Chapter 3

Harry was sitting out on the lawn, facing a small pond in the Burrow's garden. Skinny, skeleton fish swam just beneath the surface of the still water. From a nearby flutterby bush, garden gnomes popped in and out, swaying with the leaves, drunk on summer air. It was warm, or maybe it just looked like warmth. The sun beat down on everything. Harry's hands were splayed out on the grass, as if soaking it all up. Tugging warmth out of the dirt, the air, the cloudless sky. Leaving nothing behind.

"I'm sorry," said Ginny, from beside him. She sat facing him, her long legs crossed. Her hands were clutched in her lap.

"Harry," she said, after a pause. "Say something. Please."

Harry played with a piece of grass, tying it into knots.

"I don't know what to say, Ginny." He pulled the knot tighter.

"I don't know either." Ginny leaned forward, eyes bright. "Just…say it's all right." She looked at him. "Harry, say we're all right."

Harry laughed without humor. The green blade ripped in his hands. "All right?" he said. He looked over at Ginny, his face twisting. "You're joking, right?"

Ginny's hands pressed harder against each other, the fingers turning white. "Okay, that was stupid," she said. "But I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Harry. I didn't want it to end up this way."

"Then you should have just told me!" Harry threw the pieces of grass away from him. They floated down gently, nearly still in the summer heat. He scowled.

"I'm telling you now."

"And you think that makes it all right?" said Harry. He turned, finally facing her. "It's been months since we got back together, Ginny. Months. In all that time, it never crossed your mind that I might like to know you're in love with one of my best mates?"

"I didn't know!" said Ginny. When Harry scoffed, she straightened her back, her warm, hazel eyes fierce.

"I was confused," she said. "For the longest time. Harry, you've no idea; I thought I was going mad! I've only ever wanted you, or I thought I did. But seventh year, going through all of that with Neville, it – it's different. I realized I've never felt that way towards you –"

Harry shook his head, screwing his eyes shut. "I don't want to hear this."

"But you need to," said Ginny. "You need to know that I'm not doing this lightly. None of it, not when I got with you or the bit when I realized we just weren't meant to be."

"And you just get to decide that?" said Harry. He opened his eyes, glaring. "All on your own?"

"I didn't just 'decide'," said Ginny. "It's the way things are."

"What things?"

Ginny sighed. "I don't know," she said.

Harry laughed drily, running a hand through his hair. Carefully, Ginny reached out and took the other one. She squeezed his slightly shaking fingers.

"Hey," she said. Her voice was soft, almost part of the scenery. "Look at me."

Harry looked at her. He looked at the beauty in her eyes, nose, mouth, hair, even in the way she just sat there, and the effect of it all hit him clearly, like fine cracks on thin ice.

"I love you," he said.

Ginny bit her lip, tears running down from her eyes. She didn't bother to wipe them away.

"I know," she said. "I love you too, Harry."

"If you did, we wouldn't be here right now."

Ginny's lips trembled. Taking a deep breath, she threw her head back, and she looked straight at Harry. "I know what I did," she said. "And I'm sorry, but that doesn't mean I don't love you. You know that."

"Do I?"

"You do," she said. "Harry, I care about you. I always have, but I can't go on like this anymore. I can't love you like I should, like everyone wants me to, like I wanted me to – it's just not right. You feel it too, don't you?"

Harry turned his face away. His eyes were screwed up, as if facing a too-bright sun. There were a few moments of silence. Ginny let go of his hands to sniff and wipe the tears off her face.

"I thought about you," he said suddenly. "When we were on the run. I'd take out the Map sometimes, when Ron and Hermione were sleeping, and I'd just look at your dot there." He looked at her now, the way she was smiling. The way she was crying. "I thought of you," he said. "Every day."

"I tried, Harry," she said. "I wanted to be with you, but it just gets harder every day."

"So you're going to quit?" said Harry. "That doesn't sound like you."

"I'm doing what I know is right."

"You're being selfish."

