Harry didn't visit Remus that night. He was too heartbroken. And while Remus would no doubt have been a great comfort, this was one ache Harry didn't want soothed. It seemed to deserve the respect of being felt fully for as long as it chose to reside. Harry had no right feeling better while Hermione was hurting, especially when she now had no one to go to herself to ease it.

She didn't sit with him the next day at breakfast, but she didn't avoid him. They greeted each other sadly but with fondness. It seemed she couldn't handle his nearness again just yet, so Harry allowed her her space.

It did not go unnoticed. Harry tried to ignore the smug look on Draco's face. Despite the bruising at the inner corners of his eyes which Harry had inflicted the day before, he looked in better spirits than he had since term began. He sat straighter, and his attention to Hermione across the aisle was bold and, to Harry's mind, inappropriate. Luckily, Hermione seemed too much in her own thoughts to return it.

"Trouble in paradise?" someone whispered behind him while Harry pushed his breakfast across his plate with his fork as if trying to nudge his appetite into returning. By the time he located the speaker, she was already halfway to the exit, but she glanced back at him with a sly smile.

Harry couldn't tell if the comment had been mean-spirited, but he decided to ignore it...until a neatly folded note floated over from Merlin-knows-where and landed prettily in front of him on the table. Harry looked around and finally found a group of girls at the Ravenclaw table, hunched together, looking his way and giggling. One girl, however, looked away with a blush. Harry opened the note to read, in big, bubbly letters in pink ink:

'If you're lonely, I'll be by the Astronomy Tower tonight after curfew.'

It was punctuated with several curly hearts and little x's. As Harry was reading, the giggles appeared to attract Hermione's attention. Seeing them all looking in Harry's direction, she looked herself and noticed the scrap of parchment he held, bleeding with pink, and seemed to contract in on herself on realising what it must be. Harry, making sure he was clearly seen by the group, crumpled the note into the smallest ball he could manage and flicked it across the table. The giggling stopped. Harry tried to look over apologetically at Hermione, but she wouldn't meet his eye.

Harry arrived at Snape's offices again that night at the prescribed hour. Again, Snape led him with no prelude into the classroom. Harry turned automatically to the sink, but Snape stopped him.

"Hands," he demanded, holding out one of his own to receive them.

Harry offered one for inspection. Snape examined his fingers closely. They were almost completely healed but apparently did not pass muster. The Potions Master retrieved more salve from the cabinet. Then, his face completely impassive, Snape worked the ointment into Harry's skin himself, treating each finger with thorough care. It was a strange experience for Harry. It felt nice but in an uncomfortable way. Because this was Snape massaging his hands. Not in an overly delicate manner, but also not without gentleness.

Snape never looked at him, and when he was finished, after examining Harry's fingers once more and seeming satisfied, he simply said, "Cauldrons," and went to his desk.

Harry was more careful this time and also much slower. The anger that had fuelled his fervour the night before had completely left him, replaced by deep sadness. Several times, he seemed to forget what he was doing, drifting off into thought and merely standing there, wool held still in his hand while he tried to think of some way to bridge this schism with Hermione. Each time, upon noticing, Snape would merely say: "Harry." It was enough to wake him back to his task, and Harry would resume his chore. The pile of clean cauldrons, however, was much smaller than the night before.

"So. Did this feel like punishment, Harry?" Snape asked him again. Thankfully, Harry's hands needed no medical attention this time.

"Yes, Professor," Harry said mechanically, still not looking at him as he did so.

Snape stared at him quietly for a moment, then he pulled out his wand and summoned a plate with two pieces of dry toast and thrust it into Harry's hands so that he had no choice but to accept it or else let it fall to the floor. "Tomorrow."

It was not so late when Harry returned to Gryffindor, and the Common Room was occupied. Harry did not find Hermione and so went to his room and collected his cloak, not caring what his housemates thought of the Portrait swinging open for seemingly no reason as it allowed him outside. Harry removed his cloak entirely before knocking on Remus' door this time.

"There you are," Remus said warmly, standing aside to allow Harry entry. "I missed you last night."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Harry replied weakly. He didn't even make it to the couch, he stopped drifting halfway there and stood dejectedly in the middle of the room.

Remus came beside and draped a hand on his shoulder, drawing Harry's attention. The concern he saw displayed on Remus' face made Harry ache in a way he didn't understand. Remus took him gently by both shoulders to look down at him. "Harry, what's happened?" he asked softly, his eyes reflecting Harry's sadness.

