The dates of Lucius' hearing were announced the night following the final Quidditch match. Harry, however, wasn't notified that he would testify on the second day until the morning of, which forced him to rush to get to the Ministry in time. Keeping him a few steps behind must have been intentional, since when he had arrived at the door to Courtroom Six, he learned he had missed the Malfoy's testimony.

Umbridge sat in a chair to the left of Scrimgeour, her thin lips pursing when she made eye contact with Harry. A jet of pure loathing struck him, and he struggled to keep his face even as he took the stand.

"This should not take long," she said, "assuming you cooperate fully, Mr. Potter."

Sitting in three rather uncomfortable chairs under the watchful eye of the court was the Malfoy family. To the left of Narcissa, who sat in the middle, Lucius looked out of place wearing his time in Azkaban on his sunken features. With plenty of posh beauty products at their disposal, Harry wondered whether the Malfoys had opted to leave him as-is so that the people deciding his fate could see how much he had already suffered.

A light prodding at his mind caused him to start. Draco was staring at him; when they met each other's eyes, the prodding felt more urgent. Harry shook his head slightly at him, then swore to tell the truth, hoping whatever he said would not conflict with what the Malfoys had testified. He clenched his fists and stared at the words on the back of his right hand: I must not tell lies. Why did he owe the truth now?

"Can you describe your relationship to the Malfoys?" asked one of the members of the Wizengamot.

"Er, sure. Draco Malfoy and I used to be . . . rivals at Hogwarts. Neither of his parents liked me or my friends. Particularly Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

"Why was that, exactly?"

"They didn't like anyone who was against Voldemort or who didn't have so-called 'pure blood.'"

Umbridge tittered, presumably in response to him referring to pure blood as "so-called," then asked, "You seem to be implying that your relationship with the youngest Malfoy has changed."

"Yeah, since Draco changed sides and now that Voldemort's dead, there's not really a point in fighting anymore."

"I see. So this trivial act has somehow reversed the years of harm the Malfoy family has caused you?"

Why was Umbridge angling against them? "Not reversed, no, and I also wouldn't say that it was only Draco who was responsible for fighting; there was a certain professor who rewarded him for helping Voldemort." Harry looked at Umbridge so no one could mistake to whom he was referring. "It's no thanks to her that those of us who tried to stop the prophecy from being stolen survived."

Pius Thicknesse spoke up before Umbridge could. "I understand, Mr. Potter, that it may be challenging to keep closely to the questions we are asking, given your history with the Malfoys. If you can please attempt to provide only the necessary facts and avoid overly emotional language, the court would find your testimony easier to parse. So, to your knowledge, in your sixth year at Hogwarts, was Draco Malfoy communicating with the Death Eaters in order to gain control of the school?"

Harry hesitated. If he told the truth, he risked condemning Draco. If he lied, there was still a good chance the information would eventually come out. And he had no idea what Draco had already admitted to. "He was, only occasionally. Though Dumbledore and Snape knew about it."

"Had he communicated with Death Eaters prior to this year?"

"His father was a Death Eater, does that count?"

"Other than his father."

"I don't know."

"Did he harm any students at Hogwarts?"

Harry scoffed.

"Answer the question, please, Mr. Potter."

"Well, yes."

"Let me be more specific: did he harm students in his sixth year while endeavoring to serve You-Know-Who?"

"It wasn't intentional, the worst of it."

"The worst of it?"

"The accidents that . . ." Harry couldn't think of a way to make what he was about to say sound less terrible. ". . . nearly killed two people. Er, including my friend Ron. Otherwise, I—or whoever—could defend myself if he tried anything."

"To clarify," said Umbridge, "is it typical for students to nearly kill other students at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, yeah, of course. For homework we do things like poison each other's food and turn each other into doorknobs; for fun, we just go around lobbing Unforgivable Curses at our enemies."

Umbridge's face betrayed no sign of frustration, though her voice was sharper when she said, "I am well aware of the risks of Hogwarts' pedagogy, your facetiousness aside. Seeing as you have always been a proponent of the school's outdated teaching style, which threatens students' safety on a daily basis, the court cannot trust your answer."

Harry dug his nails into his palms, but said nothing.

Pius leaned forward slightly. "Can you recount to the court how Draco and Narcissa Malfoy aided in You-Know-Who's downfall?"

Draco and Narcissa sat behind Lucius, apprehensive. Narcissa held her son's hand tightly as he fidgeted, glancing around the room to meet the stares of the Ministry officials, before once more staring at his shoes or at Harry.

