The next week at the Burrow was the best of Harry's life so far. Had he not had time to process Dumbledore's impending death, the loss would have struck him much more harshly. And, for a year, he'd only spent time with copies of Ron and Hermione. Perhaps it was twisted, but mourning brought him closer to them. Although the peace he felt was interrupted by a group of reporters every day, it was hardly more than a mild nuisance. If anything, having to relive the war's events and explain his experience helped him move past his shock. When he was interviewed as part of a group, he learned what the others felt without dwelling on trauma or tragedy in their free time. That said, it was emotionally draining, and certain lines of questions made Harry tired and irritable.

"What do you think your parents would say about what you've done, if they were alive?"

"I dunno. They'd be proud, I suppose, though there were so many people who played a part who deserve recognition."

"Do you believe what Severus Snape told the Ministry about the murder of Albus Dumbledore?"

"Again—I've spoken about this already—Voldemort nearly killed Dumbledore, but he asked Snape to end his life so Voldemort couldn't."

He tried to limit how often he spoke about Draco unless the reporters asked him directly. "Can you explain how Narcissa and Draco Malfoy decided to turn against You-Know-Who?"

"They realized they weren't on the winning side and wanted to ensure Voldemort went down. Ever since Voldemort made Malfoy a Death Eater and threatened Lucius Malfoy's life, Narcissa wanted to do what was best for her family."

"How do you know, exactly? Have you spoken to the Malfoys?"

"I've talked to Draco, not his parents, no."

"When did you and Draco Malfoy patch things up? You were rivals at Hogwarts, were you not?"

"Er . . ."

Reporters for the Prophet probably knew who Rita Skeeter's source had been during the Triwizard Tournament, seeing as they pushed him on questions on Draco, which was usually when Hermione or one of the Weasleys swooped in to change the subject.

Hermione was asked questions about Muggleborn issues, which were on the whole well intentioned, but got old quickly.

"What changes in Muggleborn rights do you expect to see now that You-Know-Who is dead?"

"I hope that people who were tempted by You-Know-Who's rhetoric will recognize the real harm caused by blood purism." She had clearly spent a lot of time considering how best to explain her thoughts to people who may feel indifferent, since her tone was steady and even. "Muggleborns were not the ones plotting to systematically oppress people, the Death Eaters were—actually, are, because I'm sure this isn't the end of them, or others like them."

Ron was often overlooked in these interviews. His annoyance about this would typically fade by the evening, when everyone was together. Because of the bitter winter weather, those staying at the Burrow preferred to stay indoors and spend time talking, drinking. Overall, no one—except Molly, perhaps—felt more grateful for the company than Harry did. Years of living under the Dursleys, followed by over six years with Voldemort on his trail, followed by a year trapped in the same day, all with the fate of the wizarding world resting on him; he could now spend the remainder of his years living a normal life.

"Normal" did not mean ordinary and oppressive like it did to the Dursleys, to him it really meant free and balanced—the Weasley brand of normal, with concern for the everyday more than for the overall safety of the world. Their family, though incomplete, felt like it could be his own.

Charlie and Bill returned home for a couple days, making Percy's absence even more obvious. He wasn't the only missing Weasley, though; Fred and George had been far too busy in the shop to come home. Apparently, following the second and final death of Voldemort, the wizarding community from across the continent flocked to their shop. Despite the fact that celebrations marking the end of Voldemort's first rise to power were ultimately premature, celebrations marking the end of his second reign were just as lively. And lively celebrations required fireworks.

After working a few long days in Diagon Alley, the twins left early so they could join the family for the weekend. As a surprise, they put together a fireworks display beyond what Harry imagined possible.

As a scarlet dragon soared into the air, Ron put his arms around Hermione and him, gazing up at the sky as though it offered complete peace. It was then that Harry understood why it meant so much for him to be with the Weasleys; Voldemort's fall meant so much to them, if not more; it had been a part of their lives for longer.

The end-of-war euphoria shifted something between the two. Before the time loop, Harry had been bracing himself for them getting together without really being aware he was doing it.

