Harry did not enjoy studying. Perhaps if he was falling behind in a class he liked, he might enjoy the task. But his weakness was Herbology, as usual. He hated Herbology. But he knew it was important if he wanted to pass the NEWT exams with high enough marks to be accepted into the Auror Academy. So he studied, and he hated every minute of it.

He sat in the library, tucked back into the corner, near the books on wand crafting. No one built their own wands these days, he would be safe from interruption here. Ron and Hermione weren't due back from London until evening anyway.

He wondered whether he should tell them about Draco Malfoy. On the one hand he knew it was important to be honest with his friends. On the other hand he was afraid they wouldn't understand. Well, Hermione might eventually. Ron, on the other hand, he was afraid of what Ron's reaction would be. And he couldn't afford to lose Ron's friendship, because that would mean losing the Weasley family, and the Weasley family was the closest thing Harry had to a family of his own. When he thought about looking Molly Weasley in the eyes and telling her he was-

He paused. What was he? What would he be admitting? He was the same person he always was. What would he tell her? That he had slept with Draco Malfoy? No, one didn't simply share one's bedroom exploits like that. That he wanted to be with Draco and no one else? Maybe. That he was-

There was that pause again. He couldn't decide what label to put on himself. He didn't want to be labeled. He'd dated Ginny, and now he wanted to date Draco. That seemed to defy any standard label.

Regardless, he shook his head to clear his thoughts, he wouldn't be telling Molly Weasley anything. Because no matter how he phrased it, it would never be seen as normal. Not in the conservative wizarding world. They would probably try to find a spell to change him, to make him into the Harry they'd always thought he was. They'd look for potions, check to see if he'd been cursed. They wouldn't just accept it, because it just wasn't done.

The last time Harry had visited London with Ron and Hermione he'd seen boys holding hands all over the city. Not in the majority, of course, but often enough to notice. And no one else seemed to care. They had hit a number of tourist highlights and he'd seen boys paired up every place they went. No one pointed at them, no one sent them away, no one snickered or struck them or made jokes. They were out in the open without fear of reprisal.

But Diagon Alley was a far cry from Trafalgar Square. While goblins and house elves were regarded with barely piqued interest, two boys walking hand in hand would cause a stir. Especially if the two in question were The Boy Who Lived and a Death Eater. It would be scandalous, splashed all over the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Harry tried to force his attention back to Herbology but he couldn't stop his mind from following a more negative path. If he couldn't tell his friends, and Draco had to hide it from his Slytherin housemates, and they couldn't show their affections in public, where did that leave them? Secret lovers? Could one really keep a secret like that for long? How would they ever find a way to be together if they had to avoid suspicion that they were, in fact, together? It all seemed futile.

He pushed his hair back from his forehead, and sighed in frustration. It wasn't anyone's business. Why should he have to entertain these kinds of questions? It wasn't fair, knowing he would be invited to the Burrow for Christmas, and he couldn't bring the one person he'd most like to share the holiday with. It wasn't fair having to think about this sort of thing.

"Get back to work," he chided himself, tapping his quill impatiently against his parchment, as though to catch his own attention. He flipped back through his notes and couldn't recall anything he'd written. It just wouldn't stick in his brain. He dropped his head to the table and groaned in misery.

He spent hours fighting his homework, struggling to focus, occasionally getting up and wandering through the stacks in the hopes that a change of scenery would help. Around noon he made a brief pass through the Great Hall for lunch, noting the absence of the Slytherin team at their table. He stuffed some extra snacks into his pockets and headed back to the library.

The afternoon crawled more slowly than the morning. Harry made gradual progress, hammering botanical names into his brain through brute force of repetition. He would ace the next test or die trying. When he finally reached the end of the assigned chapter he slammed the heavy book shut and tossed his quill across the table. He leaned back in his chair and stretched, then rolled his neck to loosen the stiff muscles there. He shrunk his book and jammed it into his pocket, then headed to the Gryffindor tower. The day was dragging on brutally.

He found Neville and Seamus in the common room, practicing transfiguration by changing small objects into butterflies and back. As Harry entered he noticed several curious white splatters on the floor around the room. Neville followed his gaze.

"We tried doves first," he explained, "but they shat a lot."

