Harry held his breath. Were they joking, or was Sirius actually . . . ? He stood up and began to pace, unsettled and unsure of what to do. If Sirius had been gay, how could Harry have not known? Now that he thought about it, apart from the time Sirius showed off for some girls in Snape's memory, he didn't exactly have evidence that his godfather had been interested in women. He'd not married, not had a girlfriend. Although, Harry had no recollection of anyone whispering of scandal relating to the sexuality of the notorious Sirius Black. He could fathom his ignorance about Seamus and Dean being gay, or whatever they wanted to call it, but not knowing about Sirius?

He would have to find a way to ask Lupin. It might be uncomfortable, and it would undoubtedly embarrass him, but those feelings would fade with time in the loop. Pain, on the other hand, would not fade unless he did something about it. Ultimately, he preferred to face his ignorance and learn about Sirius' past over clinging to a false version of him.

On the following morning, early enough to avoid being interrupted by someone in the common room, Harry used Floo Powder to talk to Lupin.

"Harry, what's wrong?" asked Lupin, crouching down to get a better look at him.

"Nothing." Harry couldn't bring himself to elaborate.

"Has something happened? Are you okay?"

"Yes. Well, I'm not in danger or anything, but I have to ask you something. And I wanted to do so in person . . ."

Lupin exhaled, and embers flared up. "I can no longer safely enter Hogwarts. If this is truly an emergency, I could meet you in the Hog's Head. You would have to sneak out. Can you at least tell me what this is about?"

"It's about you and Sirius."

"Harry, I am sure when we see each other again, I can regale you with tales of our youth, or you can write me. But—"

"I have the Marauder's Map, and it told me that Sirius was," he hesitated and lowered his voice, "homosexual."

"How did it . . . ?" Lupin sighed again, and Harry imagined he was remembering some mischievous decision made by Sirius or James as they made the map. "You wanted to meet about that?"

Harry glared at Lupin's face as best he could. "Just—I'll explain when we're there. And it has to be tonight. Please."

"All right." Perhaps it was asking too much of Lupin to talk about it. But Harry didn't have the luxury of time for Lupin to brace himself, prepare what he wanted to say. "In that case, you can meet me in the Hog's Head at seven, but we will Apparate back to Grimmauld Place."

"I'll see you then."

That evening, Harry told Ron and Hermione he had to take care of something, not bothering to waste time explaining, and used the cloak to get to Hogsmeade undetected. Lupin arrived at seven sharp and after an awkward greeting they Disapparated.

Being back in Sirius' home, Harry became too distracted by the hollow ringing in his chest to feel self-conscious about the reason for his visit. He gratefully accepted the tea Lupin offered him as an excuse to collect himself.

"How is school?"

"School's fine." In the time leading up to their meeting, Harry considered telling Lupin about the time loop, but decided it wouldn't do him much good, and would possibly delay getting the information he wanted.

Lupin looked at him and seemed to read that Harry would stay closed off until they were able to talk about what he came for. "So what is all this about Sirius, then?"

"I was looking for something and I found a room with a lot of random objects including this book and—it was your diary. You probably tried to get rid of it."

Lupin sucked the air in through his teeth. "That's an unlikely coincidence."

Harry shrugged and crossed his arms. "Well, I'm being honest."

"I will take you on your word."

Over the course of the time loop, Harry had noticed over two dozen signs people were shutting down when he pushed them too hard for answers. Exhibiting four of these signs, Remus frowned so hard his mouth curled down as he blinked more than usual, his shoulders tense and hands pressed tightly together.

"I flipped to the last entry of your journal—sorry, I know I shouldn't have pried—and in it you wrote that you might have feelings for Sirius. Or blokes in general. And then on a whim I asked the Marauder's Map if any of you—the Marauders—were homosexual, and I didn't think it would work, but it did, and it showed me a picture of Sirius." Harry already felt more relieved telling Lupin this, despite his increasing anticipation to find out what it all meant.

"Okay. Lesson learned: burn your diaries if you would rather them remain private. And as for the Map—I was reminded of how much of us it contained when I first confiscated it from you in your third year. It was only a matter of time before something personal was revealed to you . . . To answer your question, yes, Sirius was gay." Lupin looked at Harry to gauge his reaction, then added, "We were together when he died. Er, we had been together since school."

"Together?"

Lupin cleared his throat. "Yes. Tonks is the only one who knows, though she figured it out accidentally; he and I kept quiet about it."

"Why didn't he tell me?" Harry's throat felt constricted.

