in the room, and wove his way to that bathroom on shaky legs. He rushed there, held his hand to the doorknob until he saw the little dot that was Draco emerge from the stall of the toilet, and then he turned it. Harry had never noticed any door in Hogwarts to be too heavy or to make too much noise, but this one did. The old oak even appeared less glossy than most doors. It was fitting, really.

Draco hadn't even gotten to wash his hands yet. He stopped moving when he saw Harry enter the room, lean his back to the door, and lock it with a twist of his fingers. The sound was heard by both.

The otherwise vacant bathroom was a choir of emptiness.

If Harry could take this moment back and forget he ever tried to talk to Draco, he would have. He hated what he was doing. His stare was steady enough, but his body was aching. His legs shook.

"I want to talk to you," Harry said.

Draco took two full breaths before he turned away from Harry and went to the sink to wash his hands. He stared at him through the mirror, a frown on his lips and a tweak between his eyes. The water ran fast and loud and Draco scrubbed hard.

"Malfoy," Harry said, when Draco still hadn't talked, "tell me again that you know what happened to me."

The water turned off. Harry might have thought he was in this room alone for all the talking Draco was doing. He went to the towel and dried his hands, now facing away from Harry and with no mirror to watch him in.

Harry stepped away from the door and up to him. Close…closer. He was a breath away and Harry gently gripped his shoulder and turned him. Draco settled in front of him with a glare.

"What have you heard?" Harry asked, wishing Draco did know the truth.

"Why are you still on this, Potter? You were attacked in the hospital ward…" his blue eyes flinched ever-so slightly, "…raped, had a nervous breakdown and went to St. Mungo's."

Harry ran a hand through his own hair, distressed. That's not what happened! Why didn't Draco know the truth? Why wasn't he telling him what really happened?

Harry shook his head and felt his stomach cramp.

Draco unexpectedly tossed the rag he held on the floor and gripped Harry's lapels, twisting him around so he was pressed against the sink's edge. Harry gasped and dug his fingers into Draco's wrists.

Draco yelled, with fire in his eyes, "Now leave me alone about it, Potter! I didn't have anything to do with it! I don't know why you want it to be me who raped you – what sort of sick fantasy you have going on in your head about what will happen now!"

Draco let him go, but kept at it right in Harry's face. "I don't know what happened to you to make you this way, but stop staring at me, stop blaming me, and stop thinking that I love you!"

Harry was startled a moment later when Draco wasn't in his face; he'd turned around to leave. Harry, quickly, throat caught with a sob, said, "I want to know if you know who took the Polyjuice!"

In mid-exasperation Draco stopped just a hair away from the door.

"You have to tell me if you know!"

Draco shook his head.

"You have to tell me!"

"No I don't!" Draco yelled, turning around now.

Harry walked forward, hands held up indicating his plea.

"Do this!" He urged, beseeching with his eyes onto Draco's own. He wished he didn't notice how handsome that face was right now. "You – basically can see – how this ruined my life. I need to know who it was!"

"You want revenge, don't you?"

Harry swallowed, shook his head. "I don't know."

Draco glared, but as the moments added together it was clear he was willing to say something about it. A few moments more and Draco's face had all but become someone else's entirely. He was compliant and a little worried. His eyes wondered the walls for a moment before they landed back on Harry.

"I wish it had been you," Harry said quietly, when Draco still didn't speak.

His surprise and disgust was of course expected. Harry went ahead and told him why.

"Because I thought it was you from the very beginning," he said, "the person showed me a Slytherin Prefect badge; what was I supposed to think? All this time I thought it was you, and so I've had the time to think about it…and…I guess…forgive a little."

Draco couldn't really believe that.

"Forgive? Forgive the person who did that to you?"

Harry shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself, feeling exposed. "No. Forgive you. I thought it was you. If it's anyone else I…" Harry took a deep breath. "…don't know if I can forgive just anyone. I think I needed it to be you."

Draco huffed, took a moment to digest what Harry said, and then looked him square in the eyes and said, "It wasn't me, and I'm not going to tell you who I think it was, either."

Harry was suddenly angry. "Tell me!"

Draco shook his head and took a step back. "I don't even know for sure! I'm not going to spread rumors so you can take the information to Dumbledore and cause trouble."

"Please?" Harry begged, voice quiet.

Draco scoffed. "Never, Potter. Just forget it. I'll never help you."

When Draco left the bathroom, Harry went into the furthest stall, pulled his legs up, closed his eyes, and wished he was back at Smeltings.

There would still be snow on the ground over there, and the sprinting team might still be running the halls. Kenny would be in class and focusing on his homework, watching out for all the kids under his care. His room would be missing the bed Harry had used to sleep in, replaced with the dresser that was crowded in the corner. Marty would be chatting with bullies and the principal would be basking in the scene of his proper Muggle boys.

Harry never would see Dudley in this Great Hall, or around the halls to protect him.

Hogwarts just wasn't the place it used to be.

Harry took a deep breath and opened his eyes to see the dark wooden stall. He'd started crying and wiped those tears away now. He looked down on the tiled floor and saw his wand there; it'd fallen out of his robes.

He hated what magic could do. It caused death and this war and it caused him to be hurt. In a lot of ways he wished he could just break that wand, but he knew it was what allowed him to survive Voldemort's attacks.

Harry put a leg down and reached for the wand, then pulled himself back up tightly onto the toilet seat. The wand was a familiar feeling in his hand. He touched the tip of it, examining it closely, and did the unthinkable with it: he put the tip just barely in his mouth.

Suicide by wand, he thought to himself, and closed his eyes. He let his tongue moisten the tip of it. People do this. Just one quick spell…

Harry opened his eyes and put his wand back in his robes. He stood up and he washed his face and he walked back to class. He tried to forget he'd ever done what he just did.

Later.

Outside of Draco, who ignored Harry even more, Harry was beginning to have an extremely hard time with the Slytherins. They made a point of talking about all the damage Lord Voldemort was causing in the world whenever Harry was nearby, and they started bringing up the death toll the war was acuminating at the beginning of every Potion lesson. So far the numbers weren't larger than fifty, but even hearing that number days on end could be taxing. Harry was starting to feel those eyes on him again – the eyes of the people who thought he would be the one to end the war, but he had no idea if he was capable of such a thing anymore. Like being Quidditch Captain, he was pretty sure he'd have to pass on the responsibility.

What made Potions the absolute worse classes of the week was that every time Harry failed to produce a decent potion Snape declared him incompetent and threatened to kick him out of his class. On this cold, late January day, those jibes only seemed to be getting worse. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but Snape harbored an even worse attitude towards Harry than ever; Ron was right, the man wanted him hung from the rafters.

But Draco was in that class, which used to make it the best opportunity to keep his eye on him, but now was the opportunity to avoid him. He sat at the front of the class on the right while Harry sat in the back on the left, near the door. No more than three tables and twelve students separated them from one side of the room to the other, so they weren't that far away. They were working on another Rune potion – some ancient useless thing Snape wanted them to make. Harry was sure he only continued to perscribe these potions to watch Harry fail.

The students were standing by their tables and working mostly in silence. The sound of bubbling cauldrons filled the air and the scent was of maple and soot. Draco was several steps ahead of him, chopping stuff up. Harry was stirring, watching Draco instead of the potion even though he told himself to look away. All at once, as if knowing he was being watched, Draco looked up and directly towards Harry. Caught and surprised, Harry froze mid-stir and held still. Draco’s chopping stopped.

Harry's distraction resulted in yet another catastrophe. He smelt it before he heard or saw his potion bubble over onto the table and burn holes in the wood. Snape was on him in an instant.

"Pathetic, Potter. Pathetic! You're never going to make it out of Sixth Year if you keep up this level of absolute stupidity!" With one swipe of his wand the mess was clean, and everyone watched as Snape loomed over Harry, glaring down his hooked nose at him with venom behind his eyes. "You're the worse excuse for a student of Hogwarts I think I've ever seen. No other would be such a victim!"

Snape was beyond his usual spiteful self. His scathing comments also were a bit more numerous – as if he'd been saving them all up. Harry wondered if the irritated crease that was forming between his eyebrows would ever go away.

He balled his hands into fists – he tried not to talk back because it cost his House a great deal of points, but he would have a hard time staying quiet today. Everyone was watching them. Most of the Slytherins were grinning, but Harry didn't have the luxury of checking out which ones those were.

“Is it so impossible to follow simple directions?” Snape asked.

"Directions are simple if they're written in English!" Harry defended himself with.

Runes – Harry's worst subject since he came back. Snape insisted, however.

What did Snape mean by calling him a victim, anyway? That was a low thing to say.

Snape's glare turned even sourer. "Ten points, Potter, and leave my classroom. You've already failed for the day. I don't see how you could do any worse."

Harry went ahead and did as he was told. He didn't look at anyone on his way out, and just stormed up to his bed to take refuge from life.