Ginny shook her head. "Maybe," she said. "I honestly don't know what to think anymore."

They sat there for a few more moments, neither one looking at the other. Harry watched a pale, blue fish as it darted after a smaller, green one. Ginny looked at the swaying grass. Nearby, a wandering gnome crept closer and closer, intrigued, perhaps, by the scene. When it was close enough to touch, Harry sighed, moving a hand through his hair. He got up, and, startled, the gnome ran away.

Ginny followed after Harry, close, but not too close. Not anymore. "Harry?" she said.

Harry put his hands in his jean pockets, looking off to the side. "Fine," he said.

"What?"

He glanced at her. "It's fine, all right? Go off and be with Neville, or Dean or Michael Corner or even Seamus if you want." He took a step back, his face pained. "I don't care anymore."

The look on Ginny's face at this, it looked as if he was betraying her, not the other way around. Harry screwed his eyes shut.

"Go."

Ginny breathed in sharply. She closed her eyes. Opening them, she faced Harry with a look of determination, touched only by sadness.

"There's nothing I can say to fix this, is there?" she said.

Harry looked at her.

"Just go," he said, voice cracking.

She lingered for a split second longer, her hand reaching forward as if to comfort him. Harry took another step backwards, looking away.

Hurt flashed across her face. She closed her hand into a fist – catching an invisible snitch – and she walked away.

The memory shifted.

It was Christmas. Despite the cold weather outside, dinner was taking place under the bright, clear stars, lit with streams of red, green, and gold holiday bulbs. Outside the sphere of the creaking dining table, grass was white with frost, crunching under occasional feet. Inside, however, people were eating, warm, happy.

Well, as much as Harry could be happy. On the other end of the table from him, Ginny sat with Neville, talking animatedly about her recruitment into the Holyhead Harpies, looking at Neville every now and then with bright, fond smiles that he returned in kind.

Harry had never seen either of them look quite like that.

On his end, there was Ron, Hermione, Luna, Hagrid, and George. Ron was trying to keep up a conversation about the next Quidditch World Cup with Luna, even though she kept interjecting with random tidbits that at best made him laugh, at worst, highly affronted him. Hermione was listening with a painful look on her face as Hagrid updated her on his latest experiments with the remaining Blast-Ended Skrewts, and George was sitting quietly, playing with his food.

So was Harry, though he kept on sneaking looks down at the other end of the table.

The memory shifted again, and the two of them were standing in the kitchen at the Burrow, wearing the same clothes, closer but still so far apart that same Christmas night.

Ginny closed the door behind her. The noise of festivities dropped to muffled laughter. Harry looked around from the cupboards, and the ready smile on his face dropped to something less kind.

Ginny smiled tentatively. "Hey," she said.

"Hey," said Harry. He turned back around. He reached up to get the old, chipped mug that no one ever liked to use except him. Closing the cupboard, he turned to leave, but Ginny hadn't moved from the door.

"Did you need something?" he said.

Ginny crossed her arms. "I thought we could talk."

Harry blinked. "What?" he said. "Right now?"

"Yes, right now."

"Well, I promised Ron a round of chess, so maybe later." Harry made as if to side-step her, but she matched him, eyebrow raised.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a horrible liar?" she said.

Harry stepped back. He seemed to consider his options for a second. With a sharp sigh, he placed the mug down on the counter.

"You might have mentioned it once or twice," he said.

"Then you should've cottoned on by now, don't you think?"

They glanced at each other, almost smiling. Harry looked away first.

"Ginny, I know what you're thinking," he said.

"Oh, do you now?" Ginny said, with that same almost smile.

Harry played with the handle of his chipped mug. "Yeah," he said. "But you don't have to mind me, all right? You're with Neville now. And I've got some stuff of my own to deal with, so…yeah. We don't need to do this."

"We do if you keep avoiding me like this." Harry scowled. Ginny shook her head, grimacing. "Don't think I haven't noticed, Harry. Hard not to when we live in the same place."