One morning, Hermione made coffee for herself and Ron, placing a mug beside him as he slouched groggily at the dining table. Once the mug was nearly empty and the rest of the family were sitting down for breakfast, Ron sat up with a jolt and looked at Hermione. "Thank you for the coffee! You, er, remembered the way I liked it."

"Oh, it was really no trouble," she replied, though Harry could tell she'd been waiting to see if he noticed. She and Ron smiled at each other for a bit too long, and after that, he made a point to make both of them coffee each morning.

Over the course of the week, Molly's eyes strayed occasionally to the pair whenever they lingered close to one another, or when Ron touched Hermione's arm under some flimsy pretense (excuse me, hey, can you pass the—, g'morning, g'night).

Ginny sensed this shift, too, smirking at Harry if they ever noticed some flirtation or awkwardness at the same time. She also sensed that there was something different between her and Harry. His attempts to be subtle—shifting away if she came too close, not looking at her for too long—were meant to avoid seeming romantically interested in her.

One night, Ginny cornered him in the bathroom as he was brushing his teeth. "Will you just tell me what happened? Merlin, you've been dodging me like I have dragonpox."

"W'you mean?" he asked, spitting into the sink.

"You've been acting weird around me."

"Yeah. About that." He was going to have to tell her eventually. "In the loop, we may have kissed a few times."

"Oh."

"And I don't want to lead you on now because I sort of fancy someone else."

"Wait, so how did we kiss? Oh, god, did I kiss you and you didn't—"

"I fancied you," he blurted out.

"Oh. Past tense?"

"I fancied you for a year and a half. Close to two years, I think. I couldn't do anything about it because you were with Dean, and even though I found out you had feelings for me, I was in the loop . . ."

"Hey. It's okay. I'm glad you told me." She was difficult to look at in her pajamas, her damp hair loose over her shoulders, shampoo scent wafting over to him as though it were enchanted to taunt him. "Can I ask what changed? It's not like I have a few spare months to get over you. Is it . . . is it because of Ron?"

"Oh, no, it's got nothing to do with him. Er, only a little to do with him. I wish I could explain it, but I don't think I'm ready to tell you who I fancy now. I promise I will, I just—want to see where it goes first."

"Fair enough." She hugged him. "I got the message, you don't have to act cold toward me. I don't want things to be weird between us now."

"Me neither." His heart was beating faster. "Ron doesn't know I liked you, though I think Hermione figured it out, so can you hold off saying anything about it in front of him yet?"

"Oh, you don't want him to know? I was planning on running to his room right now . . . he's not lectured me in a few weeks, I've kind of missed it." She separated herself from him, and he willed himself to act as though her pull on him had entirely diminished. "Do they know who you fancy?"

"No, and I'm sure they'll react poorly when I tell them, so knowing I used to fancy you would make it worse."

Ginny nodded, and Harry could tell the question burned in her.

If he had known what the first day back at Hogwarts would be like, Harry would have stayed in bed. Everywhere he went, people thanked him for defeating Voldemort. Students he had never before spoken to hugged him, and those who had resented him in the past now waved at him in the corridor. The Slytherins who had returned to school were mostly younger, acting decently enough, while there were few Slytherins above fourth year. Draco, Blaise, and Daphne were the only sixth-year Slytherins back, and they stuck together from breakfast on, along with Daphne's sister Astoria.

Although Harry was only able to see him from far away, Draco already looked healthier. He ate all of his lunch, even licking his fingers after, and smiled a few times during his conversation. When the others weren't looking, he pulled something out of his pocket and put it on the floor. A few moments later, Harry heard the shiff of paper at his feet, and picked up a small note that read "Astronomy Tower. Eight o'clock. —D.M."

Harry looked up and nodded at him once, mirroring his attempts to be discreet. In reality, he sat numb at the force with which the unknown surrounded him. Whatever happened that night with Draco would be permanent. No negotiation, no chance to say something better. Somehow, he wasn't nervous. He guessed it had to do with knowing Draco would be far more nervous than him. Conversation with Ron and Hermione awkwardly started and stopped as he kept imagining possible scenarios for the evening. Rather than try to rustle up some excuse about adjusting to new time mechanics, he periodically yawned to seem tired.

On their way back from lunch, a voice behind them said, "Potter."

Harry glanced over his shoulder, then told Ron and Hermione to go ahead without him.

