Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!

This chapter has very high romance/sap content. I find this very hard to write. Therefore, if you think someone is OOC, please tell me; I wrote this as I felt it had to be written, but romance messes with my head.

Chapter Eighty-One: Long and Sweet and Slow

Harry closed his eyes and leaned back on the faint slope at the far side of the glade. The dancing had exhausted him, he'd thought at first, but then he realized that it had only exhausted his impulse to dance. He didn't go through the dark doorway when it appeared. One moment of unbinding two years ago had been enough. His mind still swarmed with images that came from encountering the magic of Walpurgis, the memories of those dead witches and wizards who had had no magical heir to absorb their powers when they died. He smiled; one memory was of a wizard who had worked all his life to create a single golden rose that would never fade for the man he loved. And why not? That was as good a use of magic as any other, Harry thought.

"Harry."

Awareness surged all over Harry's body like the prickling brush of grass along his skin. He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, and met Draco's.

Draco stood in front of him, face illuminated by the fire someone had lit behind him when the dancing was done. Harry almost flinched at his expression. He would have expected excitement from Draco, or high solemnity; they were about to enter a ritual that would take them three years, after all. But instead there was an intent look on his face, as if he were seeing and thinking only of Harry in that moment.

Harry swallowed. He knew that he would spend this ritual in private with Draco, sharing the same space and thinking thoughts that revolved only around himself and Draco. And that, strangely, was the part that scared him the most. Without the wide world to bury himself in, there was nothing for him to hide behind, and nothing to make him think of things that weren't personal. He would have to see just one person, who in turn would be seeing him. He would have to act in a way that most people found normal, and which Harry had never been able to achieve. Terror clawed at his throat, almost burying the anticipation.

Draco's face softened then. "It's all right, Harry," he said quietly, and extended a hand. "Come, now. Mother and Father just Apparated in. And Snape is taking the place of a father to introduce you to me, isn't that right?"

Harry nodded. That had been the one requirement Draco had to tell him about. In a traditional ritual, the parents would arrange matters without even taking their children to meet each other until it was time for the courting to begin. Since Harry had neither mother nor father to stand for him, Draco had to make sure he found someone. And Snape really was the best candidate.

"Then come on," Draco coaxed, keeping his hand extended.

Harry reminded himself that he had chosen this, and terror or not, he wanted what would come after this. The want strangled the terror, and permitted him to reach up and take Draco's hand.

Draco watched Harry's face as he guided him a bit apart from the gathering, to the secondary glade in the woods where Narcissa and Lucius were waiting for them. Draco had described the woods as precisely as he could to his father via the communication spell, and Lucius had recognized the place. Apparently this was a real forest after all, but so touched by the magic of Walpurgis Night as to be half-transformed.

Harry's eyes were wider than Draco had ever seen them, and they flicked from side to side as if trying to insure that no one followed them. Now and then a muscle in his cheek twitched, or his hand rose and rubbed across his face as if he were trying to hold great emotions in. That was all right with Draco. He would have been more worried if Harry had been the calm, composed statue he often was in dangerous situations. That would have implied that he considered this just another uncomfortable necessity to be got through, an oath he had to take to secure an ally.

This was so much more than that, and while Draco knew Harry's perceptions of it weren't the same as his, he wanted them to match more closely with his than they normally did. He hadn't touched Harry after that initial handclasp. The ritual said they weren't supposed to. His fingers twitched with the urge to, though. And his mind rang with sweetness.

For once, they would be alone, without Harry's stupid brother to interrupt them, or Professor Snape to insist that Harry needed to rest, or any yearmates stumbling in to go to sleep. Harry wouldn't have an excuse to talk about anything but Draco and himself. That would be what was scaring him, of course, but Draco trusted him to have refused the ritual if he was too terrified to go through with it. He had to trust him that far, or they would never have an equal relationship. He would always be the shepherd, the parent, mistrusting Harry's decisions the way Snape tended to do.

They caught up with Snape at the edge of the glade. He frowned at Draco and stared hard at Harry, but Harry met his eyes calmly enough and said, "Thank you for doing this, sir."