Harry ran a thumb over the mug's blue rim, right where the color was faded from too much use. His grip on the handle was white.

"I'd just rather not think about it," he said. "Is that so much to ask?"

Ginny uncrossed her arms, sighing as she took a step forward. "I understand," she said. "But I miss you, Harry. Neville misses you too –"

Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Right," he said. "Sorry if I find that a bit hard to believe, considering."

"You think I'd lie to you about this?"

"Why not?" said Harry. "You've lied to me before."

Ginny stepped closer, slamming her hand on the counter. "I've never lied to you!"

"Right," said Harry. He actually laughed a little, which was a big mistake considering the look on Ginny's face.

"I never lied," she said, her almond eyes flashing.

Harry stared at Ginny, his half-laugh souring into a small, irritated look. "You can't be serious," he said. He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "Ginny, you fancied Neville the whole time we were together."

"That's – I didn't do it on purpose –"

"Yeah, well. It still hurt."

An awkward silence fell between them. Someone burst out laughing outside. Neither one was willing to look at the other; Harry playing with his mug again, Ginny toying with her hair. It was in a braid, a long trail over her shoulder. Hermione must have done it for her.

Harry shifted, stepping away from the counter.

"Well, if that's all…"

He made as if to pass Ginny, but she grabbed his arm, stopping him. She looked at him, standing tall.

"You're one of my best friends, Harry," she said. "Please just – don't forget that, all right?"

Harry looked at her, pained, maybe, or just angry. Maybe feeling nothing at all.

"…All right."

The image blurred, the distant sounds of festivities and grumbling gnomes bleeding out into a new scene that took a bit longer than usual to take shape.

When it did, Harry reveled in its familiarity. They were in his old dormitory, and it looked just as he remembered. Five four-poster beds filled the curved room, all but his and Neville's rumpled and covered with clothes, newspapers, and magazines. Random textbooks and quills littered the floor, and Ron's wardrobe stood ajar, forgotten. Someone had left the window slightly open, so pages, blankets, and other detritus shuddered every now and then with an autumn breeze. Neville's toad sat snoozing on his pillow.

It looked to be about mid-afternoon by the light shining through, and except for Trevor, he and Ginny were alone.

"No one's going to interrupt us here," said Harry. He was leaning against his bedpost, arms crossed but not as guarded as he had been a year ago. "So? What's this all about then?"

Ginny was sitting on Neville's bed, playing with the frayed ends of his old quilt. She looked at Harry.

"What's going on between you and Malfoy?" she said.

Whatever Harry had been expecting, it clearly wasn't that. He uncrossed his arms but was speechless for a few seconds. He opened his mouth.

He closed it. Opened it again.

"What do you mean?" he said.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "I saw you with him," she said. "At the quidditch pitch the other night. Don't try to deny it."

"What were you doing down at the pitch so late?"

"That's what I'm asking you!" Ginny pushed off from the bed. She stepped closer to Harry. "What the bloody hell are you doing, hanging around with Malfoy in the middle of the night? Have you gone mad?"

Harry turned his face away, glaring at a spot of sunlight. "We were just practicing a bit of flying," he said.

"A bit of what?"

"You know, flying, I'm sure you've heard of it, seeing as how you play for the Harpies and all –"

"You know that's not what I'm talking about!" Ginny pushed Harry's shoulder, making him face her. "Why're you flying with Draco Malfoy? In the dead of night, no less! Are you looking to get yourself killed?"

"I can take care of myself, thanks," said Harry.

"Well, it doesn't bloody sound like it."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I can handle Malfoy, Ginny."

"Why are you bothering with him at all?"

"It just sort of happened," Harry said, sighing. "Is this all you wanted to talk about?"

Ginny scoffed. "You think I'm going to let you get away with just that? You haven't answered my question yet, Harry, not really."