McGonagall, newly appointed to headmaster, nodded shortly at him. "I trust you enjoyed your time off?"

"Yes, I did, thank you."

"I recognize that this is in short notice, however, I wished to ask you to speak at dinner tonight about the loss of Albus and Alastor. Prior to your piece, I will speak, so be prepared to adjust as you see fit according to how I addressed the students."

Perfect, a distraction. Obsessing over a speech for the rest of the day would stop him obsessing over a boy. At least, in theory. In practice, writing the speech took forever because his thoughts strayed to whether Draco planned to reject him, or kiss him, or profess his undying love. Probably not the latter. Even with Hermione's generous editing, his daydreaming resulted in a speech that was more emotional than anticipated, half directed to the student body, half directed to Draco.

McGonagall spoke first, briefly. "Good evening, students, staff, and faculty. Thank you all for returning to Hogwarts after a turbulent week. I have been busy myself, contacting families and ensuring my transition to headmistress does not disrupt life here for all of you.

"I would ask to refrain from making assumptions as to why some students are absent. No student has been barred from returning, and there are multiple reasons families have elected to keep their children at home. Although the immediate threat to our safety has gone, I have to ask each and every one of you to remain alert. Look out for one another, and please respect Hogwarts rules, as they have been instated for your safety. Finally, you will all still have exams, though due to your week off so close to the exam period, they will be open book when possible."

There were some groans, but they quickly abated at McGonagall's glare. "Now, I want you all to give your complete attention to Mr. Potter."

Harry went up to the podium and cleared his throat. "Hello, everyone." Hermione had argued with him over good evening versus hello for twenty minutes. "Er, I hope you all had a restful week away. I know you probably read about what happened at Malfoy Manor in the papers; that's only part of what I wanted to talk about." His eyes traveled from Hagrid, who struggled to stifle his sobs, to Snape, whose eyes may have been glassy, unless it was merely the glint of candlelight.

"Voldemort was defeated because of the efforts of a few brave students—they know who they are. Draco Malfoy was in on the plan."

Everyone turned to Draco, whose smile ended up looking more like a grimace.

"We knew that attacking Voldemort would be risky, which is why we launched a surprise attack. Voldemort—Tom Riddle was mortal. The magic he used to prolong his life came at a price. His life was empty, destructive. Rather than remember him by the name he used to stoke fear, or let him survive as an unspeakable legend, he should be called by the name he tried to rid himself of—Tom Riddle. In the end, he died as a man deserving of pity or hate, not respect or fear. His life is an unfortunate reminder that anyone can be capable of evil. Let his desire for power go unfulfilled. Albus used his abilities for good and, despite his shortcomings, will be remembered most for his contributions to medicine and magical knowledge. His legacy is life, not death. That is the legacy we should all strive for. Riddle, on the other hand, was so averse to love that he leaves behind only death, followers who fear him; and no heir, nothing positive except hope that the world can be better."

Harry couldn't tell if he was making sense anymore. Hermione and Ron were easy to read, both nodding or giving a tight-lipped smile, whereas Draco's face was severe in his concentration.

"Anyhow—with everyone gathered here, I can't help but think of Cedric Diggory. When he died, it seemed as though no one was safe. That lives would be taken as though they meant nothing. And we gathered here, in the Great Hall, when nothing was fair and the past shouldn't have repeated itself. We were on the brink of another war. But we had Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody. Without them, we would not have taken down Riddle when we did. At the very least, they prevented more innocent lives from being taken. They put themselves at risk so we could have peace."

Harry had to read from what he'd written now, making it seem more performative than he'd wanted. Hopefully what he said came across as sincere. "To those who want a name for themselves, or who want to survive at any cost, or who love someone enough to do anything to protect them, remember Albus, and Alastor, and Tom. Remember being unknown is better than causing enough harm that others wish you had never existed. Remember that acting for the common good but being disliked is better than being admired by a select few. Maintain some doubt about your actions rather than forcing your will on people. Above all else, appreciate the people in your life while they are still around. If there's someone you've been waiting to tell how you feel, or if you've been putting your friendships aside, or whatever, come to terms with what is most important in your life. It won't just make a difference for you." Harry looked up from his speech. "Er, thank you." If the applause weren't so loud, he would have apologized for preaching to he sat down, Ron patted him on the back, though he was looking at Hermione. "Good job, you two."