Stupid old git! He thought, and then he thought, Victim?

Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He was just so tired of Snape he could kill him. Life would probably be endlessly simpler with him gone – even if Harry had to stand a murder trial.

Harry found himself forgiving his earlier stupidity to bite his wand. He held it that whole afternoon he lay in bed. Held it right on his chest.

Hermione started urging Harry that night to take his complaints to Dumbledore.

"It'll only make things worse," Harry stated. "Besides, you know I'm getting better at my classes. It's just going to be this way for a little longer, and then he won't be able to complain anymore."

"I hope you're right," she said at last.

"And what did he mean by calling me a victim in front of everyone?" Harry wondered. He hadn't asked much of Hermione since finding out they were a couple – she walked lightly around the subject, in fact. Asking her this would be opening a door for them.

She momentarily looked uncomfortable with the question – unsurprising as it was obvious Snape knew about Harry's attack. He was a victim…maybe even of his own design.

"Snape is just mean, you have to remember that," she said.

"Why'd he say it that way, though?"

She didn't say the obvious, that perhaps he meant that Harry trusted Ron too much, and that was why he got hurt so badly, and thus why he was so far behind in his classes. She just gave him a gentle look.

Ron and Hermione started cuddled by the fire that evening, and Harry wasn't in the mood to see it. It had only been a few short weeks since he learnt they were a couple, and even then they mostly kept it hidden. But it seemed as if they were saturating him in their romance lately, and he just had to get away.

Seamus and Dean were going down to the kitchens for a last meal before bed, and so Harry decided to tag along.

"Looks like your troubles have only just begun," Seamus told him as they reached the fourth floor landing and were making their way to the stairs that led to the third.

"You mean Snape?" Harry asked.

"Snape and your friend's relationship," Dean corrected.

Harry wondered, "Did they use to do that sort of thing before I came back?"

Seamus shrugged. "Not really. They're a lot happier having you back. All of us are."

Harry got an arm draped over his shoulders, and sort of liked it.

Harry thought about what he said the rest of the way down, and then when they were nearly to the kitchens, the worse thing in the world happened: Snape came out of a door right down the hall. Seamus and Dean realized Harry's predicament right away, and they weren't near anywhere to get to safety. Snape walked right up to them and stopped.

"Out in the corridors five minutes before curfew…I should take points away now for ill-planning."

"We were headed in for a snack," Dean said. Of all of them, Dean was probably the one Snape had the least amount of problems with; Seamus tended to blow things up a lot in his classroom.

Snape looked at Harry and his eyebrow arched inquisitively. "A snack? Potter, I retract my statement from earlier during my class: you have just succeeded to fail even more miserably today than I expected."

"You fucking –"

"DON'T –" Snape ordered, grabbing the front of Harry's black sweatshirt and bunching it up in his fist, jerking him forward. "Don't – finish that sentence, Potter."

Seamus and Dean took a step back from Snape and Harry. Snape glared fiercely down at Harry, who was beginning to wish he had stayed upstairs, because down here he was feeling even more uncomfortable. Snape turned his attention on the other two Gryffindors.

"Get back to your dorm!" He told them. "Next time…better planning on your parts, Finnegan and Thomas."

"What about Harry?" Dean asked.

Snape pointed with his free hand down the hall the way they'd come. "Get!"

Once those two were gone, it was just Harry, still in the clutches of Snape.

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked.

Snape seemed to be thinking this same thing, although probably not with the amount of worry as Harry had accidently used in his voice. Once again, Harry was startled by how much surprises put him off his game these days. First with Draco in the hall, and now with Snape; he was just a walking corpse if he kept it up.

Would that be such a bad thing? A little part of his self asked – that same little part of himself that was willing to sleep without a shirt on in a cold bathroom stall.

"I have two options for what I can do," Snape said.

Harry swallowed hard and tried suddenly to pull way from Snape, but he only gripped him harder and pulled him closer. Harry was on his toes as Snape stood at his full height. He no longer looked down at Harry; he was looking over the top of his head down the hall. Perhaps he was watching for other people, or perhaps he was just deep in thought.

"What are the two things?" Harry asked, now reaching for his wand in his robe. Snape seemed to have sensed his motion, because Harry's right arm was grabbed in a vice similar in strength as his sweatshirt – he felt instant bruising.

"The first – obviously – is to take House points from you, and send you on your way."

"Sounds reasonable," Harry muttered.

Snape didn't try at all to hide his annoyance at Harry's rudeness as he snapped, "Don't speak, Potter!"

Harry kept his mouth shut. His fingers were turning blue in the face of Snape's death-grip, though; he was really starting to feel scared.

"The second thing," Snape said, "is to do what a part of me has wished to do for the past five and a half years…"

"Kill me?" Harry asked meekly, and Snape sneered.

"You're a piece of work. No. Detention. For a month."

Snape released him.

Oh, come on, a voice of reason argued, I was out to get some food. Is a month of detention really the necessary punishment?

Wouldn't you like to hurt me a little more than that? A cold voice said next.

"And get back to your bed, Potter. You have no idea how very little anyone could do for you if you were to get in the wrong hands."

Harry took a few steps back, though was still looking at his teacher with a mixture of anger and fear. Snape didn't look much different than before, but he seemed darker on the inside. Being a spy for the war on either side was taking its toll, obviously. Harry was about to turn to go when he saw movement behind Snape.

"Tell him the truth, Severus," said a new voice – Dumbledore's.

Warmth and safety flooded Harry's mind and spirit. Dumbledore was here!

The Headmaster was coming out from the kitchens. He was wearing long blue robes and holding a sandwich with lettuce sticking out of it from every side. Something in his face was different than any other time Harry might have seen him; it was as if he were ashamed…but Harry never thought he was ashamed of anyone.

Snape also seemed to have had a similar transformation. Something in his face had melted away, and he looked pained.

"What's that?" Harry talked in a most modest tone, thinking this was a strange place for a meeting of minds.

Snape, slowly, shook his head while still looking at Dumbledore.

"The Slytherins are asking for your help, in their own way…" Dumbledore clarified to Harry, speaking for Snape.

Harry held his ground and didn't move.

"…they have lost more family members to this war than anyone. Since you left, all the Dark Lord has done is try to find you. He can't. And now you're back at this school and news of your return reached his ears late."

Harry looked at Snape, "Why?"

Instead of lie or beat around the bush, Harry had the feeling Snape simply offered a small confession of the truth. "I didn't tell him, and I warned the Slytherins not to tell their parents, either."

He knows all my secrets, Harry thought. He could have told the Dark Lord all about me this whole time.

"Are you protecting me?" Harry blurted. "That's going to get you killed."

"Not likely," Snape said snidely.

"What's going on?" Harry repeated, feeling now a sense of urgency.

"What does it matter if you know what's happening or not? The war doesn't concern you anymore, it appears."

That was a painful blow, mainly because it was mostly true; he'd been avoiding the responsibility of his fate. He'd sworn he’d given up being a wizard back when he went to Smeltings, for crying out loud! He'd gone and forgotten how hard he'd fought to defend good people.

Despite Snape's remarks, Dumbledore was now smiling. "As someone less willing than I to speak with a Gryffindor, you have done a remarkable job showing your trust in one, Severus."

Snape gave Dumbledore a sour look and then marched on, leaving just Harry and the Headmaster together. Harry watched his retreat until he turned around a corner, and then he rubbed his arm where he'd been held. He hated being touched by him, and hated even more having to smell his breath, but he hated most suddenly his feeling that he was failing something entirely.

"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, and Harry looked at him meek-spirited. "You don't belong on the frontlines of this war, but you do play a part. You-Know-Who is fixated on you. You are both something to be feared and something to be reckoned with to him."

Harry swallowed hard.

"Now," Dumbledore walked up to him and handed him over the lettuce-filled sandwich. Harry took it, then looked up into his blue eyes. "It is hard for me to ask you to find your feet again, but you must. I need you to play your part; Professor Snape and everyone trying to keep You-Know-Who at bay need you to, also."

In that moment, Harry remembered what it felt like to be betrayed by who he thought was his best friend, and what it felt like to be given the opportunity to become his own person while at Smeltings. Now, he was being asked to deny any feelings for these events, and get back to work missing his parents and feeling anger for the man who killed them. No moving on – he had to move backwards.

"You mean that?" Harry asked of him bitterly.

Dumbledore nodded. "Opportunities are showing themselves where we can take a valuable leap in stopping this war and the ones who started it, but I need you to be aware of a few things before our time comes. You've been away, but now you're back. You need to be back with us, my boy."

Harry felt quite afraid suddenly, although…he also felt that familiar feeling of once again becoming comfortable with death. What Dumbledore was asking of him…included needing to become comfortable with that. Harry had been feeling this comforting feeling for the last few days…every time he touched his wand and felt the power of it.

