A/N: I am so freaking in love with this chapter it's not even funny. This one and the next one are just fluff fluff fluff! I have to run out the door so I didn't get the chance to make my last minute edits, but I've reread this one a bajillion times and I'm pretty sure it should be okay, hopefully.

Also, I'm so glad y'all enjoyed the hints, and thank you so much for being impressed by how much I've done. I've written at least one chapter a day since starting this (aside from one day where I was stuck and two when I was on vacation), so I've built up quite a backlog.

Double also, I made a bit of a ridiculous mistake, and I've reuploaded this version to fix it. If you don't know what I'm talking about, all the better (though I do mention it in the A/N for the next chapter). So yes, we're just being OSTRICHES and ignoring the problem, now aren't we?

Anyway, enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Six:

Brian.

When the clock chimed midnight, Hermione was horrified. She grabbed Ron by the arm and physically dragged him back to Gryffindor Tower, barely giving him time to collect his things before leaving.

Draco yelled after him, "This counts as a win for me! It's the second time you've walked out in the middle of a match!"

"Forcibly!" Ron said before Hermione closed the door.

"So," Draco said, turning to Harry with a glint in his eye. "Shall we investigate our new bedroom?

Harry flushed. "I—yeah, sounds good. I've got to actually sleep though; I didn't last night, and I had to get up early this morning."

"We'll see," Draco said conversationally. "I feel almost like I ought to carry you over the threshold, but I suspect I'd drop you."

Harry muttered something embarrassed as they walked into the bedroom. It was lit by a small fire, providing just enough warmth to be comfortable but not enough light to keep them up. Their bed was there, decked out in neutral shades of purple, though now the headboard was slatted, which caused Harry to blush further. Their dresser was here as well, though it looked as if it had grown, the hamper next to it, and the closet was in a corner. They both still had their bedside tables, and the door to the bathroom was on the right, where it always had been.

Draco put his hands on his hips. "I was hoping for a more drastic chance," he said with a frown.

"Like what?" Harry asked, a bit nervously. "It's fine the way it is." He began to strip, throwing his clothes in the laundry basket.

"Oh, you know, just something with a bit more…flair," Draco said. "None of my furniture is anywhere to be found, nor my crest. I find that rather alarming, given the scarlet chairs in the other room."

"Well, when McGonagall kicks us out of here and you go back to Slytherin dorms, I'm sure you'll have your fair share of green and silver," Harry said, climbing into bed.

Draco remained in the door, hands still on his hips. "You don't think she'd separate us like that, do you? Surely there must be somewhere we can sleep together."

Harry smiled, a warm tingling filling him. "I dunno," he said. "But I've got my cloak and you've got your Disappearing Draught. I'm sure we can work out something."

Draco frowned. "I don't want to sneak around. I want to wake up with you every morning, not just when we've managed to steal away."

Harry's smile widened. "You really are adorable, Draco. Now get in bed, would you? I've got to sleep."

Draco quickly divested himself of his clothes and joined Harry, snuggling close. "How long do you think my father's trial will last?" he asked quietly.

Harry needed a moment to adjust his thinking. "Er, I dunno. I imagine you know more about Death Eater trials than I do."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "It all depends on the evidence," he said. "On how obvious it is, on how long the Wizengamot needs to debate."

"If you already know that, then—"

"I asked because I wanted you to tell me something comforting," Draco interrupted. "I really wish you weren't so daft, Potter."

"Oh. Er, well, in that case, it'll be over tomorrow, and your dad will be cleared of all charges," Harry said.

Draco sighed. "You could have been more realistic," he lectured. "Next week, and a slap on the wrist, along with the confiscation of any dark artifacts found in the Manor."

"That, then," Harry replied, kissing the top of his head.

"Maybe a week in Azkaban, to make it look official," Draco added. "Though…I don't know if Father can handle being in Azkaban again. You should have seen him when he came home last time."

"Try not to think about it, okay?" Harry said. "I know that's utter bollocks to say, but just try."

"What would you have me do?" Draco said, an edge creeping into his voice. "Count sheep?"

"If you'd like," Harry said with a yawn. "Mm, Dray, I've really got to sleep."

Draco sighed. "Fine. Do whatever you need to. If only the Prophet could see you now—FAMED GOLDEN BOY SECRETLY SELFISH AS ALL FUCK IN BED."

"Sod off," Harry said. "I don't remember being selfish earlier today. In fact, as I recall, I was tied down and you had your way with me."