Harry exhaled in relief and said, "Thank you, Hermione."

"You're welcome." Her eyes had narrowed a bit—puzzling through something, maybe—before Ginny nudged her to talk about the speech.

That evening, upon climbing the winding steps to the top of the tower, Harry found Draco already there, standing at the balcony. He took off his cloak and cleared his throat.

Draco started and looked over his shoulder. "Hello, Potter."

"Hey, Draco."

"Nice speech tonight. It was . . . moving." Was Draco already blushing?

"Er, thank you. Have you been here long?"

Draco merely shrugged, staring out over the castle grounds.

"How are you, then?"

"Fine."

"You look loads better." Judging by Draco's barely concealed pride, he knew it, too. "Your father . . . were you able to see him?"

"Mother and I visited him at the Ministry, where he's being kept temporarily. All things considered, I'm fine. Relieved. Things can only improve. The Ministry will likely track down remaining Death Eaters, and there are more trials to take place, and the government must regroup, I assume, so things are starting to look up for my family—" At the expression on Harry's face, he added, "Er, but yes, now there is no one threatening to kill me. For now. So, thank you."

"Modesty suits you."

Draco frowned, eyes narrowed. "Don't get too accustomed to it. I can only hope our actions will absolve my family of our . . . unsavory past. At least, of my past. The Ministry's view of my father may remain tainted. If he gets parole, it won't be for forever, given all of the information he can provide the government."

Harry believed in second chances. He had to believe Lucius could be better without excusing his past actions, or he would be a hypocrite for his changed judgement of Draco and Severus. "Do you think he'll regret supporting You-Know-Who? And not just because you all suffered from it?"

"I . . . don't know. There is a lot I thought I understood, and now . . . once he's released, we have a lot to talk about, my father and I."

"About whether he's still keen on being a blood purist?"

"It's so like you to oversimplify things."

The stores of patience Harry had built up over the brief holiday were running low. "It's so like you to overcomplicate things." He itched to make a comment about balancing each other out, but Draco seemed ready to pounce on any comment he made.

"Overcomplicating . . . How about this then, I don't want to meet you in public. The secret room should suffice until tensions have eased between our houses before we see each other again. Or is that that too complicated?"

"You mean the Room of Requirement? And for what?"

A light flush crept up Draco's neck. "You tell me."

"Oh, so now you think I'm telling the truth about how I feel?"

"I simply—have a hard time believing you, despite everything."

"Believing that I fancy you?"

Draco scoffed. "What else, Potter? Surely you can understand my skepticism."

"I do, but . . ." Harry frowned, staring at Draco's flexing fingers. "Surely there's a reason your Amortentia smelled like me."

Draco turned abruptly toward him. "You—the scent I failed to recognize—" He glanced around before stepping closer to Harry. "Turn around."

Harry did so, taken aback at how readily he did as Draco told. Nerves scattered from Draco's fingertips, causing his whole body tot tense.

"The scent matches."

"Right, so that was the most, er, concrete proof I had." Harry turned back to face Draco, who took a step back to restore the distance between them.

Draco ran a hand reflexively over his sleek hair. "I have thought about it the past week, and I do not believe this has been a phase for very long. I was never conscious of any . . . feelings. At the most, I thought I was confused."

"But you still . . . you know, in the girls' bathroom. And when you were disguised as Ginny. What you saw when you used Legilimency."

"I did that of my own free will?"

"Er, yeah." The idea of making Draco do anything he didn't want to do filled Harry with disgust. "Both times, I told you I fancied you, and spent a long time explaining everything. And as Ginny, you tried to get information out of me, but I knew it was just you in disguise, and you kissed me then, too. "

"Ah. And now I have no memory of this." Draco furrowed his brow, visibly struggling to decide how he felt.

"I may as well tell you that for the time in the Astronomy Tower, I used Amortentia. But, er, that was just a month and a half into the loop, and I didn't think you'd, you know . . ."

The pink in Draco's cheeks deepened. "You are quite thick, aren't you? What did you think it would do?"