That seemed to decide Snape. He nodded, once, and strode behind them. Draco eyed him and was impressed. Unless someone had known the professor of old and memorized the way he moved, it was hard to tell that he still limped.

They passed several small mounds and roots and holes in the ground that seemed to take forever in the dark; certainly they would have been smaller obstacles in daylight. The oddly brilliant light of the moon helped sustain them, though, as well as keeping them bathed in dark green and silver—Slytherin colors. Draco couldn't imagine a better omen in a joining where both partners were Slytherins. Yes, Walpurgis Night had definitely been the right time to begin this ritual, though the romantic in Draco had thought Harry's birthday might be the best choice at first.

Strength was flooding him as they walked. Draco couldn't tell if it was emotional or magical, and he didn't care. He lifted his head, and the moonlight made the hair on his arms and neck stand on end. The sky was dark blue, he realized, not dark green, introducing a third color into their world. That was all right. The dark blue didn't have any particular significance in terms of Houses, since it was deeper than the Ravenclaw shade of blue, but they could adopt it and give it a significance. Perhaps they would exchange dark blue stones with each other in the pivot ritual of Halloween next year.

From ahead came the glimmer of white; Draco knew that was shining from his mother's dark robes, hemmed with an edging as bright as diamond dust. She had shown them to him the day they went to Grimmauld Place over Easter holidays. Draco knew they symbolized new life, the rising generation, taking over from the old, since they imitated the colors of the night and the waxing moon. Of course, neither of his parents was old yet, but the symbolism was important.

Lucius was clad in plain black, though his hair, free and flowing to his shoulders, mimicked his wife's robe hem. He turned and nodded to Draco. He stood beside Narcissa at the top of a small slope, Draco saw, dipping down into a tiny bowl of grass. He and Harry could lie in it side by side and have just a little room to spare.

Well, good. Since neither of us is going to be leaving that bowl for the rest of the night, and we're not going to be playing Quidditch…

"Son," Lucius greeted him as he came nearer.

"Father," Draco returned. They were supposed to refer to each other by relationships for this part of the ritual, not names. He hoped Harry would remember that.

He moved over to stand between his parents. Harry walked to the opposite side of the bowl to stand with Snape at his right shoulder. Draco had thought he might look forlorn without a mother, but Harry just looked hesitant, a bit shy and eminently touchable.

Draco shook his head to stop thoughts like that, and locked his eyes with Harry's as his father performed the introductions, flawlessly.

"I, Lucius Malfoy, present my son for this joining, the first of thirteen, begun on Walpurgis Night," he murmured. "He was born on the fifth of June nearly sixteen years ago, and he has my consent for his ritual and his partner." For a moment, his hand pressed heavily on Draco's shoulder. "He is my magical heir."

"I, Narcissa Black," said his mother softly then, "present my son for this joining, the first of thirteen, begun on Walpurgis Night." Draco flashed a tiny glance at her, and was startled by the unearthly joy in her face. Of course, Narcissa had told him that her main goal was to see him as happy as possible, and that she trusted Harry would make him that happy, but it was one thing to hear it and another to see it. "I bore him in pain and received him in joy on the fifth of June nearly sixteen years ago. May another now receive him as I did." She bowed her head and stepped back.

Draco hoped that Snape would remember his part in the ritual, but he should have known better. After all, Snape could remember complicated Potions instructions off the top of his head. What had the potential to trip him up was the exact wording he had to use.

"I, Severus Snape," he said, voice grinding like a whetstone on a sword, "present my—my son for this joining, the first of thirteen, begun on Walpurgis Night." Draco wondered if Snape was aware of the expression on Harry's face as he stared up at him, but he doubted it; Snape was too caught up in struggling through his own emotions. "He was born on the thirty-first of July nearly sixteen years ago, and he has my consent for his ritual and his partner." Snape took a deep breath. "He is not my son by blood, but he is by love."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. Draco waited. Even his parents waited, with no sign of impatience. Draco could feel Lucius's eyes on Snape. He wasn't sure he wanted to see what they held, though.