Draco smiled slightly. "I suppose," he replied. "But you still told me what to do."

"Because you made me," Harry said. "You threatened to leave me there if I didn't."

"Oh, Potter, shut up. Nobody asked you to be reasonable," Draco said. "Really, sometimes I think you're as literal as Granger."

Harry paused a moment before saying, "Seemed like you had a good time tonight."

Draco sniffed. "Under the circumstances, it was not the worst use of my time."

"And, y'know, you're always welcome to introduce me to your friends," Harry said, though the prospect rather terrified him. "Pansy, Blaise, Goyle…"

Draco stayed silent for a minute. "I'm not so sure my friends would be as forgiving as yours. Nor am I sure they are still my friends. But I will take you to meet Mother soon, once the trial is over. And Father, if he is still with us. I don't imagine he'll be as understanding, but perhaps your testimony will have lessened his hatred of you." Draco sighed again. "How did he look? He deteriorated so during the war, and he'd hardly begun to recover before they took him away again."

Harry had to work against fidgeting. "Proud," he said. "Like he was beneath everyone else."

Draco smiled. "Well yes, he would now, wouldn't he? He had the entire Wizengamot in his pocket before this—this thing started. They'd be wise not to forget that."

"I can't imagine Gertrude Barker being in anybody's pocket," Harry said. "Blimey, she's scary."

Draco laughed a little. "No, Father never got a proper hold on her. There's always the one or two who stuck out. But enough of this politics. He looked alright, then? Like he was managing?"

"Y-yeah," Harry stammered. "I mean, he looked a bit, er, tired, and like he might have lost some weight, but he was definitely still himself. Wouldn't even look at me, not once."

Draco smirked. "No doubt he thought it a great insult that you testified for him. I don't know if he'll ever forgive you for that."

Harry flashed back to his conversation with Draco what seemed like weeks ago—the choice to stay true to a name, rather than admit to failure, or the need for help. The idea was so foreign to him, but Draco seemed to take it as a matter of course. "Your mum seemed pleased enough."

"Yeah, she was never as stubborn as Father," Draco replied. "She just loves me, and Father. Not that he doesn't care for me as well, but it was always easier for her to show it."

That didn't surprise Harry at all, not after the letters he read, and not given what he knew about Lucius Malfoy. He yawned. "I've really got to sleep," he said again. "We've got Whisp first thing, remember?"

Draco let out a sigh. "Yeah. But Harry, I'd ask you not to bring up the trial, okay? If I want to talk about it, I'll tell you. And it hardly bears saying that nothing I tell you leaves this bed."

"Yeah, of course," Harry replied.

"It's stupid, I know, what with the Prophet and everything, but it's my duty as a Malfoy to uphold the name as best I can, even under the most trying of circumstances." Draco snuggled closer to Harry. "Other than, y'know, dating you. I'd say it's an even chance Father will blast me off the tapestry himself if he finds out. Rather, when he's released. I'm sure word has reached him by now."

"Well he can hardly get his hands on it now, can he?" Harry reminded him. "It's at Grimmauld Place, and there's enough protection charms on that building to keep out Voldemort himself."

"Mm, right," Draco sighed. "That house rightly belongs to us, you know."

"It does not," Harry snapped. "It belonged to Sirius, and he gave it to me. I haven't said a word against Snape, so you'll leave Sirius out of this."

"Whatever you say," Draco replied, and Harry could hear he was, finally, starting to get sleepy as well. "Just know that while you're there, you're still under my rule."

"You wish."

Friday was uneventful until dinnertime. Harry and Draco were sitting at the Gryffindor table with the usual crowd, Aurora included. Conversation centered around plans to visit Hogsmeade; apparently another announcement Harry had missed was that eight years were permitted to go every weekend, as long as they kept their grades up. Neville was less than excited about this, but Aurora assured him they would have plenty of time together. It was still unclear whether they were dating, but Harry thought once she figured out that Neville would never work up the courage to formally ask her out, she'd take matters into her own hands.

Draco suddenly grabbed Harry's leg, digging his fingers in. "There's Mother's eagle."

Sure enough, the bird swooped down, landing in front of Draco, who untied the note with shaking hands.

My dearest Draco,

This was perhaps the best day of the trial to date! As I suspected, Greyback flaunted his position to the court, taking a great delight in how far your father has fallen. There were many whispers among the Wizengamot, and I am nearly certain I heard Harry's name mentioned at least once.