"Right, so Voldemort—"

There were murmurs in the court at his use of the name.

"Voldemort punished Lucius for botching his attempts to steal from the Ministry by forcing Draco to kill Albus Dumbledore. If Draco failed, Voldemort would've murdered him and his family." Harry recounted the rest of the story carefully, as he had to consider what to withhold. "Meanwhile, Voldemort was keeping an important object at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa Malfoy knew about it and told Draco, who told Dumbledore, who was able to find and destroy it. Without the risk the Malfoys took, Voldemort wouldn't have been defeated."

"Was Lucius Malfoy at all involved in Narcissa and Draco Malfoy's betrayal of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

For the first time since he'd entered the courtroom, Harry saw a plea for mercy in Lucius' face. Narcissa gripped Draco's hand tightly, and all three of them looked up at him. Was their fate really so dependent on what he said? Regardless, did Lucius deserve mercy? Did he want them to be indebted to him? "He was in prison at the time Narcissa told Draco about the object. I don't know what he would have thought about it."

"Based on your interactions with Lucius Malfoy over the past several years, do you think he is susceptible to joining another extremist group?"

"If another dark wix—er, witch or wizard—rose to power, there's a chance that he could be blackmailed into following them. But given how Voldemort treated the Malfoys, I doubt any of them would risk their family's safety again."

"How would you characterize Lucius Malfoy's beliefs about blood purity?"

"Terrible. Er, persistent. It's all about holding onto power, thinking you're better than everyone else. But the Ministry doesn't seem to be punishing people who are prejudiced that way, I mean, he had influence in the Ministry when you knew he was a blood purist. You hired Umbridge again, and she's completely corrupt. When are you going to have her on trial? I'm not saying it's right, but it's hypocritical of you to hire people who believe in that sort of thing and turn around and—"

"You were asked about Mr. Malfoy," interrupted Umbridge. "If you have a complaint about a specific Ministry employee, you can file it with our Ministry Feedback Team. Have you done so?"

"No, I didn't even know—"

Thicknesse interjected before Umbridge could. "Additionally, the Ministry cannot afford to punish people for their private beliefs. Furthermore, we will no longer allow Lucius Malfoy to be involved with the Ministry at any level in the foreseeable future."

"Right, then if he wanted power, without the Ministry . . ." Harry had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that his testimony was making Draco hate him again. Couldn't he restart time, do this over until it was perfect, until even Umbridge was on his side?

"I have one final question, Mr. Potter. In your opinion, does Lucius Malfoy present a threat to wizarding society?"

The first thing that came to mind was how Lucius had treated Dobby, but in the Ministry's view, abusing his property was his right. And besides, didn't wizarding society exclude other magical creatures? "Little more of a threat than any of you, frankly. Do you let anyone with enough money influence the government? The last time Lucius Malfoy testified, he claimed he had been under the Imperius Curse, and you let him get away without punishment. It's obvious now that he was lying back then. How can people expect you to pass the right judgment if you're so clearly motivated by appearance and influence?"

One of the Wizengamot cut him off to say, "Mr. Potter, please adhere to the question at hand."

"Whether Lucius is a threat? If the Ministry lets him go again, there should be some consequence that is fitting for what he's done. I don't mean Azkaban, because that's effectively the same as doing nothing. We have to hope there's a way to reconcile."

The Wizengamot broke out once more into whispers, but Harry hadn't finished. "Also, I meant to say earlier that I think Narcissa and Draco Malfoy would be a positive influence on Lucius. If they return home together, they would hopefully work to be better."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. You are dismissed. We will have a brief recess, after which we will privately discuss the case. Expect our verdict before the day's end."

The Malfoys were shuffled away before Harry could properly read their reactions. Back at the castle, he waited in the Room of Requirement, hoping Draco would think to meet him there. After he didn't show up, Harry learned he had stayed overnight at Malfoy Manor following the court's decision.

Once he returned to Hogwarts the next morning, Draco passed Harry a note telling him to meet at the Room of Requirement, and as soon as Harry showed up, he launched into an exasperated debrief, only slowing down in his rant after fifteen minutes. ". . . they treated us like common criminals, as though they'd never turned a blind eye to anything half as bad as what they accused Father of. And what's more," said Draco, pausing in his pacing for effect, "is they didn't even bother pretending they were using us as an example. Ultimately, they just realized it was to their advantage to show they're trying to make positive change, or whatever. Probably because of what you said, which was quite good, only now my family has this impossible expectation to never stray from what the Ministry deems right."