Then the moment was past, and Draco felt the magic, called and shaped by the ritual, pouring into its mold, taking over around them. Gentle hands tugged on his robes, urging him forward, down the side of the slope and into the grassy bowl. Draco walked easily enough, glancing down now and then to catch a glimpse of the pullers. Bright golden eyes winked and flashed and vanished again. Draco could feel his parents and Snape both turning away, fulfilling the ritual's instruction to leave them alone.

Harry stumbled a bit on his way down, but arrived at the same time Draco did. Draco put out his hands, letting them clasp Harry's single one and rest on his left wrist. Then he closed his eyes. He'd practiced this, both over the Easter holidays and as Walpurgis approached, but he still hadn't been entirely sure he could do it.

Accio, he commanded in his head, wandless and nonverbal, since he couldn't move his hands. Accio Arcturus's ring.

The magic in the ritual helped; Draco could feel it swirling lazily around the sides of the bowl, turning its attention towards him, and then diving into his pockets. A moment later, the ring bumped at Draco's side like an eager puppy. Draco took a deep breath that he hoped sounded like a sigh of anticipation and not a sigh of relief, and then shifted his fingers to clasp it. Harry stared at him as Draco took the ring in his right hand and held it up.

"This is a treasure of the Black bloodline, Harry," he murmured, "the ring that my Cousin Arcturus supposedly proposed to his wife with. It comes from my mother. Her blood flows in my veins, and she bore me, and with this night a new joining between us is born. Do you accept my gift?" He held the ring out towards Harry, wondering if he remember the words that Draco had wound up whispering to him earlier this afternoon.

Harry remembered. His face was pale, not even counting the moonlight, but he nodded and whispered, "In blood we begin this joining, on earth, in the sight of the dark spaces between the stars." He flexed his hand as much as he could, since it was resting under Draco's left one, and Draco maneuvered enough to fit the ring over Harry's finger without letting go of his hand. When it was in place, they both regarded it for a moment; Draco felt no need to hurry on to the next part of the joining, and of course Harry didn't know what they were supposed to do next.

The ring was plain silver, a relatively thin band. The stone it bore was a jacinth, a deep reddish-purple gem that resembled heart's blood. Supposedly, the moment Arcturus Black had given it to his wife was the one moment in his life when he had ever been serious.

And, technically of course, the ring was Harry's already, along with all the other Black treasures, so it joined them in yet another circle, yet another cycle. Draco found himself satisfied with that. In fact, the whole evening so far filled him with deep satisfaction. Things were happening the way they were supposed to, the way they should and always had, despite Harry's unconventional parents, despite Harry's power, despite the fact that Draco knew his father would have acquired a frozen look at the mere thought of a Malfoy and a Potter joining five years ago. Draco had never felt more pureblood, more united to a tradition that stretched back for centuries and did not falter, and he had never felt more content in being so.

He stepped back, took a deep breath, and lifted his eyes to Harry's face. "The gift is accepted," he said, beginning the next part of the ritual. "The ordinary has begun its transformation into the extraordinary. What we share this night is between the two of us, Harry."

When he spoke his partner's name, the magic of the ritual once more picked up. Tiny sparks appeared around them, then rose, shining like glints of light on water. They grew more and more prevalent as Draco watched, and evolved into a sheer curtain that shut them off from the outside world. In moments, there was only him, the grassy bowl, and Harry. The world ended in a white-golden haze.

"What do I say?" Harry hissed at him. Draco looked at him and saw that his face was almost white.

Perhaps I should have insisted that he take some interest in the ritual after all. But Draco had not wanted to insist. What mattered was that Harry wanted this, and the extent of his interest and desire wasn't for Draco to dictate.

"Harry," he said, again, and the light sparks danced as if they liked the sound. "From here on out, the experience and not the wording is what is important. My name, though. I'd like to hear that."

Harry gave a little shudder, as if this were the first time they had moved past calling each other by surnames, and murmured, "Draco."