"What do you need?" Harry asked quietly.

"To teach you a few things. I'll call you to my office when it's time."

Harry could only nod his consent. Dumbledore left him, and he stood there for a long while with that stupid sandwich in his hand, hating how very lonely he was.

February. 1997.

A heavy snow had fallen over the last few days, making all classes and outdoor tasks a burden. Harry was still feeling his insides cramped from the news Dumbledore had given him, and on top of that he'd gotten a letter that morning at breakfast. Hedwig carried it to him. It was from his aunt Petunia.

Just seeing her writing lit his life up, but the words were what brought him back down. He hadn't been back for more than a month, but these two events trumped all else.

I hope you are well…haven't heard from you…checking in…know you are safe…

Harry felt like the worse person in the world. His family had re-adopted him and allowed him to heal under their wing, and he'd gone and flown off and forgotten to ever tell them how he was. It wasn't like he could act like they or he didn't exist while he was at this school now; not after all they'd gone through. Petunia especially…she'd kept him company during two months of weekends, talking to him, reminding him that life included things like gardens and television and organizing and feeding the people you loved.

He felt safe there, but here he just felt burdened. He wasn't quite up to feeling much else. He couldn't move on from hearing what Dumbledore had told him. It was like someone had grabbed him and was pulling him to the floor – the pressure was heavy. These few days, classes were rough on him, and what progress he'd made to better himself slipped away. McGonagall especially got on his case about it. She gave him extra homework and threatened remedial lessons.

It was another evening. Just like any other. Most were at dinner, but Harry was sitting in a low windowsill near the library. It was the perfect hiding place for him, but not perfect enough, apparently, for Ron and the Marauder's Map.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, relatively sure who it was without his glasses; that red hair was unique to this school.

"I don't know what to do," Harry said.

"About what Dumbledore said?" Ron asked, moving to sit across from him on the sill. Their knees bumped. Harry had told him and Hermione everything the night it happened, and they’d been watching him fret about it in the days to come.

"I can't do this. Track him down. End the war…" It was a scary thought.

Ron reached forward and rubbed his knee. Harry put his glasses back on and admired how large Ron's hands were. In this light – the light just after the sun was down and there was only a faint glow, and most illumination came from enchanted lamps – Ron's expressions were heightened by the contrast of his red hair, pale skin, and freckles. His eyes looked like they shimmered. When he gave all his focus to Harry like this, the world just quieted down.

This lighting was a bit brighter than that from the night of the hospital ward. Harry had looked up into this face with the same feeling of adore as he was doing now.

Ron said, "You're not alone. You won't do any of that alone."

Dumbledore wanted him to, though. Harry felt weak.

"I can't even find the answer to who –"

"What if you just…" Ron interrupted with a begging sort of voice. "…didn't find out who did that? After all, what exactly do you have to lose if you never find out?"

"I won't trust again!" Harry swore, and Ron cringed. "It's twisted – I know, I know…"

The whole point of his and Marty's meetings at Smeltings were to figure out a way for him to forgive his friend and come to terms with his enemy. What would he lose if he didn't do this? Maybe even more of his self-respect. At this rate, maybe even his life. All his teachers, his family, Ron, Hermione, Aurors, and Kenny at Smeltings knew the lie that he was slept with without consent; only he and the person in his bed knew he just freaked out.

Harry took a deep breath and he tried to keep his tears down as he said, "Ron…I don't know how to say this…but you have no – idea – how much I…hated you…and myself. I feel like it's all my fault!"

Ron swooped in on him then and gave him a tight hug.

In his arms, Harry felt protected. He bowed his head and let the comfort take over. Harry was also reminded of the last time he was wrapped in Ron's arms. It came rushing back and his body stiffened with a mixture of misery and repulsion. He gripped Ron's shirt tightly, refusing to let him go. No matter what.

He kept speaking, though now quietly, clipped. "And…that – trusting people – isn't real anymore. I'm always in danger. That…there's nothing to live for anymore. I'm…not worth living –"

"Don't feel that way, Harry," his best friend said urgently.

Harry sniffed loudly with the effort to keep it all hidden deeply within. It was taxing to his nerves.

He'd let me sob all over him if I wanted, Harry thought. He's not repulsed at all.

"Did I make this happen?" Harry asked. Ron pulled away and looked him right in the eyes. They were so close together. Harry could feel his breath. Feel the warmth from his skin. Harry continued, "Why would I let this happen?"

Is Snape and the Slytherins right? Am I just pathetic and deserving of whatever comes my way?

"It's not your fault," Ron corrected him.

"But I can't get over it!"

He really couldn't.

"You will!"

Harry shook his head and let Ron's shirt go so he could lean back to his sitting position. Ron's hand went back to Harry's knee. Comforting.

Harry looked out the foggy window at the snow and his face that reflected off the glass. It was easier looking away than at Ron, because looking was reminding him of all he used to want.

Ron looked at his friend and wished he could help more than this.

"I wish Dumbledore hadn't put you under any pressure. Hermione says that's the last thing you ever needed. You're stressed enough."

Harry nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ron offered gently. "Tell me…someone…what it was like?"

Harry looked at him.

"I mean…do you want to tell me what it was like for you…the night it happened?"

The figure held him safely in his arms and they fell back onto a bed together.

"I haven't done this before…" Harry whispered.

"Hey," a voice whispered back, "it's okay…" and a hand wrapped around him and the pleasure began to build.

"Slow down!" he said against lips.

"I can't. I want you!"

"I don't know how," Harry said tiredly.

Ron took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was thinking hard about something – trying to form his words right. Harry felt glad Ron wanted to talk. It made him forget a little more about Petunia's letter, which had him down.

Ron said, "I've been trying to think about what it was like for you. I imagine myself where you were. I think…the reason it hurt you like this for so long…is because it was me. Me – like – Polyjuice-me."

Harry met his sad blue eyes.

"You didn't hurt me, Ron. I know that."

Ron shook his head.

"If it was anyone else – even someone who you didn't know – I think it would have been different. You would…" he hesitated, "…be angrier than this. Maybe even stronger. You know what I mean, I hope. Maybe…you might have…fought harder…"

That last comment struck Harry a little deep. His eyes lowered and he brushed Ron's hand off of his body, and then he pulled his legs in tighter. Ron pulled his own legs in slowly, and he looked apologetic.

Harry wished he didn't carry the secret that he did. He wanted to tell Ron that he fought as hard as he could – that he left pseudo-Ron with bruises and broken teeth and everything! But after he noticed the clothes that person had been wearing, he had lost all strength in his body and collapsed to the floor. He had been stabbed in the heart with the image of a Slytherin Prefect badge; left to rot in his own lie about the incident being that of dissent.

But maybe Ron had a point, and so instead of fighting, Harry gave him grounds.

"Maybe you're right," he said softly. "Maybe it would have been easier."

Ron looked miserable. "I don't know if it would, really. Maybe it wouldn't be. I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry I said anything. I just want you to be okay."

Harry laid his chin on his knees and focused out the window. Snow started falling again.

February 4, 1997.

The days passed into February, and it was almost a week since Dumbledore threatened to call him to his office. But suddenly that day had come. Instead of going there, however, Harry went outside to the large bridge that went over a span of the Great Lake. He sat on the stone railing and looked down on the frigid water below. Hanging onto the sides was the only reason he hadn't fallen in yet; he couldn't deny jumping to his death felt preferable to walking up to the Headmaster's office to discuss his place in the war.

He had been doing better in his classes up until that meeting. Now, he'd blown up three more potions, collapsed an endless amount of tables in Transfiguration, lit eighteen metal keys onto molten fire, and sent two people to the hospital ward for wounds suffered by foul spells in Defense. People were talking.

But he'd sent Petunia a letter this morning. He felt good about that. It was short and told her he was still settling in, and he hoped she understood what that meant. It was the same at Smeltings – he spent too much time in his head over there, and he'd been doing the same thing over here. She had talked to him about that.

The evening had a bit of a breeze to it. That chilly wind blew against his back, whipping his bangs against his forehead. He liked how his scar showed these days. When people looked at it they remembered why he was famous, and not why he was gone for two months. He never thought he'd like being exposed in that way.

The wind howled softly between the windows of the bridge and muffled the sounds of nature around him, and it concealed the sound of footsteps coming towards him until they were very close. Sudden adrenaline passed through him, and though his instinct was to look and perhaps defend himself, he instead closed his eyes and loosened his grip on the railing; if they were going to push him in he wasn't going to stop them.

The footsteps came very close and stopped. Harry breathed in deeply, his heart racing. Who was it?

A voice cleared, and he could tell right away it was male.

‘You didn't take a razor to your wrists, but you have very little respect for your own life.’ Marty's words echoed in his head, warning him to take better care of his life.

He didn't, though. The wind blew on.

What a fantastic feeling being about to die felt.

