"You have to help me."

Draco's hands gripped Harry's T-shirt with desperate strength. His silver eyes wore the exact same fearful expression as they did the afternoon before, piercing and terrified. He seemed to finally feel the shock of their earlier discovery, panic setting in after twelve hours of numb, impassive processing.

Harry did not feel rightly equipped to deal with his friend's pleading at the moment. The sun had barely crested the horizon, and the Burrow's residents were only just starting to stir. But the Gryffindor blinked away the tiredness from his eyes, grasped Draco's wrists, and pried his hands away from his clothes.

"Hey, everything's going to be fine," Harry said soothingly, though, in reality, he had no idea how this was all going to turn out. The strange Thai wizards had shown up at the former Death Eater headquarters for unknown reasons, and that scared him profoundly. Powerful enemies, old and new, perhaps fighting each other, or worse, joining forces…that did not bode well for anyone. "How can I help?"

"I…" Draco faltered, his hands trembling. "I don't know. Maybe - maybe we need to tell someone. Or seek the attackers, figure out exactly what's going on…"

Harry shook his head. "No way. That'd be a suicide mission." At "suicide," Draco's eyes darted away, and Harry pressed on, "But maybe there's someone we can tell. Someone who can take more action than we can."

"Who?"

"I dunno, let me think." The first people to come to mind were those that were left in the Order of the Phoenix. Surely they'd know best how to handle Dark wizards…and yet, Harry sorely disliked the idea of dragging them into yet another conflict. But there was someone from the Order who had enough power and people at his command to deal with this new threat properly…

"The Minister of Magic."

"Involve the Ministry?" Draco's voice was damp with suspicion. "Absolutely not. They're more the 'lock people up, ask questions later' type. And I'd rather not let them toss me in Azkaban just yet."

"Why on earth would they put you in Azkaban?"

"My Death Eater crimes are stacked against me, Potter. The only reason I'm not in there now is that I agreed to spend another year at Hogwarts. After that…I don't know. Parole, if I'm lucky."

This was news to Harry, who did a poor job of disguising the shock on his face. Draco scowled. "Anyway, that's not important. The Minister would be the last person I'd tell."

"I know him. He's a decent bloke, I promise. He'll keep everything confidential." Kingsley Shacklebolt, with his deep and reassuring voice and persona of invincibility. Harry trusted him with his life; surely, the man could handle sensitive information. "Kingsley will investigate right away without getting you or your family into more trouble. Unless…" He hesitated. "There's not anything incriminating left in the manor, is there?"

Draco rolled his eyes, and the familiar gesture showed Harry that he had relaxed a bit. "Of course not, Potter. We're not stupid."

"Fine. I'll get some paper, and we'll write to the Minister." Harry gave Draco's hands a comforting squeeze before slipping back into his shared room.

Ron turned over in his sleep as Harry took some parchment, a quill, and ink from his trunk. He paused, waiting to see if the redhead would wake up, but Ron's eyes remained closed. Harry frowned, gently closing the lid; he realized he was keeping many secrets from his best friend these days, more than he ever had. It stung to know that they were drifting apart, but hopefully, the distance was temporary. Fix one problem at a time, Harry chided himself and returned to the hallway.

"Let's go into your room," Harry said quietly, and the pair moved to Bill's old bedroom. Draco anxiously perched on the edge of the bed while Harry sat cross-legged near the pillows, setting down the bottle of ink on the nightstand. "We'll keep it short," Harry decided, "Just tell him what we know and how we found out. But I won't mention your mum's letter."

Draco wrung his hands as Harry's quill began to scrawl across the parchment. "I wish I could ask him if I could visit my parents. But seeing as Mother wasn't supposed to send letters-"

"It'd look too suspicious," Harry agreed grimly. "Hey…maybe we could ask McGonagall personally about seeing your parents once we'd get back. If anyone can request something from the Ministry and actually get it, it's her."

Draco nodded quickly. "I don't even know why I want to see them," He said bitterly, "Especially my father. But no matter how angry I want to be at them, it's You-Know-Who I'm angry at. Him and all his mindless followers." Pure, unadulterated hatred for the Dark wizards who so ruthlessly beat him and his family down was displayed clearly on Draco's face. So unnerved was Harry by the Slytherin's expression that he focused on writing the letter and didn't look up until he had finished.

"There," Harry held the letter out for Draco to read, and the Slytherin approved it with a nod. "I'll ask Ginny and Ron later if I can borrow their owl."