The sparks twitched again, and then grew brighter and brighter, filling the glade with an odd mixture of daylight and moonlight. Draco nodded in satisfaction, and smiled a bit at the look of awe on Harry's face. He wondered if Harry even knew he looked like that when he encountered a new magical object or process.

"Thank you," he said softly. "Now, shall we begin?"

"That wasn't the beginning yet?" Harry shivered in spite of himself. He'd already felt more focused on Draco than he ever had. He wasn't sure if it was magic or not, but when he tried to think about other things—the werewolf problem, Snape's voice as he said those ritual words, the decidedly odd look Lucius had given him—his thoughts slid away from that and circled back to Draco. Surely it could not get deeper or more intense. He didn't know what he would do if it did.

"Not the beginning, not quite yet," said Draco softly. His words had already altered in timber and tone from what they'd been a moment ago, though his voice had been quiet then, too. Now, he sounded as if he were much closer to Harry, though of course that was impossible. "But now."

He lifted his head and looked over Harry's shoulder. Harry turned, wondering if someone had managed to walk through the barrier after all.

But it wasn't a person; it was an object. Harry blinked as he watched it resolve into a harp, the same color as the light that surrounded them. It hung in midair, strings vibrating. Then they began to play, and Harry heard a delicate tune he didn't recognize. It was beautiful, as everything about the ritual had been, but Harry wondered what he was supposed to do with it, how he was supposed to respond.

"Harry," said Draco, and Harry turned back. Draco's expression had changed again. Now he wore a look of deep calm, and he bowed and extended both his hands. "Would you dance with me?"

Harry closed his eyes and stood still for a long moment. He could do this. He didn't need to worry about tripping over his own feet, or making a fool of himself. Only Draco was here to see him, and he wouldn't laugh.

"I don't know the tune," said Harry, even though he was already stepping forward, settling his hand on Draco's shoulder. He wondered what to do with his other arm, until Draco clasped his left wrist in his right hand and stretched it away from his body.

"That's all right," Draco said, and a smile shadowed his face, playing around his lips, never quite forming. "I wanted this to happen since we never got to share a dance at the Yule Ball. The music will adapt itself to us, Harry. You don't need to worry about that." He actually closed his eyes as he began dancing, and Harry wondered if the intensity was overwhelming for him.

It was for Harry, though he and Draco weren't actually dancing all that close together. Their feet shuffled more or less in time, and the grass rustled under it with soft damp sounds, and the light shone steadily, letting them see where they were going. Harry felt dew soaking his shoes, climbing up through the edges of his robes. He smelled something wild and clean that was probably the scent of plants growing untended.

And he was aware of the muscles flexing under his hand, shifting and twitching with more motions than Harry had known they were capable of as Draco switched positions and turned, and, once or twice, whirled sharply. He could hear Draco's light, steady breathing, which seemed to grip Harry as much as his arms did. He could smell him, which wasn't something Harry had much experience with at all. He smelled—like a human, really. Harry couldn't describe it in poetic terms.

But they were close, and the warmth from Draco's body seeped out to him to contrast with the coolness of the dew, and after some time Harry became aware that Draco had opened his eyes and was watching him, still with his face set in those calm, peaceful lines.

Harry swallowed, but didn't look away. He hadn't realized that Draco was capable of looking like this, not only calm but happy. He didn't look as though he needed to rush off somewhere and do something else. He wasn't worrying about homework, or that Harry's life was in danger. When he cocked his head, it was because he wanted to and not because he was listening for the sounds of enemies.

Draco had gray eyes and a sharp face, Harry had always known that, but now he didn't have to look quickly and then look away again. Now he could stare, and he fell into the staring, into how Draco's chin and cheeks hooked together, into how his blond hair slid halfway down his brow when he turned his head, how his eyes had a direct stare when he focused them the way—

The way he was doing now.

Harry wouldn't have cared if Draco was beautiful if the soul inside hadn't attracted him; after all, Bellatrix Black Lestrange had been beautiful in her time, and Harry could imagine a beautiful Lucius killing without a pause. Lily had raised him not to care that much about physical beauty. He was never going to have a lover or a spouse anyway, not with all the time he had to devote to Connor, so who cared if he appreciated what the people around him looked like? What mattered with political allies was how he could persuade them and what it took to make them stay persuaded.