Without answering, Harry ducked his head to let it rest in the centre of Remus' chest, and Remus responded by wrapping his arms around him and drawing him closer. Harry sighed wearily and allowed himself, arms hanging at his sides, to be held. "Everything's all wrong, Remus," he mumbled plaintively into Remus' shirt.

Remus stroked Harry's hair before drawing back to see tears standing in the young man's eyes. "Come and sit down," he insisted, pushing Harry lightly in the direction of the sofa before he bustled over to retrieve the tea tray. He wrapped Harry's hand around a steaming cup of it before carefully sitting beside him, waiting for Harry to decide he was ready to speak.

"Remus, what do you do when someone you care about...when you don't feel the same way about each other?" Harry asked the contents of his teacup.

Remus scowled lightly, slipping his hand over Harry's wrist. "Is this about Hermione?" he asked sympathetically.

Harry glanced over and just nodded.

"You know, Harry, she probably just needs more time," Remus began carefully. "And perhaps you should take things more slowly, as well. I know this is a confusing time. Grief can be mistaken for any number of different emotions. Perhaps what you're feeling isn't really what you think it is."

Harry was momentarily confused. "No. It...it's the other way round," he explained.

"Oh," Remus exclaimed softly, "Oh, I see." Though he didn't seem to and took a moment to process it. Harry noticed Remus' fingers briefly tighten on his wrist before sliding off almost self-consciously.

"I hate that I hurt her feelings," Harry went on, "but I don't know what to do that won't make things worse. And I need her, too. Just not in the same way."

"It's a hard situation," said Remus, seeming to be thinking of one of his own. He took a deep breath and shook his head, not looking at Harry as he spoke. "There's not really a solution. Time makes things easier. Or well, she'll eventually learn how to deal with it. It may never go away but you figure out how to get on with it, at least."

Harry looked at Remus thoughtfully, wondering what past rejection he might be remembering and how anyone could turn down such a kind and considerate person. Harry wondered if it had to do with Remus' Lycanthropy. Or maybe the blokes he fancied just didn't fancy blokes. In fact, Remus must have been well acquainted with rejection; from society in general, but also likely from potential partners. Being both gay and a werewolf couldn't be easy.

Harry pushed aside his own mess of feelings about Hermione and devoted what was left to Remus, reaching over and placing his hand over the ones Remus clasped together between his knees and squeezing the knot of fingers firmly. Surprised, Remus looked up and locked eyes with Harry.

"Thank you, Remus. For always being here for me. And I'm here for you, too," he told him, his voice surprisingly fickle, "just so you know."

Remus swallowed hard, and the hands beneath Harry's seemed to tremble slightly. He cleared his throat. "Thank you, Harry," he rasped, "but don't you worry about me." He forced a smile. "Now, what do you say we drink this before it gets cold?" He patted Harry's hand, but quickly, and then occupied both his own with a cup of tea.

It was a little off-putting, and Harry wondered on how Remus could seem both eager and reluctant to touch Harry all at the same time. He also wondered on his own complete lack of reluctance, considering.

"So just leave it, then?" Harry asked. Remus had seemed distracted when Harry had spoken and so was confused by the question. Harry clarified, "The thing with Hermione. It'll work out alright, won't it?"

"I can't imagine it not," Remus assured him. "A friendship as strong as yours can surely weather a little thing like this."

It didn't seem little to Harry, but he trusted Remus' judgement and experience, and he nodded, actually feeling relieved.

Harry left for Gryffindor buoyed. The quiet of the corridors was comforting, so Harry decided to take the long way back to the Tower so he could think. Surely Remus was right. This was Hermione. Harry couldn't imagine anything that would so queer their friendship that it could not recover. He only needed to be patient. In the meantime, he would focus on his training, and when she was ready, he'd be waiting for her. It seemed so simple when one considered it. Harry actually smiled, having finally convinced himself that everything would be okay, when he heard voices in a disused classroom he was passing. Harry lightened his step to avoid notice, and he had padded all the way past the slightly opened door when he could have sworn he heard his name.

"I can tell Harry doesn't want to talk about any of these things."

Harry stopped and strained his hearing to be sure. But, inexplicably, it was. It was Hermione. Who in Hell was she out talking to? In a deserted classroom after curfew, no less. He tiptoed back to the door and listened.