"That's horrid," Harry frowned. "You're not going to leave the common room full of bird waste, are you?"

"Well," Seamus looked accusingly at Neville, "I guess not."

"You were going to leave it, weren't you?" Harry shook his head disapprovingly. He dug out his wand and cast Scourgify to remove the stains.

"Cheers," Neville smiled and nodded. "Appreciate the help."

"Is anyone else hungry?" Seamus rubbed his stomach and checked the time.

"For bird shite?" Harry made a gagging face.

"It's dinner time, come on," Seamus flicked his wand and the butterflies transfigured back into knickknacks, which crashed to the floor at once. Cursing at his own lack of foresight, he cast Reparo and then returned the objects to their appropriate shelves.

"Sundays are just made for this kind of trouble," Harry shook his head. "I'm surprised I didn't find you in here transfiguring the sofa into a dragon just for fun."

"That would be brilliant," Seamus and Neville exchanged an intrigued look. "Scare the first-years."

Harry put an end to that thought process by hustling his friends out of the room and down to dinner. They talked pro quidditch as they ate, wondering whether Britain's national team could beat Romania this year. The Slytherin table was sparsely populated, which meant practice was still on. Would Draco be out all night? Harry wondered fearfully.

After dinner the three Gryffindor eighth-years made their way back to their house. Harry's nerves were on edge. The sun was nearly down and he hadn't heard from Draco yet. What if he didn't make it back tonight? His heart caught in his throat as he had another horrible thought: What if Malfoy had regrets and was avoiding him now?

He chastised himself for having such a terrible thought. Draco felt about Harry the way Harry felt about Draco. He was positive. He was anxious. He excused himself and retreated to his private room to brood and wait the evening out.

Sure enough, no sooner had he closed his bedroom door than a green spark flared to life in front of him. It took a moment for to register that it was different from the usual spark. It was bigger, for one, and it fizzed like a firework, hovering in mid air. No matter, it only meant one thing: Draco wanted to meet. He couldn't keep the silly grin from washing over his face.

He stepped towards the door and the spark zipped over to hover in front of him. He frowned and stepped back. The spark followed his movement. This was definitely different from the usual beacon charm. He waved his hand, but it passed right through it, not dissipating or budging. He jumped and ducked, and the spark followed his every move. Strange.

He retrieved his wand from its holster and pointed, wondering which spell might counteract such a persistent little beacon. But as he held his wand aloft the spark zipped towards him and attached itself to the end. He stepped back in surprise but his wand pulled forward. He yanked his arm down but the spark tugged it back up. Back and forth, it was playing tug-of-war.

It dawned on him what was happening. The spark was trying to tell him where to go. Brilliant! He gave in and let the flashing green speck lead him out of the room. He clattered down the stairs, trying to keep up with the pull. It dragged him through the common room and out through the Fat Lady painting. He had to fight a bit to retain control as the spark impatiently tugged, unconcerned about the location of the moving stairs. He carefully navigated down until he reached the bottom. The spark dragged him through corridor after corridor, and he was so absorbed in not tripping over obstacles or smacking into closed doors that it took him several minutes to realize where it was taking him. It was pulling insistently towards the hospital wing.

Harry dug his heels in, refusing to go further. It suddenly occurred to him that this beacon differed from Draco's usual spell. What if he hadn't sent it? What if something had happened to him? Panic rose in his throat. What if Slytherin's all-day practice had fatigued him to the point of fatal error?

The spark flashed impatiently and tugged again. Harry reluctantly stepped forward, his heart pounding. He couldn't lose Draco now. Not now, when they'd only just discovered each other. It wouldn't be fair. He reached the door to the infirmary and steeled himself. He pushed the heavy wood panels aside and stepped in, bracing himself for the worst.

The long room was mostly empty, just two rows of neatly made beds with a chest of drawers next to each. The room was familiar, Harry had visited enough times during his seven previous years. The bed at the far end of the room was occupied, a bandaged figure lay motionless beneath the sheet. Harry's heart squeezed. Something had happened after all!

The green spark fizzled out, having brought him to the correct destination. He darted down the aisle between the beds, eyes fixed on the lone figure. He dashed around the foot of the bed and knelt near the occupant's bandaged head.

"Draco?" he whispered shakily. "What happened?"

