The next day, Ginny met Harry at the greenhouses following his routine of talking to her and showing more affection than usual.

He kissed her, wishing desperately for it to change his mind, for things to go back to the way they were. But the contact felt empty, wrong. His inability to connect with her desire brought him back to his second year at Hogwarts, to the little redhead who had obsessed over him. He struggled to separate her from the picture of his mother, to ignore his admiration of her boyishness and her similarity to Ron.

They broke apart, and Ginny was grinning, almost giggling. He composed his expression before she caught his eye, redirecting her attention by brushing a lock of hair behind her ear and matching her smile. She was so soft—lips, cheeks, hair, gaze—and letting the ease of their connection go was difficult.

He touched her face, imagining that the flames of desire that once filled his stomach were reduced to embers, a nostalgic fondness that would be satisfied if they remained friends.

Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention; when he looked over, Luna had discovered them.

"Luna! Er, hi."

"Hello." She gave a small smile, which left her face just before she left the room.

Harry wished he could tell her that she had nothing to worry about, he actually fancied someone else. Whatever her reaction meant, those feelings would reset the next day.

To clear his head, Harry spent the next few weeks focusing on his friendships and learning magic he had yet to try in class. He spent time with Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and Molly Weasley, and visited the twins in their shop again.

He went through the same pleasantries with Fred and George's assistant as he had when he asked them for love potion months before. So much had changed; it was odd seeing them in the same bright moods and crimson robes, a reminder that he was the only one with true free will in this world.

Upstairs, he spotted the collection of notebooks that appeared to be dedicated to all of their ideas, prototypes, and research. "Can I look through these?"

"Go ahead! Ignore Fred's unsavory comments."

"My comments are unsavory, are they? You're the one who proposed the 17-and-over section—"

"You're making it sound worse than it was, I said we could do mail-order only—"

"Anyhow, your, erm, mature product sketches are in a separate notebook, right?"

"Don't worry, you won't see anything inappropriate. Probably." George gave the notebook a final suspicious glance before sitting down at a nearby desk.

Initially, Harry turned the pages with care, bracing himself for what he may find, picking up the pace once he saw it wasn't nearly as explicit as the twins had suggested.

About a third of the way through the book, a sketch of a tiny flask labeled as heart-revealing potion promised to tell the user who they most desired by changing their eye color. A scribbled comment by the illustration read, "If possible, match/reciprocated results in matching eyes?"

"What does this mean?" asked Harry, pointing at the note. George set down his quill and went over to see what he was talking about.

"Ah, it makes more sense in my head I suppose—dunno how it's magically possible, but if the person you fancy fancies you back, then their eyes would change as well. Unfortunately, Ginny says she'll hex me if I make another love product designed for girls so we're tabling it for now."

Harry chuckled. "Ever tried marketing the love products to boys?"

"I think you're either saying you want this potion or want to help us in our shop." At Harry's noncommittal shrug, he said, "If you really want it, we'll make it, but only if you tell us who you fancy. Because if it's someone we know quite well," he said with a wink, "you won't need the potion."

"It's not for Ginny, if that's who you mean."

"You're the one who brought her up. So you don't know if this girl is into you? Trust me, you should just ask her."

"It's a lot more complicated than that. But . . . I'll do my best."

On what he thought was the start of his sixth month in the loop, Harry spent the day writing out his own product ideas. Ron and Ginny got involved, offering feedback and catchy names. Harry imagined a future in which Fred and George periodically invited them to brainstorm new products, and they would talk late into the night.

What would Draco think about it all? Whenever Harry caught him staring at he and his friends enjoying themselves at dinner, the bitterness in his expression was obvious.

Why couldn't he have fancied George? He had a sly edge to him, a way he waited to speak when Fred charged ahead that made Harry wonder if there was something more to the difference between them.

Although it hardly consoled him about his choice, there was at least a chance Draco fancied him in return. It occurred to Harry that he knew someone with inside information on Draco and his past. If he wanted to know what Draco felt, he had nothing to lose by asking.

