A/N: Remus is fine! In fact, he's magically all better.

Really, Draco thought, was there anything more awkward than trying to walk quickly when you're wearing soaked robes and you have someone attached to your ass? He'd voiced something on that subject to Potter and Potter had said, "Yeah, there's having to pee at the same time, and I'm not attached to your ass Malfoy I'm attached to your hip!" Ugh, Potter was a barbarian, yelling in his ear like that. Also, mud was excessively nasty. He'd caught a glimpse of a muggle sport called Rubgy or Rugbay or something like that once, and the men were absolutely covered in mud and falling all over each other. He'd wondered then what the appeal could possibly be, and now he could categorically say that there was no appeal to it whatsoever. Falling around in the mud with Potter had been wretched, and cold, and dirty, and stupid. He couldn't imagine that doing it with a ball would be any more entertaining. Pushing Potter into a puddle, provided he was not himself attached to said git at the time, that sounded much more entertaining. In fact, if he could just throw a ball at him and have him fall in the mud, all the better. The closer they got to the castle, the more Potter's little melodrama earlier was infuriating Draco.

Attached to his ass indeed! Harry thought. As if I would have let myself live if I'd ended up attached to his ass. Exactly! I would have chopped myself off or, failing that, Avada'd myself before I'd walked anywhere attached to Malfoy ass. On the way into the castle they'd walked by Cho Chang and she'd given him the strangest look, which to him seemed to say "you look like you're enjoying being attached to Malfoy's ass" to which he had replied "Sod off!" but had unfortunately had said it out loud so Cho would probably never speak to him again. Which was most likely best as she was excruciatingly awful, but still he chose to blame Malfoy for ruining his chances with her. Ass! Who accused another guy of being attached to their ass? It was just wrong of him to imply such a thing.

"Oh god, Potter, you have got to stop mumbling to yourself," Draco said. "And no, it's not wrong to be gay. I'm gay. I know you filthy muggle types are uptight about that but you should understand that things are different where you live now. Don't you pay attention at all? Did you think Cornelius Fudge was married to a woman named Charles? Honestly."

"I didn't think about it. And I didn't mean it was wrong to be gay! I just meant that you shouldn't imply those things."

"If you say so Potter. Homophobe."

"I am not! I—I know lots of gay people," Harry said.

"Oh really? Name one!" Draco said.

"Remus. Sirius."

"Oh." Draco glanced over at Harry's profile. His eyes were squinted in the sun, his lips pulled tight over his teeth. "Oh," he said again. "I see."

They were quiet until they reached their room. Inside they found Ron and Crabbe sitting on a couch, the coffee table pulled up close so they could pour over the same book. Ron immediately jumped up, pulling Crabbe after him. Harry said a polite hello to Crabbe as Ron barreled into him; he seemed to want to hug the life out of Harry. Ron had been prone to these bursts of affection since the end of the war.

"Remus came by. He was looking for you. He told me the whole story. I'm so sorry Harry. I wish…well I wish Hermoine was here. I'm sure she would have thought of something. I'm sorry I'm not so smart as she was. I'm useless."

Crabbe and Draco shared an uncomfortable glance. They had honestly never been as close to each other as the embrace of the two friends was forcing them to be. They had also never witnessed quite so wussy a spill of emotions as Ron had just let go. It was, in a word, horrid.

"It's all right Ron. We've talked about this. I know Sirius is gone. It's ok. How was Remus, did he look—well, did he look…"

"Suicidal?" supplied Draco.

Harry shot him a glare.

Ron looked puzzled. "Uhm, no," he said, "but he seemed very worried about you. Snape saw you two running hell for leather."

"Hell for leather?" Malfoy asked.

"Oh shut-up Draco. You're interfering. What's the matter with you?" Crabbe said.

Draco was taken aback. What was the matter with him? He didn't care about Weasley and Potter's talk. He stared at Crabbe. Crabbe raised one bushy eyebrow.

Draco smirked. He threw his arms around Crabbe and wailed. "Oh Vin! I'm so sorry Vin. I don't know what's been wrong with me lately. It's just that I've had this big boil on my ass and I can't seem to get rid of it. It's awful Vin. I'm soo sorry. I wish Greg were here, he'd know what to do. Oh heavens!"

Crabbe threw his arm around Malfoy as well, just to give himself some support during his giggle fit.