But this was the boy who had refused to leave him alone for the entirety of first year, even when Harry came up with what he thought were clever and creative solutions to drive him far, far away. This was the friend who had declared himself Harry's friend again at the beginning of second year, after Harry had spent several weeks ignoring him. This was the comrade-in-arms who had followed him down into the Chamber of Secrets, even though he hated Connor and had every reason to be terrified of Riddle, because he didn't want Harry to go alone. This was the thinker who had studied unconscious compulsion to see if Harry had influenced him unduly with his power, concluded that he might have but he could never know the full extent of it, and decided to stay Harry's friend anyway. This was the stubborn, insistent terrier who'd picked up the pieces just as he promised he would when Harry came to Malfoy Manor after taking his mother's magic, and tried his very hardest to accompany Harry to the Shrieking Shack, then sulked when he realized he couldn't share directly in what had happened there.

This was the wizard impatient for power who'd made a potentially horrible mistake in summoning an ancestral ghost on Halloween, of all nights, and been lucky that she simply chose to give him empathy instead of kill him. This was the Malfoy who had swallowed being an empath and chosen to learn and live with it. This was the sulky boy who had decided that not telling Harry he was in love with him for months was a good idea, and who had then fought incredibly hard to convince Harry it was all right when he learned the truth on his own. This was the almost Gryffindorish Slytherin who had kissed him first and then refused to either panic or apologize, because neither would have fit what happened between them.

This was the pureblood wizard who had sworn vengeance on Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort for their actions against Harry, and then eagerly embraced his possession ability to do what damage he could to them. This was the idiot who'd thought that putting monitoring spells on Harry and yelling at him when he got into danger was also a good idea. This was the patient, self-controlled son of Lucius who had managed to force himself to wait for physical contact with Harry until he was ready for it. This was the chaos-rider who had faced his father rather suddenly and won just as sudden a victory. This was the son of Narcissa, whom Harry saw in the grace of his motion and the grace of his mind—more her son than Lucius's, in the end, Harry thought, more Black than Malfoy, though without, hopefully, the tendency to go mad and not tell people important secrets that could lead to the saving of lives.

This was Draco.

Draco's breath was coming short by the time Harry started concentrating on him as the person he was at that moment and not all the people he had been, and Harry tilted his own head. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Do you want to sit down?" His own limbs felt light enough, since the dancing hadn't been strenuous work, but he had to admit he had no idea how long they'd been doing this.

"I—think it would be a good idea," said Draco, and half-collapsed back on the sloping bank of the little dell. At once the harp stopped playing and floated back into the light. Harry assumed it floated back into the light, at least. He heard the music end, but he didn't want to look away from Draco.

Why?

Because I don't want to.

He reached out his hand and cupped Draco's cheek, tilting his head to the side. Draco went with the motion. His eyes were wide and curious, the calmness fading from his face.

Harry leaned forward, closing his own eyes to see what would happen, and kissed Draco with steady determination. Draco didn't hesitate before kissing back, but Harry hadn't expected him to.

Draco did try to shift positions, but Harry nudged him with his left arm, and Draco remained where he was. Harry was comfortable like this, with both of their heads at the same height and himself the one touching Draco. It had been the other way around so often. Harry had known, intellectually and for a long time, that that would have to change.

Now he thought he was finally ready emotionally for it to happen. He wanted to touch Draco.

He kept his hand still on Draco's face, but gently nudged at Draco's lips with his tongue to get them to open. When they did, Harry catalogued how Draco's cheek felt, flexing underneath his palm, the softness and warmth of his mouth, the fact that kissing him like this made sweetness fill his own head until he could barely think and a sharp feeling wake up at the base of his spine.

He opened his eyes, and met Draco's stunned, half-drowning gray ones. He had gone from curious to completely surprised.

Well, good, Harry thought. I should be able to surprise him once in a while, and not just because of the danger I rush into.