An arm gently wrapped around his shoulders, and another around his chest, clutching his heart. Harry slowly opened his eyes and looked behind him at Ron, whose eyes were wrinkled in the corners with worry, and his mouth was frowning.

Harry matched that expression and leaned into Ron, who tightened his hug and pressed his cheek against Harry's shoulder. Harry was gripping the railing tightly now.

The two of them stayed that way on the bridge for a long few minutes.

"I love you, Harry. You know that, right?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded.

"Remember that. I'd do anything for you."

"I'd do anything for you, too." Harry took a deep breath after he said this and sighed.

Ron pulled him backwards off the railing, and Harry, standing a head shorter than his best friend, stayed very close. Harry stared at his chest; couldn't meet his eyes after all the dark thoughts in his head. As the moments added together, Harry, became more ashamed of his self, turned away.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, because Harry was walking further down the bridge.

Harry didn't answer, so Ron caught up and walked next to him. They walked on, over the bridge, to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Harry was awake for the part that involved him and Ron being captured by men in Death Eater masks, Portkeyed away, and put in a dingy room by house elves. Ron attempted to defend them so was knocked out quickly. Harry now had to wait there until the Dark Lord would arrive, wondering if Ron would wake up before that happened.

Ron did come around to be updated, but now that he was, he wasn't doing too well. He was standing by the door trying to open it. Harry was against the far wall with his head leaning against the stone. He was contemplating how his life had so far passed, and how this was feeling like the end.

Then silence. Harry opened his eyes and noted that Ron's shoulders had slumped.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"This won't be so bad."

Ron was silent. Harry swallowed hard and pushed off from the wall. He held his aching ribs – hurt in the transport of the two of them – and went closer to his friend.

"Imagine it," he said. "A stadium, a breeze, golden light. We'll spend every day flying in the air, not even looking at where we're going. No more consequences. No more danger surrounding us. We'll be free."

"Are you talking about dying?" Ron whispered, fear in his voice. He turned around and there was also fear in his eyes.

Harry nodded. "One more dark moment, Ron, then we'll be in the wind."

"Don't talk like that!" Ron stepped up close to him and gripped his shirt. Their coats had been taken.

"Wish I could stop."

"Then do!"

Harry shook his head. "Wish I never got you into this mess. I wish it wouldn't have ended like this. I wish I didn't take you with me."

"You're not taking me anywhere!" Ron pushed him away and went back to the door to try it. He was wildly afraid. "What happened to you?! When did you get this way? The Harry I know would be fighting! Since when did you change so much?!"

Harry couldn't say. He shrugged.

Ron took a moment to digest, and then he scanned the room again, and then he looked sternly at Harry.

"I'm not dying here!" Ron said, going back to shaking the handle.

"Ron?"

"No!" He rounded on Harry. "No! I don't want to die with you! I don't want to die at all! We have to get out of here!"

Harry lifted his hands and displayed the room, showing there was no way out of here. Ron was shaking harder now.

"I don't know…some way! I want to see my mum again! Don't you understand that?"

Ron turned away from him and pressed his ear against the door. Harry was still in the center of the small room, feeling lousy that he brought up dying, but he wanted Ron to understand how he was feeling.

"I understand that. I do understand that."

Ron looked over his shoulder at Harry.

"I never thought I'd say this, but you sometimes are really mental. Maybe you want to die, but I don't. I want to get out of here."

Harry was reminded of all the times he'd been called pathetic these past few weeks. The Slytherins, Snape, others, too, probably thought this of him. Ron was right, really. Even though Harry was just about done thinking about the future and thinking about saving the Wizarding World from the Dark Lord didn't mean that he should give up trying to save his best friend's life. Ron didn't have the weight he held on his shoulders, so he still had a chance at a good future. Ron had Hermione. He had Quidditch and captaincy and family. It didn't matter what happened to Harry, but Ron needed to live.

A worry line creased between Harry's eyes, but he made the promise anyway. "Okay, Ron. Trust me. If there's a way, I'll find it. I'll get you out."

Ron didn't look at him, but his shoulders loosened a little back to normal.

It was only seconds later that someone was by the door on the other side. They didn't come in, but they incanted a spell and then there was laughing.

"What do you want?" Ron asked.

"To see the great Boy Who Lived before the Dark Lord shows up to eat his beating heart."

The laughing continued, and then it stopped. Ron and Harry were alone again.

There was becoming a lesser sense of surprise as more and more people showed up to witness Harry's capture. Some would open the door and come in to see them, but most just stayed outside to talk. Harry and Ron took to sitting across the room, because two hours passed in this fashion. They didn't talk after Fenrir Greyback paid them a visit with three of his werewolves. He was the only person to actually touch Harry, and when he had it made Ron start to cry. The last words Ron muttered before he fell into silence were ‘I'm sorry.’ Harry realized he’d forgave Ron ages ago. For anything. For everything.

It was quiet. The two of them holding hands, shoulders pressed against each other's. There was a loud POP! in the room and it was ridiculous how high both of them jumped, and how loud they both shouted.

It was a man and a house elf that apparated in. He'd appeared near the door and took a sly pleasure in their reactions. He was somewhere in his twenties, very well dressed, a smooth face, holding his wand in his hand like a club. He looked at home as he looked both of them over stoically. The house elf, who was quite shaken, popped away.

Left alone with him, both Harry and Ron's stomachs started to turn. What did he want?

And then a smile broke out on the stranger's face, cheshire and white teeth. Harry had never seen him before, but he was obviously along the lines of blood and money. He had pale blue eyes and milky skin, brown hair and sharp features…much like the Malfoy family.

Ron put a protective arm across Harry's chest. They were both still sitting.

"Who are you?!" Ron demanded.

That smile didn’t falter.

"Doesn't matter. We were all having a nice dinner when you two were brought to us. Tsk. Ruined the lovely evening." His voice was more high-pitched than seamed necessarily natural for him. Nasally.

"Where are we?" Harry asked.

"Malfoy Manner, of course!" He held up his hands, indicating the surrounds much as Harry had done before. "Can't you tell? The prestige? The elegance? This family knows how to throw a banquet!"

The young men were quiet. The slightly older man tipped his head to the side and looked curiously upon them. Frown turned down.

"You know, I graduated from Hogwarts a year before you showed up, Potter. Never got to see you up close until now. Want to know what I see?"

Harry didn't. He wanted to stand up, but any sudden movements seemed like a bad idea with this armed man, who turned on his sly grin again.

"What I see is a good boy, handsome, a bit too scrawny – we'll call you lean – and from what I hear…a very good lay." And he laughed.

Ron found the courage to get to his feet, hands balled.

"Leave him alone!"

"Oh – oh, no offence, Weasley! Boy Who Lived! No offense! I know you weren't exactly participating in the experience. But it was obvious from the way it was described that you liked it at least a little!"

He laughed some more.

Harry's cheeks burned red and he stood up with help from Ron. Harry hoped Ron wasn't taking this man seriously, but he had to admit that it was harsh being singled out by all the people coming to visit.

This guy was a loose cannon. He was waving his wand haphazardly.

He stopped laughing and looked fondly at Harry.

"I hated it at Hogwarts," he continued. "All of you stupid kids with your clubs and your girlfriends. You didn't leave any room for anyone different. One little thing out of the ordinary and no one gave you an inch."

Now he looked at Ron. "I'm sure you're the same. You are Gryffindor's Prefect, aren't you? Quidditch Captain? Got a girlfriend – I bet she's smart, isn't she?"

Ron didn't say anything. Harry could tell Ron was suddenly feeling the way he was.

"What did they use to say about you?" Harry asked, trying to get the conversation off Ron. He asked this with as neutral a voice as he could muster.

"Can't you guess? Poufer, fairy, queer. I knew I was gay since I was five, so I didn't really consider hiding it. A school like Hogwarts leaves scars for people like me…and my cousin, Draco."

Harry's heart skipped a beat when he heard that name. A small part of him felt relief that he was right, though. This man was of blood and money, as he suspected.

"Are you saying Draco Malfoy's gay?" Ron asked hesitantly, feeling safe enough to speak.

The rich man smiled. "Such is the bond between the two of us! That…and our crush on you, Chosen One."

Harry felt threatened. It was as if the man in front of him was a wild beast on the prowl, and they were cornered in this room. Harry knew there was an edge here, though. Wild beasts looked for food, and they liked to catch their pray and make them bloody.

"So…you like me?" He asked.

"I do," he agreed, and he took a step forward. He in fact came all the way forwards and caressed Harry's cheek with the back of a finger. Harry's eyes darted away from his and settled for looking at the lower buttons on an expensive vest. He whispered, "Too bad you're going to die. I wanted to get to know you first. The Dark Lord will be here soon, though. I can't risk…hanging around."

Harry's stomach was churning. Ron's hand had found its way to Harry's arm and clutched him fiercely.