"Mhm." Harry tried not to be disappointed that despite there being a positive outcome to the trial, Draco was for some reason now more prone to annoyance. After struggling to make Draco feel better about the situation, he jumped on the first chance to lighten the conversation:

"I've fancied all Seekers from every House, have you realized that?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "So you didn't fancy Ginny because she's Weasley's sister?"

"Not because she was Ron's sister, that was the problem!"

"They're quite similar, you know. Dating one would be like dating the other. Maybe it was a problem because it would've meant you were . . ." He hesitated, frown turning into a scowl.

"What?"

Draco tried to look bored as he finished, "Because it would've meant you were attracted to Ron."

"I wasn't, though. I've never looked at him that way."

"It makes more sense," pressed Draco, too caught up in the pursuit of his theory to stop, "if you couldn't allow yourself to fancy him. Your feelings for his sister were a way to fulfill your attraction."

"Quit trying to analyze me, will you? I was never interested in Ron, so what's it matter? And besides, Ginny is quite different from him, and the rest of her brothers, for that matter."

"Wouldn't most people want to date a better version of their best friend?"

"You're not similar to Ron or Hermione," countered Harry. "I still fancy you."

"Then, the first person you fancy is because they're familiar. I liked Pansy well enough, and she is similar to me in a number of ways. More passionate and outspoken, though, and she cared for her friends, which I've always admired."

"Oh, come on, are you seriously comparing us? She's a bully and a gossip."

"And I'm saying you're a better version. Passionate and outspoken, not cruel. Loyal."

Harry pursed his lips. "Doesn't it bother you that I've never had a friend like you?"

Draco frowned. "That's why this is going to be more difficult than you'd hoped. And we're going to disagree on things."

"All I'm asking is for you to be a bit more . . . I dunno, sensitive."

"If you wanted to date someone sensitive, you should've stayed with Cho."

"What do you think I mean by sensitive? She's been prone to crying since Cedric died, sure. Why bring her up?"

"Forget it."

"All I meant is, you could stand to think about how I feel a bit more."

"You're not as much of an enigma as you'd like to think, Potter."

Rather than be comforted by the idea that Draco knew him well, it made Harry's insecurity worse. Why would Draco act this way if he understood the intensity of the lava coursing through Harry's veins? How his chest constantly constricted with desire, how the sensation wholly overwhelmed him—he worried Draco would not be able to relate, would view these feelings as weak.

Draco would be irritable one day, absent the next, and finally affectionate, in a cycle that made Harry's head spin. On an affectionate day, they managed to meet in the Room of Requirement. "This is going to sound daft . . ." began Harry.

Draco ran his thumb along the soft skin of Harry's wrist. "That is nothing new, Potter."

Harry was too focused on what he was going to say to think of a retort. "I'm finding it more difficult to, er, to be apart."

"Ah." Draco kept sending sparks along Harry's hand.

"I feel—I've been feeling—whenever we're not together, it sort of builds up . . ."

Draco let go of Harry's hand and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. "What builds up?"

Harry flushed under Draco's touch, the lips on his neck. But he could not bring himself to say what he wanted; it was too soon, and he imagined Draco twisting away, perturbed by the sentiment, unwilling to say the same.

"I know what you mean." And although Harry hadn't said what he intended, Draco still took his arm away and straightened. "You will have to wait a lot longer when I am gone for the summer."

"We can write each other, can't we?"

"Yes." Draco did not meet Harry's eyes.

"Are you being weird about this because of your family?"

"That is part of it. My father's been in prison for so long, and right now, we just want to be together."

"Sure." It was better to not dwell on the subject of Lucius. "You know . . . I used to dread seeing you again. In the summers before going back to Hogwarts."

"Not surprising."

"Didn't you feel the same?"

"As sick as this sounds, I missed the challenge of you. Needless to say, it was wrapped up in wanting school to start so the boredom would end. Of course, that changed after fourth year."

"Let's make the most of the time we have now, yeah?"

To answer, Draco pulled him closer to sit on his lap, and Harry never felt closer to death. Ron never told him what it would be like, instead defaulting to vague statements about his feelings for Lavender or her enthusiasm. Coupled with being forced to witness their snogging at times, this often made Harry cringe. Had Ron been afraid of how much he fancied Lavender? Had he ever felt utterly consumed by her?

