Dear Mother,

I'm sorry that I haven't had the time to write to you recently. Let me first assuage your fears that you expressed in your previous letter: I am fine. I will admit that this year hasn't been without its difficulties—as we both expected there would be—but in all honesty, things have been better than expected. Lessons are dull as always but I'm confident that I'll pass my N.E.W.T.s. easily enough. Interestingly, in place of a Quidditch Tournament, one of the professors has arranged for the seventh year students to perform a play in front of the school at the end of term. You'll be pleased to hear that I have the starring role in the play…

Draco paused and read over what he had written. Of course, he'd omitted some key details from the letter, like the fact that it was his Muggle Studies professor who had arranged for them to be performing a famous Muggle play. But Draco had learned long ago that what his parents didn't know couldn't hurt them. It wasn't as though they'd ever see him perform in the play anyway. He also thought better than to mention the hassle he'd been receiving from the other students. The last thing that he needed was his mother marching up to McGonagall's office and demanding action against the perpetrators. Besides, since he and Harry had started seeing each other, the bullying from the other students didn't bother him nearly as much as it used to. Dipping his quill into ink, he continued to write.

I've met someone.

Draco immediately scratched that out. There was a part of him that wanted to tell his mother about Harry, to just be honest about his feelings, but deep down, he knew that he wouldn't do that. Draco Malfoy had never been famed for his bravery. He tried to imagine telling his parents and them being completely fine and accepting of his relationship with Harry but he knew that was wishful thinking. No, it was better just to keep things between him and Harry quiet for the time being—at least until Draco was certain of Harry's feelings for him, that whatever they had was something worth the risk of his parents' wrath. As strong as his feelings were for Harry, it was still early days in their relationship. His secret beau might live with his heart on his sleeve but Draco was far more cautious with his feelings. Draco thought for a moment what he could say to his mother instead before writing….

I've made a new friend. (Yes, that sounded much better) They've had a rather difficult couple of years as well and it's nice to talk to someone else who has had similar experiences. We have quite a few things in common, actually. They were as disappointed as I was about the lack of Quidditch this year but at least we can enjoy our weekend trips to Hogsmeade again.

Draco decided that it was best to keep things as vague as possible and give his mother just enough information to keep her ticking over until he saw her again over the Christmas holidays. He scribbled down a few other lines about missing her and the Manor, and, as an afterthought, added that he hoped Father was keeping well. His mother hadn't mentioned his father in her previous letter and Draco didn't care to ask about him. He assumed that the Malfoy patriarch was still cooped up in his drawing room, stewing over how hard done by he and the family were. Draco didn't much care for his father's self-pity and he had more important things to contend with, like memorising his lines for this bloody play.

Looking up from the draft letter he had resting on his lap, he watched as Harry, Ginny and Ron strode across the stage, rehearsing one of their scenes. He wasn't acting in any scenes today so had settled himself in one of the balconies, taking advantage of the free time to finally write back to his mother. He'd been meaning to do it for a few days now but what with all of his homework, rehearsals and sneaking about the castle with Harry, Draco had very little spare time to do anything else. Okay, perhaps he had been avoiding writing her a letter but better late than never, he reasoned.

"How are rehearsals coming along?"

Draco tensed as he recognised the voice and quickly covered his letter with a blank piece of parchment. Looking up, he was shocked to see Theo sidling along the narrow walkway before taking the empty seat beside him.

"What do you want?" he asked, making no attempt to hide the irritation in his voice. Theo shrugged and pulled his script out from his back pocket.

"I saw you sitting up here on your own and thought that we could rehearse our lines together," he offered.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Well that would be a rather pointless exercise, wouldn't it?"

"Why's that?"

"Because we don't have any scenes together," he pointed out. "But I think you already knew that. So, why don't you tell me what you really want?"

Theo stared at him for a moment before he let out a derisive snort and tossed his script onto the empty seat next to him. "Alright, smartarse, you win. I came up here because I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

Theo cleared his throat and bowed his head, unable to meet Draco's eye. "Ginny and I have been talking…"

"Ooh, on first name terms now, are you?" Draco sneered. "So, the rumours about you two are true, then? I wonder what your father would have to say about that."