That hand against Harry's cheek went lower, fingers curled around his neck and a thumb settled between his collarbones.

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and asked, "You aren't on his side?"

"I'm on the winning side," was the answer.

"Do something for me?" Harry whispered, so very quietly.

He heard Ron take a small gasp of breath, but he didn’t interrupt.

Harry opened his eyes and looked meekly up. The man seven years older than Harry lost his smile but stayed to listen to Harry's request.

Harry said, "My friend has a family. He has five brothers and a sister. And a mother. And a father. He has a lot to live up to…and for."

The man – not a Death Eater, he was certain – tipped his head to the side and regarded Ron. He lifted his wand towards Ron's chest, and feeling threatened, Ron let Harry's arm go and took a few steps aside. Now Harry felt very alone, very scared, but very sure of what he was doing.

Harry looked pointedly at the man and reached – hesitantly – forwards, resting his own shaky hand against the man's neck, fingertips in his hair. "Just name your price. I'll do anything you want. You have no stakes here, and if you're going to leave before the Dark Lord shows up, take Ron with you back to Hogwarts – to Hogsmeade – and you can have…anything."

It took not long at all for it to register what Harry was saying, and then the man turned fiendish.

Ron caught on, too.

"No – no!" Ron shouted, lunging forward to pull Harry back towards him, only to result in a spell being fired onto him. Ron was hit. Petrified. Frozen with his hands out towards Harry.

Harry had only a second to take in the frozen look of fear on his friend's face before the man was on him, pushing him back behind Ron to the wall – holding his hands above his head and pinning them there with magic. Ron was within an arm's length but was facing away; a red-haired statue behind the opulent man.

"I'll take that offer," he said to Harry, and he cupped Harry's face and laid an open mouth kiss onto his mouth.

In the hospital room, a figure crept towards him in the darkness.

"I wanted to tell you something…" the figure said hesitantly.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"You can do it again – if you want," and gentle hands caressed his chest…

"Do what again?"

"You can kiss me. It's okay with me."

Harry thought he should kiss back, knowing it was his price, but he couldn't muster himself to. The man's firm mouth moved sloppily. Hands tore open his clothes.

"I haven't done this before…"

"Hey," a voice whispered back softly , "it's okay…"

"Slow down!"

"I can't. I want you!"

Harry's pants were tugged roughly down and he was turned around so his wrists twisted awkwardly and with pain. He cried out and made many noises and huffs as he was pawed. The other man talked dirty, breathed loudly.

"I'm going to make you scream, Potter. I've dreamed about doing this, just like this," he laughed. "I think we all have!"

"Ready?" the loving voice asked softly. Harry looked into his eyes and nodded even though he was nervous about it.

He first felt just a strong pressure, and then with each thrust his eyes saw light. He wanted it.

Soothing hands held him. It felt like a promise.

It lasted for a mere minute but the pain was sharp. Harry couldn't stop the strained sounds and whimpers that escaped his own throat, and he did scream a little. He cried tears that dripped off his chin.

Harry wrapped his arms tightly around the person he was with and pulled him against him, turning over so they were on their sides together, burying his face against that familiar person . He stretched his legs out as his hair was caressed.

"You were right," the voice said from the darkness.

"About what?"

"I fell in love with you…"

When finished, the man closed up his pants and swished his wand, causing Harry's clothes to go back to their original places, minus a few buttons and added a few rips. Harry untwisted his wrists by turning back around, and he saw the man with his wand against Ron's forehead. All his own pain was pushed to the background, then.

"What are you doing?!" Harry shouted, his voice raw and his nerves shot.

"Don't want this one to go telling anyone what happened here. My reputation and all."

A strange wave of relief and fear swept him. He had to ask, fear lacing his voice. "You'll keep your promise, though? You'll take Ron to Hogsmeade?"

"Yes," he said, looking back at Harry who whimpered under his damnable mogul stare.

A memory charm was cast on Ron.

He was horrified. Who was this man? Was he any good at those spells?

Ron didn't appear affected at all. He didn't twitch – petrified still.

"Now I get out of this house. The Dark Lord will show up any second, and I don't want to be here when he does."

With a clap of his hands the house elf Apparated in. The Malfoy cousin put his arm around Ron's shoulders…and left.

Harry remained hanging by his wrists. Alone now, no idea what to do. He might have just killed his best friend, when all he wanted to do was save him. He started to cry.

The next days honor the late Harry Potter.

Three days after the ending of the Dark Lord's reign, Narcissa Malfoy was allowed back into her house. The Ministry had been all through it, documenting everything. Anything that was bled on, they took. Anything that was broken, they took. Her steps echoed through the house ominously, making her feel that this wasn't home anymore.

She walked into the Open Room on the second floor and found it completely empty. This was where it happened, and so everything was confiscated. It was called the Open Room for a reason, however; there wasn't much there to begin with but a few statues.

The light sparkled on the wooden floor, no evidence of what happened at all. But she could remember it all vividly. She stared at the corner in front of the fireplace and could picture the Dark Lord standing tall and evil and Harry Potter just before him on his knees. He was dragged in from the stairs behind her and made to stand before him, but he sank down, shaky and weak. That made Voldemort pleased.

Narcissa's hand clenched now, as it had done on the arm of her husband as they watched from their place by the balcony door. Voldemort circled around Harry, who kept his head down. He'd been crying, but not out of fear as it soon became apparent; her nephew had rescued another person kidnapped with Harry, and Harry wasn't sure if his friend was alive. Voldemort pledged both be found and killed for undermining him.

The warm light coming through the windows did what it could to erase the horror she'd seen on that night, but looking around now, Narcissa knew nothing would be the same.

She walked over to the balcony window and looked out. She remembered from which direction the lights of the Aurors arrived. By then, her husband's and the other's Dark Marks had disappeared. They were free. She'd looked out also as he tortured Harry. His screams echoed through the whole house, but he never begged. She'd never known anyone not to beg. She closed her eyes and saw the wand extend.

"I'll always remember you, Harry," Voldemort said in her memory.

She was holding in her own tears and holding onto her husband tightly. He was the love of her life and she couldn't protect him from this man who took over their lives. And not from the Ministry who had him now, either.

She closed her eyes, her memories playing out.

Voldemort walked up to Harry, that large snake wrapped around his shoulders, and knelt to his level to brush his bangs out of Harry's eyes. Harry was bloody on the floor, on his back looking up at the Dark Lord. It was a strange moment when Harry reached up and clasped Voldemort's hand and brought it to his chest, holding it there the same way Lucius was holding her hand to his chest. Harry's lips moved, but she couldn't hear what he said. The Dark Lord nodded and brought his wand to Harry's temple and said, "Goodbye, Harry.”

Narcissa turned from the sunny balcony now and walked into the room, past the place where Harry had grabbed the head of the massive snake and plunged its venomous fangs into the Dark Lord's neck. She walked to the fireplace and knelt into the small corner on the right side, where Harry had scampered to avoid the curses of the Death Eaters. The snake had followed him, and this snake had scared them all so much that they set on it as well. About half of its body was left behind when someone finally lit the fireplace up with a flood of magic, and when it was over there was only ashes.

Harry Potter and the snake had been burned into oblivion. Every speck of soot was packaged and being rifled through by the Ministry as they looked for what was left of that boy.

A tear escaped Narcissa as she crouched on all fours.

She sniffed. She ached. She gasped. She then pounded the bricks, slapped the walls and yelled once in fury and heartbreak; her husband was as of now a prisoner, and she was free only by the grace of the ancient system of law that forbade undue captivity, because she had no Dark Mark, faded or otherwise.

"Why did this happen here?" She asked the walls. "In my home? To my husband?"

The face of Harry came to her mind. He was a handsome boy, from money and blood like her. She knew Draco's secret; she knew he liked Harry, and she knew having him and her son together – together – might not have been a bad thing. It would have been a scar on the family tree if Draco didn't marry a woman and have children…their bloodline was entirely on his shoulders. But learning her son fancied Harry Potter – well! Remove their alignment with Lord Voldemort and that might have been a good match in terms of what doors it would open for their family.

She sat staring at the deep wall of the fireplace, contemplating what was left of her family and estate, but inevitably she started thinking about a memory from fifteen years ago, when this room was built. Lucius wanted a large room for them to dance in, and they danced in it even to that week. It was also a room that business could be conducted in…and spied upon. Wizards would do their own examination of the room to make sure it was secure, but they would always miss the sigil on the inner wall here in the fireplace, that when pressed from the inside or the outside would slightly open a gap in the wall so someone could listen in. Hold that sigil down long enough and the gap would open fully, so someone could walk through into the passages that were between the walls.

Narcissa looked at the sigil on the uppermost brick and hesitated to press it. She hadn't thought about this sigil since she used it herself ten years ago – overhearing a conversation Lucius and his father were having in this room. She reached up and pressed gently against the faded mark. Silently, a gap appeared in the inside corner.