Draco risked a peek at Potter and Weasley; they were staring at the two of them in stupefaction. Then it happened, a tiny crease formed at the corner of Weasley's right eye. It was followed by an even more miniscule upturn of his right upper lip. A move that distorted his freckles interestingly, Draco noted. The first glimpse of his white teeth shocked Draco, but no more than the light chuckle and hearty laugh that followed. And then, wonder of all wonders—Weasley leaned around Crabbe and nonchalantly kissed Malfoy on the nose. Crabbe guffawed, Harry let out a high-pitched girlish giggle, and Malfoy turned redder than any Weasley hair he'd ever seen. He abruptly disengaged himself and Harry from the group hug-fest.

"We have to take a shower. We're disgusting. Fell in puddle," he barked out.

Harry cackled uncontrollably while Malfoy collected robes and clothes for the both of them.

The mood turned somber again in the bathroom. Harry really did not want to do this. He glanced around nervously and broodily.

"Malfoy," Harry said, "can't we just wash up in the sinks or something. You know, with the silencing charm and the sheet?"

"Potteeeerrrrr," Draco whined. "I'm really really dirty, and my hair is all blonde and grossss. Is this because I'm gay? I promise not to look at your ass if you let me shower. Promise!"

"No! It's not that. I just don't get why you want to get in the shower so much." Harry's legs started to shake.

"Didn't I just say? Have you gone mental?"

Think of other things, Harry told himself. Don't think about your body. Think about something else, the war, or the Dursley's, or anything that they said to you. Think about…anything.

"Ok," Harry said. "Ok we need a shower. You're right."

Draco smiled. "Of course I'm right," he said.

Harry started to unbutton his shirt but his hands shook so badly that he couldn't do it. He couldn't even get the clasp of his wet cloak undone. He looked down. His hands were red. They were so red. Was he blushing all over his body like that? Or was it some perverse thing about him that made him only blush where Malfoy would be sure to see it? Harry gritted his teeth. He could control this. He'd done it before. It was not a problem. He needed a shower, Malfoy needed a shower, Malfoy wanted a shower, and he was not going to let his problems get in the way of something as simple as that. He glared at his hands. A very white hand moved over them, and pressed them gently. Harry looked up at Malfoy, and was surprised to see concern on the Slytherin's face.

"Potter," he said. "Potter if it upsets you that much we don't have to do this. I didn't know it was such a big deal. It's ok if you can't—" Malfoy recoiled from himself. He didn't even know what he was saying. He was offering comfort to his enemy as easily as he would to his oldest friend. This connection of theirs was getting to his brain.

Harry scoffed at himself. He really was being melodramatic today if Malfoy had sunk to comforting him. First his whole leap into the rain, and now he couldn't even undress himself. He'd be a bed-wetter soon, and he was sure Malfoy wouldn't be as forgiving about that as it looked like he was prepared to be about the shower. Snap out of it, he told himself. Tell Malfoy the truth; you might as well. After all, Malfoy had been there. He'd seen the war. He'd know.

"It's nothing Malfoy," he said. "It's just that I have scars. They make me—you know, self-conscious." There, he thought. That was a daring brush at open-ness with the ferret-faced git. He braced himself for the backlash.

"My father is gay you know." Malfoy said.

Harry gaped. "What Malfoy?" he asked.

"My father, he's gay. Flaming really. Since his trial he's been sitting around the house all day with a muggle computer and looking up boy-porn."

"Uhm, Ok." Harry said.

"My mother won't shave her underarms, and in the summer she wears these strapless gowns and I'm terrified that some event is going to require her to lift her arms above her head and everyone will see."

"Uh," Harry stammered.

"Sometimes, I wear the same underwear three days in a row because they're my favorite Bananas in Pajamas ones where their staircase really moves."

"Right," Harry nodded. He thought it best not to disturb the loony.

"In second year I had an enormous crush on Oliver Wood, and I wrote really crass poems about his 'wood' and sent them to him. Except, I signed your name."

"What!" Harry screamed.

Draco winced, "Sorry about that."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "That's ok," he said, then smirked. "That one worked out for me."

Draco's eyes grew wide. "Really?" he asked in fascination.

Harry turned away. He was afraid the smile would split his face but he wasn't willing to giggle at Draco's expense right now. His eyes landed on the pile of clothes.

"Malfoy," he said, "Did you rifle through my underwear?"

"Well you had to have underwear to put on and you were too busy laughing at me to get your clothes together, and I had to get out of there before Weasley made more fun of me."

"I wasn't really laughing at you…I don't think Ron meant to make fun of you. He was just being—well, the new him. He's been, er, affectionate since…"

"Yeah, I know, but I felt mocked." Draco whined.

"Well in his defense you were mocking h—" Harry broke off, his eye caught on something else in the pile. "You really have Bananas in Pajamas on your underwear?"

Draco grinned. "Would I lie to you?" he said.

Harry scoffed.