"Don't," Theo warned in a low, dangerous voice.

Draco smirked at Theo but he knew better than to push his luck. Theo would have no qualms about hexing him in the middle of the theatre in front of their peers. But Draco couldn't help himself; he had so much pent up anger and frustration about how his former friend had treated him that he couldn't help but lash out at him whenever the opportunity arose, even if he was holding out some sort of olive branch. Theo took a couple of deep breaths before speaking again.

"Look, I know that things between us have been...awkward, lately…"

Draco scoffed. "Awkward for you, maybe. I've had more important things on my mind than to concern myself with you."

Theo snarled and threw his hands up into the air in frustration. "Urgh, you always do this!"

"What?" asked Draco innocently.

"Act like a spiteful little shit any time someone hurts your feelings," he snapped. "I get it: I hurt your feelings. My bad. Well, I'm trying to do the right thing here and sort things out with you but you're making that impossible because you insist on acting like a child!"

"Don't get all high and mighty with me!" Draco hissed. "Doing the right thing? Since when has that ever factored into anything that you do? Oh, let me guess, the Weaslette sent you up here to talk to me, didn't she?"

"Yeah, she did, actually," Theo confirmed, glaring at Draco. "Pretty stupid idea, wasn't it?"

"Pretty and stupid is the Weaslette in a nutshell," he drawled, delighting at the angry vein pulsing at the side of Theo's neck. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who decided that we weren't friends anymore. Now that you're regretting your decision, you think that you can crawl over here and act as though nothing happened? Well, think again. I'd rather have no friends than bad ones."

Theo gritted his teeth and turned away from Draco, muttering under his breath, "This was pointless…"

"I couldn't agree more." Draco pulled his own script out of his bag and opened it at a random page, pretending to find its contents more interesting than Theo's furious expression. "Now if that's all, kindly piss off so that I can get back to rehearsing in peace."

Theo jumped to his feet and snatched his script off of the chair and glowered down at Draco, who stared hard at his own script without actually reading any of the words on the page.

"You're one to talk about rumours," said Theo darkly. "There's been plenty of rumours flying around about you...and Potter."

Draco felt his stomach drop at those words but he kept his expression impassive. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Theo smirked. "'Course you don't." He leant closer to Draco and said quietly, "If you think that you two are being subtle, I hate to break it to you, but you're about as subtle as an Erumpent in a china shop. People are already talking about you two, so it won't take long for word to get back to your parents. I wonder what your father would have to say about that, eh?"

With those parting words, Theo stalked off, leaving Draco feeling sick to his stomach. He glanced around at his classmates, each of whom was busy doing their own thing—catching up on homework, rehearsing lines together, practising their dance moves and sword routines—and wondered who else knew about him and Harry. Surely they weren't being that obvious; they had been very careful not to be seen by anyone, not to touch each other too often in public...Oh Merlin, maybe they were being too nice to each other?

No. Theo didn't know anything. He was only saying that he did because he was trying to get a rise out of Draco.

Ginny knows, he reminded himself.

Would Ginny tell Theo? he wondered. Harry was adamant that she could be trusted, but then Draco had always thought Harry, by his very nature, was too trusting. Saint Potter, he thought woefully. Always determined to see the good in everyone, even when there was none to be found. The fact that Harry was inexplicably attracted to Draco illustrated that perfectly.

Draco read through the draft letter to his mother again.

I've made a new friend…

Draco's cheeks burned as he read the words and their true meaning. He scrunched up the letter before pulling a fresh piece of parchment from his school bag. Dipping his quill into the inkpot, he began writing a new letter, this time making no mention of his 'new friend': it was clear that any mention of Harry, even if it wasn't by name, was too risky. When he had finished writing, he read the newer, much shorter letter and felt a sharp pang of guilt; it felt like a lie, not telling his mother about something—someone—so important to him. But then Draco's life had been embroiled in secrets and lies for as long as he could remember. What harm would having one more do?

"Excellent performance today, everyone," Liv's voice carried all the way to the lofty balcony where Draco was sitting. "Let's take a five-minute break before continuing, shall we?"