Borgin was another matter entirely, though that should come as no surprise. He didn't mention the Vanishing Cabinet, no doubt because that was your assignment, not your father's, which was a blessing. But he provided a long list of things he had sold to your father over the years, and Aurors are no doubt combing the Manor as we speak.

Still, Greyback's testimony left my heart far lighter than it has been in weeks. There will be no investigation over the weekend, but I believe there will be at least one more day of calling witnesses before your father is on the stand, so to speak.

All my love,

Mum.

Draco smiled, the first time Harry had seen him do so after reading one of his mother's letters. "You were right," he said, for once not sounding upset to be proven wrong. "Or Tonks was; whoever said the more witnesses the better. If only Nagini was still alive, or Aunt Bella. But still, this is very good news indeed."

Harry kissed his cheek, causing Ron to mumble something obscene under his breath. "I told you it wasn't as bad as it seemed," Harry said quietly.

"Yes, yes, and now you can go around and tell the entire school just how wrong I was," Draco replied, but there was no edge to his voice, just a poorly restrained happiness. "Carus, you can wait in the Owlery for me, if you'd like. I'll find you after dinner." Carus let out his signature shriek and rose into the air, flying out the window.

"Can they really understand you?" Hermione asked. "I've seen the way Harry speaks to Capry, and it's quite remarkable."

Draco smirked with pride. "We may have fallen in status, but my father used to be quite close with an owl breeder, and we have only had the best of the best." He frowned. "Except Capry. He was the runt of the litter, and somehow I managed to get stuck with him. If you think him impressive, you are clearly unacquainted with the finer points of owling."

Hermione didn't acknowledge the insult; she never did, no doubt leaving Ron to bear the brunt of that particular job. "Have you got any books on the subject?" she asked. "I'd be fascinated to learn more."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Books on owl husbandry? Is there anything you aren't interested in?" Hermione flushed, but only slightly. "I couldn't think of a topic more dull. I am far more interested in the results than the process, though perhaps if I had paid more attention, I wouldn't be stuck with Capry. Still, he is a fine owl, and I should be lucky to call him my own. If only you could have seen Father's hawk; that was an impressive bird."

This was the second time Harry had heard the bird mentioned in the past tense, but he hadn't wanted to pry, and he didn't feel now was the time, not when Draco was surrounded by people he was only just starting to not absolutely despise.

"Now that Malfoy's done bragging," Ron said, before Draco could start up again, "we can properly plan for Hogsmeade."

"I would think lunch at Madame Puddifoot's might be enjoyable," Hermione said, then looked rather stricken. "Oh, Rory, I had forgotten you can't come. Never mind, lunch at The Three Broomsticks should be fine."

"What's Madame Puddifoot's?" Aurora asked. "I didn't see it last weekend."

"It's a horrid place," Draco said disdainfully. "Full of pink, frilly things. Pansy adored it. It's for couples only, though."

"Oh," Aurora said, pinking about the ears. "Well, I suppose then…" She trailed off, glancing at Neville, who was watching the enchanted ceiling with an interest that conveyed there was something other than the night sky warranting such attention.

"I can go with Neville," Luna said, not noticing the death glare Hermione gave her. "We're not a proper couple, of course, but I hardly think the waiters would notice."

"Harry and I will not be attending such nonsense," Draco said firmly.

"I dunno, Dray. It might be fun," Harry said, a smile dancing in his eyes. "A proper date, you know, at a place meant for dates."

"I'll take you to Intrépide for dinner, if you're so desperate for conventionality" Draco said. "I will not be seen in Puddifoot's. Not again."

"I think it would be fun," Luna said, completely ignorant that both Hermione and Aurora were staring angrily at her. "Neville, would you be my escort?"

He looked utterly torn between wanting to turn her down and wanting to be nice, and Hermione took the opportunity to answer for him. "Luna, aren't you a seventh year?" Hermione said.

"Oh, that's right," Luna replied. "Oh well. Another time, then."

"I would think Neville would have other interests in Hogsmeade regardless," Hermione said pointedly. "Isn't that right, Neville?"

He was blushing terribly, and Harry felt bad for him. "I—er, I dunno, maybe. There's always Dogweed and Deathcap."

"I love that shop," Luna said. "There's always something interesting to look at."

Hermione looked ready to explode, and Ron laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Let it go, 'Mione," he said quietly. "It'll get sorted."