They had been getting better at their three-legged walking, but naked three-legged walking was an entirely different matter. Harry had determinedly not looked when Malfoy had undressed. He didn't even know why he had any urge to look at all. It must be because Malfoy had said he was gay, and so naturally Harry was curious to see what other guys would see in him. Right?

Oh god, Draco thought, what had happened to Potter? Ok sure he'd planned, and promised, not to look when Harry got undressed, but that cryptic comment about scars had intrigued him. The Daily Prophet hadn't reported any injuries that could have caused these scars. They were strange, like a crop circle almost, and centered over his heart. Shit, Potter saw him looking.

Harry sighed, "They're an ancient protection charm. Ritual scarring."

Again, Draco had the insane urge to share. "I uhm, I got this," he said, pointing to a thick burn scar on his stomach, "during the battle of Knockturn Alley."

Harry frowned. "That looks like it hurt," he said.

"It did. Yours too."

"It did," Harry said.

"Listen Potter," Draco said suddenly, "these awkward silences are starting to get to me. We're attached to each other, and Weasley was right. We've no idea how long it's going to be. I think we should just—" Oh god, Draco thought, what am I saying? "I think we should just try to be real friends. I'm not against it, unless you are. Are you?" Holy hell, he'd actually just babbled out an offer of friendship to Potter. You would think he'd have learned his lesson in that by now. Still, he couldn't leave well enough alone. "I mean we're naked in the bathroom with each other, sharing scar stories. We must almost be friends already," he said hopefully. Though why he was hopeful, he couldn't say.

Harry knew that he was being silent for way too long, that such an open offer from Malfoy was bound to be short-lived if he didn't speak up soon. But it had struck him, that since the war he hadn't anything like hated Malfoy, he'd just been annoyed by his continuing malice toward himself. From Harry's determined stare at Malfoy's face (he would not look anywhere else, he would not) he could see that he was becoming impatient for an answer. He was getting pissed, or no, not pissed. Hurt? Remorseful?

"Can we just get this shower over with?" Malfoy asked. "I'm starting to be uncomfortable with 'naked time'."

"Wait, Malfoy," Harry said. "I mean, yeah. I think—I would like us to be friends. Argh!" Harry screamed, mostly at himself. "I know that I would like to be friends with you Malfoy."

"Harry, mate, are you ok in there?" Ron asked.

Harry tried to repress, he really did, but he burst into giggles.

"Uh, I guess so…" Ron said. There was a short silence, then Ron and Crabbe could be heard to guffaw over something.

Harry blushed, and so did Draco.

"Fabulous Potter, now they think we were—"

"I know very well what they think we were doing!" Harry screeched.

Draco laughed. "What?" he asked, "Were we bumping uglies?"

Harry made a face.

"Were we shootin' the moon? Gettin' Groiny?" Draco said.

Harry snorted. "Groiny, Malfoy? Have you been watching TV?"

"What?" he said. "No of course not." He growled at himself mentally. "I mean, yeah. I have. The ministry put me up at a muggle hotel once and I spent a week watching it. It's amazing."

"So you watched…Buffy?"

Malfoy's grin got huge. "Yeah! That show is fabulous! I love it."

Harry grinned. "Me too. I like Xander."

Draco snorted. "Of course you do," he said. "I like Spike."

"Gross Malfoy. In love with your own image, much?"

"What? Oh, No… I just meant—his character, I like…"

Harry was giggling madly. Draco cuffed him on the shoulder. Harry became hyper-aware of his continuing nakedness.

"Uhm, maybe we should get in the shower now," he said.

Draco's face was bright red. "Yeah, we should."

As the water poured over him, Harry tried not to think about what he normally did in the shower. Draco had been sort of right about that. But when you lived in a room with so many other boys… No! Harry thought, I will not think about that. I'll think about anything else. I won't stare. I won't even look. But Malfoy was so pale. That is, except for his scars. The one he'd shown Harry on his stomach was still the bright red of a magical burn scar. There were other scars though, lightly raised mounds of flesh that left Harry wondering if they were from the war or something else entirely. On the curve of Draco's neck, in the hollow just behind his ear, there was a star-shaped scar. It was so hopelessly out of place that once Harry had spotted it, he couldn't take his eyes off of it. Draco glanced at him nervously, then turned his head slightly so that the scar was hidden from view.

"Are you, uh, still worried about Professor Lupin?" Draco asked him, as he shampooed his hair.

Harry jerked back into himself and picked up the soap as he answered. "Yeah. He and Siri were inseparable apparently. In school and then, after he escaped. For so long Remus thought that Sirius was the one that had betrayed Mum and Dad. They really didn't have much actual time together. Three years maybe, all told."