Lupin hesitated. "I suppose he was afraid of losing you."

"He's dead now, so a fat lot of good that did."

Lupin looked away. "You're right." His face scrunched up slightly, as though debating what to say next.

"Why didn't you tell me? We spent all of this time together third year and for the first time I felt close to my parents. Then I had to find out by eavesdropping—not from you—that Sirius had been friends with my parents and had supposedly betrayed them. After meeting him, I thought that maybe things would be different, maybe I'd get to know about my family. It turns out people are still hiding things from me. But I'm not a kid anymore."

"I know you're not. Sirius hid it well; it helped that girls gravitated toward him. He even put up posters of scantily-clad Muggle women in his bedroom. Granted, this was mainly to annoy his parents . . . best not to get into that."

"Was he ashamed of it, then? He assumed I'd react poorly before giving me a chance."

"This part of our life—it's complicated, Harry. There's a risk in disclosing that kind of information, even to those we care about. People like us—it's not exactly easy for most people to accept. It may seem important, but really—"

"You're saying you're gay, too?"

"I am . . . bisexual. It's not the same as being gay, it means you can be interested in people regardless of gender."

Harry already had trouble wrapping his mind around Sirius liking the same sex; this was a bit over his head. "My dad knew, right?"

Lupin nodded. "He and Peter knew. Peter didn't know Sirius and I were together, though, because he didn't quite understand. Turns out that was for the best."

"So he—my dad—was okay with it?"

"Yes. He was supportive." Lupin chuckled, remembering. "He really cared about us, and for him to come to terms with our sexuality at such a young age, and in the seventies no less . . . Of course, the eighties were harder in some ways, but Sirius missed most of that . . ."

As Lupin's eyes drifted with the memories, Harry was left alone. He wanted to follow in his father's footsteps by accepting Lupin, but his questions had to be answered first. "If you and Sirius were together, then why did he agree to switch Secret Keepers?"

Lupin winced. "At that stage in the War, when he and James made that choice, Sirius no longer trusted me. Trusting Peter instead cost them their lives. It nearly cost us our relationship, too, if we hadn't forgiven each other. Him for believing the stereotypes I had fought to live against and me for not having faith that he was innocent."

Harry nodded. There were too many questions swimming in his head, so he found the one causing the most waves and asked it: "This may sound a bit thick, but how do you know you were . . . ? When did you know what you were . . . ?"

"It is different for everyone. For your mum and I—er, I mean—"

"What's my mum got to do with it?"

Lupin pressed his lips together, ready to console him. "She was bisexual, too."

"Were you not going to tell me that?" Harry gaped at him.

"I'm telling you now, am I not? We never discussed—I have no idea if it is my place to tell you, though I suppose if she were alive, Lily would have wanted you to know, eventually." Lupin ran a hand through his gray hair. "Anyhow, she and I came to terms with it later than Sirius. I felt confused throughout most of my time as a student, as you undoubtedly gathered from my diary, primarily because I didn't see how I could be interested in both sexes."

"But, er, how come you're bisexual in the first place?"

"I don't know. It could be socialization, it could be the way you're born—"

"Meaning, one of your parents was bisexual, too? Like how magic is passed down?"

Lupin laughed. "I don't think so. Maybe one day we will know. For now, it doesn't really matter, I think. It could be the person, too. I suppose, if I hadn't been with Sirius, would I have come to terms with my interest in men? Certainly not as young as I was at the time . . ." He noticed Harry had become solemn. "What is it?"

"Just—if my mum and dad had raised me, they'd have explained all of this."

Lupin patted Harry's hand. "I am truly sorry. I wish they could be here, too."

"So if Sirius hadn't been imprisoned, would he and you have raised me?"

A small smile flickered across Lupin's lips. "Even if Dumbledore had other plans, we would have. The Wizengamot would have granted Sirius custody as your rightful guardian over a Muggle family."

What would his life have been like, had he been raised by Sirius and Lupin? He pictured them recounting tales of their school days, taking him to Diagon Alley on the weekends, laughing at the little mishaps caused by Harry's early experiments with magic, inviting friends over from the wizarding community . . . perhaps gaining a bit of James' arrogance from knowing he was the Boy Who Lived from the start. He would've had two dads and not a mother, but he didn't have either with the Dursleys.

"And I would've known you were together, if you had raised me?"