"We're the same sex! I had no thought about people who might . . . it just never occurred to me."

Draco sighed, rubbing his temple. "Seeing as your obliviousness knows no bounds, and you have been honest with me—albeit pitifully so—I will explain my experience. Just don't—don't take it as a confession, or weakness, and certainly do not presume it means anything."

Harry bit his tongue and nodded.

"I only remembered recently, but after our first year at Hogwarts, I told our house-elf about you. At eleven, I'm sure I had less discretion about what I told him. He made a comment—I can't recall what it was—and I punished him. And afterwards, I repressed what I felt. My hatred for you intensified."

"I don't understand. What did you tell Dobby?"

"Something—I can't remember specifically—that he twisted around. He thought, because of what I said, I would want to help save your life. This was despite the fact I had described loathing you on numerous occasions, and yet . . . Anyhow, it's not important. Will you let me finish? You rejected my offer of friendship in our first year and hated me first. I know now it never would have worked—being friends with the war going on—but it was our opposing roles and beliefs that divided us, not our personalities. You refused to admire me, or see me as a true adversary, and that only intensified my obsession. Better to hate you than to admit I was misled, or misleading myself. So you can see, now, why I hated you was not so straightforward . . ."

Harry chewed this over. Draco had danced around any concrete truths, leaving him bewildered. When he had the chance, there were plenty of specifics to work out, but for now—"Hated me? Past tense?"

"Now there is no point. You can profoundly annoy me, and I can't seem to shake my lingering resentment, but . . ." Draco trailed off, studying Harry. "Despite everything, this is still not worth it. I appreciate everything you did to help me, but—just look, I have been constantly anxious someone will walk in on us and get the wrong idea!" He flinched at the change in Harry's expression and looked away. "Besides, you can fancy girls, and I am sure if I try—"

"You're a coward, Malfoy." Harry's tone surprised them both. "I hope you realize you've just gone from being a Death Eater, going along with your family, to this, denying who you're attracted to, and for what? To avoid embarrassment?"

"So you would be fine out in the public."

Harry faltered. "Well, not exactly."

"Why should I have expected you would be fine being discreet? Gryffindors are all prideful, risk-taking, and brash, so you concealing something like this seems antithetical to your House."

Harry scoffed. "If we're going by generalizations, I see how you'd prefer sneaking about; Slytherins are all about strategy, tact, and burying their emotions."

"You're oversimplifying things again."

"And you're not?"

"Fair enough. You always did seem more like a Slytherin than a Gryffindor, anyhow."

"Oh, I've seen your common room three times now, I really would not have wanted to live there. It's got no warmth! Maybe I could smuggle you into the Gryffindor common room. I have the invisibility cloak, you know."

"Imagine explaining that to Weasley and Granger. A part of me would want to see the look on their faces . . ."

"Er, I may want to tell them how I feel, though. About us."

"Oh."

"Only if they swear to keep it a secret."

"I don't know . . ."

"If I tell them, there's a chance they'll forgive you. Or at least stop hating you."

"Just them?"

"To start, then, and if it ever becomes relevant, the friends I have who know about the time loop. Ginny and Luna. They'd understand enough to keep it quiet."

"Yeah. Fine. Tell them if you have to. There's little to tell, anyhow."

With the swelling in his chest, the bright light of the sunset lighting their skin on fire, Harry agreed: how could he possibly put his feelings into words? After facing death, he was happy to be alive. The strands of hair hitting his face from the wind used to bother him, and now he appreciated the sensation.

For what could have been two or twenty minutes, they were silent, looking out over the grounds. Well, Draco was looking over the grounds, and Harry kept sneaking glances at him. He wanted to cement it all in his memory, how the sun washed out the remaining lines of stress from Draco's face, the faintly annoyed expression that meant he was thinking. His eyelashes—

"Do you really enjoy looking at me that much?" said Draco, catching him mid-stare.

"Yes? I'm sorry if I'm bothering you."

"You're not."

"It's just that you're quite nice to look at." What an idiotic way to say that, can you even call that a compliment?

Draco shrugged this off as though a fly had buzzed by his ear. "It's getting late. If we want to make curfew . . ."

"Right, yeah."