"Luna, perhaps you have your own date, a proper date, to take with you to Hogsmeade?" Hermione said, unable to help herself.

"No, I haven't got anyone like that," she said serenely. "I've never been much interested in such things. I only offered to escort Neville out of friendship; I haven't got many friends, you know, and I find I rather like helping the ones I do have."

That seemed to be enough to calm Hermione, and Ron all but stuffed a bread roll in her mouth before she could say anything else.

"This is how you spend your time?" Draco asked, voice quiet enough that only Harry could hear, but still filled with his customary disdain. "It's a like a bloody soap opera."

"There are wizard soap operas?" Harry whispered back.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course there are, don't be daft. You think I'd be caught dead watching a muggle program? Not that I watch soaps at all, mind you."

"It'll get better once Neville finally asks her out," Harry said. "Now shut up, and stop whispering in my ear. People will assume things."

Draco smiled. "What sort of things would they assume, Harry?"

"That we're talking about sex," Harry said so quietly Draco almost couldn't hear him.

"And remind me again why we aren't?"

Harry pushed him away, blushing, and returned to his dinner.

"I hear they're already planning the Hallowe'en Feast," Hermione said conversationally, as if she wasn't leading the conversation back to where she wanted it. "Hagrid's got pumpkins growing already."

"'Mione, that's not for another month," Ron said. "More than that, actually. 'Mione, you're absolutely ridiculous."

"I may have given some thought as to my costume for the Feast, but depending on what I decide to do, it may take some time, so you can hardly find fault with me."

"It's always the same," Ron said. "You say you don't care about how you dress, yet you spend the whole of lunch gossiping with Aurora about what to wear."

"You mean being a girl," Harry interrupted. "It's alright. Happens to us all every now and then."

Draco grinned wickedly. "It certainly does, doesn't it?"

This Saturday couldn't have been more different than last week. It was warm and sunny, the perfect weather for a trip to Hogsmeade. Harry and Draco took their time getting out of bed, having agreed to meet Ron, Hermione and Neville for lunch, and not any earlier. Eventually Draco glanced at the clock, and said, "We'd better get going, I've got a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" Harry asked, torn between excitement and nerves. "It wouldn't have to do with Venus and Eros, would it?"

Draco laughed. "No, Harry, I'm saving that for when we get bored of what we've already got. Or when I'm feeling particularly frisky, whichever happens first. No doubt the second.

"Anyway, you've distracted me. Come on, get out of bed and get dressed. We're expected at eleven, and it won't do at all to be late, not even fashionably so."

"Expected where, exactly?" Harry asked. "You said Intrépide for dinner, not lunch."

"And, as such, we've got reservations for dinner. Seriously, Harry, get out of bed."

Harry sighed and did as he was told. "Have I got to wear dress robes?" he asked.

Draco laughed. "Hardly. Just wear something with sturdy sleeves."

Harry stared at him. Sturdy sleeves? What on earth was he talking about? "A-alright then," he said, pulling on jeans, a tee shirt and a light jacket. Draco, as always, wore all black, and, with one quick glance at the clock, led them outside and on the way to Hogsmeade.

"We probably should've left earlier," he said, walking briskly. "I just hate to see you cover that beautiful body with clothes."

Harry blushed. "I assume you won't be telling me where we're going, then?"

"It's a surprise, I told you. Don't dawdle, Harry, this is precarious enough as it is, getting even further into his bad graces will not behoove us, especially you."

There were almost too many things to comment on. "Further into his bad graces? Draco, we're not going to get hexed, are we? This isn't some Death Eater trap?"

"Don't be daft," Draco snapped. "I don't care to associate with Death Eaters, and with my father on trial, it would hardly look good, now would it?" They crossed the border into Hogsmeade, and Draco stopped walking. "Take my arm."

Harry's eyes widened. "We're apparating? Are we even allowed to do that?"

"Haven't the slightest idea. Come on, now, it's nearly eleven." Taking a deep breath of air, Harry grabbed Draco's arm. The hateful, familiar sensation lasted only a few moments, and when they landed, Draco had to keep a hold on his arm to prevent him from staggering. "Survive the journey, did you? I'd hate to have you spliced."

"I'm fine," Harry said weakly, waiting for his head to stop spinning. They were standing in front of a small but well-kept house in the middle of an open, green field, nothing else in sight. Harry heard noises coming from behind the house, but they were quiet enough that he couldn't tell what they were.