Looking relieved to get off stage, Harry sheathed his wooden sword and hurried towards the nearest balcony stairwell. Draco quickly shoved his letter into his school bag out of sight and opened his script before Harry could ask about what he had been writing. A minute later, Harry appeared, a big smile on his face as he flopped into the empty seat to Draco's left.

"So, what did you think?"

"About what?" asked Draco mildly, lowering his script.

"My performance," he pressed. "I got to swing my sword about for a bit today. Weren't you watching?"

"No, I'd much rather see you swinging the real thing about," Draco teased and Harry's grin broadened.

"Well, hopefully we'll get the chance to cross swords later tonight," said Harry suggestively, resting his hand on Draco's knee. Mindful of what Theo had said, Draco tensed and quickly glanced around to make sure that they were alone. Harry seemed to sense his apprehension and gave his leg a reassuring squeeze. "Nobody can see us up here. You don't have to worry."

"I'm not worried," he lied, keeping his voice low. "I just prefer to be cautious."

Harry nodded in understanding and gave Draco's leg another slight squeeze before removing his hand completely. Draco had the overwhelming urge to grab Harry's hand and kiss him hard on the mouth in front of everyone, to hell with the consequences. He wished that he were that brave. Instead, he neatly folded his hands on his lap and bowed his head.

"We'll be lucky to have any time to ourselves tonight, what with all of the Halloween festivities," he mused.

Harry's face lit up again at the mention of the Halloween party. It surprised Draco how excited Harry was about it, considering he had already claimed that he hated big parties. In fact, everyone in Hogwarts seemed to be looking forward to it; Draco had overheard Professors Switch and Sprout discussing their costumes and Liv had dedicated a full week of lessons familiarising her students with Muggle horror films. Even the Slytherins, who usually made a conscious effort not to participate in pointless school activities such as these, had gotten into the spirit of things: Pansy had paraded around the Slytherin common room showing off her Cleopatra outfit while Professor Slughorn had heartily recited the Song of the Witches while the class had brewed Veritserum in the classroom.

"So, are you going to tell me what you're dressing up as?" asked Harry for what must have been the hundredth time. Draco smirked and shook his head.

"It's a surprise. You'll just have to wait and see," he teased.

"If I guess correctly, you have to tell me," Harry looked thoughtful for a moment then his expression grew worried. "Oh god, you're not dressing up like me, are you?"

Draco scoffed. "Certainly not! Merlin, you're quite the narcissist, aren't you? Besides, I'm supposed to be dressing up as someone from the Muggle world. Your magical abilities might be somewhat lacking in certain areas, but you're no Muggle."

Harry cocked his eyebrow at Draco. "I don't know whether I should be insulted or flattered by that comment."

"A little bit of both," Draco quipped.

A sudden chorus of shouts and insults drew Harry and Draco's attention away from each other and towards the stage where yet another argument had erupted between the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Harry groaned as he saw that this time, Ron and Theo were at the centre of the dispute; they stood inches apart, bellowing in each other's faces and pointing their toy swords threateningly at one another while Liv tried to shout over them both to calm down. Harry slowly rose to his feet and gave Draco an apologetic look.

"I better get down there before they kill each other," he sighed.

"Wouldn't that be tragic," said Draco sarcastically.

Harry rolled his eyes before turning and hurrying towards the stairwell. Suddenly, a loud whack rang throughout the empty theatre quickly followed by a squeal of pain. Draco snapped his head back to the stage and laughed when he saw Ron hopping around on one leg, holding his foot.

"That is enough!" Liv bellowed, marching onto the stage and snatching the wooden sword from Theo's hand. "We solve our disputes with words, Mr Nott, not wands or toy swords!"

"It was an accident," Theo lied, an amused grin spread across his face. Ron's face turned as red as his hair and he rounded on the cheeky Slytherin.

"You did it on purpose, you wanker!" he shouted.

"Language, Mr Weasley!" Liv warned.

Draco chuckled to himself as Theo continued to do a marvellous job winding up Ron. He thought about how he and Theo would laugh about it later but quickly reminded himself that they weren't friends anymore. They had been friends for so long that he still had to stop himself from turning and chatting to Theo during classes or greet him during mealtimes. He told himself that it was merely a force of habit, but the truth was that he missed his friend. In an instant, his amusement had soured and he didn't much feel like laughing anymore.