"Okay." Draco's voice was cold and miles away.

"Hey. Look at me," Harry said softly, and Draco did, hesitantly. "Everything's going to be fine, Malfoy." He repeated the statement like a mantra, trying just as hard to convince himself as his friend. "Everything's going to be fine."

• • •

The next week passed with agonizing slowness as they waited anxiously for a reply. Pigwidgeon, the fluffy grey feather ball within Ron's and Ginny's joint custody, delivered the small letter in only a couple of days, but came back empty-handed - or rather, empty-beaked. When Harry returned the owl to Ron with an expression of gratitude, Draco only stood silently by, his face waxy and disquieted from the lack of a responding letter.

"What if it got into the wrong hands?" Draco repeatedly worried whenever he was alone with Harry. "What if he simply doesn't care about helping a Death Eater family?"

Harry thought both those situations highly unlikely, but no matter how much he voiced this, Draco continued to fret. Finally, on the day before New Year's, Harry put his foot down.

"Relax, will you?" He told Draco as he dumped wood into the firepit in the garden. Draco sat on the ground nearby, crossly burning random patterns into the snow with his wand.

"Relax," Draco spoke the word like a curse. "It's been a whole week! There's no way he hasn't gotten the letter by now."

"Maybe he's waiting to answer it," Harry said, drying the damp logs with a few muttered spells. "It's the holidays, after all. Take your mind off it for today, at least."

"Ah, yes. Because it's so easy to make myself stop worrying," Draco said sarcastically.

"I'm excited for tonight," Harry stated, as if he hadn't heard him, "George dropped off some cool fireworks and butterbeer. The alcoholic kind. That'll be fun, right?"

"I guess," Draco frowned, stood up, and resolutely kicked at a pile of snow. "Funny how people see the new year as a new beginning," He muttered. "But nothing ever changes."

Harry was inclined to disagree, but he said nothing more. Instead, he walked silently by Draco's side as they went back into the house. Secretly, Draco's worry had rubbed off on him, but Harry did his best not to give into it. All they could do was wait.

• • •

Full with a lavish dinner and Mrs. Weasley's strawberry-rhubarb pie, six teenagers sat around the fire pit beneath a starlit sky. Luna had arrived a couple of hours before to celebrate the new year; she and Ginny sat close together on fold-out chairs. Mrs. and Mr. Weasley had stayed out long enough to watch the self-starting firework show George had left them, beautiful and intricate bursts of color lighting up the midnight. But they soon retired to bed, leaving the teens with a handful of sparklers and bottles of butterbeer.

Glowing red cinders spun from the fire and evaporated in the air, the flames casting a uniform orange glow over everyone's faces. A couple of them held sparklers, thin sticks that buzzed with electricity-like sparks for a good ten minutes before going out. Ginny had brought a bag of marshmallows outside, and her friends were having a merry time making them float into the flames with their wands, dousing them in the snow if they caught on fire for too long.

"So, what are you all looking forward to doing in 1999?" Luna asked, retrieving her perfectly browned marshmallow. "Let's go in a circle. Ginny?"

"I'm looking forward to demolishing the other houses in Quidditch and winning the Cup," Ginny proclaimed.

"I know a lot of people aren't looking forward to this, but I simply cannot wait to start our career guidance sessions," Hermione said, her eyes shining. Next to her, Ron looked a bit queasy at the prospect of planning for adulthood. "Professor Dahlia says I have a knack for negotiating, and could possibly make it as a top-tier Ministry official."

"You'd be great, Hermione," Harry said encouragingly, and the rest of their friends agreed.

"I guess I'm ready to finally graduate from Hogwarts," Ron said honestly. "It's been great, and all, and I'm a little apprehensive of the future, but I kind of want to see what's out there, you know? What about you, Harry?"

"Same for me. I'm excited to start training to be an Auror," Harry declared, grinning. He'd had his heart set on the profession ever since the fifth year; under no circumstances would he give up on that dream.

It was Draco's turn now, and he tensed uncomfortably under everyone's gaze. "I guess…Same as Weasley. Looking forward to the future." His voice quavered slightly at the last word, and though everyone else missed it, Harry certainly hadn't.

"I don't really have any career aspirations just yet," Luna said dreamily, "But this summer, I'm looking forward to starting a new floating flower garden on the roof of our house."