"Dobby, when you served the Malfoys, was there anything to suggest that Draco . . . fancied me?"

"Fancied you, sir? In what way?"

Harry scratched his head and laughed. "It's stupid."

"But . . . Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy hate each other."

"I know I've had you follow him. You don't have to anymore, I know what he's up to now. Er, you helped! Don't hurt yourself."

"Harry Potter . . . how would Dobby know if the Malfoy boy likes you?"

"Did he ever talk about me? Or write in a diary of some sort about me? Anything that might have meant . . ."

"Dobby knows something! When Dobby tried to stop you from coming to Hogwarts, it was because the boy talked about you so much that Dobby knew to stop your letters and to interfere in Quidditch."

"But Draco didn't know about that."

"No, Harry Potter, young Malfoy didn't." Dobby's huge eyes looked up at him. "When he was a child, he wanted to be your friend."

Harry swallowed, thinking back to the artificial memory Draco had given him in which they had reconciled. "Is that right?"

"Harry Potter killed—almost killed You-Know-Who, and his family was free. You were a mystery, Harry Potter. Before Hogwarts, young Malfoy read about you. He hoped you would be sorted into Slytherin like he knew he would be."

"And I chose Gryffindor. I chose not to be friends with him because he was an awful person. A prick." Dobby's eyes widened at Harry's language. "I don't regret it."

"No, Harry Potter, of course."

"But wanting to be friends . . . that hardly means anything more."

Dobby began to squirm, wrestling with an invisible force.

"What is it? Look, it's harmless, whatever you have to say."

"The Malfoy boy hurt Dobby when he last said something about it."

Harry felt sick imagining how Draco had abused Dobby, and that it only would have gotten worse if Dobby had remained their house-elf. "Something about what?"

Dobby covered his face with his hands and let out a whine. "When he was twelve, Malfoy told Dobby how good you were at Quidditch, among other things . . . And Dobby couldn't tell—couldn't tell if he hated you or liked you. Dobby didn't mean to offend, he didn't, but the Malfoy boy got angry . . ."

"How did he hurt you?"

"He told his father Dobby had offended him."

"I'm sorry you went through that."

"It could have been much worse, oh yes! And for years, the youngest Malfoy did not hurt him at all."

"Still, it wasn't right."

With another piece of evidence that Draco had harbored these feelings for a while, Harry had to know, once and for all, if they were genuine. In the wake of his experience toying with ideas for Wizard Wheezes, his mind spun with possible schemes that would, in essence, reveal Draco's heart.

The first of his plans involved Amortentia, but he stuck to his vow following his first use and would not have Draco drink it. To start, he paid close attention to Professor Slughorn for a week, internalizing his way of speaking and his mannerisms well enough so that he could make it through the day without Draco investigating his suspicious behavior. He mapped Slughorn's movements and found that after classes ended, the professor retreated to his living quarters and remained there in the two hours leading up to dinner.

Early in the morning, Harry stole Snape's vial of Polyjuice Potion, and at lunch, he summoned a strand of Slughorn's hair. That afternoon, as Slughorn, he sent a first year to fetch Draco, then waited in the Potions classroom.

"You called, sir? What is this about?" Draco looked vaguely annoyed, but too tired to maintain a convincing expression of distaste.

"I wished to give you another chance to win the Felix Felicis. To help give Slytherin a fighting chance in the House Cup."

Draco's eyes glinted. "You have another vial?"

"Yes."

"What have I got to do to win it?" The determination in Draco's expression faded somewhat.

"I want you to brew Amortentia. The potion is extremely difficult, so I by no means expect perfection."

Draco struggled to hold back a grin. "I accept the terms, sir."