As they faced each other, there was a long moment that Harry was sure indicated he should move closer, kiss him, but Draco merely nodded once as if to say "Goodnight" and went down the stairs.

Keeping secrets was easy for Harry, as he thought having his private life spouted all over the media was disconcerting, so by instinct he could refrain from preaching about his relationship (or whatever he ought to call it).

Keeping secrets from Ron and Hermione was another thing. Now that Voldemort was dead, now that he waited a year for time to begin again and for the world to be real, how could he stand to keep anything significant from his best friends?

It was when he reached the portrait hole that he began to lose his resolve.

Hermione spotted Harry first, worried expression relaxing as she walked over to him. "Where've you been? Ron said you took the cloak and the map, we were going to look for you."

"About that . . . can we talk in private?" He looked around the common room and saw that Neville, Dean, and Seamus were all there. "Up in the boys' dorm?"

Hermione nodded and went to Ron. He could barely remember them going up to the dorm room; he wasn't even sure if he looked at their faces.

Once I tell them, I can't take it back.

Harry felt as though he wasn't in his body, but he was aware of his bed, and how close Ron and Hermione were to him. "I have to tell you two something. It's probably the last thing you'd expect, and I didn't want to tell you before the battle because it would've made things weird, and I didn't want to be in the middle of a row with you in case we were killed."

"Alright, what is it then?" Ron's naiveté seeped into the air like a fog, disrupting Harry's thoughts. In a sudden rush of shame, Harry wanted to back out, say something else, because whatever he said next would change everything, and surely for the worse. It was stupid, risking friendship just so he could feel more fully understood.

"You know how Draco gave me information on Voldemort?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Well, the things I did to get the information—I—see, it's very complicated, but—" Harry clasped his hands together to keep from fidgeting. He at least had enough courage for the first part of the confession. "I had only realized it while I was in the time loop. Looking back, I think I just ignored it, I mean, as a kid, I was used to being the odd one out, and I didn't realize I was a wizard until I was eleven, for Merlin's sake, and even then it was Hagrid who told me—"

"Harry, it's okay." Hermione smiled through tightly pressed lips at him, eyes shining.

"You know what I'm going to say?"

Hermione shrugged. "I . . . hadn't thought much of it, at the battle, I assumed I imagined it. I saw you and—you were hugging. And then what you said in your speech, or how you said it, or who you looked at, it made me wonder . . ."

"What is it?" Ron was annoyed now, two times over, at Hermione's sympathetic expression toward Harry and his lack of understanding.

"I'm bisexual." Harry avoided both of their expressions, unwilling to see what he assumed was Hermione's conflicted triumph that she had guessed correctly and Ron's slack-jawed bewilderment. He had confessed to them before, but now, however they reacted would be permanent.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Ron appeared partly amused, partly apprehensive.

"It means I can be attracted to both sexes." Harry turned to Hermione, whose eyes followed his as though she expected him to cry at any moment. "Is that what you expected?"

Hermione hesitated. "Nearly, but both?"

"How's that possible?" Ron had trouble enunciating.

"I dunno, I just—I had to explain it to you in the time loop, too. Apparently I'm not the only one. My mum was, and Remus is, he told me—"

"But what about your dad?"

Harry knew he was letting them get off track but couldn't help giving in to the tangent. "He knew how Lily was, he was okay with it, with Sirius, too. Actually, Remus and Sirius were together."

"They were?" Ron and Hermione gawked at him.

"I was shocked, too, but after a few weeks I started to understand—"

"It does make sense, looking back."

Ron turned his gaping expression to Hermione. "What in Merlin's name makes sense about that?"

"They were very close, weren't they? Remus lived at Grimmauld Place before he died, they were best friends in school—"

"Friends, Hermione. There's nothing—living together—you wouldn't jump to conclusions like that if you were a bloke!"

"Ron, you're being rather close-minded about this. It's not affecting you, is it?"

"Harry's my best mate!" Ron protested weakly.

"I'm right here," said Harry, "and I have no idea how long it will take you to get over yourself, but I'm not going to change, so don't bother expecting that."

"I'm not asking you to change. I don't even know what I'd want you to change from! I just—this is—explain it again. So you like blokes the same way you like girls?"

