Dinner was hard for Harry, it was excruciating. No matter how many times Draco said that they would remain friends after they were separated tonight, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. There had been so many people who had vowed to never be parted from him, and who in the end had had no control over it anyway. He was most worried, that no matter what Draco said he wanted, he had no control over his inner world—the one that had successfully hated him for so many years. Harry spent hours that day, no matter what they were doing, imagining awful scenes of himself a year, or a week, or even a few hours down the road, losing Draco because of some stupid thing he did; he always did something stupid and lost the ones he loved. He'd lost Sirius to his stupidity, he'd lost Hermoine to it—and by her had lost intimacy and trust with Ron. The three people in the world that he had tried hardest to hold on to, were the three who most easily slipped through his fingers. Eventually he realized that he was dwelling, and probably wasting what little time he had left with this oddly tight-knit group of friends that had formed. Who could have known that he would enjoy Crabbe's company? Who could have known that it would begin to drag he and Ron back together? Who could have known that he could come to regard Malfoy, in only a few short days, as one of the most important things in his life? By the end of the day, he had gotten into the hang of enjoying his last day with him, but dinner—it was excruciating.

Draco poked at his mashed potatoes; they really were repulsive things if you thought about it. They had started life as these ugly brown lumps, then been ripped from their subterranean dwellings to be peeled and boiled alive, then crushed and mixed with curdled cow's milk and who knows what else. They were monstrosities, these little lumps of goo; there was clearly nothing good about them. Sorrowfully, Draco ladled another spoon of them into his mouth. He stared broodily at Harry, who was in turn staring broodily at Vin and Ron. What was Potter staring at them about? This wasn't Crabbe and Weasley's moment of despair, it was theirs! Vin and the Weasel would be perfectly fine, they weren't real enemies, they had never really hated each other. They would be friends forever, if he were to judge by the looks of them. They were so happy, chatting along through dinner, laughing, smiling, talking about finally being separated. All Draco could think about was the horror of the moment when he would be ripped from Harry, the horror of being separated from someone whom he had come to care about more in the past few days than anyone…ever. Even his mum and dad, even Pansy; perhaps especially his father, Draco thought wryly. Draco poked his cubed beef; who was to say that when they were torn apart, whatever it was that was making them tolerate each other—like each other—wasn't going to be torn away as well? Stupid Potter, stupid potions, stupid Crabbe and Goyle and Ron and three sticks of Bardoll! Draco smashed is fork roughly into a block of beef and released it. It fell and splattered him with gravy goo, and he scrunched his nose in distaste. Stupid gravy.

Harry squirmed, Draco was assaulting his food and Harry cursed the fact that he didn't know him well enough to know why Draco might be upset. Maybe he was upset that they were still sitting at dinner, that they hadn't followed professor Snape out as soon as he had left the dining hall--that they hadn't rushed to be rid of each other. Maybe, Harry thought, he was mad that their connection was going to be severed. But then, that was wishful thinking on his part, wasn't it? Maybe Draco just hated cubed beef and mashed potatoes. Harry sighed and plopped his head into his hands, unfortunately upsetting a tureen of gravy when his elbows hit the table. The gravy flew across and hit Crabbe squarely in the face. Crabbe in turn swiped it with his hand and flung it onto Ron. Draco looked over in horror. They wouldn't, he thought, they couldn't. Oh, but they would. A food fight the likes of which Hogwarts had never seen ensued, and when the four boys finally departed the dining hall, they had various splotches of food all over them. Ron and Crabbe laughed and marched happily towards the dungeons while Harry and Draco, out of the necessity of their stumping gait, fell behind.

Draco glanced at Harry, there was an interesting splotch of mashed potatoes and gravy running down Harry's neck. Yes, Draco thought, those things were pure evil—because they were calling to him with a thousand demon voices to lick that little splotch right off of Harry's neck. Something, that as a sane and rational person who only occasionally heard potato and gravy voices, he refused to do. Instead, he reached out and ran his finger up Harry's neck, capturing the evil spuds, and licked them from his own hand.