That night, Harry and Draco went on a walk along the Black Lake, holding hands once they were out of sight from the castle.

". . . There was something else that made me think that I was attracted to blokes," said Draco. "More specifically, someone else."

"Who? Are you talking about Blaise Zabini?"

"No, he's not—he's only attracted to girls. It's not Blaise." Draco didn't look at Harry, as though he were just thinking to himself and didn't have an audience. "He was from Durmstrang. From when they came in our fourth year."

"Hang on . . . I think I found out about this, in the time loop. I assumed you were just friends . . ."

In the time it took Draco to compose his thoughts, Harry mentally combed the faces of the Durmstrang students, the stony expressions of the boys among them, and how on the night they first arrived, Draco had leaned closer to Krum, intense interest clear in his features.

"He was older, obviously. Seventeen. And . . . he talked to me the most out of the other Durmstrang students. Asked me to show him around Hogwarts, told me about his school, his family's involvement in the global wizarding war . . . There were a lot of ways we could relate to each other. I assumed he initiated a friendship because he knew of my family and could sense I was an important person at Hogwarts."

Harry snickered, swallowing his amusement when Draco glared at him. Over the past weeks they had spent together, he realized Draco was not used to laughter in the middle of his stories, except in response to his clever insults.

"His name was Mikhail."

"That's him! In one of the days in the loop, your friends were teasing you about it, his last name is Bakhtin."

"Do you remember him from when he was here?"
"No, I don't."

"He was tall, taller than me, but otherwise rather plain-looking; there's nothing I could describe about him that you would remember. Anyhow, weeks would go by when we didn't spend time together. Then weeks would go by when we spent every evening talking—typically in a group, but hours talking together nonetheless. There was something about him that, er, attracted me; I assumed it was his status, the power he had among wizarding families in Eastern Europe, and that I knew befriending him was ultimately beneficial for my family."

Draco paused, and it was the sort of pause Harry knew not to interrupt with a question. Eventually, he continued, "Nothing ever happened between us, not really. I thought it had, back then. The summer after fourth year, and fifth year . . . It plagued me. Once I started more, ah, intimate activities with Pansy, it grew less and less significant, and I could finally stop thinking about it."

Ignoring the bit about Pansy, Harry asked, "What happened?"

Pink rose up in Draco's cheeks and he fidgeted. "After the Dark Lord's return, before he was to leave, we went on a walk together on the castle grounds. Other students were too afraid to leave the castle at night, so we were the only ones around. I said something like, 'Everything's going to be different now.' And he—he put his hand on my shoulder." As if to prove how dramatic this would have been, Draco put a hand on Harry's shoulder, surprisingly firm, bringing them to face each other.

Harry held back the urge to tease Draco about the intimacy of shoulder-touching or mimic it himself.

"I looked at him, because after a few moments the normal duration of such a gesture had passed. He touched my cheek and—and my hair . . . and I knew he wanted to kiss me, but I—I couldn't say anything. I wanted him to, I didn't want him to, wanted him, didn't want him . . . so I shook my head. And nothing more happened. And we went back up to the castle. Then the Durmstrang students left."

Draco rubbed the side of his pointed nose with his forefinger. "After that, I feared both that people could tell how I was simply by looking at me, and also that those who had known me for years knew and whispered about it behind my back. At the time, I told myself that I feared people would misunderstand rather than understand."

"How did Mikhail know?"

"I don't know. My appearance, my voice."

"That can't be it, you may be, er, delicate-looking, but that's hardly enough to spark a passing consideration, let alone make assumptions."

"Delicate-looking? Are you saying I look weak, Potter?"

"You're not weak, Malfoy," said Harry, comfortably switching to his last name. "I'm trying to say—when you're not sneering, you're easy to look at."

"Delicate," Draco repeated, stuck on it.

"Fine. You look wealthy, for starters, and you're skinny. Now that you're no longer plagued by your impending doom, you've hardly a flaw on your face to speak of, except . . ." Harry reached up and touched the tiny cluster of acne scars just above his jawline.

Draco pretended Harry's finger had no effect on him. "Surely you can think of a better word than delicate."

Harry patted the side of Draco's face, a bit roughly. "Keep at it and I'll have no choice but to show you how delicate you are." At the tightening of Draco's features, Harry conceded, "When I come up with a word that's more accurate, I'll let you know. Back to the point—you really have no idea how he guessed? Nothing specific?"
"I suppose . . . He could have read into my, er, my obsession with you. With hating you, I mean."