"I'm sure your werewolf won't throw himself into the veil Potter. He wouldn't, when he knows that you need him."

Harry nodded. What Malfoy said was probably true, but he couldn't help but wonder about his connections. There wasn't a person that he'd been truly connected to that hadn't died. True Hermoine wasn't dead, but her magical stasis was indefinite. She was probably the only witch in the world that could have figured out what would bring her out of it, Harry thought bitterly. The Dursleys, his only blood-kin, had been killed during the war when the order member who was assigned to guard them betrayed them to Voldemort. Harry had killed the informant himself. The righteous fury he had felt on behalf of his relatives had surprised even him. His parents had died for him. Sirius had died to try and protect him, and now Remus had "died" three times to try and fix the mistake he'd made with Sirius. He might as well face it, Harry thought, he was a disease. If he lost Remus he would be left without connections in the world, both magical and muggle. The only ones he really had left, besides Remus, were his affectionate but increasingly distant friendship with Ron, and this new physical connection to Malfoy.

That thought almost made Harry snicker. A few years ago if he'd been connected to Malfoy in any manner, not to mention physically, he would have screamed his head off and thrown a tantrum. But now, this fresh friendship with Malfoy seemed like everything he needed. He had been lonely. Ron was grieving for Hermoine, and Harry didn't fit into that side of his life. Harry understood, but it was hard. So much of his life had been spent without any human connection, without any affection. He had gained some, but lost them so quickly that it felt like they had never been there at all.

This train of thought was bad, Harry decided. It made him start to wonder about Malfoy, and about the connection they had established. He hadn't even looked at where they were joined. He could feel it, but he couldn't bring himself to see it. Now though, that he thought of it, he desperately wanted to see it, the tangible proof that he wasn't likely to be alone any time soon. Sighing, he let himself look.

They'd been in their clothes, robes and trousers and shirts, when the accident had happened but there was no evidence of clothing trapped between them. There was a smooth jointure of hip to hip, the union of Harry's palest skin to Draco's palest. There wasn't even a line where the two met; there was no telling him from Draco at all. Harry reached down, he ran his finger along the flat surface, looking for a line or a scar or a bump of some kind to tell him where he ended and Malfoy began. But there was nothing. He continued to trace the middle ground, then flattened his hand and smoothed it over the whole surface of their hips. It was amazing, flawless. He heard Draco gasp. When he looked up Draco's eyes were wide with fear and embarrassment. He was flushed bright red and his breath came in quick puffs that flung the drops of water away from his mouth as they ran over his body.

"Harry please stop," he gasped.

"Oh god Malfoy I'm sorry." Harry was almost paralyzed with embarrassment. Almost. He jerked his hand away from their hips. "I just wanted to see if—I wanted to see if there was a separation."

Malfoy nodded, he wouldn't look at Harry or speak. They finished their shower quickly and hurriedly got out to dry off. A single thought stopped Harry in his tracks.

"Malfoy," he said. "How're we going to get our clothes on? We can't put our trousers on, we can't even put our underwear on, we don't…"

"Our other clothes, were they messed up?" Draco asked.

"I don't know," Harry said, picking up his dirty trousers. "Hey! They're not messed up at all!" he said, showing Draco intact waistband.

"Weird." Draco said.

"Uhm, yeah."

"So do you think there's just space between there?"

"I dunno, should we try to—put our—on?"

Both boys tentatively pulled up their underwear. When the waistband reached the area they were supposed to be joined, it just disappeared.

"Too fucking odd. We have to show Ron!"

"Potter, No!" Draco said, but he was too late. Harry grabbed his trousers and pulled Draco with him. A quick snatch scored Draco a towel on the way out of the bathroom.

"Ron!" Harry screamed

"What? You two finally done in there?" Ron grinned smarmily.

"Look!" Harry said, pulling up his trousers to show Ron the way that the side disappeared.

"Whoa!" Ron said. "We should go tell Snape! This might help him with the antidote."

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm starved though. I think Draco and I will head to the kitchens. You two want?"

Ron looked at Harry curiously. "Yeah," he said. "I guess Crabbe and I will go tell Snape while you're doing that."

"Great." Harry said. He glanced over at Malfoy, who was holding the towel up lengthwise, trying to cover as much of his body as he could. Ron noticed as well; he grinned wickedly and whistled at Draco, who pulled the towel up to cover his face.

"Oh god Malfoy," Harry said, poorly covering his chuckle. "I'm sooo sorry."

They ducked back into the bathroom.

Crabbe looked at Ron and raised an eyebrow. Ron giggled, and pulled Crabbe towards the door.