"That sounds really cool," Ginny said enthusiastically. "A toast, then," She added, raising her bottle of butterbeer, "To the future and to flower gardens. To 1999."

"To 1999!" Echoed the five other voices, mixing with the clinking of glass and the crackling flames.

Under cover of the chatter and downing of butterbeer, Draco quietly excused himself and slipped away towards the house. Harry didn't realize he was gone until a few minutes later and flinched at the realization of his friend's absence. Looking up, he saw the light glowing from behind drawn curtains on the seventh floor. A silhouette moved restlessly beyond it, pacing.

Around one in the morning, Harry placed his empty bottle back in its cardboard box of origin and stood up. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight, everyone. Have a nice rest of your holiday, Luna, if I don't see you again."

"You too, Harry." "'Night, mate." "Goodnight." "Goodnight, Harry."

The Burrow, snug after the midwinter chill, was comfortably quiet when Harry walked in. The house's magically supported timbers sighed and creaked with every slight gust of wind. A dying fire glowed amber in the living room's grate, a weary equivalent to the lively bonfire outside. Harry hung his coat up on the many-armed rack nearby, unwinding his scarf and slipping off his borrowed leather gloves before heading upstairs.

The door to Draco's room was a touch ajar - not exactly inviting, but Harry pushed it open anyway. Inside, Draco walked absentmindedly back and forth, face buried in a thin stack of parchment, blond hair gleaming in the lamplight.

"Malfoy?" Harry said tentatively, and Draco looked up abruptly. "Um, hi."

"Hello." Draco lowered the pages, which were covered in his neat, cramped cursive, along with a few sketches Harry couldn't quite make out. "You can come in," The Slytherin said. "Close the door behind you."

Harry did so and ambled cautiously into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the quilt-covered bed. "What are you working on?" He asked amiably.

"Oh, this…" Draco tossed the pages onto the bed for Harry to see. "Just my end of the term research paper. It helps me take my mind off things."

Harry picked up the painstakingly detailed notes, which seemed to record some sort of experiment. Phrases like detonation distance, damage assessed, integration methods, and numerous question marks floated haphazardly within the writing. Harry, who had only come up with a tentative thesis for his own essay, felt woefully underprepared compared to Draco's research.

"This is extensive," Harry said, flipping through the pages. "You're…developing new potions?"

"More like altering ones that already exist," Draco replied, flopping in an un-Draco-like way onto the bed next to his friend. "I feel like I'm so close to a breakthrough…But I can't experiment further until the holidays are over. It's frustrating." He sighed, and Harry realized just how utterly exhausted Draco looked, with half-closed eyes and sagging shoulders. "But I really think I can make something worthwhile. Something properly dangerous."

Harry swallowed at that last statement, carefully putting the notes down as if they themselves were explosive. "I see…" Though he didn't quite fully understand, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Keen on changing the subject, Harry blurted, "Have you given more thought to it?"

Draco frowned in confusion. "Given more thought to what? The letter?"

"Er, no. The…you know…" Harry took a deep breath. "Our kiss." Saying out loud made it terribly real, and a part of Harry wished he could yank it back.

Draco raised himself up on his elbows, his silver eyes gleaming curiously from beneath pale lashes. "I have, actually." Harry had been giving his utmost efforts not to blush up until this point, but then Draco unconsciously licked his lips, and Harry felt heat spreading across his face. Damn Malfoy and his prettiness. "Potter…I haven't been entirely honest with you," Draco admitted, and Harry raised an eyebrow - lying was, frankly, par for the course when it came to Malfoy.

Draco's brow furrowed in thought, and he sat up fully, hands clasping in his lap. "When we were younger, around third to fifth year," He began, "I had certain…feelings for you. Being gay wasn't a possibility in my mind back then, so I didn't recognize that what I felt for you was…well, not love. Fourteen-year-olds don't really know what love is. But I've always admired you, you know." He dared to meet Harry's eyes then. Mercury melting into emerald. "Ever since the day we met, you intrigued me. The pureblood who defeated one of the most powerful wizards to ever live.

"And yet, you were forbidden to me in more ways than one. So, I pushed those feelings away. They didn't resurface for a long time, and I thought they'd fade completely. I thought you would leave my life for good, and nothing would come of it. But you're here now."