"Excellent. Help yourself to the necessary supplies, I will wait here." As Draco began the process, Harry glanced at the map. Slughorn was still in his quarters, a safe distance away, should he start to come down to the dungeons. He avoided looking at Draco, feeling that in Slughorn's body, staring at him was highly inappropriate, even if Draco failed to notice.

"Sir?"

Harry started, hastily folding up the map. "Er, yes, Draco?"

"How well must the potion be made in order for me to receive the Felix Felicis?"

"If I am able to identify my favorite scents in the potion, it passes the test."

"Okay." Draco rolled up his sleeves and smoothed back his hair. The movement, along with the focused gaze and slight tilted curve of his neck as he regarded the potions, sent shivers through Harry. He looked back down at the papers on Slughorn's desk, pretending to read, glancing up every now and then under the pretense of watching Draco's progress.

"I've finished." He wiped his forehead with his the back of his hand, shielding his nervous features.

"Thank you, Draco. If I may ask—what does the Amortentia smell like to you?"

"Sir? I thought that—"

"I only mean to ask to see if it is truly accurate. A poorly made Amortentia will not smell appealing."

"Yes, but . . ." Draco composed himself and inhaled. "Fine. It smells like broomstick polish, rain, or smoke, perhaps, and—hair, I assume. Someone's hair, I don't know whose."

"In order to master the potion, you should be able to pick out specific scents. Why, when I was a boy, I wasn't at first sure of the smell, but I smelled—er, strawberries, and a girl in my class had the same aroma. Now the scent is different, but anyhow—it was a matter of thinking about it more carefully."

Draco's desire to argue was betrayed by a twinge in his chin. Reluctantly, he closed his eyes. "There's no fruit smell. Herbs, chemicals, I'm not sure, but I can tell that it's hair." He leaned unconsciously closer to the cauldron, caught himself, and opened his eyes.

"Yes, very well done. I too was able to detect my favorite scents. Here's the Felix. My last bottle, mind you." It was fake, but Draco was unlikely to find that out.

Draco's scrunched forehead finally relaxed. "Thank you, sir."

"Oh, and before you go, it may interest you to find the source of that scent!"

Making a sort of grimace, Draco hurried out of the room, tucking the Felix into his robes.

Harry looked down into the potion and breathed in. Its scent was the same as he had first experienced, with one important difference: a trace of hair gel, the kind Draco used. He'd smelled it on his pillows.

Later, back in his own body, Harry confronted Draco for the final phase of his scheme. "Malfoy."

Draco glanced at Crabbe and Goyle and drew himself up. "Potter." There was a fresh spark of confidence in his eyes.

"Smell my hair."

"What?"

Before Draco could reach for his wand, Harry shoved his head into his face. When he withdrew, Draco had recoiled, face as pale as his white-blond hair. The look was all Harry needed to see to confirm his hopes.

"You were watching . . . ? In Slughorn's office?" Draco quickly raised his wand. "How did you—the potion—I smelled—"

"I didn't do anything. You made it yourself." Harry stifled a laugh, knowing Draco would misinterpret it.

"When I find out what you did, I'll tell Snape—I'll prove you've been following me."

"Go ahead. I don't care."

Ron and Hermione had come up behind Harry. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, let's go," said Harry, with a small wave to Draco.

So he finally had definitive proof. Whether or not he was aware of his feelings, Draco had to fancy him. There'd be time for more questions—how could he have been so cruel? How long had he felt this way? Was he bi or gay? For now, Harry had hope.

Another idea he had also required Polyjuice Potion, but was even more convoluted. The odds that it would lead to anything useful were slim.

Under the influence of truth serum, Draco's answers were somewhat unreliable. Harry wanted to do things better, find the sliver of a chance that they could resolve their past without resorting to aggression or mind-altering magic. If Harry knew better how to have a civil conversation with him, Draco could ultimately help himself.

Crabbe and Goyle, when disguised as young girls, were a possible way to get through to Draco. All Harry had to do was Body-Bind one of them, drink a serving of Polyjuice, and return in disguise to plant an idea in Draco's head when he checked in.