"Yes, you would have." Lupin's smile faded. "But Harry, spending too long considering the life you could have lived will only make your reality harder to accept. Will you promise me that no matter what happens in this war, you will try your best to live as though there is another version of yourself somewhere, wishing desperately to trade places with you? I cannot make the pain you feel over Sirius' death go away. I can only hope you will take that pain and use it to more completely love the people who are alive. After Sirius died, I convinced myself I was incapable of loving again, and yet . . . it may be possible after all, and that frightens me."

Harry didn't want to speak, for fear of betraying his emotion.

"I'm sorry, I've gone on a tangent, haven't I? It is something I seldom speak candidly about . . . I got carried away."

"No, no, it's okay. Thank you."

"And I'm sorry you're having these questions at such a tumultuous time. Considering everything you are dealing with, I'm surprised at how concerned you are with this. Life goes on, doesn't it? When your father and I were at Hogwarts, it was remarkably similar. Even with the war, we still cared about the little dramas of social life, which seemed vastly important at the time."

Despite the threat of Voldemort looming over him, Harry couldn't stop caring about the lives of the people that were important to him. That was how he would stay sane in the time loop, and how wanted to live beyond it.

With two hours left before he should return to Hogwarts, there was ample time to explain the time loop, so Harry rattled off his usual synopsis, answering any questions Lupin had along the way. At the end, he asked, "Er, so, did you ever cast a curse in Myrtle's bathroom when you were at Hogwarts? Or know someone who may have done something like that?"

"Someone who regretted something they did, correct?" After Harry nodded, he continued, "No, none of us did. I doubt we ever went into Myrtle's bathroom; we had plenty of other hideaways. And most of our disputes with other students were drawn out—nothing drastic happened that was worth reversing time by a day—or they worked out in our favor. I certainly never attempted any such thing, and I doubt that anyone I knew did, either. In many respects, we kept to our own bubble, so dramas among other students flew under our radar."

"Do you think something like this could have been unintentional, though?"

"Could have. Even then, the person most likely knew enough about the effects of the spell in order to break out of the loop—until now, time continued as usual. Accidental magic typically occurs in children and in less experienced wizards. Rarely is accidental magic powerful enough to . . ." He looked at Harry. "You've heard this all before, haven't you?" Shrugging, Harry said, "More or less."

Lupin appeared to study the glass in his hand, but his mind was elsewhere. "Instead of focusing on restoring time, try to make peace with it. Find something else to do. If your brain is not constantly fixed on one issue, perhaps a solution will arise organically."

Something to do . . . Luna had given him similar advice. He had been improving his skills in Charms and Transfiguration, which alone was hardly enough to occupy him. For the time being, he found that socializing more with people other than Ron and Hermione helped him escape the monotony of the loop.

At breakfast the next day, he looked around the Great Hall as he had many times before, trying to find someone new to interact with. Down the Gryffindor table, Colin Creevey sat with a couple friends, chatting away with his mouth full of food. Over the past year, they had only spoken a few times, which was odd given the boy's past obsession with him.

Harry got up and approached Colin, who smiled at him when he noticed. "Alright, Colin? Er, you can finish chewing. How would you like to go for a walk up to the Black Lake?"

Everyone within earshot stared at Colin, who had become better at keeping his cool in Harry's presence. "Yeah, sure. Now?"

"Er, before dinner? Half four?"

"Okay! I'll meet you in the common room, then."

That afternoon, they headed onto the grounds together. To Harry's surprise, it felt natural; they talked about Quidditch and the magic Harry had learned that year (despite his efforts to veer away from his accomplishments). A sneaking suspicion crept into his mind, a possible explanation for Colin's past obsession with him and how suddenly he'd become distant.

"Colin, there's something I should ask . . . Do you fancy me?"

Stopping dead in his tracks, Colin stared at Harry. "W-What? Fancy you? No no no no no, I never—I don't think of you that way! Oh God, is there a rumor about it? Has someone harassed you? I'll set the record straight, don't worry!"

Straight. Harry suppressed a chuckle. "No one's said anything, as far as I know. I just had to be sure. You've kept more of a distance this year, so I was curious why . . ."

"It's nothing like that! It's because . . . I know how much I annoyed you. Before last year, I never wanted to admit it to myself, until you went to the Ministry without Dumbledore's Army and nearly died and I knew that whatever you were going through had nothing to do with me."

Colin's hurt expression took Harry aback. "I didn't want to put your life in danger."

"I'm not saying I was upset that you—no, you didn't do anything wrong. You're separate, is all. At some point, I no longer wanted to idolize you like I had before."

"What do you mean by 'separate'?" Harry changed direction so they could head back to the castle.

"Please don't take offense, what I mean is you have two really close friends, and . . . everyone else is kept at an arm's length."