Sure, Theo had taken the first step to try and repair their friendship by offering an olive branch to Draco, but if Theo knew Draco at all, he should have realised his folly: he had hurt Draco's pride and that was something that he always had trouble forgiving. Even though Draco desperately wanted to be friends with Theo again, his own stubbornness prevented him from forgiving and forgetting the slight against him; it just wasn't the Malfoy way.

Sleeping with the enemy wasn't 'the Malfoy way' either, yet he seemed to have no qualms about doing that, he reminded himself. Draco supposed that if he and Harry could get to a place where they not only tolerated one another but actually liked each other, then there was still hope yet for him and Theo.

While Liv chastised Theo and Ron for their childish behaviour and dished out detentions for both of them, Draco opened up his script and focused on memorising his lines for real this time. He might not be as excited about the party as Harry was, but he was rather looking forward to spending the evening with Harry in public instead of hiding in broom cupboards and empty classrooms. Well, spending the evening together as friends, at least as far as everyone else was concerned. Which was fine. That's what he wanted...wasn't it?

After their lesson had ended, the students headed down to the Great Hall for their lunch. As it was All Hallow's Eve, the house-elves went to the effort of making the feast extra spooky to celebrate the occasion: there were candied apples, of course, sugar mice and large chocolate cupcakes bewitched to look like bats that flapped overhead while everyone ate their lunch. A few of the students had tried to snatch one of the tasty confections out of mid-air but so far the bats had evaded capture, flying out of reach every time someone tried to grab one. At the centre of the table was a large platter of strawberry jelly fashioned to look like a human brain, which Draco thought looked far less appetising than the cupcakes. As he took his usual seat next to Harry at the Gryffindor table, Ron was still fuming about his altercation with Theo.

"I always thought you were a prat, Malfoy, but Nott is a hundred times worse," he grumbled, aggressively spearing the Cumberland sausage on his plate. Draco chuckled and put a Jack-o'-Lantern pot pie on his own plate.

"Careful, Weasley, that almost sounded like a compliment," he joked.

"I'm being serious!" said Ron hotly, glaring in Theo's direction. "Look at him sitting there with that smug look on his stupid face. Who does he think he is?"

Draco followed Ron's line of sight and realised what was really bothering him: sat next to Theo, laughing and chatting away to him, was Ginny. Ron's eyes narrowed and he shook his head in disbelief.

"He really is a vile git. I mean, what do they even talk about?" he asked aloud to nobody in particular. "They've got nothing in common!"

"How would you know?" Hermione challenged. "You've never even attempted to get to know him."

"I know enough," he replied darkly.

"They actually have quite a lot in common, if you must know," she continued. "They're both big fans of the Holyhead Harpies—"

"Since when has Ginny supported the Harpies?" Ron scoffed.

"Since forever!" Hermione cried. "Why do you think she has posters of Gwenog Jones all over her bedroom walls?"

Ron shrugged. "I dunno, I never really gave it much thought."

"Oh, what a surprise," said Hermione under her breath.

"I thought Ginny supported the Chudley Cannons," said Ron, sounding a little wounded.

"That's your favourite team, Ronald!" Hermione retorted. "It might surprise you to learn that your sister's her own person; you're not guaranteed to like all of the same things in life. That also goes for people she wants to spend time with and what team she supports. The sooner you learn that, the better."

Ron looked flabbergasted at Hermione's outburst. "Crikey, Mione, next you'll be telling me that you don't like the Chudley Cannons, either."

"I don't!" she raged. "I don't even like Quidditch!"

Draco leant away from Ron and whispered in Harry's ear, "Are they always like this?"

"All the time," he sighed, taking a swig from his goblet. "They'll kiss and make up later. They always do."