Embarrassed by his revealing speech, Draco fell swiftly silent, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Within the following silence, Harry felt his whole worldview shifting as he realized exactly what Draco's words meant. Draco Malfoy had a crush on him when they were kids. Draco Malfoy admired The Boy Who Lived just as much as any other young wizard did. Draco had painted an image of his juvenile self that differed from the snarky, mean-spirited Draco that Harry remembered. An impressionable, precocious, though sharp-tongued, child peeked around the corners of their memory for a singular, intriguing moment.

"And you? Have you anything else to say?"

"Well …it's just like I said at Diagon Alley. I like you, Malfoy - Draco. I like you a lot more than a friend." The butterflies soared again through Harry at the sound of his own confession. "Honestly, I never thought I'd ever feel this way about you. But I do. I can't deny it."

A smirk played across Draco's lips. "How terribly cliché are we, Potter? It's the same, centuries-old enemies falling for each other story."

Draco was so close Harry could see the pale, icy blue that ringed his irises. "You think we're falling for each other?"

"Anything's possible."

He glanced down at Harry's lips before leaning forward and catching them with his own. Long fingers brushed Harry's jaw and entangled themselves in his jet-black hair, tugging him ever closer. Draco's lips, dry yet soft, parted, and their tongues met with all the clumsiness and vigor of teenage desire. Harry's senses became overwhelmed with Draco, who smelled of flowers and musky undertones of sweat and the recent bonfire.

Too soon, in Harry's opinion, they broke apart. His hands had found their way to Draco's neck, and he let them linger, a nervous heartbeat fluttering beneath his palms.

"Wow," Harry breathed before he could stop himself, and his cheeks became warm instantly. He began to pull away out of embarrassment, but Draco gently brushed his fingertips on Harry's face, giving him pause. Residual passion swimming in his half-closed silver eyes, Draco grazed a thumb over Harry's bottom lip as his own mouth remained only millimeters away. Harry would have thought the Slytherin was teasing him, but his expression remained sincere.

"Your eyes look like emeralds," Draco murmured, seemingly to himself, looking up from Harry's lips to his gaze. Realizing he'd said that audibly, he continued, "Ah, sorry…Must be the firewhiskey talking."

"You're drunk?" Harry asked, amused.

Draco hesitated. "Well…no. Are you?"

"Not really."

And yet, Harry thought, alcohol must have played some part in what happened then. How else could their lips connect once more, deliberately, and with no signs of stopping? How else could Draco tilt his head and push Harry onto the quilt as if he meant to take things further?

Harry let out a sigh of pleasure as Draco pressed his lips, gently, hesitatingly, along his jaw and down his neck. It all felt like something from a dream, lamplight gleaming on blond hair, chaste hands roaming across bodies, perhaps seeking to fulfill less-than-innocent desires…

But where the circumstances might have gone next, neither Draco nor Harry found out, for there came a great burst of sound from downstairs. A whoop of laughter from Ron and the chatter of three others announced the return of the rest of Harry's friends. The tipsy, reckless moment passed as soon as it had come. Draco sat up immediately, worry and guilt knitted into his face.

"I didn't mean to keep you," Draco said, almost apologetically as he stood quickly from the bed. In characteristic gestures, he began to smooth out his sweater and comb his hair back into place with his fingers, as if to erase the prior vulnerability from his figure.

"It's okay," Harry replied firmly, hoping Draco didn't think his advances were unwanted.

"You'd better go," Draco told him anxiously as they heard the faint goodbyes to Luna from downstairs.

"Er…yeah," Harry stood up as well, though he made no attempts to improve his appearance - his hair would appear messy no matter what he did to it. Before turning the doorknob, he paused to look at Draco, who worriedly fidgeted with his hands. "Hey, Draco. Don't think you were making me do that, by the way. I wanted to."

Draco looked up from his hands and smiled shakily. "Merlin, you always know the right thing to say. You're making me look bad."

"That's impossible," Harry said swiftly, and internally gave himself a high five for such a smooth reply.

Apparently, Draco thought so too, as Harry could see him actively fighting not to smile. "Whatever, Potter. Just get out before Ron jumps to any lewd conclusions."

"All right, all right, I'm going. 'Night, Malfoy." Grinning, Harry shut the door behind him and made a beeline for his and Ron's shared bedroom just as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Aware that his best friend wouldn't fall for feigned sleep, Harry instead made sure he was brushing his teeth when Ron arrived. But a half-hour later, when the lights had been extinguished, and pajamas donned, Harry found it hard to sleep. He lay as the house creaked and groaned in the wind, his mind buzzing with possibilities and his heart spinning in a shower of sparks.