"I can't be friends with everyone, Colin. I don't think I'm much different from anyone else."

Colin shrugged, looking like he might cry for a moment, the epitome of remorse. "I understand that. You might know I myself only have three really good friends. A lot of people are jealous of you, Ron, and Hermione."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Some people call you the Golden Trio. Er, well, the Slytherins may have started doing it to mock you. Then the fourth-year Gryffindors picked it up, I think."

"I like the sound of that: the Golden Trio. You don't suppose the Slytherin who started it was Draco Malfoy, do you?"

"Actually, now that you mention it, I'm almost certain it was him."

"I'm not at all surprised . . ."

As though to prove he could spend time with people other than Ron and Hermione, the next day Harry found Luna and asked her whether she wanted to practice old DA spells. She agreed, and they went to the Room of Requirement, where they practiced making disguises. Eventually, Harry explained what had happened to him (time loop, love potion, boredom) and brought up Dean, Seamus, and—

"Most recently, I found out my mum liked men and women."

"Really? How?"

"I talked with Lupin."

"They were in school together?"

"Yeah, they were both in Gryffindor, in the same year. Actually, they were both bisexual."

"It means a lot that Lupin felt comfortable telling you."

By instinct and despite his better judgement, Harry asked, "Have you ever fancied someone of the same sex?"

Luna tapped her chin. "Yes."

Harry nearly laughed. He was beyond surprise at this point, it was more that he was right to wonder and that he was only finding it out now.

"But I never just fancy one person at once, you know?"

Harry had moved singularly from Cho to Ginny, two people in his entire time at Hogwarts, so he didn't know, not really. "Who have you fancied?"

Luna swept her pale blonde hair over her shoulder. "I haven't told you yet?"

"No. I—I haven't talked to you much about any of this."

"I tend to fancy people who've become my friends. After we're friends for a while, though, and I find they're not interested, I move on."

Shame and pity rushed over Harry. "How can you be sure no one's felt anything back?" He wished he'd felt something for Luna in the past so he could reassure her.

"If someone makes the effort to be my friend, I don't want to jeopardize that. Especially when it's someone of the same sex."

"So . . . have you fancied Ginny, then?" Out of the conversations he'd had over the last several weeks, he finally felt a burst of understanding when Luna nodded. He fancied Ginny; why shouldn't someone else feel the same, no matter their sex?

"Ginny's wonderful, very kind, headstrong. I don't fancy her anymore, though."

Although he felt awful for knowing it didn't matter because Ginny was probably unable to return her feelings, it at least prevented him from feeling jealous. "Have you told anyone before?"

Luna was about to shake her head, then paused. "My dad. There's really no one to tell here."

Given Luna's uncanny ability to share her opinions and keenly observe the world, it seemed dubious that she had never told anyone at school about her attraction to girls. But she had so few friends, and of them no one she was as close to as Harry was to Hermione and Ron. Moreover, this was different than pointing out unspoken truths about others or made-up magical creatures: there might be consequences if anyone found out about her sexuality.

"Have you told Neville?"

Luna shook her head. "I don't think he'd understand. He only likes girls, I'm almost certain."

A thought occurred to Harry. "Why don't you try telling him tonight? Once the loop's ended, I can tell you how he reacted and you can decide then if you want him to know."

"The Ministry has a history of tracking people with 'unnatural' inclinations. There's a secret department in the Ministry that uses glasses to detect whether people are queer or not and forces people to change their gender to suit their sexuality. Telling Neville would be risky, but I'm less nervous knowing he won't remember whatever I tell him."

Harry stared at her, caught between mortification and disbelief. Ignoring the churning of his stomach, he said, "Truthfully, I doubt he'll have a problem with it. And he would never tell the Ministry, assuming there is such a secret department. You're his friend, so it shouldn't affect your friendship."

Luna didn't respond. Maybe she disagreed. "Can I ask you something, Harry?"

"Er, sure."

"How do you know you only like girls?"

Ice shot through Harry's veins. "I just know. I've never wanted to . . . I would know, wouldn't I? I fancy someone, anyhow. A girl."

Luna studied at the space around his head. "Hm. Have I checked you for Wrackspurts recently?"

"Not that I . . . Why, what are they, again?"

"Wrackspurts are invisible, they make your brain go fuzzy."

"I think I'm okay."

"They could be preventing you from keeping an open mind."

Harry sighed and gritted his teeth. "I'm fine. I've already had to be open-minded, and I've had too much time to think."