"How much Polyjuice have you got left?" he asked that morning, prompting Draco to shush him.

"Lower your voice, for Merlin's sake! Enough for another week, why?"

"I saw Potter and the Weasley girl snogging yesterday."

"And? Why should I care?"

"I bet he's been telling her what's he's up to."

Draco stared at him. "Are you Crabbe or Goyle?"

"Goyle," said Harry, relieved he had checked the Marauder's Map before to figure out who was who.

"Goyle, I assumed you'd spent all this time staring at the wall, but you've actually been using your brain!" Draco waited for a few students to pass before leaning in and saying, "I'll use the room, see if he'll talk to her."

"But what if he sees you?" asked Crabbe, stupidity obvious even in his younger disguise.

"No, you moron, I'm going to use Polyjuice Potion and—never mind, why bother explaining it? When the potion wears off, meet me in the Slytherin common room."

"I heard she's going to be practicing Quidditch all evening!" Harry added as Draco walked away, getting a slight nod in return.

Once he erased Goyle's memory and set him loose, Harry found Ginny and Ron to give them a watered-down version of his plan. Ginny was skeptical at first but once he explained the loop to her, she agreed. They made sure she would cross paths with Draco just as she was talking loudly to Ron about planning to practice Quidditch for a couple hours.

Once he had presumably transformed, Malfoy loitered in a different empty classroom by Gryffindor Tower, true identity revealed only by the Marauder's Map.

That's my cue. Harry leapt out of bed, retrieved some of Ron's breath mints from his Lavender days, freshened up in the bathroom, then finally ended up in the corridor leading to the tower. He caught a glimpse of a short girl with long red hair. What suggested something was amiss was that she walked more stiffly than normal.

"Hey, Ginny, wait up!"

She started, then managed a forced smile.

Harry ran up to her, easily able to feign enthusiasm because he was highly curious about how Draco could pull this off. "What's wrong?" No use in pretending that she was acting normally, or that may raise Draco's suspicions.

"I'm a bit tired, is all."

"Do you want to go back to the dorm?"

"Actually, I thought we could go somewhere more private."

Harry faltered despite himself. "Yeah. Th-that'd be—sure." He caught Draco's sneering judgement beneath his innocuous facade. "Where do you suggest we go?"

"The room on the seventh floor." She started to lead the way with a rigidity that was comically opposed to Ginny's typical relaxed gait.

What would the room become? They had different agendas, could it become a combination of them? A common room, perhaps, with a fireplace and a couch to sit on and chat. Draco may just need the room to appear as Harry expected it to. When they reached the seventh floor, the door materialized right away. Inside was a small room with muted red and black wallpaper and a lush gold couch positioned in front of a crackling fire.

Does Draco have any idea what he'll have to do to keep up the act? Would he kiss me to prevent my being suspicious?

"This is nice," said Draco/Ginny, once Harry had closed the door.

"Yeah, it is. We ought to come here more often."

Ginny smiled, until Harry came closer, taking her hands in his. "Are you sure you're all right? Let's just relax, yeah?"

Draco nodded, remaining still as Harry touched his face and ran a hand over his hair. For it to be right, he wouldn't go any further unless Draco initiated it. There was no way to tell how he felt in this moment. What lengths was he willing to go to get what he wanted?

"What about you, Po—Harry? How are you doing?"

"Ah, you know, it can be stressful trying to figure out how to defeat Voldemort and manage school."

"Are you any closer to defeating him?" he asked as they sat down.

"We're getting closer. Dumbledore's not telling me everything, but . . . did you know his passwords are usually candy-related? It's funny, especially because our visits are quite dark."

"What's his password now?"

"Shock-o-Choc."

Draco chuckled out of repressed excitement. "Rather silly . . ."

"That's Dumbledore, though." Harry feigned falling deep in thought. "He doesn't seem to care if he dies. Even though he knows Malfoy's trying to kill him . . ." On cue, Ginny's face went bright red. "He's just accepted it."