"The badges might have given it away. A fashion line dedicated to me."

A smile finally dawned on Draco's mouth. "So you found out it was me. Well, you may be right. No, I was thinking of Rita Skeeter's article." The smile caught between a smirk and a sneer. "What was the line, 'The pain of his childhood haunts him daily, and one can find him crying between classes whenever He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is referenced.'"

"You laugh about it now, but it was pretty humiliating."

"Ah, c'mon, you could take it. No one actually believed what that daft bitch Skeeter wrote."

Harry looked at him, taken aback by the harsh turn of his language. That seemed to be all Draco cared to say about it, though.

Walking closer together than they had before, they reached a bench on the water and sat down. Draco continued his story. "Anyhow, I went on about it for weeks. I liked recounting the article to Mikhail because he would listen, he didn't spoil what I had to say by interrupting. He was more experienced, he probably understood why I talked about you so much. I'm not sure why he liked me, though I suppose—if he could tell—it was only because he thought he had a chance with me."

"There's bound to be more to it than that. Do you regret not doing anything with him?"

Draco shook his head. "I regret that walk, why would I regret not doing something more?"

Harry shrugged, but there was more he could say. The challenge in Draco's voice stirred him to press on. "Is everything okay? You're not usually this keen on talking about, well, feelings."

Draco's eyes were distant. He folded his hands in his lap and exhaled. "I've only recently realized everything I want to say. Things I won't have the chance to tell someone else . . ."

"Well, then, is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

There clearly was; Draco's face passed through a considerable range of contortions as he squeezed his hands together in his lap. "No. I-I don't know."

"Then there's something I wanted to ask about. After you kissed me in the time loop, you threw up and then called me a—the f word. Faggot."

Draco winced and rubbed his neck. "I wish I could say I'm surprised, but I must have felt . . . How I am, it's unnatural. How I feel . . . part of me is disgusted by it, and you."

It took all of Harry's willpower to keep from being hurt by this. "You don't disgust me. If liking the same sex is unnatural just because it's uncommon, then magic must be unnatural, too."

"Yes, I'm aware I'm being irrational. You know I'll—I will need time before I can accept this part of myself."

"Well . . . I'm here. If you need to talk." He wondered if Draco would benefit from talking to Luna as well.

"Thank you."

"So . . . .when you go to Durmstrang . . . obviously Mikhail has graduated, but will you see him?"

"He may visit me, I suspect."

"Okay . . ."

"Maybe he's been in love with me this entire time," he added, smirking.

"Maybe," echoed Harry numbly, chest stinging with pain.

Draco touched his cheek. "Kidding, I'm kidding. You should have seen the look on your face." He ran his thumb over Harry's lips, then they began to kiss again.

"Christ!" Harry pushed Malfoy away, hand over his mouth, trembling.

"What? Have I done something wrong?"

When they were in the Astronomy Tower, the day Harry had changed their eye colors, convinced Draco to meet him—they had kissed. He remembered all of it now. Draco had entirely surrendered himself, knowing he would use a Memory Charm after. Had it really been that repulsive to him? Even when they finally confessed, it was something to forget.

"I suddenly remembered something from the time loop." He breathed out slowly. "Why now . . . ?"

"We can stop," said Draco, smoothing his shirt. It was less of an offer and more of a decision.

"No, it's okay, but I should tell you: once, after we kissed, you erased my memory."

"Potter . . ." Draco squeezed his shoulder. "As much as you can, you have to separate what I did then from who I am now. "

"It's unfair because it never really happened. I know."

"For the next fifteen minutes, can we just pretend we never—I never did anything awful to you?"

In other words, Can we snog and not think about anything? Harry was willing enough to stop talking, especially when he felt that his heart would eat him alive otherwise.

After what felt like only a few minutes, Draco touched Harry's chest and pushed lightly, signaling that they should stop. "I'm getting tired. Let's go back." He didn't seem upset—pensive, perhaps—on their walk across the grounds.

"I didn't do anything you didn't like, did I?"

"No, you've . . . tonight was great." Rather than explain, he kissed Harry once, twice—the second more slowly than usual. "Goodnight, Potter."

"Goodnight, Draco." Harry watched him go, numb from the night's barrage of emotions.

The next morning, Draco didn't show up for breakfast. Blaise looked rather glum, like he did whenever he was left alone without his friends. Harry was in the middle of wondering whether Draco slept in, given it was a Saturday, when he started to process what Hermione had just run up to tell him.

"Say that again?"