Harry jerked away when the finger touched his throat, but it followed him. Draco ran his searing finger up his neck, all the way to his jawline and just behind his ear. Then as Harry watched, Draco calmly licked his finger. Harry felt lost, he was in some sort of twilight zone where Draco Malfoy ate things off of his body. Things that, ewh, who-knows-who had thrown and touched and perhaps picked up off the floor. Hadn't Draco gotten enough to eat at dinner? Harry had noticed that he'd been less than enthusiastic about his food in there, but what made it so much better out here in the hall as it ran down Harry's throat? Harry shook his head in dismay, perhaps Draco was a little insane. But what was that feeling that he'd gotten when Draco had touched him? He smiled, he felt so much affection for the blonde in front of him. Surely, it was unnatural to like someone so much after only a few days. Surely, there was something wrong with the way that he'd disliked Draco for so long, and then casually thrown it away. Didn't it show some lack of character on his part? Harry glanced over at Draco again; he was blushing, and wiping the finger that he'd licked on the front of his robes. Harry smiled, he decided to say the hell with his character. Who could dislike someone as beautiful as Draco? Whoa, wait, Harry thought, he smiled ruefully—now he got what his problem was. Of course he didn't mind having hated Draco; he had a mad crush on him.

Draco blanched at the curve of Harry's smile. There was something wrong in that smile, something knowing. Had he figured out that Draco liked him? Was he planning to use that information later to torture Draco? Would there be no peace in his life ever from the taunts of Potter and his bevy of friends? For Draco had no doubt that a day after they were separated all the Gryffs would make up, and he—Draco—would be separated from Ron and Harry again, forever. There would be no breaching the gap, if it were ever cultivated again. If he were betrayed, Draco was sure there would be real heat in his hatred from then on, and he doubted he could surmount it.

Harry grinned on ruthlessly; he had decided to try out his conclusion about his feelings for Draco by returning the gesture that had so disturbed him. He searched Draco's face and neck with his eyes, trying to find some small blotch of identifiable food that he wouldn't feel gross eating. There, on Draco's forehead, was a streak of gravy. That would do. Reaching out, Harry forced Draco's head towards his own, he bent it carefully down, and licked a red-hot stripe from eyebrow to hairline.

Draco panted with excitement, Harry was holding his head—forcing it towards his own. Was Harry going to kiss him? Perhaps Harry liked him as well; was it possible? But no, Harry was tilting his head down. Draco cursed himself, of course Harry didn't want to kiss him; it was utterly ridiculous. But then, oh then, out of the corner of his eye Draco saw Harry's tongue emerge from his mouth, he felt the pressure and the roughness and the heat and wetness of it as it left a burning streak across his forehead. Draco gasped, and did the only thing that seemed right at the time. He flung himself away from Potter with as much force as he could. He hit the wall with a hard thump, and groaned, only to be hit equally hard in the front with an out-of-control Potter. Their foreheads collided like bowling balls smacking hollow pins. Harry groaned.

"Ow, fuck Draco, why'd you do that?" he asked

"You—you—licked me!" Draco shrieked.

"Well, so what? You ate potatoes from my neck."

"That," Draco said with a high and mighty air, "is an entirely different thing than putting your actual tongue on someone else's skin."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry ok? I didn't know you'd make such a big deal of it."

Draco scoffed. "Like I'm some sort of ice cream cone or something, some sort of thing for you to just lick whenever you feel like it. An object or something. I'm not! I'm a person and if people want to lick me they ask. That's how it is."

Harry raised an eyebrow, and nodded solemnly. "You are not ice cream," he said.

"Damn right."

The rest of the way to Snape's workroom the two kept their silence. Draco fumed at himself for his insane over-reaction. He had liked it for Christ's sake. Why had he made such a production about it? Harry brooded. Draco couldn't handle a lick from him; he was never going to want to kiss him.

They caught up to Crabbe and Ron outside of Snape's workroom. The two of them were glancing nervously at the door and Ron was bright red.

"Ron for Christ's sake," Harry said. "He's not going to hurt you; he told us to come down after dinner."

Crabbe laughed. "It's not that. I was just teasing him about his crush on Snape, and now he's afraid he'll make a fool of himself when he sees him."

Harry gaped, "You've got a crush on Snape?" he whispered.

