Harry had his worries about the rapidity with which things had turned around. The whole thing had started in early May. Now, it was two weeks before exams, and it had taken only 14 days to erase most memories of that hormonally turbulent time. Neville and Luna were still holding hands, Hermione couldn't stop blushing whenever Malfoy insulted her in a tone that was a touch too sweet to be genuine, and Ron ... Well, when Ron's head wasn't bent over a piece of parchment, a quill in hand, he was pacing around the dorm room, waiting for Pig to come with dispatches from Thousand Oaks. Any disappointment over Hermione had subsided and been replaced with a fervent love for American soccer and what Ron called "eco-friendly living."

As for George, he and Harry were still together and, as far as Harry could tell, happily so. But he wasn't always so sure about his own level of commitment. George talked about the sorts of things you weren't supposed to talk for at least half a year—living together, where Harry would be working after he finished up at Hogwarts, whether or not Harry would come into even more of a fortune after selling Grimmauld Place, the whole bit. Harry was, of course, perfectly happy with George, and did like the idea of being with him in the long term. But there was so much more out there than cohabitation-related bliss. What about going out for a professional Quidditch team or becoming an Auror? How good of a boyfriend could he be if he was gone all the time, either catching the Snitch or the errant dark wizard?

He reasoned with himself that his Quidditch career had surely reached its peak and there clearly weren't enough dark wizards running around anymore to warrant a career as an Auror. Even so, he didn't want to be a house ... What? Boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband? He shuddered at that final thought one day as George was yammering on about some new infatuation potion he'd brewed.

"It was almost as powerful as fan fiction," George said with a grin. It faltered as he looked down at Harry next to him on the couch. They were in the apartment, whiling away a Saturday afternoon during which Harry should have been studying.

"What's wrong, Harry?" he asked. "You don't look so good."

"I was just thinking ... Well, the future."

George looked at him expectantly.

"I don't know about it. I don't know anything about it," said Harry, leaning his head against George's shoulder. "I've had all these different plans for so long, and now you're here, and what am I supposed to do? Drop everything and be with you instead of playing Quidditch or whatever the hell else I was planning on doing? Not that dropping everything to be with someone I—care about would be so bad," he rushed to say when he saw George's expression. "It'd be quite good, really. The best."

"Someone you care about, eh?" George laughed. "You realize, Harry, we haven't said we love each other yet?"

"I didn't realize we had to," said Harry, sheepish. "You already know that, right? That I love you?"

"I had an inkling."

"Well, I love you. There."

"And I love you. Which you already knew."

"Yup."

"Yup." George kissed him on the cheek. "So, now what?"

"I guess we think about what we're supposed to do next."

"I'm happy here." George kissed Harry again, this time on the side of the head. "With you." On the cheek again. "In the shop." This time on the lips. "And if you're happy, too, then this is what I want to do next. I want to close the shop for three hours every Saturday afternoon and spend time with my boyfriend, who's probably already thinking about what he'll be making me for dinner."

"I've been thinking of making pesto pizza. Have you ever had that? Probably not. Got a recipe from a magazine I nicked from Aunt Petunia."

"A boy after my own heart," George said fondly, running his hand up and down Harry's arm. "I have to open the shop again soon."

"I know."

"Which means you should probably study for a couple hours before I close it back up again."

"I know."

"What do you have yet to study?"

"Well, I never study for Defence—"

"Of course you don't."

"And Charms isn't going to be bad, but Transfiguration and Potions'll probably be hell."

"So, those two, then."

"Yeah, I don't bother with History of Magic anymore. And Astronomy, well, that's just stars, right?"

George snorted. "You're more like me than I realized."

"Really, if I'm not trying for a job, then I don't care too much about how well I do on my NEWTs. Why should I, if I'm just going to be your house elf?"

"But so much more than a house elf, really. A house Harry, if you will." George's face softened. "Harry, is it really OK with you, staying here with me instead of going off and getting a job or playing Quidditch?"

Harry didn't have to think before saying, "Of course it's OK with me. I have you. And I know for a fact you could use some help around the shop. You can't do this on your own, George. You need me."

"Almost as badly as you need me."

"Exactly. Can't live without you, really. Never did before. Oh, wait, I did. Defeated Voldemort and all that."

George laughed. "Thanks for acknowledging that happened. You never do, you know. And when people ask about it, you get all uncomfortable. You squirm. It's adorable, really."

"It just doesn't feel so important now."

"The rest of our world would disagree."

Harry shrugged. "There are more important things." He turned to kiss George, substantially harder than usual, and draped himself across the taller, lankier boy's lap. "Like quickies."

"Those are fairly important," George murmured, running his fingers through Harry's always messy hair and kissing him back, just as hard and just as urgently. "Bed?"

"Do you even have to ask?"