"Draco . . . he left. I asked Blaise."

"What do you mean, he left?"

"He's left Hogwarts. Finished his assignments early, everything. He's not coming back, apparently."

"But I just saw him last night! We were talking . . . there's only a week left of classes!"

There had to be an explanation. Was he in danger? Or his family, were they being hunted down? Something with the Ministry—maybe they had all been sent to Azkaban. On his way to the dorm, he had the idea to check the Room of Requirement, see if Draco had left anything for him. The room appeared just as it usually did when the two of them met, with one difference: there was a note on the table. Harry picked it up and read it quickly:

Dear H.P.,

I apologize for leaving so abruptly. I did not want to say goodbye in person because I knew you would try to persuade me to stay. This past week, I completed my partial exams so I could leave early. I believe, however, it would be better for the both of us to go our separate ways, if not forever, then for at least a few years, until the public eye is no longer on us. The timing of this is not ideal, despite everything you have done to allow us to be together.

I will be studying at home, not at Durmstrang, as Snape let slip to you contrary to my request. But do not take my proximity as an invitation to visit. My parents have a plan to be accepted back into wizarding society and you are not included. Additionally, given the scrutiny our family is facing and potential attacks from former followers of the Dark Lord, it is safer for you to keep your distance.

I wish you luck with the remainder of your studies.

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

Harry took the note straight back to the dormitory, Hermione following him up the stairs, and flopped down on his bed. Lying on his stomach, face in his pillow, anger built up inside of him until he yelled, his voice muffled. After a few more goes at this, he turned onto his back and stared at the the canopy above him.

A crinkle of parchment dimly indicated Hermione had read or was reading the note. She moved to sit closer to him. "Oh, Harry." Slowly, Harry sat up and leaned into Hermione, letting her hold him as he shivered, not crying, just sitting in shock. "I'm so sorry."

"More than anything, I hate that I'm surprised. Or I hate that I wanted so badly to believe I knew him. He's fancied me for all this time and now that I fancy him back, it's boring? What, I'm no longer a challenge? Or has he realized that I'm not who he thought I was?" He had stopped crying and now looked at Hermione. "Also, how the hell can he assume I'll come running back to him as soon as he decides he's ready? He's only ever thought of himself, and I was an idiot to think he'd change."

"Yeah. I can't imagine what you're feeling, Harry."

"D'you suppose he thought I could just snap my fingers and stop fancying him?"

"No, he knew you'd be upset, that's why he left without telling you."

"He was bloody afraid! I pushed him before he was ready. It was too much for him, too soon. And instead of talking to me about it, he left. I'm an idiot."

Harry looked up to see Ron standing awkwardly in the doorway, about to knock on the doorframe. "Come to rub it in, have you?"

"No." Ron avoided his look, moving cautiously, shoulders rounded as he scratched the back of his neck.

"Before you say what you came here to say—just because Draco left, it doesn't mean things are back to how they were before. I don't hate him. I can't hate him. And if you want to be my friend, you'll have to accept that I want to be with him."

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I've been a shitty friend . . ."

"You think?"

" . . . and I shouldn't have been that way, acted . . . like a prick. You died, Harry. And then whoever you were after . . . I thought you got messed up or something."

"Ron . . ." Harry stood.

"It's not like—I wasn't trying to get in the way, I knew—you do what you want, and you're stubborn, so I wasn't trying to change anything—change how you felt—I-I knew if you started seeing him, then we'd all have to be friends."

"Congratulations, no need to worry about that anymore," said Harry bitterly, then looked at Ron. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm trying, okay? Or, I'll start trying. However I feel about him, I want the three of us to stay friends."

"But it's how you feel that makes me wonder how you can expect—"

"I don't care about who you fancy anymore. I care about you, Harry. I can hate Draco's guts but still like you, can't I?"

"So—but what about me being—"

"Doesn't matter." Ron started as if to hug him, faltered, then followed through, clapping Harry's back. "Let's go for drinks later. Take your mind off it all."

"I don't know . . ."

"It's non-negotiable," said Ron. "We'll head to the Three Broomsticks straight after dinner."

As promised, even with Harry dragging his feet, the trio went directly to the pub later that evening. Despite it being a weekday, the pub was lively, so Harry cast the Muffling Charm to block out their conversation. They wouldn't be able to entirely avoid outside attention if one or more of them started crying, Merlin forbid, but at least Harry could talk about his situation without anyone listening in.