Harry exhaled sharply. "I don't see what the big deal is here," he said, frowning. "I know Malfoy's a prat, and yeah, we get into a few scraps sometimes, but it's not like we're at each other's throats like before –"

Harry looked over at Ginny, and he froze. She was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Hang on," she said. "Does that – you mean that wasn't a one-time thing? You're actually hanging out with him? With Malfoy?"

"Er…"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, not looking at Ginny. Ginny crossed her arms, glaring with a look that strongly reminded him of her mother.

"Harry," she said. "You better tell me what the bloody hell you've been up to, or I'm taking you straight to the hospital wing."

Harry started. "The hospital wing? What for?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Obviously, you've either been Confunded or hit over the head with a blunt object, probably a bludger since you've been sneaking off to play quidditch with Malfoy of all people –"

Harry laughed, though he looked like he could punch something as well. "So you think I'm touched in the head, then?" he said.

"What other explanation is there?"

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "We've just – gotten a bit friendly recently, all right?" he said. At Ginny's less-than-convinced look, he went on with another sigh. "Look, I know how it sounds. And I'm not saying it entirely makes sense to me either, but we got to talking near the start of term, and he – I don't know. He was – nice to talk to, I guess. I mean, not really, we don't really talk that much actually – bugger, I don't know how to explain it, but we're just – friendlier now. Sort of. Does that make sense?"

Ginny stared like Harry had grown a second head. Or had become a completely different person altogether.

"Not at all," she said. "Did you say this has been going on since the start of term?"

Harry winced. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Do Ron and Hermione know about this?"

"Er, no. No one knows, actually."

"Except me."

Harry looked at her. "Right."

Ginny looked as if she wanted to bolt out right then and there to tell everyone. Apparently sensing this, Harry reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Ginny," he said. "Look, I don't want to make a big deal out of this. Really. Malfoy and I – we're honestly just hanging out, and it's been nice, all right? I don't want to spook him or –"

Ginny backed off violently, making Harry let go. "Is that what you're worried about?" she said. "You don't want anyone to know because you're afraid it'll scare off your precious Ferret?"

Harry blinked. "That's…a part of it," he said. He swallowed visibly, pushing down anger, embarrassment, or both. "Most of it is I don't want to deal with people knowing. Can you just imagine what Ron would say? Can you imagine what everyone would say, if it got out that we were actually being civil towards each other?"

"Since when do you care what other people think?"

"I care about what other people do." Harry leaned against his bedpost again, crossing his arms. "Remember when we broke up? The Prophet was hounding us for weeks. That mad witch even tried to ambush you, not to mention all the nasty letters you got."

"Thanks for that, by the way."

"I didn't send you those letters –"

"Yes, but don't pretend you didn't get a kick out of it."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Well, a bit," he said. "At the time. Anyway, you know what I mean."

"It's not like you're dating Malfoy."

Harry rubbed his eyes, sighing. "That's not the point, is it? I'm just sick and tired of people prying into my private life."

"I'm not 'people', Harry," Ginny said. "And neither are Ron and Hermione. We have a right to know if you're meeting up with a death eater in the middle of the night –"

"Ex-death eater."

Ginny glared. "This again? Harry, he got Dumbledore killed, and he very nearly killed Ron and Katie!" She threw her hands up, looking at Harry with a zeal he remembered all too well.

"Ginny, we've been over this," said Harry. "The Ministry made its decision –"

"Well, they made the wrong one, then." Ginny stepped close, an old anger rekindling. "I just don't understand, Harry! Why do you keep on taking his side? You know what he is better than anyone – he tried to Crucio you, for Merlin's sake!"

"And I almost killed him! Does that mean I should get carted off to Azkaban too?"

"That was self-defense –"

Harry shook his head with a sharp sigh. "Look, I'm not arguing about this again," he said. "It's done with, all right? It has been for over a year now."

Ginny looked as if she had plenty more to say, but she didn't go on. Instead, she said, "You're wrong about him, Harry. I don't know what he's done to make you think different, but Malfoy is bad news. Stay away from him. I mean it."