"Come on," Draco said for what seemed like the hundredth time, pulling him towards the door. He knocked, then began to fidget, and Harry realized he was nervous. He put a hand on his wand, just to be on the safe side.

The door swung open, and they were greeted by a very large, burly man. He was much taller than either Harry or Draco, though nowhere near as big as Hagrid, and quite broad. He had a thick, brown beard and wavy red hair that fell about his shoulders. He was wearing worn jeans, a flannel shirt, and had a leather gauntlet on one arm.

"Draco Malfoy," he said gruffly. He had a heavy Scottish brogue, so strong Harry could barely understand him. "Wouldn't have thought you'd dare come here, given the state of your family affairs."

Draco stood tall and proud, all fidgeting gone. "You're the best, and I will settle for nothing less."

The man continued to block the door, assessing them. "You're Harry Potter," he stated.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, wondering if he would ever need to introduce himself. He felt himself being scrutinized.

"How do you feel about the 1965 Ban on Experimental Breeding?"

Harry was thrown by the question. "Um. It's fine, I guess?" The man frowned, and Draco stepped on his foot. "I mean, y'know, for—other people," he said awkwardly. "I suppose it's rubbish. I've got a friend who—"

"So you wouldn't be inclined to go running to the Ministry if you found somebody breaking it?"

"N-no," Harry said, growing increasingly nervous. Given all his years with Hagrid, he knew this line of questioning never lead to anything good.

The red-haired, brown-bearded man continued to measure him, and then finally stepped outside, closing the door behind him. "If it were to get back to the Ministry, I'd know who to look for, now wouldn't I?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Right then. I'm McMillian. Come around back, now, and watch your mouth. You wouldn't want to startle the parliament."

Harry's eyes bugged out, and he stared at Draco. "What on earth—"

"Stay quiet," Draco said softly, taking Harry's hand. "And don't look so panicked."

They rounded the back of the house, and Harry stopped in his tracks. In front of him was the largest flock of birds he had ever seen, including the Hogwarts Owlery. There were hawks, eagles, owls, Augureys and Fwoopers—the last two Harry could thank Hagrid for knowing—and all sorts of other birds he didn't recognize. And was that a phoenix, perched in a tree so high Harry could hardly see it?

"Haven't got any of your hybrids left," McMillian said to Draco. "Never figured I'd need them again, seeing as I didn't think you'd dare show your face around here. But there's a new crop of eagles, and snowy owls, plus I think I've finally gotten every color of Fwooper available, including a few that don't come naturally, if you're up to the task." Harry, who had learned all about the Fwooper's song, was not eager to hear it again.

"Draco, what are we doing here?" he asked quietly, still looking at the birds. There were just so many, he couldn't get his eyes to focus on a single bird. "You've got Capry, haven't you? You aren't going to trade him in just because he's a little hyperactive?"

McMillian laughed, a booming sound that frightened several birds into flight. "Capricornius, I remember him. Could hardly forget such a ridiculous bird. He nearly flew off with half my flock once, dunno how. How's he doing these days?"

"As well as can be expected," Draco replied. Then he smiled a bit. "Very affectionate, that owl."

"Aye, the crazy ones always are. Anyway, you can have your pick, as long as you can pay for it."

"Draco, what—"

"I'm getting you an owl, what does it look like?" Draco said. "Or an eagle, or whatever you want. It's unbecoming of you not to have one, and besides, I've seen how you look at Capry, longing for a bird of your own. I haven't seen that snowy owl in ages, so I figure it must be gone."

"She was murdered by a Death Eater," Harry said tightly.

"Oh," Draco said, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Yes, well, gone, like I said. Everybody in society has a bird, and I've made it my mission to make you presentable." Draco paused. "And, y'know, it's a thank you gift, from me and Mother. But mostly it's for appearances, and sending the occasional letter, I suppose."

Harry pulled Draco into a tight hug. "I'm going to pretend the only reason you gave me is that I miss having an owl," he said quietly. "The rest is rubbish, and I don't want to think about it."

Draco hugged him back. "Remember the thank you as well," he said. "Truly, Harry, no matter how rubbish you think it is."

Harry brushed his lips against Draco's cheek and pulled away. "So…any of these?"

"Aye," McMillian said. "The Malfoys have never pinched a single penny when it comes to birds." He paused. "I heard old Dommy passed away," he said. "If I was speaking to your father, I'd send my regards."

Draco stiffened. "Yes, he's gone. My aunt used him as target practice."