Only after Harry had a pint could he bring up Draco. "It's going to be hard for me to talk about him because almost everything happened in the loop, which was only real to me. I know more about the good side of him. The potential to be good."

Ron tried to control his face; the alcohol made it easier for his feelings to pass through.

"It's ironic, isn't it? How often we told you not to think about him," said Hermione.

Ron shot Harry a small smile. "I've almost made jokes, you know! I never did because I hate—hated him so much, even joking about you two—anyway."

"After today," said Harry, not looking at them, "after getting all of this out of my system . . . I'd rather not talk about him."

"Harry, you shouldn't ignore your feelings." Hermione's eyes shifted briefly to Ron.

"It's not that. For the past year—longer, if I'm being honest—I've spent far too much time thinking about Draco. There's more to life than . . ."

"Of course." Hermione glanced at Ron. "You'll tell us when you're ready to talk about him, won't you?"

Harry nodded, then scoffed. "I was already prepared for him to be gone. This whole time, I thought it didn't have to do with me, but it so clearly does. And I thought he could change, condemn what his family has done and move on."

"For Draco to change for the better in a matter of weeks would have been near impossible."

"How long does it take to become a decent person, then?" said Ron.

Harry sighed. "Apparently more than a few weeks, if you can believe it."

"It's likely all been a shock to him," said Hermione slowly, "so he probably needs some time to figure things out. Not saying it was okay for him to leave by any means, only that things are complicated."

"Tell me about it."

A few drinks in, they had moved past Draco to discussing their future plans in a Voldemort-free world.

"I think I'd like to teach," said Hermione. "Not right away, but eventually. Perhaps after conducting research or working for the Ministry."

"Would you want to work for the Magical Creatures department?"

"Yes!" Hermione grabbed Ron's shoulder, surprising them both. "Exactly, that's what I've been wanting to do."

Was Ron's face flushed from the alcohol, or from Hermione's touch? They never drank this much, so it was impossible to tell.

Ron downed the remainder of his whisky. "My dad says Umbridge is royally screwing things at the Ministry."

"I hate that she's working for the Ministry," said Hermione, "despite everything she did. I suppose the government wouldn't change overnight."

"Right, they've still got the same people working there since before the Second War," said Ron.

Harry jumped in, reminding the two of them that he was still there. "If the war had continued and the Death Eaters had infiltrated the Ministry, then some of them would have become puppets for Voldemort. Maybe some already were. Now we have no idea who they would've been."

"Or who would've cared enough to do something about it," Hermione added. She paused. "I have a sense . . . that whatever happens in this next year at the Ministry is going to determine the course of history. And it could be for the worse."

They looked at each other, then back to Hermione, all wordlessly coming to a conclusion but waiting for her to continue.

Finally, Hermione voiced the thought. "The best way to change the Ministry is from the inside."

"But how can we do anything about it now?" asked Ron. "By the time we graduate, everything will have already changed. People will just want to forget and move on. We don't have the qualifications to be Aurors, we haven't done our N.E.W.T.s . . ."

Harry raised his brow and they both looked at Hermione, who rubbed her chin, conflicted. "I have to finish school. However, we all know you'd be lost without me. If I take six N.E.W.T.s instead of seven—"

"That'll be a big difference," scoffed Ron.

" . . . then I could manage both."

Harry grinned. "No Time-Turner this time, Hermione."

"I know. Of course, I'd have to get approval from Hogwarts—if we design a sort of, an apprenticeship? Work experience? Scrimgeour already owes you, Harry, he wanted you to work with the Ministry, only this time it can be on your own terms. You two work in the Auror Office—actually, we try multiple departments. Learn how the Ministry works. Find what we're interested in, who ought to be fired."

Ron was torn between excitement and skepticism. "You think they'll let a bunch of seventeen-year-olds sack their best employees?"

"The seventeen-year-olds that defeated You-Know-Who?" Harry nudged him. "We ought to try. And if we can't, we'll go to the Order of the Phoenix. They'll help us."

"Are you two sure you want to give up school for this? Harry?"

"I feel like I've been here seven years after the time loop. Hogwarts is my home, but only if you're both there with me. I think hearing about the Ministry all next year without being able to do anything about it . . . that'd be torture."

"Ron?"

"What he said. You know, I want to actually use what I've learned. Plus, Fred and George left early, and they turned out alright."

"Which is why it's especially important for you to keep learning. If I earmark spells and potions for you to learn, and I promise you'll actually use them in life, will you two study a little bit? We can work at the Ministry four days a week, and the fifth day I'll visit Hogwarts, you two can practice magic."