Silence lingered between them for one heartbeat, two. A light breeze ruffled the pages of Quidditch Through the Ages, which lay open to the first chapter on Harry's bed. Trees groaned somewhere in the distance, and a lost bird chirped somewhere close.

Ginny and Harry were close enough to kiss.

Neville's toad suddenly croaked awake, and Ginny blinked. She backed off. Sighing, she turned around to leave, but at the doorway she looked back.

"Be careful, Harry," she said. "Please."

Harry stared after her as she left, the look on his face defiant.

The scene blurred, and Harry readied himself for a new memory. Suddenly, however, his stomach flipped, and his feet lifted from what had felt like solid ground. His body did a slow backwards somersault out of shifting colors, and in the blink of an eye, he was back in Grimmauld Place, sat in a chair that creaked every time he moved.

Ginny smiled across from him. Unlike when she was eighteen, twenty-four-year-old Ginny sported short hair that just reached her shoulders, and she looked at Harry with kind, almond-brown eyes that had long-since lost the fury of an argument seven years past.

Unlike Ron and Hermione, she didn't wear a wedding ring.

"Not quite what you expected, was it?" she said.

Harry, feeling so young for the first time in weeks, laughed weakly. He took a sip of his cold tea.

"So," he said. "You and Neville."

Ginny laughed a bit too. She tucked some of her short hair behind her ear.

"Yeah. You all right?"

Harry sighed. The house was quiet except for the odd creak of old wood and groaning pipes. Ron and Hermione had gone off for groceries, apparently, though they haven't been back for ages. Harry suspected they'd wanted to give him and Ginny some privacy.

Why wouldn't they? He'd asked for this, after all.

After failing to get anything out of Malfoy that day, Harry sent countless letters to his apartment, both by post and by owl. Hermione advised strongly against it, but Harry was sure Malfoy knew something. He just didn't know what. At the aquarium, he hadn't acted like the supposed ex-boyfriend he was from six-odd years ago, and he had definitely mentioned something about the week before. That should mean something, though Ron and Hermione remained skeptical.

Either way, it didn't matter. Harry didn't get one letter back.

The letters from Q had stopped coming as well. Harry wasn't sure what that meant, and neither were Ron and Hermione. After a few weeks of stewing in this uncertainty, Harry finally caved and called Ginny over.

He wanted answers to at least one thing in his life.

And he'd gotten it. Neville. Neville was the reason Ginny broke up with him. He didn't know what to feel. Shock, mostly. Never in his wildest dreams did he think that Ginny would leave him for Neville – not to knock on Neville. Like Harry had said once upon a time, he was one of his best mates. It just blindsided him.

Just like that thing with Malfoy.

How the hell had that come about again?

"Harry?"

Harry looked up from the table to see Ginny still staring at him. She pushed the pensieve to the side, so that it wasn't sitting in between them. The weight of memories dragged against the black wood.

"Harry," she said. "Seriously. Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he said. He closed his eyes. "No. I don't know."

She paused. "Do you remember anything?"

Harry exhaled sharply. He rubbed his face and opened his eyes to see Ginny. The Ginny he remembered had long hair and slept in his bed. She kissed him goodnight and good morning; she threw birthdays parties for him. They made love together and promised each other the world.

This woman in front of him now was not the Ginny he remembered.

"No," he said. "Nothing."

They sat there in the silent kitchen for a few more moments, the seconds ticking by.

"I could –" Ginny started just as Harry said, "Sorry –"

They stopped, looking at each other.

"You go ahead," Ginny said.

Harry blinked. He stared at his fingers.

"Thanks for coming today," he said. He looked up. "Really. I appreciate it. I'd love to look at some of the other memories you mentioned, but –"

"You need some space," Ginny said. She smiled, but Harry could see an old weariness touch the corners. "I understand. I was prepared for it actually."

Harry tried smiling too. "Right."

Ginny glanced down at her teacup. It was nearly full.

"Then I guess I should get going then," she said. She got up and grabbed her purse, not looking at Harry.

