Pink and gold murmured at the edge of the Black Lake, the sun reaching the end of its path. Spring wind rushed along the landscape, rustling leaves, creating tiny crests in the water, and making clouds scuttle along the sky. Two people stood by the shore, their backs to the castle.

"Remember what Dahlia said," Harry told Draco from behind him. "Form counts. Keep your head and wand up."

"I know, Potter," Draco said brusquely, but Harry remained patient, reaching to touch Draco's right wrist, lifting it higher.

"Last one, okay?" Harry murmured, hands resting firmly on Draco's shoulders. "We'll work on it more later."

Draco closed his eyes, opened them. "Okay." His torso moved with a breath, and Harry felt his nervous energy, felt the tension in his magic before he even said a word. "Expecto Patronum."

Silence. Harry peered around Draco, staring at the tip of his wand, waiting for something, anything.

Draco lowered his wand. "For fuck's sake," He muttered.

"It's just a mental block," said Harry reassuringly as Draco turned away from the lake. "Sooner or later, you'll get through it."

Instead of answering, Draco leaned down and kissed him. Harry could taste the fear and desperation on his lips, and he pulled him closer, taking his pain away and making it his own. Draco pulled away a bare centimeter, mouth brushing Harry's as he murmured, "This would make a good memory." Harry opened his eyes to see Draco, unsmiling, but with something like hope, or yearning, in his gaze.

Reddish-golden light shone through the trunks of trees in shy beams, illuminating their faces. Harry touched Draco's face, turned bronze by the fading sunlight, and found himself sinking into his eyes again. He had a sudden thought to take Draco into the woods, drag him to the ground, expose every inch of skin, worship his body with his hands and lips until he felt perfectly all right again. But the thought was just that, a thought, and Harry decided he would let it be.

"Let's go back," Harry said to him. "We've still got homework."

The fresh air clung to their clothes all the way to the dungeons, where the subtle slimy musk didn't quite permeate the walls of the well-kept Slytherin common room. The fireplace smoldered dimly, the green-lit torches the only thing lighting the chamber. A few younger Slytherins looked up as Harry and Draco came in and began to mutter and snicker among themselves. Draco kept his eyes straight ahead, and Harry followed his example, though he was tempted to shoot the whispering students a dirty look.

"Hey, mate," Ron said from the couch. He and Hermione leaned comfortably against each other on the sofa, she reading a book and he writing on a piece of parchment pressed against his leg. "Malfoy."

"I've told you," Draco said, slightly irritable as he dropped his bag on the opposite couch, "You can call me Draco."

"So long as you call me Ron," came the reply. There was a silent battle of wills as calculating silver met cold blue.

"Fair enough," Draco said finally, sitting gracefully upon the couch, and Harry joined him.

"Why don't you write on a table?" Harry asked Ron, and he looked up from his awkward writing position.

"'Mione's too cozy," He said with a grin, nodding at Hermione, who was slumped comfortably against him, her nose in a book.

"You can move," Hermione offered, glancing appreciatively at him. "I'm not stopping you."

"No, it's all right." Ron kissed the top of her head and continued writing.

Harry smiled at the bubble of warmth they'd created; Hermione had confessed to him earlier that their relationship had become a bit strained in the weeks of Harry's silent treatment, so it was nice to see them in sync again.

Draco peered into his bag, frowned, then muttered, "Did we have Potions homework?"

"Um…" Harry became momentarily distracted as a group of Slytherins barged noisily into the room, led by - his stomach performed an unpleasant turn - Pansy Parkinson. Most of the people behind her were girls, including Anaya, dead-eyed but grinning, and a few younger students. "I don't…"

"Finish it, finish it!" One of them giggled, and Pansy flicked open a glossy magazine, smirking as she did so. As surreptitiously as possible, Harry squinted to see the title: Witch Weekly.

"'There is much speculation about the nature of the Chosen One's relationship with whom young wizards are calling the Heir to Evil,'" Pansy read loudly, practically waltzing through the common room, bringing as much attention to herself as possible. "'One thing is for sure: Harry Potter has no idea what he's gotten himself into. Hogwarts's star pupil may have defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of this lifetime, but apparently, his combat skills don't translate into common sense.'" Pansy threw a simpering look over her shoulder at Harry, who glared back.

Next to him, Draco had his head bent resolutely over a random book, but Harry knew by his fixed gaze and clenched jaw that he was listening.

"'Even with the threat of You-Know-Who gone, eyes must be kept on this new development. If a Malfoy can beguile the Boy Who Lived, who knows what side they'll be on in ten years?' Ooh, how intriguing," Pansy remarked, and in fact, most of the Slytherins did seem to be interested, listening to her with rapt attention. "What do you think dear Draco is capable of, Rosier?"

"Can't be much," Anaya said with a chuckle that Harry couldn't quite decipher from a forced laugh. "Fallen rather far from the top, hasn't he?"

Draco slammed his book shut; Ron and Hermione, who had been watching Pansy with concern, jumped at the sound. "I can't concentrate, Potter. Maybe we ought to move."

Harry nodded quickly in agreement, and they both stood. "We can come with you," Ron said hurriedly.

Pansy swaggered over to them, holding the magazine like bait. "Come now, Draco. Don't you want to read the rest?"

Draco looked down his nose at her, his expression so purposefully, pompously pureblood that Harry almost laughed. "And why would I want to do that?"