Hermione and Ron's argument was momentarily drowned out by a large bang and crackling sound. A few people yelped in surprise at the loud noise while a few others started laughing. Then there was another, louder bang. Draco scanned the room and it took him no time to find the source of the commotion: someone had set off fireworks at the Slytherin table. Several students were covering their heads with their hands while a few of them seemed to enjoy the display of colours exploding above them. It was a beautiful display as fiery sparks of vermillion, gold and silver whizzed across the Slytherin table and across the high ceiling. However, things quickly took a downward turn when someone attempted to vanish the fireworks.

The moment the Vanishing Spell struck them, there was an earth-shattering explosion and the fireworks transformed from harmless Catherine wheels and sparklers into an enormous, fire-breathing dragon. The screams of the students were drowned out by the roar of the flaming dragon as it soared across the Great Hall, its size so all-encompassing that all Draco could see was fire…

Suddenly, the room seemed to lurch and spin. It was like someone had simultaneously struck him over the head with a mallet and knocked the air out of his lungs, transporting him back into the Room of Requirement during the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco was gasping for air but he couldn't catch his breath—all he could smell was gunpowder and burning and ash. Draco's fear seemed to consume him entirely, just like the fire of the monstrous dragon consuming his vision, searing its brilliant light and vivacious colour onto his retinas. The terrifying possibility occurred to him then that perhaps he had never left that room, after all. Maybe the last few months had all been a hallucination and he was actually about to die. Just like Crabbe. Just like everyone else. Oh Godric, he was going to die…

Just as the edges of his vision began to darken, he felt a warm weight cover his body and a soothing voice whispered in his ear. "You're okay, Draco, I'm here. Remember to breathe."

The storm inside Draco's head was still raging, his thoughts spinning and accelerating, telling him to run, that he was trapped and that he was going to die, but Harry's voice was like an anchor dragging him back to shore and Draco hung onto it for dear life.

"That's it," said Harry encouragingly, rubbing his back. "Deep breaths, in and out, in and out…"

As Draco's breaths began to slow and even out, he realised that he was on all fours on the floor of the Great Hall with Harry hunched over him like a protective shield. The dragon was gone, but the tincture of gunpowder lingered in the air. He was drenched in sweat and shaking like he'd just had a bucket of cold water thrown over him, but despite this, he tried to get back up onto his unsteady feet. Harry helped Draco back into the seat he had fallen out of and took the seat next to him, continuing to trace small circles across the bottom of his back.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I'm fine," said Draco hoarsely, although he felt far from it. "What the bloody hell was that?"

"Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs," said Hermione mournfully. "One of Fred and George's creations. Unlike most fireworks, when you attempt to vanish or stun them, they explode and multiply exponentially. Thank god Ron realised what they were, otherwise the entire hall could have gone up in flames."

Draco looked around and finally took in the extent of the chaos around him. The hall was half empty—evidently, a few of the students had made a quick getaway when the dragon had appeared—and those that remained looked dazed and confused. Ron was across the room talking to Professor McGonagall, who looked angrier than Draco had ever seen her before. Liv sat at the high table with her head in her hands, crying as Hestia hugged her tightly. The house banners that normally adorned the walls of the Great Hall were scorched and the Slytherin one was completely burnt away. Where the Slytherin banner once hung proudly, a message had been burnt onto the stone wall in its place: Slytherins and Death Eater Scum, This is your last warning. Leave now or you'll be sorry! P.A.

Professor McGonagall strode to the centre of the room and, without the use of an Amplifying Charm, made sure her voice would be heard by every person in the room.

"Whoever the culprits are of this...cruel and dangerous prank...you would do yourselves a favour by coming forward immediately. Because if you do not, I guarantee we will find out who you are and the punishment will be most severe," she warned, her voice audibly shaking with anger. She scanned the room as though waiting for someone to raise their hand and admit responsibility, but nobody did. However unlikely that was to happen, she still looked disappointed.

"So be it." With lightning speed, she drew her wand, pointed it at the smouldering graffiti on the wall and, with a flick of her wrist, the threatening message was gone and a new Slytherin banner unfurled. Stowing her wand back up her sleeve, she turned her sharp gaze onto the students and staff. "Well? Don't you all have classes to attend?"