Luna blinked as if his tone hadn't changed. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's only that I can't imagine being attracted to only one sex."

"That's how you feel, then. But even you've figured it out by now, right? Remus certainly knew by sixth year, Dean and Seamus know, so what's the point in thinking about it? If I were bisexual, I would know." He looked at her, imploring her to nod or show she agreed. "I would know, right?"

"Someone could have experienced everything I have and still question themselves. Misinterpreting yourself is part of growing up. As long as you aren't miserable with who you are and are honest about how you feel, you don't need to have it all figured out."

Harry wished he could agree with her. "Why don't you get Neville in an hour, if you're ready? I'll fetch my cloak in the meantime."

That evening, Luna and Neville met in the greenhouses. Golden light filtered through the glass, at once lightening the atmosphere and adding weight to what Luna planned to say.

"Can I tell you something if you promise to keep it a secret?"

Neville looked at her, smiling, sincere. "Sure, what is it? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. We've been friends for a while, now, and I trust you enough to tell you that I can be attracted to girls as well as boys. People, really, regardless of gender."

"Oh." Neville slowly ran a hand over his jaw. "Er, so what's that mean, exactly?"

"I don't fancy anyone right now, but if I did, it could be someone of any gender."

"Oh. Alright, then." The awkwardness Neville usually exuded had increased. "Why are you telling me?"

"Because you're one of my best friends. I want to be honest with you."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"Not really, other than my dad. You're the first of my friends to know."

He relaxed at this, and the flush in his face began to fade. "Can I hug you?"

"Of course." They embraced, Luna standing on her toes.

"You can tell me anything, yeah? It's not fair—you're so kind, you deserve kindness in return. I care about you."

Luna nodded, smiling when they parted so he would understand the tears in her eyes. "The same to you."

They were walking now. Neville cast his gaze about the greenhouse, struggling to find what to say. "I think I only like girls."

"Oh? What makes you think so?"

He was nearly tripped by a mischievous plant. "It's—I never had to question it. Other boys don't make me the way I've felt with," he stopped to move a few pots into alignment, "er, with other girls. If I could explain it any better, I would. Maybe it's like—since I was young, I've known I prefer tarts to pies. No, that's a rubbish analogy, isn't it? You like girls, too, so . . . have you always known?"

Luna seemed to be aware that looking directly at Neville made him more nervous, so she allowed her gaze to wander. "When I was still quite young, my mother brought home these fashion magazines from Paris. My dad wanted to get design ideas for the paper. He gave me the magazines to keep when he was done and I spent hours flipping through them, looking at the beautiful people. Being homeschooled and relatively isolated, I hadn't quite realized that feeling a certain way toward girls was taboo. But that was when I knew I fancied girls as well as boys. A woman in one of the magazines had long brown hair and dark eyes, and she wore a beautiful peach-colored dress . . . That I even remember her after so long says something, doesn't it?"

They sat down on a bench in the shaded end of the greenhouse to avoid squinting in the intense light of the setting sun. After sharing a comfortable silence, Luna rested her head on Neville's shoulder. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For being my friend."

Harry left them alone and waited by their agreed-upon meeting place, a huge orange potted plant. He wondered if Luna noticed how Neville acted around her; that his affection approached something more than friendship.

After a few minutes, she poked her head around the corner. "He's left."

"How do you think it went?"

"Good. I'm happy." Luna beamed at Harry as he took off his cloak. "I doubt Neville understands quite yet, but he can at least relate to feeling different. He's kind, too. Not everyone would react as well as he reacted."

"I wouldn't expect any less."

Before they parted, Luna left him with one last thing to consider: "You don't have to force knowing, Harry. There will be a right time to know about yourself, just as there's a right time to know about others."

Waiting to know was easy when he was too preoccupied with dodging Death Eaters and surviving the everyday to be overwhelmed by existential thoughts. As time passed in the loop, however, what else was there but to become in the know?

Now that it was on his mind, Harry discovered more people who were attracted to the same sex. Before, he couldn't see the pieces of the puzzle; once their edges came into focus, he was able to fit the previously overlooked clues and suggestions together.

Either way, who people fancied had nothing to do with him, or at least he didn't care from a judgmental perspective.

Professor Sinistra was the first person to be puzzled out after Luna. She received a letter at breakfast and throughout the day would slip it out of her pocket to reread it. Hoping it was a lead, Harry waited for her to leave it on her office desk before skimming its contents. His fingers went numb on the parchment—it was a love letter from an American witch she was apparently dating.