Pansy dangled the pages tauntingly. "Thought you'd be interested in how badly your precious reputation has been dragged through the mud." Draco didn't answer but laced his fingers with Harry's in defiance. Harry felt a swell of pride and squeezed his hand. Pansy's nose wrinkled, and she opened her mouth to throw another insult.

"Come on, let's have it, then," Hermione snapped, stepping forward, and before Pansy could even register it, snatched the magazine right out of her hand. Pansy gaped.

"What do you think you're doing, Mudblood?"

"Heard that one before," Hermione replied bluntly as she skimmed the lines. "You pureblood supremacists are quite unoriginal. Don't you think so, Draco?"

Draco smirked. "Oh, yes."

"Hmm…Acting like children…suspected love potion…veela blood…" As Pansy looked between Draco and Hermione, shocked at the friendship they'd formed, Hermione finished scanning the article. "Just as I suspected. Rubbish." She tossed the issue at Pansy's feet. "I think you'd better be the one to move, Parkinson. Unless you're willing to bring higher-quality reading material." Hermione batted her eyelashes threateningly, which Harry hadn't even realized was possible.

Even Pansy recognized that Hermione had thoroughly trounced her with razor-sharp remarks. Face furiously red, she lifted the magazine from the ground with a flick of her wand and seized it from the air. "I'll get you back," She muttered darkly at Draco and stalked away.

Hermione jovially waved her off. "I'm sure he's looking forward to it!"

In the ensuing silence, the Slytherins dispersed, some still muttering about the article, others glancing at Hermione as if she either impressed or scared them. She settled back into the couch, next to her boyfriend, satisfied with herself.

Ron's mouth hung open, and his expression had grown dreamy. "You're brilliant," He stated softly.

Flushed with pleasure, Hermione became shy at his praise and shrugged modestly. "Well…it was nothing. What a rush, though," She laughed, "It's nice to get a little revenge on Parkinson after all those years of her being horrible."

"Thanks for that," Draco told her genuinely.

"Really, Hermione," Harry said earnestly, "You're the best. I'd like your autograph," He joked.

Hermione grinned. "I'll work on perfecting it, just for you."

And just like that, Harry knew they were properly friends again. Ron put his arm around Hermione, and Draco kissed Harry's cheek without checking to see if anyone was watching. The four - the Golden Quartet? Harry thought it had a nice ring to it - finished up their homework together in the flickering torchlight, talking and laughing as if they'd never fought. Harry was grateful that Ron and Hermione had come back when he needed them most - but they abandoned him for weeks. He couldn't forget that. So, Harry vowed not to, and chose to forgive instead.

• • •

"Hello! You must be Ron and Hermione!"

A spirited Hufflepuff with wide eyes the color of the ocean and a faint Irish accent leaped in front of them. It took Harry a moment to place her name: Erin.

"That's us," Ron said, a bit taken aback. "Who are you?"

"Erin Moore," she replied, sticking out a hand. "I don't think we've met. I'm Harry's and Draco's friend."

"They never mentioned you," Hermione remarked, giving her friends a sidelong glance.

"No," Harry admitted, "Er…slipped my mind. We haven't known each other long. Erin, is it all right if we all sit with you and the others?"

"Yeah, of course! Follow me." Erin turned and strolled away, weaving between the tables and moving crowd of students.

"She a seventh-year?" Ron asked as they followed her. "I think I've seen her with Ginny a few times."

"Yeah," Harry replied.

The motley crew of students hadn't changed much since Draco and Harry last sat with them. Owen, Padma, and Oliver looked up with polite smiles, Ollie grinning the broadest. Thankfully, Harry didn't see any sign of Gavin; Padma seemed less tense as a result. "Make room, make room," Erin singsonged, and the group shifted around to accommodate.

"So, um," Harry cleared his throat, "You all know Owen and Padma. Ollie, this is Ron and Hermione."

"The Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley?" Ollie's eyes went owlish, and he shook both their hands with considerable enthusiasm. "Wow, it's - it's an honor to meet you both," He stammered.

"Thank you," Ron said, taken aback. Hermione couldn't even speak, but seemed pleasurably flustered, her posture straightening with pride. Harry couldn't stop himself from grinning, happy that they were getting the recognition they deserved, but rarely received.

"Well, this is shaping up to be an interesting night," Ollie said, clasping his hands in excitement. "We'll tell you the rules."

"Rules for what?" asked Hermione.

"Owen, why don't you do the honors?"

Owen explained Oliver's and Erin's story game. Ron and Hermione nodded understandingly, though Harry could tell from their faces that they found the game a bit childish.

"It's quite fun, actually," Harry assured them.

"Draco, would you like to start?" Erin asked the Slytherin kindly.

Draco looked startled at being addressed, but he got over his surprise quickly. Harry took this as a good sign; perhaps Draco was finally becoming more comfortable in the presence of near-strangers, finally getting used to the idea that not every student at Hogwarts hated him on sight.

A friendly, warm atmosphere settled over the eight students as they relaxed in the golden candlelight. Utensils scraped quietly against plates as they passed around food, waiting for Draco to begin. He took a moment to think, pale fingers thoughtfully tracing the rim of his goblet. When he spoke, his silver eyes were focused on the people around him, no longer dipping to the table in hesitation.

"Once upon a time…"