As everyone quickly dispersed from the Great Hall, Draco slung his school bag over his shoulder and moved as quickly as he could through the thronging crowd out of the hall, trying to put as much distance between him and Harry as possible. Struggling to keep pace, Harry called after Draco to wait, but Draco pretended that he couldn't hear him and forged ahead. He still felt nauseous after what had just happened, but worse than that was the shame coursing through him for reacting that way to some harmless fireworks. What Harry must think of him…

Draco's shame quickly turned into anger and frustration. He'd made a fool of himself in front of everyone and they'd never let him live it down. Without consciously thinking about where he was going, Draco's feet carried him up the marble staircase along the second floor corridor towards the one place he'd felt safe within Hogwarts. When Draco burst into Myrtle's bathroom, he found his spectral friend floating a few inches off of the ground reading a discarded magazine. She looked up sharply when the door flew open but her face broke out into a wide grin when she realised who it was.

"Draco, you've come to see me!" she squealed delightedly, floating up to Draco's eye level. "Could you do me a favour and flip this magazine I'm reading over to the next page? I've lost count of the number of times I've read the article about that Stubby Boardman fellow…"

Draco strode past her without saying a word. He beelined for one of the grimy sinks and spun the handle on one of the taps, collecting icy cold water in his hands and splashing it across his hot face. The cool water only provided a momentary relief and did nothing to still the maelstrom inside his own head.

"What's the matter?" asked Myrtle concernedly, floating over to Draco's side. "Has something happened?"

"I'm fine," he croaked, pushing his sweat-soaked hair from his eyes. Myrtle, however, wouldn't take the hint and moved closer, studying Draco from different angles.

"You don't look fine," she pressed. "In fact, you seem quite poorly. Do you have a fever? You should go see Madam Pomfrey and—"

"I said I'm fine!" he snapped. "Stop trying to mother me and just leave me be."

Myrtle gaped at Draco as though he had just slapped her across the face. "Who put a Glumbumble in your bonnet? I'm only trying to help!"

Draco glared at Myrtle's reflection through the grubby mirror. "I know you think that you're being helpful, but you're not. The last person that I need health advice from is a dead person, so do yourself a favour and mind your own business for once, will you?"

He regretted the words as they came out of his mouth and he realised that, once again, he had let his temper get the better of him. Myrtle's eyes widened with shock and welled with translucent tears. Guiltridden, Draco's shoulders sagged and he turned to face her.

"Myrtle, I'm sorry—"

"No, you're not!" she wailed. "You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it! You're just like everyone else in this school: you're only interested in me when you need me but once I've outlived my usefulness, you leave. They always leave in the end."

With a final despairing cry, Myrtle reared upwards before diving headfirst into one of the toilets, splashing water all over the bathroom floor. Draco called after her but whether she didn't hear or was ignoring him, she didn't reappear. Draco cursed loudly and slammed the door of the nearest cubicle shut in a fit of temper. The door banged loudly before slowly swinging open again as though it were taunting him—Draco couldn't get anything right today. He slumped against the wall and clamped his eyes shut, wishing that he was anywhere else in the world right now but here. There were only two people in the whole school who didn't hate his guts, and he'd run away from one of them and insulted the other. Just brilliant.

"Draco?"

Slowly, Draco opened his eyes and found Harry standing before him. His expression was sombre but he kept his tone light, "I suppose I don't need to ask how you're doing."

"Please don't," Draco groaned before adding, "Did you use that map of yours to find me?"

Harry shook his head and leant on the wall next to him. "I had a hunch you'd come here. Where's Myrtle?"

"In the pipes somewhere." Draco bowed his head in shame before admitting, "She knew that there was something up with me but when she tried to ask me about it, I lost my temper. I think I hurt her feelings."

Harry sighed and rested his head on Draco's shoulder. "I'm sure she'll forgive you. I'd just give her a bit of time to cool off first before trying to talk to her again. She's liable to try and drown you in toilet water if you tried speaking to her now."

Draco huffed out a weak laugh. "Fair point."

There was a protracted silence before Harry spoke up again, "I know that you don't want to talk about what happened…"

"You're right, I don't," Draco cut in. "So let's just drop it, shall we?"

"Okay."