She held her breath as the gap slowly opened to the halls beyond, and the first thing she saw was dried blood. Lots and lots of it.

The Ministry never got here.

Narcissa pushed the stones further away and fit her shoulders into the magicked wizard's space beyond. The blood trail led inwards, down the corridor between the walls; the passageway though the house. Narcissa's heart raced and she hurried in, holding her wand before her for light. She saw bloody handprints on the walls. Footprints, handprints, and the slithering trail of something mutilated – the snake. It took a moment for her to gain the courage to follow it, and when she did, she followed it around many corners.

Then it came to an end by a door, and it was marked by the words Second Courtyard above.

She grew her beautiful flowers in the Second Courtyard, which was an enclosed space accessible only through her powder room in their master bathroom. Lucius made the Second Courtyard for her thirty-fifth birthday all those years ago. She was naked and went to walk into the shower and instead appeared in the garden. Lucius was waiting with a smile on his face.

She put her hand on the bloody knob now and turned it, pushing inwards slowly, hesitating and afraid of what she'd see.

It was a mess. Flowers were half dead on the floor, pots were broken, and blood was more prominent here than in the hall. She didn't see anything moving. Truthfully, she knew no matter what magic Voldemort had put into that snake that it couldn't have lived three days cut in half like it was. She walked into her garden and shut the door behind her, then opened it again. Outside that door now was her bathroom instead of the corridor. Such was the magic of the passageways between the walls. This was a much more pleasant sight to see, anyway. She left the door wide open.

She walked in slowly to the garden, her heart pounding despite knowing deep down that danger had passed long ago. She walked towards the overturned garden bench and there he was – lain as still as death and tangled in the mangled corpse of the snake. Harry Potter.

So, not burnt to ashes. The Ministry had missed a great deal.

She stepped on the flowers to get around the bench, and she kicked the side of the stump of the snake to discover it was hard with rigor mortise. She knelt down.

Harry's face was away from her. His legs were splayed about and his arms were over and under his head – covered in blood – all over just covered in it. She reached around and felt his cheek.

He wasn't cold at all.

An hour passed since she found him. Everything was cleaned up now, all evidence of Naginni was removed and the courtyard was reassembled. Harry was unconscious in the bedroom. She had checked the medicine cabinet and found all of the potions had been taken – the Ministry's work. She needed to heal Harry by herself or turn him in…and she wasn't ready to turn him in. The ministry had taken her husband; she would take their hero.

She dressed and rushed downstairs. She was going to London by means of the estate automobile, heading for Diagon Alley and medicine. Her hair was held in a cloth and she had large sunglasses on – concealing her face. She'd buy Floo powder and a few other things to hide her more important purchases, and be back in an hour.

The magical car did its duty and she was at her destination in twenty minutes. She parked along the street and walked through the bustling inn connecting Diagon Alley to the Muggle world. It was heavily decorated in both party garb and mourning flags. The news of Voldemort's death had arrived alongside the announcement of the death of Harry Potter, and people didn't know whether to laugh or cry – most had done a day of each. But that was three days ago; they were still celebrating.

A teary eyed woman stumbled in front of Narcissa on her way through the inn. She didn't see the old woman react – obviously her disguise was working. She was use to putting on such a buffer between her and people, as in her youth she was quite famous herself, and still often got a reaction out of people. But now, her whole family was in the papers because the battle against the Death Eaters happened at her house.

"We are so very lucky to be alive today," the woman said in a strong accent, not looking directly at Narcissa. She was looking at the far wall of the building with a tissue to her nose. "That boy was a true hero! I met him once, you know!"

Narcissa hadn't seen it before, but covered in flags and handwritten notes was a life-sized photo of Harry on the wall. It was startling to see, but it made sense something like that would be put up. He was looking out at her with an expression of someone who just saw something that caught his eye – as if the person who took the photo had caught him by surprise. Not smiling, but keen, on alert.

It was an enlarged photograph, banners blew in the background. It looked fairly recent; he was dressed in full Gryffindor Quidditch gear with his Firebolt over his shoulder. He was mid-step, but hesitating. Behind him was a full stadium of exuberant fans, and further behind that was a cloudy sky with beautiful golden rays of light shining through. No one stood by him or behind him, and no other faces could be made out. All the focus was on the boy with the Quidditch Captain's badge and the look of reserved interest in the camera.

Narcissa pulled back a flag below the photo and saw a bronze plaque engraved.

"His last words," the witch told Narcissa, words slurring.

Aurors only came to her house when they did because of Ronald Weasley. It seemed Harry made her nephew a deal: save his friend and he would willingly die to let Voldemort rise to full power. Her nephew was a morbid man – a scorch on her family's name. She wasn't entirely glad he'd soon be let free thanks to the law and the fact he rescued a boy from certain death.

The plaque read, We'll spend every day flying in the air, not even looking at where we're going. No more consequences. No more danger surrounding us. We'll be free. One more dark moment together, then we'll be in the wind. – Harry Potter, Last Words, July 31, 1980 – February 4, 1997.

Narcissa looked at the boy in the photograph again. This was before he'd gone missing from the school for two months; before she knew Draco's feelings for him. That Christmas Draco had come home, and he'd been distraught. He told her many possible reasons for his disappearance, one of which stood out from the others: a rumor he'd been raped by a student and had a breakdown.

After whatVoldemort did to him, Narcissa was sure he was likely to have another.

"Makes me cry every time I read it! At least he's in a good place. That poor young man – only sixteen years old!" The witch still hanging by Narcissa’s shoulder blew her nose in a shabby red handkerchief. Loudly.

"To freedom!" Said a man loudly over by the bar, and a chorus sounded through the room.

Narcissa let the flag fall over the plaque and she left the drinking patrons for the shops. She got as many innocuous things as she could at the apothecary. Nothing would keep the scars from forming where the torture had cut, but she'd make sure he lived. On her way out, she wondered why she was doing this – if there was even a legitimate reason at all – because from the way she was going, there wasn't much besides anger and spite. Was she willing to alter Harry’s fate for the rest of his life just to get revenge for Lucius?

Ten hours later.

It was some time before Harry was well enough to look around the room and check himself out. He was clean, skin mostly sealed closed, but he was with Narcissa Malfoy and that made him more alert than anything.

The first thing she did was tell him Ron Weasley was alive and well. The second thing she did was delicately tell him about the wizarding world believing he was dead.

I found you…they don't know…

"Why won't you tell them?" He asked.

He was meek; meeker than she would have expected. He was afraid, alive, and she thought he was unsure which he hated less. He maybe hated being afraid more, because the bed he was in was warm and comfortable, and worth experiencing.

Narcissa sat in a large chair near the window, a distance away from Harry. She was thinking about this, wondering what she should tell him that wouldn’t spook him even more than he already was. Harry let her keep her silence and he turned over in the bed, cuddling the pillow and closing his eyes. He was passed out before he heard her answer.

"Maybe it's better for you this way," she muttered, looking over at his black hair lain on her side of the bed. Pillow below him smudged with blood. "The life of a celebrity is better lived dead. You'll never have that normality people get, no matter how many years you live. And us…" she dropped her eyes and let a tear fall down her cheek. "We need the war to end. My family needs it. Us Malfoys are doomed without it. You're a reminder of it all. If you suddenly appear alive and well, they'll all wonder who else will appear alive…"

Narcissa thought about her husband facing a sentence in Azkaban, and realized then that there would be very little Harry could do for him, no matter what was said.

"You'll be as free as I've always wanted to be," she said, and looked out the window again at all the snow.

March. 1997.

Harry had a splotchy memory of these early days, because of the amount of potions he drank. Potions for dreams, for aches, for crippling sorrow. He would have day-time nightmares, helped oddly with a simple hand lotion with the pollen of a nasty-tasting plant from the garden. He knows it’s nasty tasting because it’s used to encourage him to stop biting on his hands where he got a grip of Voldemort’s horrible snake. He told Narcissa about how the feeling of those scales just wouldn’t go away, that it feels like the snake is slithering through his grasp every moment. She assumes the snake was cursed. The feeling had slowly started to fade a week in, so there was hope.

It was a busy month, ending in Lucius's house arrest and Draco coming home for a long weekend to see his father – at his mother's request. She learnt about her husband's sentence and cried with joy. Harry, heavily addled with Calming Drought, mustered a faded congratulations and went back to fiddling with the flowers in the Second Courtyard. She had told him he wasn't allowed out of her sight without taking a few sips of the drought, because she knew he was suicidal. She'd gone to get the mail, and so he drank. Along with the Calming Drought, he seemed most comfortable in the garden, so would spend his days there.

Along with their lawyer, it was two hours before she was alone with Lucius and Draco. The three of them were watching everyone – Aurors included – leaving the property. She turned away from the window and looked at them with a subtle blend of ecstasy and dread.