"But perhaps I need to talk about them," she went on. "He never seems to stop to consider that. Though, it probably just hasn't occurred to him. I know boys are different, bottling everything up."

"Obviously, not all boys."

Harry went rigid. There was no mistaking the other voice.

"Thank you," she said softly. "These past couple of weeks, I've felt as though I might just burst."

"Yeah. It's been nice having someone so kind and understanding to listen to me, too."

Harry gently pushed on the door so that it swung open silently and unnoticed by the classroom's occupants, his wand-hand twitching.

Hermione and Draco sat together atop a desk too small for them to maintain an appropriate distance. Their shoulders brushed and Draco's head was tipped toward Hermione, who seemed reluctant to close the distance but not reluctant enough. Harry watched as their faces drifted closer to one another. He felt frozen, as though he were watching a horror film and was unable to prevent the tragedy about to unfold. Before their lips touched, however, with a mighty effort, Harry found his voice.

"Hermione, have you gone mad?! "

They both started, and Hermione sprang to her feet in surprise. Harry ripped off his cloak, looking like he was about to start breathing fire. Draco, far from acting intimidated, gave Harry a nasty, taunting look and then cast a more curious one to the cloak clutched in a death grip in Harry's hand. The little prick clearly had no idea how dangerous Harry had really become. His scar roused itself with a flash like a struck match and he blasted murderous intent toward Draco with every breath, just moments away from doing something completely and irreversibly ill-advised.

Hermione situated herself between them, blocking Draco from Harry's line of sight. "Now, Harry," she said soothingly, sensing impending violence and raising both her hands in a placating gesture. "Just calm down."

"Calm down? You were half a second away from snogging that piece of dragon dung," he declared, pointing an angry finger at Draco, "and I'm meant to be calm? "

"Yes," she hissed, becoming angry herself, "you are. It's no business of yours whom I kiss! Especially since you don't..." She bit off the last of that sentence with a pained look but did not back down. "You have no right to spy on me," she said instead.

"I wasn't spying on you, Hermione," Harry snapped back. "I was just-"

"I know where you were," she interrupted in an accusatory tone. Harry was taken aback by the rich bitterness in her voice. It was a reminder that this Hermione was no longer quite the Hermione he once knew. His scar quieted but his sense of misgiving did not.

Hermione's bitterness faded as well, though, and she looked at Harry almost sympathetically. Draco seemed to have been forgotten by the both of them, and he stepped back into the shadows to keep it that way.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Please, don't do this to yourself."

"Do what?" Harry asked, unsure what turn the conversation had just taken. Why was she looking at him like that? Like she about to break it to him that his pet goldfish had died or something. "Hermione, what on earth are you talking about?"

She sighed and shook her head sadly again. "He won't have you, you know. I understand you can't be with me. But don't think it's in favour of him."

Harry's pulse quickened. Something swam at the back of his mind, some understanding, some connection just waiting to be made. "Hermione, I-"

"It's all over both of you," she winced, "I've seen it. But...Remus will never succumb to his feelings for you, Harry. He just isn't that kind of man."

Behind them, Draco gasped at the disclosure. Harry's cheeks burned and Hermione's hand flew to her mouth, realising what she'd just said and who she'd said it in front of. Harry reached for his wand, desperately wanting to Obliviate Draco, but Hermione lay a hand on his arm, stilling it. Harry still glared at Draco but couldn't stop from whispering to Hermione the question on the tip of his tongue.

"Why would you think I'd want him to?"

Hermione's brow furrowed pityingly and she laid a hand on his cheek to both comfort him and pull his gaze from Draco. "Harry," she whispered, "do you really not know?"

Something broke in him. Harry gasped, recognition crashing into him with the force of a tsunami:

Remus' attention. The touch of his hand making Harry's tingle, even just remembering. Sandy hair, the brush of lips. Bloody hell, Harry'd been dreaming of it and he hadn't even realised it.

The onslaught of memories and sudden understanding overwhelmed him, disoriented him, and he stumbled back away from Hermione. His gaze took in her embarrassed regret and Draco's sneering disgust, but they barely registered over the roaring revelation that he was attracted to Remus.

Sexually.

To his guardian.

His male friend.

His very close gay male friend.

"You two do whatever in Hell you want," he muttered, backing toward the door. "I don't even care anymore."