"Practice . . . where? At the Burrow?"

"I don't want to impose. I could live with my parents," said Hermione quickly.

"And I have Grimmauld Place. Probably."

Ron shook his head. "We should live together, though. It doesn't seem right to work together but live separately."

"I don't want to impose on your family," said Harry.

Hermione studied him. "We'll put money toward expenses, if we can stay. Get wages from the Ministry."

"No, my mum wouldn't accept any of that. It's only me and Ginny left in the house, she'll be wanting company and extra hands to help with chores. Maybe we can trade off buying groceries."

Harry suddenly wondered about sleeping arrangements, and how it would feel both for him to be so close to Ginny and for Hermione to be so close to Ron. Somehow, in the grand scheme of things, that mattered most to him at present.

"How tipsy are you guys?" asked Ron, trying extra hard not to slur.

"Sober enough to think this is a genuinely good idea."

"Me too," said Harry, though he missed his mouth a bit when he went for another sip.

"Give me a couple days, I'll draft a proposal for our internship. Ron, you can talk to your dad about the Ministry—I'm not sure how your parents are going to feel about this. Have Harry with you."

"What are your parents going to think?" asked Ron, paling, likely at the thought of being chewed out.

"They want what's best for me, so as long as I explain why I'm doing this, they'll support me."

"Then let's do it! We should all speak with Headmaster McGonagall tomorrow, she may be opposed . . ."

By the following afternoon, Hermione had already composed a plan to present to the Minister and a strategy for convincing McGonagall. To their surprise, McGonagall accepted their reasoning.

"You are not the only ones leaving Hogwarts prematurely next year in favor of practicing magic from home or pursuing apprenticeships. However, you are the only ones who plan to work at the Ministry. In most cases, higher positions would require achieving at least a few N.E.W.T.s. While your choice is not what I would prefer in a perfect world, I understand these are peculiar circumstances." Her lips pressed into a fine line, and Harry thought he saw a shine in her eyes.

"Thank you, Headmaster," he said, standing.

"Should any of you need any assistance or advice—know I am prompt in responding to letters. Ms. Granger, you and I will be in touch about your studies."

The hours leading up to Dumbledore's service on the day before Harry's final day at Hogwarts were just as difficult as the hours following. With so many people in attendance, a number of moving speeches, and everyone wanting to talk about the man and his legacy, Harry was relieved to get out of the claustrophobic space and stop thinking for a moment.

When he was a first-year, the castle seemed enormous, beyond knowing. Now, it was familiar enough to dream about in detail, and he frequently walked the corridors in his sleep. He had trouble mourning Dumbledore when he had to part with so much else at once. Would he be back eventually, and how long would it be before he returned? Harry found himself at the door to the first floor girls' bathroom, and knew then who to say goodbye to first.

"Myrtle? Are you in here?"

A translucent form glided through one of the stall doors of the first floor girls' toilets. "Harry?" she squeaked, eyes sparkling a bit.

"Er, I wanted to thank you. For helping defeat Voldemort. It's a long story, and you won't remember, but you did." A part of him was still bitter that she hadn't remembered Snape's attempts to reverse time twenty years prior simply because she hadn't found him attractive, but in the end, she had still made the difference between a few lives lost and a devastating escalation of the war.

"Harry, you were so brave. You could have done it without me, I'm sure . . ."

"Then, thank you at least for talking to Draco this year."

"You know about that? Did he tell you? It was our secret . . ."

"We're friends now. We . . . well, after the war, we made up. I . . . care about him."

"Oh? So he won't need me anymore . . ."

"You'll find someone else. People who need you tend to find you."

She let out a shaky sigh. "I can't stay mad at you, Harry. Even though you never visited me, leaving me so alone . . ."

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm not coming back to Hogwarts next year."

Myrtle blinked at him with her huge eyes, then wailed, drifting away. "You will always be one of my favorites. Fifty years, and only a few boys have been kind enough, bad enough—"

"Er, that's enough, really. Thanks. And I'm sure, someday, I will visit Hogwarts, and I'll be sure to say hello."

Myrtle sniffled. "Do you promise?"

"I'll do my best." In ten years, would he remember this place fondly as the place where the course of his life changed, where he fully realized his affection for Draco, where he saved Ginny's life? Or would the memories be too painful to relive?

For now, he could see only a short distance beyond the castle walls, facing an unknown life finally free of Voldemort.