"What are you doing? I'm right here," a voice spoke from the doorway beyond the patient beds.

Harry leapt to his feet and whirled around. Clearly uninjured, the blond Slytherin eyed him warily. Harry was so relieved that he couldn't speak. He darted over to Draco and threw his arms around him, relief crashing down on him like a deluge.

"I thought you were injured," Harry said into his shoulder when he could speak. "The spark was different."

"Oh that," Draco curled his arms around Harry. "Just a bit of an improvement so you'd know where to go."

"It's brilliant."

Draco released Harry and held him at arm's length. He was unshowered, and the day's sweat had dried on his skin. He smelled marvelous, Harry thought. His groin reminded him that it hadn't had any attention all day.

"Pomfrey called me down as we were wrapping up practice," Draco explained as he moved to a supply cabinet and went back to straightening up its contents. "The girl in the bed is a fourth-year. She went to the Forbidden Forest and something got her. Not sure what. Hagrid brought her in earlier today."

"Why is she all bandaged up?" Harry was a little embarrassed that he had whispered Draco's name to a fourth-year girl.

"She swelled up," Draco explained."The bandages are applying pressure."

"Will she be okay?"

"We'll just have to wait and see," Draco shook his head, the vertical groove between his eyebrows betraying his concern.

"So you're staying here tonight?" Harry tried to maintain perspective. This girl was fighting for her life, he shouldn't be disappointed about his sexual prospects.

"Pomfrey needed a break for a few hours of sleep," Draco shot Harry a glance that acknowledged his effort to be understanding. "She asked me to keep a watch on the girl tonight. Make sure she doesn't worsen or transform."

"What on earth would she transform into?"

"Not sure, seeing as we don't know what got her." Draco approached the bed and knelt down to check her pulse. His touch was gentle, his regard for her well-being surprisingly professional, for someone who had only been apprenticing for two and a half months. "Could be plant, could be animal, could be magical."

"So you're staying here?" Harry repeated dumbly.

"That's right," Draco stood and was visibly fatigued. He must have come straight from the quidditch pitch, after hours of flying. "I thought maybe you could stay with me."

"Of course," Harry smiled finally. "Have you eaten?"

"We were just finishing supper when she sent for me." Darkness flickered across his eyes for just an instant, "Zabini paid for catering from Hogsmeade." He rubbed his face and sighed with exhaustion. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair hung limply across his forehead.

"Is it okay to lie down or do you need to stay by her bed?" Harry gestured to the long line of neatly starched cots.

"I think it's okay to sleep, as long as we can hear her," Draco dragged himself halfway down the room and slumped onto one of the beds. Harry rolled him onto his side, slipped in behind him, and tucked his knees behind his thighs. He slipped his arm around Draco's waist and held him as closely as he could. All of the tension and anxiety from earlier in the day melted as he spooned the other boy. Draco gently stroked the back of Harry's hand with his thumb, his breath even and slow. It took mere seconds for him to fall asleep. Harry tried not to be disappointed that he didn't even get a kiss goodnight.

The girl in the bed awoke at sunrise, her soft groans rousing the pair on the other bed. Harry fought consciousness, desperately trying to stay asleep. Draco roused immediately, deftly removing Harry's arm and crossing to the injured girl with the posture of someone fully alert. Harry blinked blearily and wondered how he did it.

Draco lowered his head and spoke closely to the girl's ear. He explained where she had been found and asked her what she remembered. Harry couldn't make out her response, it sounded mostly like whimpering and moaning. Draco carefully unwrapped one of her hands and studied it closely. She didn't appear to be swelling anymore. Her skin was streaked with angry red welts, and she was clearly in physical distress.

"Stay with her, I need to fetch Madam Pomfrey," Draco rushed past Harry and exited the hospital ward. Moments later he reappeared with the nurse in tow, both focused and business-like, not at all disoriented and sleepy like Harry.

Pomfrey inspected the girl, then summoned Draco to help her rifle through the potions cabinet. They spoke in low, terse tones and moved quickly and efficiently. Harry felt out of place, huddled sleepily on one of the beds, no use to anyone at all. He watched Draco with admiration as the blond boy took instruction from the elderly nurse without the signature sneer, protest or whinge that marked his younger years. He listened carefully and responded with nimble fingers. He measured out the contents of several bottles and jars while Pomfrey carefully brewed a concoction.