The more heightened his radar became, the harder it was to discern what qualified as active interest versus passive observation. As students' attractions were confined to a single day, at present most of them had eyes for only one person.

Ron, for example, had tunnel vision, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself.

"Ronald . . ."

"If you call me Ronald again, I'll start calling you Hermy-own-ninny."

"If you say Hermy-own-ninny three times, you'll summon Viktor Krum."

Ron paused to think of something clever and was distracted by Hermione's smile. "Well—wouldn't want that, would we?"

She shrugged. "Wouldn't we?"

When she turned away, someone else may have interpreted the longing in Ron's face as frustration.

Of the Weasley siblings, Ron seemed to show the least affection toward those of the same sex (aside from Percy). Only when Harry paid more attention to Ron's brothers did something shift. Spurred by jealousy, Ron would walk closer to Harry, even wrap an arm around him if it felt natural.

While the tension between Ron and Hermione had been obvious to Harry prior to the loop, if he hadn't known about Dean and Seamus, their attraction may have gone unnoticed. When the boys looked at each other, their smiles could pass as platonic. Once, though, he spotted Dean's hand on Seamus' thigh while the two studied at a table in the common room, and even this gesture only lasted a minute.

And then there were the occasional suggestive comments: roommates who had caught each other in compromising positions, compliments that went too far, and teasing when two friends got too cozy with one another.

Two girls—one in Hufflepuff, one in Ravenclaw—whom he had previously assumed to be really good friends turned out to be more: he once caught Yolanda, the Hufflepuff, kiss Carrie on the cheek while sitting in her lap, and when he skimmed the Marauder's Map one evening, he found their names overlapping in a vacant courtyard.

"What am I doing . . ." muttered Harry, folding up the map. This was not the first time that shame made him put the map away.

The time loop made his intrusions more frequent, often unintentionally, as he noticed things that only appeared to him after observing the same behavior over and over again. Sometimes, he would be so caught up in something he observed that he lost track of time following a person or idea until something jolted him out of his trancelike state. It only took a change in expression, an unusual comment, or a subtle glance to pique his attention.

At lunch one day, Malfoy's eyes were on Blaise Zabini as his friend stretched languidly, head back. Malfoy averted his gaze when their eyes met. This didn't have to mean anything—he could have been interested in something Zabini said or simply felt jealous at his good looks, especially considering Malfoy's less-than-healthy appearance.

Before he realized what he was doing or how much time had passed, Harry was under the cloak, following Crabbe and Goyle to the Slytherin common room in search of answers. The pair were returning from the kitchens and moved slowly enough for him to slip in after them.

A few people perked up when they saw the food—apparently this was a regular and Goyle laid out the combination of cakes, bread rolls, and biscuits onto the table adjacent to the couches where Malfoy, Zabini, and Pansy sat, their books sprawled over the floor around them, stray pieces of parchment lost in and under furniture. Malfoy, sitting in between Zabini and Pansy, only acknowledged his friends' return with a nod of his head, briefly meeting their eyes before returning to work.

"Have a lot to study?" asked Goyle, sinking into a chair across from the trio.

"What's any of it matter?" said Malfoy, his face souring.

The fog in Harry's brain lifted. He'd seen this precise expression over and over again in the loop: the awkward pause when a friend said something they had said many times before, particularly if it was out of frustration or loathing. They had already said all they could to reassure him, Harry guessed, and none of it had done much good. Malfoy's experience was separate from them.

"The more familiar you are with this magic," said Pansy, tapping the cover of a book, "the more prepared you'll be later on."

"Are you saying you agree with the curriculum here?"

"No, of course not."

"Most of the year we have our heads buried in books, what good does that do? And with traitors like Slughorn in charge . . . Of course he plays favorites, he did in my parents' time. But picking Mudbloods over me? It's ridiculous. So if I am less than enthusiastic about coursework, it is hardly my fault."

"The half-giant and that centaur, too," said Crabbe, mouth half-full. "D'you want something to eat? There's loads here."

Malfoy shook his head at Crabbe, then looked at the rest of them as he said, "You've heard it all before. I haven't the energy tonight . . ."

Zabini rested a hand on Malfoy's shoulder, and annoyance stung Harry. Obviously Malfoy wanted to be fawned over. "You saw Madam Pomfrey, right? To help with sleep?"

Malfoy hesitated. "And draw attention to myself? I wanted to be cautious."

"Then I'll get the potion for you," said Pansy.

They all stared at Malfoy, whose flush only made his unhealthy pallor more noticeable.