He pulled away from the kiss and murmured, "Can I touch you? Anywhere I want? Is there anywhere that you wouldn't feel comfortable with?"

"Merlin, Harry, no," said Draco, and leaned forward, his legs drawing together and his arms folding on top of them to support his head as Harry began to run his hand over Draco's shoulders. "I—whatever you want. Please." Harry wasn't entirely sure he was supposed to hear the words that followed after that. "I've been waiting for this for so long."

Harry nodded, though Draco didn't seem to see the gesture, and shuffled around on his knees to stroke Draco's shoulders. Draco didn't seem to know whether to melt into the caress or stay where he was and passive. Harry did see the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle as he squeezed them shut.

Harry trailed his fingers down Draco's shoulder blades and over his spine, light, quick motions to learn a back he thought he should already know well by now. He did it several times before he realized that something was wrong. He frowned and cocked his head, trying to figure out what it was, then nodded.

His magic calmly Vanished Draco's robes and shirt. Draco started at that and made a small sound that—Harry paused. "Did you just squeak?" he asked incredulously.

Draco turned enough to look at him through hazy, but decidedly indignant, gray eyes. "I did not squeak. I couldn't have."

"And why not?" Harry murmured, reaching out and pressing his hand flat against Draco's back.

"Because Malfoys don't—ah, Harry." That word was half a groan, and Draco dropped his head forward again.

"You're half Black," said Harry. "Maybe Blacks do." He had to shift, a bit, because his own arousal was distracting him. He tried to stifle numerous contradictory urges, and settled on the one to move his hand in what was partly a caress and partly a tickling motion. Draco gasped and squirmed.

"Sensitive skin?" Harry whispered, rearing up on his knees and leaning down to whisper in Draco's ear. Draco shivered, and Harry nodded. "Sensitive ears, too, I see." He bent his head further, not letting himself think of anything but reverence and the fog in his head, the one emotion for Draco and the other for himself, and kissed the side of Draco's neck. Draco jumped as though someone had pinched his arse, and then uttered a low sound that had no name, but was distinctly one of pleasure. Harry grinned against his skin. "Maybe that's the kind of noise Malfoys make," he said.

Draco made a complicated rolling motion that ended up with Harry in his arms and half-sprawled on the slope of the glade. Draco stared into his eyes, and whispered, "Do you have the slightest idea what you're doing to me?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly, which, by the look on Draco's face now, wasn't the answer he'd expected. "I do. And I want to keep doing it, unless you don't want me to."

Draco closed his eyes and took a breath that made it seem as if he were trying to breathe water. "I—I can't just yet, Harry," he whispered. "There's your training to think of, and the ritual, and—" He stopped.

"Draco," said Harry, surprised at him. "It's all right to admit that you're nervous, too, you know."

Draco blinked, then smiled. "I should have known you would pick up on that," he muttered. "All right. Can—can I touch you back, Harry? It doesn't seem fair that I've had so much of the intensity so far, and you've had precious little."

"You're underestimating how good it feels to touch you," said Harry, while anticipation ran through him like a shudder of sunlight. "But yes. Please." He shifted into a more comfortable position, sitting rather than lying, and waited.

Draco took a moment to look at Harry in silence. Harry watched him back, green eyes gentle, face more relaxed than Draco had ever seen it. And he gave an impatient little wriggle when Draco went on staring at him.

"You said you would," he muttered.

Draco felt his mouth widen in what could have been either a smile or a smirk. 'Yes, I did," he said softly, and then leaned forward so that he could slide his hands directly beneath Harry's robes, rounding the sides of his waist and skimming up to his chest. He didn't try to remove Harry's clothes. He wanted the sensation of touching him under the cloth, his movements sharply restricted, at least as much as Harry had wanted the sense of touching him without barriers.

Whenever his fingers prodded or pushed something that made Harry give any sort of sound or motion, Draco paused and repeated it, then repeated it again, until he was sure he would know the place again when he had Harry finally in bed. A map gradually formed under his fingers, and even when he closed his eyes, he found he imagined it more as sensations of softness, warmth, small dips and hollows, rather than getting a visual image. That was all right. He would be proud and pleased to know Harry with more than one sense, and he already knew what he looked like.