"Harry, wait," Hermione pleaded, but Harry was already gone, out the door and running...running all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, his cloak flapping in his hand beside him, not caring if he was caught or who caught him or what would happen if they did.

I'm attracted to Remus. It played over and over in his head, begging to be understood. I'm attracted to Remus. I might be gay and I'm attracted to Remus.

He reached his room unmolested and flung himself onto his bed, yanking closed the curtains to kneel on his mattress and hug himself, winded and shaking.

"You okay there, Harry?" Neville mumbled sleepily from his bunk.

Harry couldn't answer. He was trying not to have an aneurysm. When he received no answer, Neville drifted back to sleep. Harry listened to his soft snore and eventually managed to calm himself by degrees. He untangled himself from himself to flop back onto his pillow, thinking.

He realised the concept didn't bother him as much as he thought it might. Now that Harry's panic had subsided, somewhere in the deepest parts of him, there was acceptance.

It wasn't even that. It was more a feeling of, 'so you finally figured it out'. Once his shock wore off, Harry was left with a mild amazement. His subconscious had announced he was sexually attracted to men and his conscious self had basically just said, "Huh, well fancy that." Somehow, it had never occurred to him. Not really.

That wasn't entirely true, though, was it? He hadn't allowed himself to consider it, but it had been there, at least since Grimmauld Place. It had been right in front of his face but he had refused to acknowledge it. He should have known, by the way he reacted to Remus' eyes on his bare chest, or to the touch of Remus' hand on his shoulder or on the back his hand. He should have recognized it in the way he seemed always to be reaching for Remus himself: stroking his back, hugging him, holding his hand.

Holding his hand! Bloody hell, Harry had really done that. And Remus had held his, had stroked it with his thumb so tenderly. Harry's eyes fell closed at the memory. Now that he allowed it, he realised the remembrance made more than just his fingers tingle.

Oh, gods.

But it was good, was relieving to give his body permission to feel what it had been trying to feel for so long. It was kind of fascinating to Harry that it would react in such a way to such a stimulus. He was...excited, and not just physically. This new possibility, his attraction to Remus, was thrilling now that it was feeling less and less alien.

Harry opened his mind and rummaged through it for every memory he had of him and Remus touching, being somewhat surprised by the volume. Remus' eyes scanning his nakedness had seemed an almost physical thing, so he tossed those onto the pile as well.

That's when Harry accepted the one last piece of the puzzle he'd been resisting. One that he had figured out a long time ago but had not yet linked to his current revelation.

He was attracted to Remus...and Remus was attracted to him.

All the dots seemed to connect directly in Harry's penis. It was amazing how quickly it came to life. It didn't stir, it sprang to attention. Harry groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face, lowering one of them to his crotch, ostensibly to quiet his suddenly restless nether-region. But once there, both his hand and his groin seemed to have other ideas.

Harry took a shaky breath. Was he really about to do this? The truth was he was doing it already, he realised. Listening for evidence of Neville's continued slumber first, Harry finally surrendered. He closed his eyes and opened the front of his jeans.

Harry called to mind the way Remus looked at him in those rare, unguarded moments-the hunger and intensity of his stare-and he shivered. He took the memory of Remus stroking the back of his hand and transferred it, imagining that those gentle, attentive fingers were stroking his shaft instead. He moved his own hand in unison with the fantasy.

Harry bit his lip to stifle the moan that threatened. It wasn't like Harry had never wanked behind his bed hangings before. He was a teenaged boy, it's kind of what they did. But his typical, fevered routine had never been this satisfying when thinking about Cho, or even that one time about Ginny. It had always been quick. Purposeful. He'd never taken this much care, had never managed to so realistically visualise the sensation of a hand other than his own sliding up and down his swollen length. Harry added to it everything he could remember about the wet dream he'd woken to days prior. He imagined burying his fingers in soft, short, sandy hair as Remus chuckled breathily in his ear at Harry's enthusiasm before claiming Harry's mouth with his own...kissing him gently at first, then with more urgency while Remus' hand worked his erection more and more thoroughly, breaking off only to whisper Harry's own name against his lips when the young man came.

Harry gasped as his balls seized. His orgasm rocked him in waves, which had never really happened to him before. Not to this extent.

Gods, it had taken so little-embarrassingly little-to drive him over the edge. And it had been good. It had been enlightening.

But fuck...what in Hell did Harry do about it now?