"Remind me . . . how he found out?" Her voice was strangled, deathly quiet.

"It was fairly obvious. Snape's helping Malfoy, though, so he must have some reason for telling Dumbledore."

Harry's pity mingled with anger as he watched Draco try to manage his panic. "Hey." He touched his cheek, more brusquely than before. "I promise you, Voldemort will die before Dumbledore does. We'll get through this. And no one else will have to die, not even Malfoy."

"Saying that won't make it true."

"It's a start."

"People are going to die regardless of what you do!" Her voice cracked. "Ah, sorry." Ginny's hands trembled, and when she noticed Harry staring at them, she leaned in and kissed him.

Harry pulled away, unwilling to have Draco force himself to do this just for information. It was a lame distraction from the signs of Draco's panic. Or maybe it wasn't to trick him—the hands that gripped his upper back no longer trembled, and Ginny's expression simmered with frustration. Draco had seemed so indifferent with Pansy, but now, as he took off Harry's glasses and kissed him again, there was an intense abandon that could have been the result of a love potion.

Could it be Amortentia? Did Draco drink a little to make it easier? wondered Harry as Draco's hand slid up his neck to grip his hair. He was starting to lose track of his thoughts, focusing on the unfamiliar sound Draco made as Ginny when he pushed her closer by the small of her back. Then Harry tasted salt. Under Amortentia's influence, Draco wouldn't be in a state of mind to feel genuine sadness. "Why are you crying?" He held her face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs.

Ginny just shook her head and hugged him, burying her face in his chest, breath heaving. "Shh . . . it's okay." Harry held him tightly in return, stroking Ginny's back. Was it seeing Ginny like this or knowing it was Draco that made his heart ache? He knew it was more painful knowing Draco was not trying to appeal to him, not seeking sympathy, just seeking long overdue comfort.

Did Draco intend on erasing his memories after this? Now there was no way he could get away without being suspected, since Harry would have to bring up this incident with the real Ginny. Maybe he could get out of it by telling Draco about the time loop.

They sat like this for twenty minutes, until Draco's breath no longer shuddered. Sensing he may be able to act kindly enough that Draco would confess his identity and they could speak frankly, Harry did his best to be comforting but not too forward. He kept one hand on Ginny's waist and lightly ran his fingers up and down her back with the other.

"What can I say to reassure you?"

"Tell me . . . tell me my parents will make it out alive."

"Your parents make it out alive. They will. You don't have to worry about that. You'll be a family again."

"Again?"

Oops. "Again . . . because it's been hard, with Percy and all."

"Right."

"Ginny . . . you know I'm here for you. You've been there for me, especially when I told you I'm attracted to blokes as well as girls."

Draco stopped breathing. Gasping a bit, he spluttered, "What?" They unwound themselves from each other, and Draco stared at Harry a bit too long. "Right. Er, th-that was nothing."

"You don't need to be modest. It means a lot to me."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why did you tell me? I mean, you're with me, so what does it matter?"

"It matters because I wouldn't want to keep things from you. And I trust you. It's a part of me that no one else knows about. Of course I'll tell Ron and Hermione when I'm ready, too."

"So you tell me things you don't even tell Weas—Ron and Hermione?"

After pretending to be Pansy for information under the impression that Draco confided his secrets in her, Harry could guess where this was going. "Yes." He reclined on the couch and gestured for Draco to lay back as well.

But the red-haired, freckle-faced Draco just looked at him, pink creeping up his neck.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Draco sank back to rest his head on Harry's chest, freezing up when Harry wrapped his arms around him.

"You know you can talk to me about anything."

"Mhm." They held each other's gaze for long enough that Harry forgot he was supposed to be looking at Ginny.

"When you told me you fancied the same sex, I was surprised. Because there was nothing to suggest . . . I mean, of everyone, you'd think—maybe you'd think Draco Malfoy had those feelings, or someone else, right?"