"Merlin's sake, fine, if it'll get you to stop nagging me." Malfoy raised a hand—an apple from the pile of food arced through the air and into his open palm. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly when Pansy "oohed" at this, though his expression was quickly hidden as he took a bite.

Absently, Harry wondered if Malfoy had been practicing wandless magic in the Room of Hidden Things and envisioned the collection of objects spinning around him as he tinkered with the cabinet.

After a half an hour of revising, Goyle said, "Can we have a break?"

"Oh, we should play kiss, marry, kill," said Pansy, clapping her hands together.

"What is that?" asked Malfoy.

"Right, you weren't there, were you?" said Pansy, not noticing Malfoy's jaw tense at this. "Someone says three people, and everyone decided who they want to kiss, marry, or kill."

"Sounds inane."

Pansy's excitement dropped at once. "It's not so bad."

"So," said Zabini, before Malfoy could continue putting her down, "who are you thinking of?"

"Hm." She glanced around, then said, voice lowered, "Millicent, Daphne, and Tracey."

"Marry Daphne. Kiss Tracey. Kill Millicent," was the refrain, and it seemed the only reason Malfoy repeated this was because everyone else had said it. A sense of unease filled Harry, partially undercut by amusement at their conversation.

Zabini ran a hand over his close-shaven head. "How about three from Durmstrang?"

"Plaksin, Krum, Bakhtin."

At the name Bakhtin, Malfoy drew his legs up closer to himself.

"All boys? C'mon, Pansy," groaned Zabini.

"What, it's not serious. I'll come up with a few girl ones."

"Kill Plaksin," said Zabini and Malfoy at the same time that Crabbe and Goyle said, "Kill Bakhtin."

"Why him over Mischa?" said Pansy to the pair, who looked comically frustrated.

"Mikhail didn't like us," said Crabbe.

Pansy snickered. "You two were jealous."

Goyle glared at her. "Were not!"

"No use denying it. You can't have Draco all to yourselves, you know." She cozied up to Malfoy, fluttering her lashes at them as she did so.

"You're so annoying," said Goyle, though he couldn't hide a smirk.

"Now, Blaise, if you're killing Plaksin, who will you marry and who will you snog?"

"Doesn't marrying them mean you have to snog them?" said Malfoy, duly accepting Pansy's affection.

"Well, I think it's more about who you've got to live with for the rest of your life," said Zabini, then added, "I would marry Krum. To start, he's got the most money."

"He also went to the Yule Ball with Granger," said Malfoy, unresponsive to Pansy's touch.

"So you'd go for Mikhail, then?"

Pansy looked at each of them, eyebrow raised. "Is anyone surprised?"

"Shut up." It could have been Harry's imagination, but the circles under Malfoy's eyes seemed darker than before.

"What? You two were close."

"What are you implying?"

"What do you think I'm implying?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter."

The edges of Harry prickled as he studied Malfoy, unwilling to assume he understood the fear he saw and yet unable to turn off the intuition that told him Malfoy was worried about seeming too interested in this Mikhail Bakhtin person. Who was he, anyhow? Harry hadn't paid much attention to the Durmstrang students.

"Moving on, I have another group: Sprout, Sinistra, and McGonagall."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed, drawing the attention of some seventh-year Slytherins, who looked at them pointedly so they would be quiet.

"Really?" Zabini shook his head.

"You wanted girls."

"Not what I meant."

"So what would you do?"

"Bloody hell, Pansy. What would you do?"

"Kill McGonagall. Kiss Sprout. Marry Sinistra."

"Obviously," said Zabini. "McGonagall's like a hundred years old."

Malfoy shrugged in agreement. Somehow, he seemed even more tired than he had before. Harry watched the space between him and Zabini, waiting to see if Malfoy would rest his head oh his shoulder, or resist. If it were Ron, would Harry rest his head or not? Their friendship wasn't like that, there had always been a normal distance between them.

A wicked smile spread across Pansy's face. "Potter, Weasley, and Granger."

"No, piss off," said Malfoy, suddenly alert. Zabini nudged him, laughing, as he crossed his arms. "You answer first, then, Blaise, if you find it so funny."

"It's quite straightforward. Kill Potter, marry Granger, kiss Weasley."

Pansy reached across Malfoy to hit Zabini, who then clutched his arm in mock-pain. "You better have a good explanation," she said to him, "because it's obviously kill Potter, kiss Granger, marry Weasley."

"You're a girl, of course they'd be switched."