Harry was trying not to look at her either. He followed her to the entryway. They exchanged tight smiles.

"See you later," he said.

Ginny hesitated at the door, and where another would have walked out, she decided to say what was on her mind. It was one of the things Harry loved about her.

"You shut me out for a year last time, Harry," she said. "And I know that I deserved it and I know that you'd needed time, but please, as much as you're able, don't make me suffer so long this time around, all right?"

She took his hand. Her fingers felt warm and small.

"You're my best friend and I love you," she said. "Okay?"

Harry nodded, and her thin smile softened into something more genuine. She left. Harry could still feel the ghost of her fingers on his, the ghosts of kisses and whispered words.

If this was what heartbreak felt like, maybe he'd been lucky to not remember.

Harry spread out his blanket over the cold, stone floor. Malfoy watched from the other side with a bored look on his face, though in the moonlight, Harry could detect the tiniest hint of curiosity.

Harry removed the charm around his bag and started unpacking everything he'd brought. Beef casserole, steak-and-kidney pie, roast chicken, lamb chops, black pudding, baked pumpkin, mashed potatoes and gravy – Harry had brought small samples of everything he could reach that night at the Great Hall and stuffed it into his bag. Hermione had been teaching him how to do an Undetectable Extension Charm, and he was rather proud of how well it'd turned out for tonight.

Malfoy's eyes were as wide as Hogwarts' dinner plates by the time Harry was through. He hadn't touched any of it, but Harry could see his fingers twitching.

"What is this?" he said sharply, looking over at Harry.

Harry shrugged. He pointed to one of the plates. "Those are mashed potatoes, that's some black pudding –"

"Don't be an idiot," Malfoy said, slapping Harry's hand away. "I know what they are, but why…?"

"You weren't there for the feast today, were you?" Harry said. He started to help himself to some of the food, though he'd already eaten. It had been absolutely amazing this year, with live bats and pumpkins large enough to fit Hagrid, and the later games, complete with a live band, made it more of a party than the usual feast. He hadn't had so much fun in a while, though the whole time, he couldn't help but notice someone missing.

Harry avoided Malfoy's suspicious look.

"You must be starving," Harry said. He took a bite of casserole. "I know you skipped lunch too."

Malfoy scoffed. "You're not my mother, Potter," he said, but he took a plate and loaded it up with all his favorites. He ate hungrily, not bothering with appearances like he used to when they first started this odd arrangement.

Arrangement. Was that the right word for it?

That's what it felt like. Every night, Harry sneaked out of the dormitory, down to the kitchens, and up the Astronomy Tower to meet an equally sleep-deprived, starving, and prickly Malfoy. They ate in silence, and most of the times sat afterwards in silence, looking out on the grounds and the slowly lightening sky.

At best, conversation was stilted. At worst, they were throwing punches and nearly falling off the Tower. Twice now, Malfoy had to heal their wounds before storming off for the night.

And yet, the both of them kept coming back. Night after night, fight after fight, they kept going back to the Astronomy Tower for more – of what, Harry wasn't sure.

Bickering, of course, and silence. A few laughs here and there. They even talked sometimes. Harry knew Malfoy's favorite quidditch team now (the Appleby Arrows), and his least favorite (their rivals, the Wimbourne Wasps). He knew his favorite Seeker, which wasn't the Arrows' Gregory Cotton but Brazil's Tony Silva, and his least favorite position to play (Keeper, same as Harry).

They even had a few things in common, outside of quidditch. They both agreed, for example, that the Firebolt was overall a better broom than the Thunderbolt, despite its legendary speed. They both felt that either way, they'd still have a go on it given the chance. They both collected chocolate frog cards, though Malfoy's collection was far superior to Harry's, and they both had summer birthdays. Harry thought about that particular conversation sometimes when he was dozing off in Binns' class or spacing out in the library. It had to be their weirdest by far.