"Come with me, both of you!" She said.

Her command was followed by silence and intrigue. She wouldn't keep Harry a secret from the two of them – Lucius least of all – so she thought it best to tell them as soon as possible.

She guided them into her and Lucius's large bedroom and into the bathroom. She took the door handle least likely for someone to grip – the access into the Second Courtyard – and turned back to the two of them before she opened it. They raised identical eyebrows.

"Do you trust me?" She asked.

"With anything, my darling," Lucius said.

Draco agreed with a nod.

Her heart beating hard in her chest, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then she opened the door an inch and called in, "They're home!"

And to the two Malfoy's surprise, she opened the door wide, and there stood for them to see Harry Potter, alive and – well – alive. A garden surrounded him. He wore some of Draco's clothes, neutral grays and blacks that made him stand out against the bright colors of the garden.

Notably, there was a red, raw line across his face, and his neck looked bathed in acid.

He didn’t seemd to be in any pain. His green eyes were soft.

Draco was the first to react, and it was to drop his jaw. Lucius hesitated for the barest of moments before gliding past his wife and entering the room. He seemed momentarily angry, which caused Harry to lose his ground and take a step back. Narcissa stopped Lucius's advance with a strong grip to his arm.

"He escaped into the corridor in the fireplace," she said.

"I don't believe it…"

"I didn't either, at first."

It took moments for awe and confusion to pass, and then Lucius looked away from Harry – who was embarrassed but subtle about it – to his wife and asked, "Why haven't you told anyone?"

"Is he a prisoner?" Her son asked, bewildered.

Both Harry and Narcissa shook their heads. "He's not, Draco. I promise."

"Nevermind the whole of the wizarding world, how will we keep this from your parent's house elves? They're coming this evening!" Lucius said.

That was very true; they'd have to be extra careful, not to mention give the corridors between the walls another good cleaning. She'd done it once, but the house elves would notice even a speck of blood.

"I just want to be clear –" Draco interrupted them, still standing outside the door in the bathroom, wide-eyed and standoffish. "Potter's in our house. In a room I didn't even know existed in the shower. Mother is hiding him. We aren't going to tell anyone he's alive. Do I have this right?"

Narcissa worried her bottom lip and looked sorely troubled towards Harry. He didn't talk much to begin with – overall it could be said he was mostly in his own head – but even he nodded a little.

"You do," she told Draco.

"House elves be damned! What do you have to say about any of this?" Draco asked Harry.

Harry opened his mouth, but closed it again and lowered his eyes to the floor.

"Aren't you going to say anything?!" Draco demanded.

Narcissa felt pity for her son. There was something she didn’t understand between him and Harry, so she couldn’t tell if whatever she might say would hurt or not. But she had to explain. "He's taken a dose of Calming Drought, Draco. It's quite strong…he can’t always find his words."

“Try!” Draco urged.

Harry dropped his eyes and let his shoulders slump.

"I have a bit to get used to," Harry said at length. He rang his hands and then he looked up at Draco and Lucius. "But if people discovered me here, they might think less of Voldemort's death. I wish – though – that I hadn't fought so hard. That...then maybe I wouldn't have to bother any of you…"

Narcissa was nervous about how he would be while here at Malfoy Manor, but certain it would be a long time still before he got over the trauma of what he'd been through. His words were familiar to her – they were the reason she forced him to drink so much drought. She even saw they upset Lucius and Draco.

Narcissa gripped Lucius's arm and pulled him towards the door.

"I'll tell them what's going to happen, Harry," she told him, worry mingling her voice.

She closed the door softly and faced her family, who stared at the shower door that now was clear and displayed only the shower beyond. She turned to them.

"He's traumatized, suicidal, and has nobody but us to help him. I don’t want him to die." She looked at Draco. "We all have to help him through this.”

“What...are you doing, Narcissa?”

She smiled then. At her husband. “After a while we'll move him to a new place, one that can't be traced, and we'll rebuild the name of Malfoy. Let’s be ready to embrace the Ministry's decision to go lightly on our family, but let’s not throw a child back into a world of wolves. Harry Potter is their prize, but he’s not ours. He needs us, though. He needs people who know how to live with the constant threat that everything can be taken in the blink of an eye. And it won’t hurt…to keep something for ourselves.”

While this time the Malfoy’s were overrun by the Dark Lord, forced by threat of death to follow him, next time it could be something different coming for them. They, more than any, knew when to hide the truth. This was going to be a rehabilitation of them all.

A day passed.

She only let Draco in to see him alone right before he would go back to Hogwarts, when finally she was convinced Draco thought what Narcissa was doing was the right thing.

She was also a little afraid of what image Harry would leave in her son's mind. Not the physical image, no. Narcissa's potions weren't able to remove the scars – he'll have those until he died or someone with some real magical medical training came along, but she wasn’t worried what Draco would think of them. No. It was the image Harry used to be: someone famous, with unparrallel strength and courage to fulfill his destiny to save wizardkind. That wasn’t Harry now. Harry now didn’t do what he did with any purpose but to save one sole human being. Harry now wished he could forget everything in total, and die.

She was not light handed with the potions she was giving him. Harry understood.

All his life, Draco was trying to make Harry wait on him, but now he felt compelled to do the opposite. As he stood there in the garden, he waited until Harry talked first, and then he answered everything truthfully until a few minutes later when it was time to go.

"Yes, it's okay if you wear my clothes," the answer to the first thing Harry asked.

Draco kept running a hand through his hair, because it was such a strange feeling to be civil with Harry.

"Yes, I saw Ron. He doesn't look that good, but then, his best friend just died," the second answer.

No one – not a single person or article he'd read – led Harry to believe anyone knew what he'd done to get Ron out of the Manor. Harry found comfort in knowing this was kept a secret. Dumbledore’s doing, probably. Maybe Ron’s request?

"I don't know what I'd do to save my best friend; I don't have one."

Harry believed him.

Upon eyeing Draco up and down the first time they met while getting fitted for uniforms, he had pegged Draco for the type to make friends but not to have them. Draco would sacrifice himself only for family. In many ways, that's no different than what Harry did for Ron to get him out of the Manor. Harry wouldn't take back what he did, but again, he wished he could forget it.

And the last thing Draco said before he left – spoken with truth and with sorrow, "Yes, I promise. I'll be nice to your friends from now on."

April. 1997.

Harry thought now the word he was looking for to describe his time here at Malfoy Manor was ‘humbling.’ Everything about this place filled him with life again.

He was legally dead for 42 days now, and though it felt good to be free of his bonds, he had left everyone behind, and that was starting to come into focus.

The room was kept secret from the house elves, so Harry stayed in there. Narcissa visited several times a day and they talked about her garden and her life. She was a big-name actress as a child and met Lucius at Hogwarts. She continued acting on and off until Draco was born, then retired. They even talked about what the plan was for Harry, and came to the conclusion that he'd live by the ocean, as he loved looking out the magicked windows at the waves.

One day, shortly before Harry was going to be removed from the country to that safe place, Narcissa brought him the morning paper. It featured an article about the Weasleys inheriting Harry's fortune. Harry made Mr. and Mrs. Weasley his beneficiaries when he was thirteen, during the weeks he stayed at Diagon Alley before school started. He never told them because he didn't want them to worry about his early death.

Harry read about how shocked they were to see the documents, receive his fortune, and inherit all he had. This included the Unplotable property in London that was the once most ancient and noble house of Black. He felt a great wave of happiness for them, but at the same time he now knew that if they ever found out he was alive they would feel inclined to give him his fortune back, and he didn't want that at all.

There was a photograph of them in front of Gringotts bank. They were all there – all nine of them – and they were hugging each other and looking quite distraught. Narcissa conjured a picture frame and put the clipping of the picture within it, and Harry put it in the suitcase he'd be taking with him.

"Are you ready to go?" Narcissa asked.

Harry looked around the garden that was his home, and he nodded.

"Then let's go. I want to have you in Lithuania by midnight."

She reminded him of his aunt a lot sometimes.

July 31, 1997.

On Harry's seventeenth birthday, Narcissa and Draco were coming to visit. Harry was expecting them, so the house was clean of the dirty clothes he usually left everywhere, and all the dishes in the sink were done. He didn't bother sweeping the sand off his back porch – ten feet from the seashore meant it would never be all the way clean. It didn't annoy Harry – he rather liked his environment to be natural.

Harry stood on that porch to await his visitors. A strong breeze blew his hair and his clothes about, and brought the smell of the sea to him. His scars had paled over a little more than they were. He looked a little better.

He heard papers and cabinet doors ruffling and banging within the house; the back door was open. It was a small stone house that certainly no Muggle from the town just down the beach could see, and in all honesty, he was one of the four people who even knew it existed. It was Unplotable.