"It's not the same, exactly. I don't feel the same, er, kind of attraction. But if you mean I've wanted to be with both sexes, in a sense, then you're right."

"So you got this from your mum?" Apparently, Ron wanted to abandon his previous line of questioning.

"Maybe. I haven't found any research on how it's passed down. I don't think anyone really knows. And regardless, there isn't a point in knowing." He considered adding, There's no fixing it, but "fixing" was the wrong word, because he wouldn't want to change himself, even if he could. Perhaps it was better if he didn't know whether it was possible.

"How did you realize, Harry?"

He could tell Hermione was trying to extend an olive branch, and perhaps because she read into his hug with Draco, she at least wouldn't be surprised. "If I tell you," he addressed Ron now, "it'll only make things worse."

Ron was shaking his head, repeating the movement for too long, as though shooing away a bad dream. "You have to tell us. I mean, I want you to explain it."

Harry covered his face with his hands and sighed. "I-I developed feelings for Malfoy."

Silence resonated in the room, and Harry didn't dare look, until—

"Yeah right." Ron started to laugh. "Of all people. That would be a riot . . ." He noticed Hermione's worried expression, Harry's fidgeting hands. "No. Tell me you're not serious."

Harry said nothing.

"It's not funny anymore, Harry." Ron stood up. "Hermione, did you know about this?"
"They arrived at the Hog's Head together, and I-I saw them hug after the battle, I thought maybe I was—I wasn't sure—"

Ron's face turned a ghastly red color. "What happened to you? The time loop did something, it messed with your head."

"Ron, I lived the same day over again for a year. I can explain everything that led to this—"

"You're not joking." Ron turned helplessly to Hermione, who was tried to deescalate the brewing feud by asking, "Has he changed, then, Harry? Is that how this is possible?"

"He fancied me before the time loop, sort of."

"Malfoy fancied—?"

"And I obviously didn't realize this, but I think I might've felt the same way, a part of me that was twisted, confused. You've seen how obsessed I was with him. And then over time, as the months passed . . . But yes, he has changed. He wants to change."

Ron cut in again. "So you'll excuse him for being a coward, a knobhead, a murderous, big-headed little sod, just for switching sides when it was easy?"

Harry stood. "How can you say you'd be on the right side if your family were all Death Eaters?"

"That doesn't matter! I wouldn't want you to be friends with me if I were a Death Eater, let alone—"

"He's only a teenager, Ron, like us." Hermione got to her feet as well, so that the three of them stood, glaring at each other. "If we don't accept people who want to be better, how can we expect anyone to change?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to change! Maybe he's only after Harry, because—because—!"

Harry could no longer hold his temperament. "How the hell would you know, Ron? You haven't given him a chance!"

Ron scoffed, his gaze cold, visibly finding Harry's words too bizarre to process. "What, so Malfoy's told you he wants to be friends with us, has he?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Exactly my point! This is mental, Harry. You're not thinking clearly. You're blinded."

"You're one to talk!"

Hermione was holding back tears. "Ron, go get some air."

"You're siding with him, then? You don't think he's being thick? Or—or that he's under some curse? Bloody hell, Hermione."

"I'm not taking sides! I'll come with you, then, if it'll stop you from saying something you'll regret." Hermione forced Ron out, shooting a final sympathetic glance in Harry's direction before closing the door behind them.

Harry sat down on his bed. He felt perfectly numb, as though he had never felt anything and would never feel anything again—friendship, love, pain, stress. He stared at the bed directly across from him, the room so silent he could hear his heart, and then Ron's words reverberated back at him: You're blinded.

How long had he agonized over the possibility that he'd lost his senses, only to have Ron shove it back in his face? He knew Ron would react negatively, he was under no illusion that his confession would've been received with a congratulatory hug or even something along the lines of "give me time to process."

Once the anger had passed and he felt empty again, Harry understood what stripped the emotion from him: the unknown. He never had to worry about Ron staying friends with him when he tried this before, since he knew time would reset. In their past they shared a fair deal of silent treatments, arguments, and miscommunications about things out of Harry's control and the choices he made, but this felt bigger. Like it could be the final straw.

Now, Harry was certain he seemed unrecognizable to his best friend.