Harry chewed his lip. "To be honest, I don't know how I could guess. I'd definitely be surprised. It's okay if Draco was bi or gay, though, you know, except I'd be worried for him."

"Why?" Draco's voice, though quiet, had a hard edge to it.

"I wouldn't imagine he's told anyone. Can you picture him telling Crabbe and Goyle? 'Hey, I know you've barely got a grasp on girls, let alone yourselves, but I thought you should know I'm into blokes.' They'd lose their minds, if they had them to begin with."

Ginny chuckled, sounding more cynical than he could have expected from her. "No, they would handle it rather poorly." Harry finally felt him relax. "So, exactly how do you intend to defeat the Dark Lord? Er, You-Know-Who?"

"Dumbledore has only told me bits and pieces. Voldemort split his soul into fragments, and put these fragments into different objects. So we're trying to find and destroy every object. Once we do, he'll be defeated for good."

"By your tone, it sounds like you're close."

"Yes, there only a few more left. Which is why everything will be alright."

Draco buried his face in Harry's chest. "Okay," he said softly. Rather than speak, they lay in silence, with Harry running his fingers through Ginny's hair, thinking. Since they were both conscious of who the other was, he felt closer to Draco than he had ever felt before. And yet, he was painfully aware of how fragile the closeness was.

A lock of blond hair shimmered under his hand. "Ginny, I've got to stretch, can you hand me my glasses?" If Draco needed an out to drink more Polyjuice Potion, this would be it. Harry stood and raised his arms over his head as he walked to the fireplace, where the fire had begun to die down. As he cracked his knuckles, he studied the wallpaper, which he had originally thought was in Victorian style or something similar. Up close, the curves of each motif were actually intertwined snakes, framing deep scarlet flowers. Harry made a show of rolling his shoulders for good measure as he considered what they could mean.

There was no sound behind him, meaning Draco might have yet to realize he was turning back. Harry pretended to take interest in the objects on the mantle to kill more time. From left to right, there was a small sculpture of a man, nude and well-proportioned. It was similar to the casts of ancient sculptures Harry vaguely recalled from the two times he attended a school trip to a nearby art museum. Was the statuette always here for this room, or had he mentally summoned it? Next to it there was a large egg, intricately painted with a scene from the Amazon, full of creatures he knew he should be able to name (he could only remember the Dugbog and Caipora). In the center of the mantle was a silver platter, and in its reflection he saw Draco standing, raising his wand to—

Harry spun around in time to yell "Protego!" as Draco yelled "Obliviate!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Draco, still half-Ginny, fell back against the couch, face locked in an open-mouthed, wide-eyed expression.

Harry swore once, then again as he heaved Draco into a lying position the couch. "Alright. Can we start over? I'm not going to crush your nose, if that crossed your mind. Give me a moment to think." Draco had to believe Harry had no ill-intent. Or that he could somehow one-up Harry to get what he wanted. "Okay, I have an idea. If you agree to answer one of my questions—no, two questions—you can ask me fifteen things and I have to answer each honestly. Also—before I unfreeze you, I'll hide your wand somewhere and will only tell you where it is if you promise not to attack me until after classes begin tomorrow. I'd prefer it if you didn't at all, of course.

"There's another thing . . . time is repeating for me. Tomorrow morning it'll be as though none of this ever happened." He left under the cloak to hide Draco's wand in a crevice he created by the Slytherin dorms, hoping that would incentivize him to remain there rather than go to Gryffindor Tower for revenge.

At last, he released the Body-Bind Curse.

Draco sat up with a groan. "What is the point of this?" His pale face was tinged with green. "Congratulations, you tricked me. You won, Potter, are you happy? The least you can do is erase both of our memories so we can pretend this never happened."

"You won't remember tomorrow, anyhow."