Harry's breaths were fast and soft as Draco touched him, faster as the touching went on. He'd let his head loll to the side and his eyes shut. Probably he'd done it to make his enjoyment of the sensations more intense, but it also showed how utterly vulnerable he was, and how much he didn't care about that. He trusted Draco with a part of himself that no one else ever got to see. Draco felt two lazy spirals of fire turn in him at the thought of that, one in his chest and one in his groin. And no one else ever will get to see it.

Finally, he pulled his hands out from beneath Harry's robe and slid them up to his neck and face. Just as Harry's eyes opened, he pulled him into another kiss, while his fingers drifted down the side of his neck. He'd noticed one place that always made Harry shiver absently when his robe collar or an insect brushed it. If he could just find it again…

A faint shudder from Harry, and Draco knew he'd found it. He sat back, breaking the kiss so suddenly that Harry had no time to react, and then dropped his head and fastened his mouth on the place.

Harry let out a sharp, shocked cry of pleasure. Draco opened his mouth a bit, and used his tongue and teeth, in absurdly light touches that nevertheless made Harry jerk and twist around, grabbing him.

"Draco, Merlin, enough!" he said. His eyes were brilliant green, flaring like Draco had only seen them flare in the Woodhouse battle, right after he'd killed Fenrir Greyback and Draco had killed his consort. "Come here, damn it."

He tackled him, and for a moment they rolled confusedly down the tiny hill, winding up again at the bottom of the glade. Harry waited until they stopped moving before he insistently kissed Draco, his mouth fastening on his in a half-biting motion that Draco wouldn't have expected.

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and kissed back, riding out the fierce contact, until it melted into one like they'd shared in the courting room. Even that, Draco thought, was only a shadow of the one their future images had shared, and he felt a different kind of warmth in his chest at the thought that they still had something to grow towards. Wonderful as this was, it wouldn't be the same forever.

Harry lifted his head after a moment, and smiled down at him. His mouth was sloppy, his hair sloppier, his face so flushed that he looked as if he'd swallowed a vial of Pepperup Potion, and he obviously didn't care.

"Did you know," he said, "that you make me really, really, really happy?"

Draco swallowed, and told himself that neither Blacks nor Malfoys had license to cry right now. But he did give a grin that hurt his face and probably made him look quite as ridiculous as if he'd cried.

Harry stooped over him and kissed him one more time, then sat up. "Come on," he said, and snapped his fingers. Draco's robes and shirt appeared again, draped over the place on the bank where they'd sat to touch each other. "The ritual is over."

Draco smiled. Yes, it was; the melting of the light wall around them would have signified that if nothing else. But Harry had no question in his voice. He was simply self-confident enough to feel that they'd been taken out of the world and were now coming back, and not to question his judgment. This, despite the fact that he hadn't studied the ritual, and a year ago he wouldn't have dared to assume something like that without Draco telling him so.

The most wonderful thing about him, Draco thought, watching as Harry stood looking up at the moon for a moment while he put his clothes back on, is that I don't think he'll ever be done. Next year's ritual will be different, and not just because it's further along in the courting. He'll be different. He never stays the same. What was his mother thinking, believing she could chain him in one shape for the rest of his life?

Harry turned and caught him staring. He gave him an easy smile and stretched out a hand, pulling Draco to his feet in one smooth motion.

"Come on," he murmured. "I can feel Snape's magic back in the place where we danced. He's waiting for us."

He moved his hand to Draco's shoulder for a moment and squeezed, then turned and walked out of the glade. The silver ring on his finger glinted as the moonlight caught it.

Draco closed his eyes and let the intensity run out of him like pure water out of a cup. For a moment, he lingered in the space the ritual had created, amid deep green grass and bright silver moonlight and dark blue sky, while happiness filled him like a herd of galloping unicorns.

Then he opened his eyes and hastened after his partner.