"What do you do for your birthday, normally?" Harry had asked one night. It was a few weeks out from the start of it all, and they were actually making conversation for once. Civil conversation, at that.

And yet instead of answering, Malfoy looked out at the grounds. They were sitting on the edge of the tower, legs dangling off the side like disembodied dolls. Harry blinked at Malfoy's sudden silence, but eventually shrugged it off. It actually felt more natural to fall back into the quiet than continue to prattle on about their scarce similarities. They were sitting not quite side by side but close enough as the night stood still. Harry leaned back on his hands and started to count the stars.

He'd just reached seventy when Malfoy spoke.

"I used to hate my birthday," he said. Harry started and looked over. Malfoy went on as if he hadn't noticed. "It was the same day as my mother's, you see, and I'd always hated sharing. The consequences of being an only child, I suppose. Anyway, I always made this hatred rather obvious whenever my birthday came around. So every year, my parents made sure to throw the most extravagant parties to try and please me. They had the house elves make all my favorites and invited everyone who was anyone. But no matter what they did, they could never manage to make me feel better because in the end, it was still my mother's birthday as well as mine.

They never understood why I hated it so much. I loved all the other parties: Christmas, weddings, Halloween and so forth. It just didn't make any sense. They thought the problem lay in the parties themselves, so of course every year, they made them more and more extraordinary. I remember one year they had Celestina Warbeck herself come and sing for everyone, which only made me angrier because she was my mother's favorite.

One year, I skived off the party to hang out with Pansy, who'd been ill and couldn't make it. I was turning nine at the time, and it was the best birthday I'd had in ages. The funny thing is I don't even remember what we did.

What I really remember is what happened after. I came back once the party was over, and my father was furious. I'd never seen him so angry before, not towards me, at least. Part of it was they'd spent hours looking for me, though I'd just been a few miles away. Most of it was I'd embarrassed them in front of everyone. This was supposed to be one of the biggest events that summer, and yet I'd made it a complete bust by not even bothering to show up."

Malfoy leaned back on his hands, looking up at the moon.

"I never skipped another one after that."

Harry looked at Malfoy, his pyjamas and his blank, almost bored, eyes.

"Why didn't you just celebrate them on two different days?" he said.

Malfoy looked over at him. He smiled.

"That would've made the most sense, wouldn't it?"

Now, Harry handed Malfoy a slice of custard tart. He looked much more relaxed after having had a decent meal, which made Harry feel a bit better in turn.

Merlin, he was starting to sound like Molly.

Before this thought could disturb him any further, Malfoy spoke up.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask," he said.

"Hm?"

Malfoy looked up from his tart, a thoughtful look his grey eyes. "How did you know I like custard tarts?"

Harry, who knew this question had to come up sooner or later, still choked on his food. He coughed as Malfoy sneered, though he deigned to conjure a glass of water after Harry tried – and failed – to do it wordlessly.

Harry chugged down the water. "Thanks," he said. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Malfoy clicked his tongue. He conjured a napkin and threw it at Harry.

"Wipe yourself off properly, Potter."

"Who's mothering who now?" Harry muttered. He picked up the napkin. It felt like silk and glowed in the moonlight.

Malfoy gave him a sharp look.

Not in the mood to argue, Harry used the fancy cloth to clean his mouth 'properly' before vanishing it. Malfoy barely looked his way, though just weeks ago, he would have flinched if Harry so much as drew his wand.

As it was, Malfoy kept his wand on the floor, just within reach. Harry did as well.

"So?" Malfoy said. He took a bite of his tart.

"So what?"

He gave Harry a look. "Are you going to answer my question or not?"

Harry fidgeted on the stone floor, which was warmed by Malfoy's Temperature Charm. Usually, the first person to get to the Tower did the Charm, which they'd decided through some silent agreement. Malfoy was better at it than Harry.

"I noticed you ate a lot of it, that's all," Harry said, which was true.