He scoffed, though he looked like he could cry. "Clearly, you have more to gain if your two questions are at least worth fifteen of mine. And if you're right about this time thing—"

"Are you going to agree, or not?"

"You haven't given me much choice." His eyes searched for somewhere to look other than at Harry and he crossed his arms. "So how's this going to work? You answer seven questions, then ask your first question, I ask eight more, and at the end, you ask your second question."

"Seems fair enough."

"One: why are you so sure that time is repeating?"

"I have been living the same day over and over again for six months. I don't know why or how. It's a powerful curse; nothing I've done has made any difference."

"Two: and that is how you know about what I have been tasked to do?"

"Yes, that's how I know you have to kill Dumbledore."

"Three: and were you saying you know how to kill the Dark Lord to see how I reacted, or is that true?"

"It's true. He's not as invincible as he'd like people to believe."

"Four: do you genuinely want to help me?"

"Yes. Assuming you're willing to help a bit in return."

"Five: are you really what you said you are, or was that another test?"

Harry's heart thudded. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Are you bloody bisexual, for Merlin's sake! Making me ask that outright . . ."

"I . . . that was the first time I'd said it, actually. I've never told Ginny, or anyone. And I was testing you, but it was . . . true."

"I shouldn't be wasting these questions on this . . ." he said, head in his hands.

"Why did you want to know?"

"You're not supposed to ask a question yet."

"Sorry."

"Six: what's the password to Gryffindor tower?"

"Eureka."

Draco smirked and sat back on the couch.

"I really hope you're not thinking of barging in and erasing my memory."

Draco mock-pouted. "You should have thought about that before telling me there are no consequences for my actions."

"That's not what I said. If you erase today, or more, I won't think there's any way to rationally help you, and revert to my less pleasant strategy . . ." He chewed his lip. "This is the first time we have sat down and talked. You would think, in six months . . ."

"Seven: what is the worst thing you have done to me, Potter?"

"Used Veritaserum on you to find out about your plans. But I guess it depends on what you value most. Your privacy? Your autonomy?"

"I value being left alone when I never asked for help."

"You asked Myrtle for help."

"Is that what all of this is about? Did you see me talking to her?"

"I'll count that as two questions. Before, though, I get to ask you a question."

"Fine."

"Who have you used the Imperius Curse on?"

There was a labored pause as Draco came to terms with what he had to share. "Madam Rosmerta. She helped me smuggle in the mead and the necklace. I never meant for Katie or Weasley to—it wasn't about them."

"Not that you asked, but that's only one of the worst things you've done to me. Nearly killed my best friend while I watched."

Draco put his face in his hands. "How could you want to help me?"

"I would be lying if I said all of this was solely to help you. In the end, having you change sides will help us defeat Voldemort—"

"And why do you call him that?"

"My fear will always lead to resistance. That's the difference between us: you will fake respect, loyalty, call him whatever name you need to in order to survive.

"Of course what you choose to do is right, and everyone else is wrong. You didn't grow up among us, you don't know what it's like to have him hanging over your head . . ."

"There's a real difference in calling him your lord and calling him You-Know-Who."

Draco's eyebrow twitched. "Six months in the same day and I thought you would understand me by now."

"Oh, I can understand, that doesn't mean I have to agree."

"Fair enough." The heat of the argument had reenergized Draco, set his knee bouncing, his eyes fixed on Harry. "I believe you have two questions to answer, now. Eight and nine."

"Right, about Myrtle, and how the time loop started? Six months ago, I walked in on you in the girls' bathroom; you were crying, asking her what to do. When you saw me, you freaked and tried to curse me, and I tried this spell that I shouldn't have. I nearly killed you. When I woke up the next day, it had never happened. On other days, you said you wished someone could help, and it was clear you didn't want to have to kill Dumbledore. You may hate him, you may have taken the mark, but if you had a way out . . ."

"You're so sure about this plan of yours, so ten: how would you fail? And eleven: how likely is it that you would fail?"