"I can't kill Potter, that's a task for the Dark Lord," interrupted Malfoy, causing Pansy to look at him in surprise, "though he is a nuisance. May as well kill Weasley, then, there would be a dozen other red-headed blood traitors to take his place."

Pansy clucked her tongue. "Don't say you would marry the Mudblood."

"I would kiss Granger, as revolting as that would be."

After counting to two on his fingers, Goyle said, "Hang on, that means you've got to marry Potter."

"Granger's the only girl, why wouldn't you marry her?" asked Zabini, incredulous.

"Harry's a Half-blood, despite everything," said Pansy quickly.

Malfoy had gone very still. "It's only a game."

"Yeah, it's just a game," said Pansy. "We should get back to work, anyhow."

One moment, Harry was boring a hole in Malfoy's head, and the next, he saw a flash of himself coming out of the lake after the Second Task, breathless with his wet clothes clinging to him, and Fleur kissing him, followed by a surge of anger . . . And then he was back in his present body. Malfoy looked around, some color back in his face, before mumbling to the others about needing to use the bathroom.

From Harry's limited understanding of Legilimency, he knew it was easiest to read people at their most vulnerable, particularly if they wanted to be understood. Why was he on Malfoy's mind, and that memory, no less? Why had he detected a hint of jealousy? Half of him thought it was because of the glory he had in that moment and in the tournament; the other half thought it explained Malfoy's choice in the kill-marry-kiss game, why Fleur's affection meant something. And the Amortentia from earlier in the loop—

No. He wasn't going to let his imagination spin out of control, beyond the scope of reality. Besides, upon returning to the couch, Malfoy appeared to be better. At least, apart from his relentless nail-biting, a habit Malfoy acted on only in his most difficult days in the loop.

"Draco, honestly, is there anything we can do to help?" Pansy lightly ran her fingers down his arm, watching his face for any hint of instability.

"You would be the first to know. The fewer people are involved, the better." He must have said it a number of times before.

"You're smart, Draco. You'll figure it out."

He stopped chewing his nails and shrugged.

"We're proud of you. You know that, right?"

"What good does pride do? What, you're amazed I haven't fallen apart? Do you feel sorry for me?"

"No, that's not it."

None of them spoke up to elaborate, though, and they went back to studying in awkward silence.

"It's hard to believe Potter is suddenly the best at Potions in our class," said Zabini, tone akin to a Petunia giving Dudley ice cream to stop a tantrum.

"He's been cheating to win Slughorn's favor, I'm certain of it." The others watched Malfoy until he looked up, having stopped speaking before they expected. "If I weren't so preoccupied with this task, I would have earned a spot in Slughorn's little harem."

"Slughorn doesn't deserve you," cooed Pansy. "Besides, he has no idea that you have experience fixing dark artifacts. You're the only one at Hogwarts with such advanced skill."

Malfoy stayed silent.

"And what's more, you're a quick learner. I hate seeing you doubt yourself, because when you keep at something, you succeed. You get what you want, in the end."

With her compliments rewarded by a smirk, Pansy turned expectantly to the others and missed how immediately the tired expression returned to Malfoy's face.

"We will prevail," said Zabini, happy to set aside his book. "You'll become one of the Dark Lord's most esteemed servants."

For the first time, Harry felt offended on behalf of Malfoy. How could his so-called friends miss what was—in his opinion—so obvious? How could they all be so deluded? Did it make them feel better, pretending Malfoy's situation was in his head, that he would object if he didn't want the task given to him?

"I know we'll win. That's not—it doesn't matter." They were all staring at him as he stared at the wall. "I'm going to bed, I'll see you all tomorrow." Was his slouch supposed to garner sympathy from the others, or did he simply not care enough to stand properly?

As soon as he was gone, Zabini opened his mouth to speak, but Pansy shushed him.

"What?"

"Unless you're going to contribute something useful, I don't want to hear it."

"I was going to say I'll get him sleeping potion tomorrow, for Merlin's sake. One comment about his hair and you're on my case—"

"One comment, like it was one comment—"

"Oh, and you've never said anything about him."

"I'm talking about when you told him, point blank—"

"So you want to pretend everything's fine? Ooh, let's play a game, oh, Draco, you're so talented—"

"You're a prick."

"Why are you acting like it's my fault he's struggling? None of us have been able to do anything."

"I'm going to talk to him." Pansy gathered her things and walked to the boys' dormitory stairs.

"Pansy, you're going to push him further away. Leave him alone," said Zabini, and she stopped.

Without a word, Pansy turned and ran downstairs to the girls' dormitory.