In all honesty, Harry knew quite a lot of random things about Malfoy. He knew, for example, that despite Voldemort practically breathing down his neck in sixth year, he had attended classes as studiously as Hermione. He knew that Malfoy liked to wile away his free periods in a hidden corridor on the second floor. He knew that Malfoy owned at least five different kinds of hair product (according to Kreacher), and that other than his silvery pyjamas, he owned a proper set of t-shirt and sweats that reportedly did nothing to diminish his look of nobility.

Knowing his favorite dessert was frankly nothing special, comparatively speaking.

Nevertheless, Malfoy looked a bit bewildered by this.

"Why the bloody hell would you notice something like that?" he said.

"I don't know," Harry said, feeling a bit bewildered himself. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, it bloody matters," he said. "Did you plan to poison me at some point or what?"

For some reason, Harry found this extremely funny. He started laughing. Malfoy looked even more unnerved by this, which made Harry laugh harder.

"What?" Malfoy put down his half-eaten tart. "What's so funny?"

Harry just shook his head, still laughing, watching as in the starlight, Malfoy inspected his tart.

"You haven't seriously poisoned me, have you Potter?" he said, and Malfoy sounded just a shade panicked, but Harry was tired, and his eleven-year-old self would have killed for a chance to mock Malfoy like this. He laughed until his ribs hurt.

Malfoy grew more panicked by the second, but Harry only called it quits when he saw Malfoy's hand start to inch towards his wand.

"Relax," he said, chuckling and wiping tears from his eyes. "I haven't put anything in your food, you wanker."

Malfoy switched from paranoid to furious in the blink of an eye.

"Fucking hell, Potter!" Malfoy said. He shoved Harry so that his elbow fell hard into a cold slice of apple pie. "You think that's funny do you?"

Harry brushed off the pie, feeling a twinge of regret for the wasted good.

"A bit yeah," he said. "You know what else is funny?"

"I don't give a damn –!"

Before Malfoy could react, before Harry could second-guess his actions, he threw the remains of his apple pie straight into Malfoy's face.

Malfoy jumped, toppling backwards. There was a second of silence where Harry didn't know whether to burst out laughing or run.

He almost inhaled the tart that smacked into his face a second later, nearly knocking his glasses off. Harry reached up to wipe them, but then he was knocked onto his back, his head cracking against the warm – but still stone – floor. He opened his mouth to curse Malfoy, but Malfoy jammed something sweet like strawberries – a cake? – straight into his mouth.

So that's how he wanted to play, was it?

Harry bit down on Malfoy's fingers. He grabbed the nearest dish – it felt like pudding – and stuffed a gob of it down Malfoy's pants – Malfoy yelped, letting go – Harry bucked – he could breathe now and he was on top – Harry smeared every uneaten dessert he could reach onto Malfoy's pale, pointy face and his posh pyjamas – Malfoy wriggled out – they got up, slipping and near-blind – they were running all over the tower, sticky, sweet, and throwing food because really Harry had brought way too much for just the two of them – Malfoy accused him of planning this all along – he was brandishing a chicken wing – they were laughing – Malfoy was trying to hide it, but he was honest to god laughing – Harry slipped on some ice cream – Malfoy laughed harder – Harry tripped him, rolling on top –

And he froze.

They were both panting. Pieces of food were dropping softly off of them. Some owls were hooting off in the distance, and Harry thought he could hear the leathery wings of thestrals flying somewhere nearby. The Forbidden Forest shivered.

Malfoy's face was caught in mid-laughter. Some dark dessert stained his pale hair, and pieces of pudding dotted his face. His skin was flushed red, down to the collarbone, where a few buttons had come loose. He was warm beneath Harry, a bit bony, solid.

Harry couldn't look away from his eyes.

Instead, he grinned.

"I win," he said.

Malfoy coughed to hide his laughter. He pushed against Harry.

"You're ridiculous," he said.

Harry got up, feeling lighter than he had in months.

"Yeah."

He looked at Malfoy. He was bemoaning the fate of his poor pyjamas.

"But so are you."