"We would fail if too many people join Voldemort's ranks, or if he finds out about our plan. Even then, at some point, I'd hope the international community would step in, and enough people would know what to do that his days would be numbered. As far as how likely it is that we would fail, I dunno, I have a pretty good track record so far. Do you want me put a number on it?"

"You've merely been lucky." Draco pressed his hands together.

"You've got four questions left, haven't you?"

"Yeah. Twelve: why doesn't Dumbledore care that I've been trying to kill him?"

"He cares, he just doesn't think you're up to the task. He sees that you're desperate. You're not a murderer."

While this may not have satisfied Draco, he had nothing more to say, until: "Who do you fancy? Thirteen."

Harry's head spun. The question was inevitable, and still he would rather not say it out loud. "Clearly, it's you."

"Since when?" Draco's voice dropped so low Harry could barely hear him.

"Not for very long, really. One more question, make it count."

"Do you know if I fancy anyone?"

"I used to think you fancied Pansy. And then . . . well, maybe I should have known earlier, but I found out your Amortentia smelled like me. What I don't know is whether you know you fancy me, or why, or when it all started, or how you could treat me like shit, quite frankly, even though you like me that way."

Draco swallowed, hard. "Okay. You owe me an extra question."

"Within reason."

He rubbed his neck. "Would you only have snogged me if I was in Ginny's body?"

"Do you want to find out?"

The color in his face flared up again. "Answer the question."

"I would rather you were in your own body."

Draco stood up abruptly, hitting his shin on the table between them. He cursed, eyes scrunched shut as Harry hurried over to him.

"Are you okay?"

"Just grand," he replied through gritted teeth, collapsing back onto the sofa. He pulled up his pant leg to see the angry mark on his skin.

"Do you want me to kiss it better?" asked Harry, holding back a grin. "I can't believe you, Potter. The time loop has screwed with your head."

"Maybe it has."

Draco's eyes were on Harry's wand, which sat on the chair well out of arm's reach.

Harry sighed. "I know you could summon it, if you wanted."

"Just ask your question," said Draco, rolling his pant leg down as Harry sat next to him.

"At the start, I planned to ask you if you fancied me. Or why you kissed me when you really didn't have to. But now, I want to know: what can I do in future loops for you to trust me? For you to believe that I want to help you."

Draco shifted to put more distance between the two of them. "Knowing you have feelings for me could help. Telling me is going to be . . . a risk. I would first think you're manipulating me. You have to erase any doubt that your plan is the best way forward, and then I will do what is best. That's all I can guarantee."

"Right. There's still the chance you would go straight to Voldemort with everything I tell you."

"There is that chance, I suppose."

Harry's grimace met Draco's solemn expression, and said, "There's no point trying anything until tomorrow, if there is the same tomorrow; otherwise, you'll be putting yourself in harm's way for nothing."

"It must be nice—making mistakes and not having to live with them."

"I'm trying to make the most of it. Or else I would never have risked something like this. But what we did wasn't a mistake. Without the deception, it's not something to be ashamed about."

Rather than say anything in response, Draco leaned over to rest his forehead on Harry's shoulder.

"Will you be okay if I leave? I'll tell you where your wand is."

Draco nodded.

"Will you sit up, then?"

When Draco looked up, his face was once again streaked with tears. He reached out with both hands and held Harry's face.

Their kiss this time held a different kind of desperation; they had tried too hard to get it perfect.

Harry gripped his shoulder, and after they parted he let out a long breath. "For once, I'd like to kiss you when you're not crying."

"And I'd like to feel like you don't just want to fix me."

"I don't—I'm not—it's more complicated than that." Harry stood. "I've put your wand in the wall outside of the Slytherin common room."

"Okay."

"You'll be alright. I promise."

Draco had started to chew his nails, and it took visible effort for him respond. "Thanks, Potter."

That night, Harry waited for Draco to break into the Gryffindor common room. He never did.