"No!" Ron said. "I just liked his praise. But Vin won't shut up about it, so now I get all uncomfortable around him. It's really, really rude." He glared at Crabbe, who merely chuckled.

"How's that for over-sensitive Ron?" Draco said. "I'm sure old Snaggle Britches would be pleased a hot young stud like you has a crush on him."

"Malfoy!" Ron screamed.

"You're one to talk about over-sensitive," Harry grumbled.

Draco shot him a look of death, but at that moment the door to Snape's workroom opened.

"Am I destined," Snape said with rancor, "To be disturbed in every aspect of my life for the rest of my days by you morons blathering on about something or other?"

The boys looked chastised.

"Get in here," Snape said, "Before I decide to condemn you to a life connected together."

I wish, Harry thought, as the door slammed behind them.

Snape's workroom, no matter what he said to the contrary, was a mad scientist's lair. There were beakers and vials all over the place, and a vast network of tubes ran around through the air near the ceiling transporting who-knew-what, who-knows-where. Noticeably center stage, a giant cauldron sat on a dais. Snape stirred it with a huge wooden paddle.

Draco snorted. "Drama queen, much?" he said.

Snape pouted.

"I think it's brilliant…" Ron said, looking around in wonder. Crabbe guffawed.

"Uhm," Harry said, trying to cover Ron's embarrassment. "Is that our potion?"

"Of course not," Snape snarked. "Why in the world would you need such a large batch? This," he said, "Is fizzy-lifting drink. I got the idea from a muggle movie, it's fantastic. I'd let you try some, but I hate all of you." Snape shrugged unapologetically.

"So," Draco said impatiently, "where is our potion?"

Snape looked very put out. "Come with me," he said. "We won't do it in here. I don't want any of my important exper-i-ments to get blown up."

The boys looked at each other nervously as they crossed into Snape's private quarters. In fact, into the same sitting room Harry and Draco had passed through before. Harry glanced nervously at the door leading to Snape's bedroom; he was kind of squicked that he'd been in Snape's bed. He looked over at Draco; it looked like he was having the same thoughts.

"Sir," Ron said. "Are you saying we might blow up?"

Snape glanced at him irritably. "Well, there's always that risk isn't there?" he said, producing four vials of purple liquid. "Here you go! Drink up, drink up, drink up!"

They all took their vials carefully, clearly Snape had been taking something himself, and they were wary.

Finally, Ron thought.

Looks tasty, Crabbe thought.

So this is it, Draco thought.

Oh god—I don't want this to be it, Harry thought.

Snape huffed with impatience. "You have to actually drink it," he said. "Not just stare at it."

As one they tipped the vials, and the shining purple liquid flowed into their mouths.

Snape watched avidly as the boys shuddered with revulsion at the taste. Ahh, so the bitter walnut skin worked, he cackled inwardly—that was so fun to do. Then, the false skin connecting the boys crumbled to dust and fell to the floor. That, he thought, was nasty. He would have to get the houselves to scour that part of the floor all night. Weasley and the Crabbe boy immediately sprang apart, and did little dances around his sitting room that he would have to try very hard to erase from his memory. Then, they rushed back into each other's arms and hugged. God, Snape thought, these boys were such pansies. He'd spent more time lately watching them embrace than anything else. Unfortunately, he was then overtaken by those same two enthusiastic boys and thoroughly hugged himself; it was most unpleasant. When he had peeled them off of himself, Snape looked over at Potter and Malfoy. They had taken no more than a step apart, and were looking at each other uneasily. Then Potter turned and walked towards Weasley, but he got no more than three steps before he stopped. He looked over at Snape in surprise.

"Sir," he said. "I can't move any further."

Snape frowned. "Impossible," he said, walking over and grabbing Harry by the arm. He pulled firmly, but only succeeded in dragging Draco along with Harry.

"But," Ron said. "Vin and I separated just fine, what?"

Snape scowled. "Go away," he said, "Go and tell the headmaster."

The boys looked at him incredulously.

"Well I've got to have peace to work on the problem, don't I?" he said.

They all nodded, and filed slowly out of his rooms.

Snape fumed, those boys were such a pain in the ass!