He shifted his weight, getting more comfortable, when suddenly he saw from the town walking towards him two blondes in light-colored clothes. Harry stood up straight, squinting to see, and sure enough it was them. He raised his hand into the air and opened his fingers wide, and they did the same a moment later. He put his arm down and waited.

Narcissa walked up the stone steps and gave Harry a brief hug.

"How are you?" she asked, looking deep into his eyes as if the truth was hiding there, but it was clear to see.

"Fine," Harry said with a little smile, "come on in."

He held the door open for her. Had to wait an extra moment for Draco, as he was being quite slow to walk up the stairs and come in. He was carrying a long rectangular box.

Draco nodded once to him as he passed. Harry noted he'd grown taller.

He was pale as ever, blue eyes quite light, and his shirt was open a few buttons down his front. He looked…good. It made Harry’s heart flutter.

Harry shut the door and the last breeze from outside carried itself through all the rooms of the house before settling. Pages stopped fluttering and cabinets stopped creaking. It was a nice place – dark wood – a picture frame with a newspaper cut-out of a family on the mantle. Narcissa had overseen the purchase of the property, so had been here before, but this was Draco's first time. He looked about, and then turned to Harry and held out the box.

"Happy birthday…Harry," Draco said.

Harry thought he knew Draco Malfoy, but now he obviously had to get to know him again.

"Open it," Narcissa said.

Happy to, Harry did as told. He set the box on the dining table nearby and opened it. Inside, he found a broom – a Firebolt, in fact. For the Malfoy's, and as it wasn't a completely new broom anymore, buying something like this might not have been such a financial strain, but it was still a very rich gift. Harry ran his fingers down the stem of it, but didn't feel his usual excitement as he had the last few times he'd received such a gift. He respected it as the tool it was more than as the toy he once thought it to be.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"Don't get overjoyed or anything," Draco said unkindly, though gently.

Narcissa stepped forward and lifted the box, pressing the whole thing against Harry's chest and forcing him to hold it near. Harry looked up at her.

"We got this so you would feel free to leave the house when you wanted. I'll teach you to hide your face – no one will know you – but you aren't to feel trapped, understand? You're free. Nothing less."

"Free?" Harry asked now, and he looked at Draco. "How free?"

Narcissa put her hands on his shoulders. "Free to live a new life," she clutched his chin and brought his face away from her son's – her son, who was looking more distraught by the second. Harry still found Draco quite handsome, but as ever, he held no answers for him. Narcissa, however, was intent, and he found himself drawn to her. She had very pale eyelashes.

She said, "You're seventeen today. You can get a new wand and it won't be tracked by any Ministry. You can do magic, and it won't be monitored. You can fly, and so long as you're careful about staying hidden, you won't be stopped by any regulators."

She let him go.

Her words made him feel freer than he might have liked. It was nice in this house; no one around, no reminders of the past but a picture. He lowered his eyes to the broom.

"Draco wants to talk to you alone," Narcissa said then. He wasn't exactly expecting much a birthday visit, but three minutes seemed a bit short. She looked at her son and then went to the door, stopping only to give Harry and Draco a last look before she left.

"Will she come back?" Harry asked.

"No. She's gone home."

For a long time Harry stood in the silence of the room and it felt like a thousand mouths were eating the noise away around him, because it was getting quieter. The wind dying down.

Draco was the brightest thing in there – all the light on his blond hair and pale clothes.

He stepped forward slowly, stopping only when he was within reach of Harry, and he took his Firebolt and set it gently on the table. Harry could see him breathing, found himself a little unnerved about Draco's proximity. He took a step back and leaned against the table.

All this time Draco was silent was beginning to make Harry suspect that maybe what Draco wanted to talk about was bad news. He was stuck with this family, though. Stuck with Draco. He waited to hear it.

"I really need to say this," Draco said at last, brave enough to look Harry in the eyes. Harry nodded him on.

A brief hesitation, hands wiped subtly against his hips, and Draco said, "I told Mother this already, because I knew she would understand…"

Harry let him take his time. Finally, Draco found Harry's eyes again and continued.

"The way you kept looking at me…at Hogwarts…" Draco said quietly, "is the same way I would look at you."

They were words Harry almost didn't understand. His brow furrowed in concentration to try.

"For all the years we were there, I watched you…but you never saw me."

Harry's shoulders stiffened.

"I looked at you from across the room. It wasn't allowed for me to do anything else."

Anything else? What else would he have done?

What was happening?

Draco looked tortured – all around his eyes were dark shadows but his blue eyes were bright with new moisture.

"I'm sorry," he said clearly, firmly.

The shaking in Harry's hands was fierce. When had it started? There was ringing in his ears from the pressure of his blood. He felt weightless.

Harry knew the pain he saw. It was guilt. If Harry ever had the chance to apologize to his friends for letting them think he was dead all this time, he would probably say the same thing in the same way.

And what was he supposed to do? Become angry?

What was he supposed to say? I forgive you?

It was Draco. It was Draco.

"Malfoy…" Harry whispered, afraid. "Are you…really telling me…?"

Draco nodded fiercely suddenly, lowering his face and bringing his hands up to cover it.

"You said you could forgive me – if it was really me. Do you really forgive me?" He talked so quietly Harry could hardly hear him.

After nearly six months living with being dead, and before that experiencing being chased through strange corridors by a snake screaming how it was going to kill him, and being tortured by Voldemort, and on top of that sacrificing his control to free his best friend from death – Harry had found discovering who was in the hospital room behind the Slytherin Prefect badge almost trivial. It was Draco.

"Why'd you do it?" Harry asked first, before he'd answer Draco's question.

"I…" the words coming were brief, hesitant. Draco probably wasn't very good telling this sort of truth. He didn't look at Harry as he talked. "I watched you watching Weasley for years. I knew what it meant. The person watching never gets what he wants, and the person being watched doesn't even know. Weasley, just so you know, never even knew. And when I heard you kissed him and about the plant pollen I saw my chance. I thought you would forget it – blame it on the plant – but I didn't know I would hurt you so bad…or that it would lead to this."

Harry reached forward and tore Draco's hands away from his face, because he needed to see Draco's eyes. They were filled with tears and raw with emotion.

Draco said, "I didn't stand a chance with you. I should have forgotten you. I shouldn't have…tried so hard."

Harry was angry, horrified, and oddly relieved at the same time. He knew what it was like to want something he wasn’t going to get. He'd done it so secretly before the plant toxics got to him, and once it did it was ecstasy so that he didn't know how he'd live beyond that moment. Years from then he might have been willing to do something like what Draco was doing now – a confession – but maybe Ron wouldn't forgive him as he was about to forgive Draco.

He rested his hand over Draco's shoulder and squeezed it. Draco clamped his jaw shut.

If Draco had done it, then it was not Voldemort. It wasn't evil. It was just done wrongly.

"I'm glad you told me," Harry said, almost choking on his words.

Harry pulled away then and turned around. He lifted his gift off the table as he went and stopped by a window, looking out. In the distance he saw the Muggle town, but he didn't see Narcissa at all.

"I don't expect you to forgive me," Draco said.

"But I do!" Harry said sharply, turning his face to Draco and witnessing his inward battle.

"You could have just run off, you know. Not given me any clue," his voice was a lot steadier now. "But you let me know it was you, and that's helps me. I forgave you a long time ago."

Draco nodded, trying still to accept the forgiveness.

Harry urged him on. "You could have done something a lot worse."

Draco frowned. "What could have been worse than what I did to you?"

"What your cousin did to me so Ron could be free…that was worse."

Harry knew Ron had told someone – Dumbledore, maybe. But Dumbledore had kept the first assault a secret; there was no reason for him to disclose the second.

Stopping his own turmoil for a moment, Draco pondered what Harry said. As the story everyone knew was, Ron and Harry were kidnapped from Hogwarts and taken to Malfoy Manor, then Clouse Malfoy found the room they were keeping Ron in – but couldn't find Harry – and so saved only Ron. Being involved at all set him a trial date, but as of two months ago the man was free. The article about it was in Harry's desk drawer.

Draco, nervously, walked forward to stand near Harry by the window. Harry met his eyes briefly, and then looked out.

He said, "Your mom is right; I'm seventeen now. I need to get a wand and do something with myself. I can't let any sacrifice go to waste.” He kept looking back at Draco. He did it again. “I'd do anything for my friends. No regrets. And now…I guess…since you're my friend…I'd do anything for you."

Harry leaned forward and – startling Draco – got within a millimeter of his space. This was something Harry was ready for again: people. He wasn't ready for much, but he was ready for something.

Draco heated up, but didn't move. Harry didn't touch him, but he enjoyed what he smelled and what he imagined doing.

It would have to be with the right person. At the right time. Not yet. But one day.

For now, all he wanted was to become someone new. If he could handle that, then he might be able to handle something along the lines of a kiss from a particularly out of the ordinary Slytherin.