Draco gritted his teeth in frustration and banged his head against the wall. There he was again, getting defensive and lashing out at anyone who tried to reach out to him. Theo was right—he was childish.

"I'm just…" Draco began to speak, stopped, sighed in frustration and stumbled over his words, but Harry waited patiently for him to say what he needed to say. "Do you know how it feels to be unsure of your own mind? Like you can't even trust your own thoughts and feelings?"

Harry looked up at Draco then with a sincere expression. "I do, actually. Probably not in the same way that you mean, but I have some idea of what it feels like."

"Really?"

Harry nodded. In a sad, twisted sort of way, hearing that made Draco feel a little better.

"It's scary," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I feel like I'm not in control of anything—my future, my life...my mind. I hate it."

"Tell me about it," Harry agreed glumly. "It doesn't help knowing that when you're struggling to keep all of the pieces together, there's a lot of people out there willing you to fail."

"I can handle it most of the time—I'm used to everyone hating me—but sometimes it just gets a bit much."

Harry looked absorbed in his own thoughts for a few moments before his eyes suddenly widened and a smile spread across his face. Grabbing Draco's hand he gave it a slight tug.

"Come on. I have an idea."

Draco groaned and pulled his hand free from Harry's. "Whatever harebrained scheme you have this time, I'm really not in the mood for it."

"It's not a scheme," Harry assured him. "It's something that'll make you feel better. Trust me."

Reluctantly, he followed Harry out of the bathroom, curious what his boyfriend had planned, despite his protests. His curiosity piqued as they hurried through the winding corridors and up several flights of stairs in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Draco presumed that Harry's idea of making him feel better probably involved getting their kit off, but when they entered the deserted boys' dormitory, Harry tossed his school bag onto the floor, threw open the trunk at the bottom of his bed, and pulled out his Firebolt.

"I haven't had the chance to try it out yet," he said, holding the broomstick out to Draco. Draco looked between the broomstick and Harry.

"You want me to ride it first?" he asked.

"I want to ride it with you," said Harry. "You get to drive this time."

Draco glanced out of the nearby window at the grey cloudy sky. It wasn't great weather for flying, but then it never failed to lift his spirits. He smiled at Harry and took the proffered broomstick from his outstretched hand, but as he turned to exit the dormitory, Harry chuckled and grabbed his arm to stop him, "Oh no, we'll be leaving Gryffindor Tower in style today."

While Draco still preferred the Slytherin Dungeons, the fact that you could throw open Harry's bedroom window and fly out from one of the castle's highest towers was quite a thrill. Harry's grip around Draco's waist tightened as he flew faster and higher, his whoops of excitement carried away in the wind. Draco would never admit it—certainly not to Harry—but the Firebolt was much better than his Nimbus 2001; he was flying faster than he ever had done before, so fast that his hands slid across the smooth polished handle, but he gripped tighter and leant forward, pushing the broomstick to its limits. He felt like his eyes were being forced into the back of his head at the sudden acceleration, the cold air stung his cheeks and his heart hammered in his chest again, this time out of sheer exhilaration. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead but everything was a blur. The grey of the school rushed into the white of the clouds as they reared upwards, disappearing through the chilly clouds and in an instant, Hogwarts was gone. Moments later, they punched through the other side of the clouds and he blinked rapidly as his eyes struggled to adjust to the crystal clear blue sky consuming his field of vision.

Draco slowed down before finally coming to a full stop so that they could admire the beautiful view before them. A sea of fluffy white clouds lay beneath their feet, shining in the brilliant sunlight like nascent snow, stretching to the horizon. Harry's grip on Draco's waist eased but he continued to hold him close, resting his chin on Draco's shoulder.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked.

"Better," Draco sighed, feeling tension he didn't even know that he had been carrying in his body beginning to ease. Harry kissed his cheek and rested his head on Draco's shoulder, and Draco felt a surge of affection and the beginnings of something else that he was afraid to even think about, let alone say out loud.

"When you do feel ready to talk, I'm here to listen."

"I know," Draco replied. "Thank you."

That was all that they said on the matter as they fell into a comfortable silence. Draco understood why Harry liked to do this: it felt wonderful being able to escape from life, even if it was only for a little while.