Finally the nurse thanked Draco and carried her cauldron over to the sick student's bedside table. She carefully slathered the mixture all over the girl's skin, gently massaging it over the angry, red welts. Draco watched until Pomfrey dismissed him with a curt thank you and a wave of her hand.

"Let's go," Draco muttered as he made haste and exited the infirmary. Harry jumped up to follow him. Out in the hall Draco's brow furrowed. He seemed deep in thought.

"So what was it?" Harry asked.

"She said she found some currants and ate them." Draco said distractedly. "Not sure yet what they really were."

"Is she going to be okay?"

"Maybe," Draco's mind was elsewhere. He looked up suddenly, "She's going to ask me why you were there."

"Tell her I was keeping you company." Harry suggested.

"She's going to notice only one bed was disturbed."

"Tell her you slept in a chair."

Draco didn't respond, lost in thought. He finally looked into Harry's eyes. "I guess I'll just see what she says. Maybe she'll figure it out and be fine with it."

"And if she's not?"

"I'll deny it," Draco said simply.

Suddenly he smiled broadly at Harry, like he was noticing him for the first time. He raised his hands and cupped Harry's face, drawing it to his lips. He kissed Harry gently, fingers running through his perpetually messy dark hair. Harry responded in kind, slipping his hands around Draco's waist and pulling him closer. Minutes ticked by as they kissed softly, too tired for urgency. Finally they broke off and looked into each others' eyes.

"Hi," Draco said as though they were just meeting up. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Harry smiled in relief. Just then the clock tower chimed, signaling the start of breakfast.

"Salazar," Draco swore. "I guess we need to head back and get ready for class."

"I guess so," Harry was miserable, too. They just couldn't find the right time or place to be together.

They hustled back to their respective houses for showers and a change of clothing. They spotted each other in the Great Hall but didn't speak. They rushed to their first class but didn't sit together in order to avoid suspicion. On the way to second period Ron talked Harry's ear off about London. After third period Hermione took a turn at talking his ear off. During lunch they peppered him with questions about his trip to the Malfoy family cemetery, clearly expecting a juicy story about wealth and decadence. He was short on detail, considering how much of the day had involved touching and loving rather than mocking or jeering.

After fourth period Harry had to return to the Potions classroom for more apprenticeship, where Professor Slughorn berated him for not doing any work over the weekend. For punishment he was ordered to organize the toxins cabinet from most deadly to least deadly. And there were a lot of toxins. Slughorn left him with an oversized reference book and a parchment and quill to take notes as he researched the toxicity of each jarred item and ranked them accordingly. Harry missed dinner and still didn't finish until the clock tower chimed lights out for the underclassmen.

When he was finally finished, Slughorn appeared as though he had been monitoring his protégé's progress, and graded Harry's results with a scornful eye. He made a few corrections, but finally declared the job well done and sent the boy on his way.

Harry dragged himself back to Gryffindor house, desperately in need of a decontamination shower. Draco was nonchalantly reading in an alcove at the base of the tower, but it was easy to see that Harry was in no condition for conversation. They bid each other a reluctant goodnight.

On Tuesday Professor Sprout announced that she would be issuing an end of semester Herbology examination in two weeks and that there would be a practice exam at their next class. She passed around a thick stack of parchment to each student and recommended intense studying, starting immediately. Harry's stomach felt like lead. Any advance warning about the difficulty of an approaching test should be taken seriously. Hermione ambushed him as soon as class was over and dragged him to the library for power-studying. He caught Draco Malfoy's eye as he was led away, regret suffusing his body from head to toe.

And so went the rest of the week, always something preventing the two boys from stealing more than a moment here or there for a touch, a kiss, or an embrace. They simply couldn't catch a break. Every night Harry comforted himself with the memory of their first night together and a serviceable wank. But his body ached to be touched again. He thought about slim, pale fingers tracing up his arms, grasping his arse, pulling his hair. He wished he had at least stolen one of Draco's shirts so he could smell his deep, masculine scent while he tugged quickly towards climax. And while wanking was nicer now that he head real memories to rely on, each orgasm was quickly followed by the wistful yearning for real contact. He despaired that he would never hold Draco Malfoy's supple body against his own again.