McMillian shook his head. "What a waste of such a fine bird."

"Indeed." Harry could feel Draco willing himself to relax. "So, Harry, see any you like? The snowy owls are over there, if you'd like a replacement."

Harry shook his head. "No. Hedwig was special, and I don't want a reminder of her every time I get post."

"I assume you'd find an eagle too ostentatious," Draco said. "It's a shame. They're remarkable birds, especially McMillian's."

"Is that a phoenix up there?" Harry asked, pointing at the topmost branch of the tree.

McMillian laughed. "Aye, she's a phoenix. You've got quite the taste, Harry Potter, but I'm afraid not even Malfoy's pockets run that deep."

Harry flushed. "No, no I didn't want it, I've just only seen one before, and—"

"You can stop stammering any time you'd like," McMillian interrupted. "There's not a wizard alive who isn't drawn to a phoenix. You can go walk around, if you'd like, see the birds closer. Just mind your manners and you'll be fine."

Harry walked forward hesitantly. The birds were perched in all manner of ways; on trees, mostly small ones, the house itself, a handful of manmade structures, some even hopping about on the ground. Harry carefully avoided these, trying to keep an eye on both his feet and the birds surrounding him. He was utterly overwhelmed; how was he supposed to pick one out of the hundreds that resided here? All those years ago when Hagrid had gotten him Hedwig, he had thought Eeylops Owl Emporium overwhelming. Clearly, he had been very, very wrong.

"You can always let the bird chose you," McMillian said. "That's how some go about it. They give a whistle and see what comes."

Harry found he liked this idea very much. He whistled, high and clear, and waited. Just as he was about to think nothing had happened and he would be bird-less forever, a large barn owl swooped down from the roof and landed on his outstretched arm. It looked at Harry, seeming to evaluate him, and Harry stayed quiet, letting the bird do as it seemed fit. Then, after what felt like ages, it hooted quietly, scooted onto his shoulder, and nipped at his ear.

McMillian laughed again. "I see you've made a friend there. Beautiful owl, excellent lineage. His father won many a competition, and his mother was the best rat-catcher I've ever known. This here's the sixth out of a litter of seven. It's male, if you can't tell."

Harry cautiously pet the owl, very aware of all the times he had encountered animals with Hagrid. But he was met with an entirely pleased response, the owl pushing back against his hand and trilling in the back of his throat, sounding almost like a purring cat. "He's brilliant," Harry said. He'd never thought he'd have an owl as wonderful as Hedwig, and while this bird was hardly the same, Harry found he was already rather attached to it.

"That'll be two hundred galleons."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Draco, you don't have to do this. Eeylops has got owls for a fraction of the price."

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco said, reaching into a pouch and pulling out a handful of galleons. "Those birds are practically brain dead compared to McMillian's. A barn owl is hardly high society, but if it's what you want, then it will be yours. Your owl will be trained as well as Mother's eagle, and no doubt far better than Capry."

"You—you're sure," Harry said.

"Of course," Draco replied, handing the galleons over. "Now come on, we're going to be late for lunch."

"Always rushing off to some engagement or another, that's a Malfoy for you," McMillian said. "If you've got a problem with the owl, I've got a ten day return policy. Store credit, naturally."

Harry rejoined Draco, the owl still on his shoulder. "I don't think that'll be a problem," Harry said.

"Never is," McMillian said. "Except with those bloody Parkinsons. Never satisfied, always complaining about something or other.

"And Draco, it wasn't that awful seeing you again. Your father is no longer welcome here, as he is well aware of, but I suppose you can come back, if you need to."

Draco nodded. "Until we meet again."

McMillian tipped an invisible hat, and then they were gone.

Harry gasped in fresh air, feeling his feet planted firmly on the cobblestones, his new owl still on his shoulder as if nothing had happened. "You could've warned me first!" he said.

Draco shrugged. "It's just apparating. Have you got any ideas for a name?" he asked as they walked to the Three Broomsticks.

"Er, no, not a clue," Harry said.

"I've got a suggestion, if you aren't opposed to such things."

"By all means."

Draco stopped walking and took Harry's hand, looking almost shy. "I—I thought maybe Brian would be suiting," he said. "I don't know if you want such a constant reminder of Dumbledore, but I thought maybe you might like it, and Percival and Wulfric are just so preposterous—"

Harry silenced him with a hug. "Brian is perfect. Draco, thank you, so much."

Draco flushed, just slightly. "It's nothing."