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This chapter is almost pure fluff. Don't worry, that will be changing soon.

Chapter Fifty-Five: A Wind-Drenched Christmas

"She should, if she just understood," said Ginny, her cheeks flushing so much that Harry thought she would fall over. "But she won't let us. She says that Christmas is a time for family, and Bill and Charlie and Percy are all coming home, so we have to be at the Burrow, too." She tossed her hair. "Never mind that we could visit you in the morning and the Burrow later in the day!"

Harry thought Molly Weasley's stubborn refusal to let Ron and Ginny spend Christmas Day with him and Connor stemmed less from love of family and more from worry about what her two youngest children might get up to around Dark wizards, but he didn't want to tell Ginny that and make her more sour. "I'm sorry you can't come," he said instead, and held out the package he'd Levitated behind his back while she complained. "Happy Christmas anyway."

She stared at him for a moment, absolutely astonished, then carefully unwrapped the gift. She was smiling by the time she had it halfway open, and looked up with a grin. "Thank you, Harry." He'd got her Chaser's gloves, made for clinging to the Quaffle better, and even hardening themselves into a stone-like substance if a Bludger tried to hit her hand. Harry felt it was a bit impersonal as a gift, but he still didn't know Ginny all that well.

"Where'd you get those, Ginny?" Ron was coming down the stairs of the Gryffindor common room, his eyes riveted to the gloves, but he relaxed and gave Harry a nod when he saw him. Harry grinned ruefully and held out another package.

"I almost wish you hadn't seen those," he muttered, while Ron speedily unwrapped his package.

Ron gave a grunt of both understanding and happiness when he saw his own gloves, this time made for a Keeper, to cast extra warming charms on his hands; a Keeper frequently did less pure flying during the game than the other players, and their fingers could become paralyzed with the cold during autumn or winter matches. He nodded to Harry. "Thanks, mate." He paused, as if embarrassed, and Harry realized that he probably didn't have a gift for him.

"It's all right, Ron," Harry assured him. "It doesn't matter. I do wish that you could come visit us for Christmas, but what you give Connor during the rest of the year—and what Ginny did for me when she came to Woodhouse—is too great to be repaid." He nodded to the gloves. "This is just a small return, the only kind I can make."

"You're getting better at the noble speeches, Harry," said Ginny, and her eyes shone with laughter. "Three years ago, that would have sounded as if you were oblivious to the implications of what you said. Now you actually look human."

"Well, a large part of that is Draco," said Harry, curious to see how they would react. Ron opened his mouth, then shut it again. Ginny just rolled her eyes.

"He's important to you," she said. "But a prat. He would have more friends if he didn't act like such an idiot sometimes. Tell him that."

"I don't think he cares," said Harry, startled to hear a little defensiveness leak into his voice, and got another roll of the eyes in return.

"I know he doesn't," Ginny pointed out patiently. "But then he can't complain when people don't fall down at his feet worshipping him the way he seems to want."

And with that, Harry had to be content. Connor was down at dinner, and he would see him tomorrow when they went to Silver-Mirror for Christmas, anyway, so Harry was going to wait to give him his gift. He hugged both Ron and Ginny and left Gryffindor Tower, leaning against the stone of the wall for a moment as he closed his eyes.

He did feel different. Granted, it had been only three days since Draco's Justification, so perhaps he couldn't have expected the effects of the ritual to end yet. But this was still so unusual that he had to take notice of it. Contentment thrummed through every vein in his body, and when someone said something bad about Draco Harry found that he wanted to correct them immediately. And he kept noticing—well, beauty. The beauty was only on Draco's face so far, for the most part, but his eyes tracked beams of sunlight across the floor of the Great Hall now, and just yesterday he'd halted in front of a painting and stared at it, enthralled for the first time with the colors in it.

Harry was a bit frightened to discover what he was like with his barriers down. Did this make him weaker? Surely such a fundamental change could not be all positive. And he should retain the ability to lift the barriers back again in case he was in a situation where he needed them, like a battle.

Perhaps the effect would recede with time, he told himself. He and Draco could spend a larger portion of time both together and in bed right now than usual, given the Christmas holidays. And that had to renewing Harry's near-obsessive interest in him. Yes, it would probably fade as they eased further away from the Justification.

He gave himself a brisk shake, and went to find Luna so he could give her her present.

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Luna touched the stone of the wall, and listened gravely as she nodded. Yes, this large block was unhappy here among smaller ones. When the Founders raised Hogwarts, it had tried to tell them so, but none of them had the ability to listen to objects. So it had sat here in the walls ever since, unwanted and lonely. It needed to shrink, or the other blocks needed to grow larger, to accommodate it.

Luna stepped back and laid the book of spells she'd found in the library carefully on the floor, studying the incantations and drawings again. She ought to be able to adjust the size of the stone without altering the composition of the walls, if she'd read it correctly. If she did do something dangerous and made this section of wall waver, then the stones would tell her. Luna smiled. It was so nice, being able to listen to what things said. She was always surprised, and not a little saddened, that more people didn't try it for themselves.

She aimed her wand at the stone and whispered, "Aliquantus."

A stream of pink light shot out of her wand and circled the block. It shuddered, and then began to resize itself. Luna watched with her breath bated, her wand moving back and forth now and then so that she could speed the shrinking of one side or slow the growth of another. The stone's cries of distress grew fainter and fainter, until it was finally a shape and size that worked well with the other stones. Luna ended the spell and reached out, running her fingers gently down it.

"Luna?"

Harry was there. Of course he was. He had the map of the school, and so he could find her if he wanted. Luna turned around and nodded to him. "Harry. You want your Christmas present now."

Harry paused as if startled, and then used his hand to push the glasses up his nose. "Er. No, I—I didn't know you had one for me, Luna." The Omen snake draped around his shoulders, whom Luna often saw in the Ravenclaw common room, cocked his head to look at her and uttered a long hiss. Harry hissed back, then listened to the response, and muffled a chuckle. "But Argutus says that I would be a fool not to accept it," he added.

"Of course you would," said Luna, and reached into a pocket of her robes, filtering her fingers past scraps of parchment and pebbles that she'd picked up because they remembered interesting things. She found the cord of the necklace she'd braided for Harry, and pulled it out. "These are gyrfalcon feathers," she told Harry. "Powerful protection, you know."

"Against what?"

He is annoyingly specific sometimes, Luna thought, but she was willing to forgive him for that. Most people tended to be annoyingly specific, unless they learned how to listen. "Against rumors and bad ideas," she said firmly, and then waited until he bowed his head so she could drape the necklace around his neck. Harry touched it lightly and smiled.

"I have a necklace for you, too, Luna," he said, and brought it out.

Luna reached out and took it, enchanted. The cord was of a thread she'd never seen before, but it had come from a robe in the first place—perhaps a piece of clothing from one of Harry's Black houses, of the kind that nobody wove any more. There were sunflower petals hanging on the cord, charmed to stay fresh. Sunflowers were a way of wishing someone good luck, Luna knew, the ability to flare brilliantly even in the midst of wind and crisis. She was pleased Harry had thought of them.

But what made it very special was that Harry had braided pieces of his own hair among the flower petals. Luna touched one dark curl, and nodded. It gave her visions of being on Harry's head and bobbing and dipping as he soared past a Bludger. It was very brave of him, giving this up, when one's hair could be used against one in so many dangerous potions and spells.

"Thank you, Harry," she said. She Levitated the necklace up over her head and settled it at her throat. That way, it would be light and airy in the future, and less likely to strangle her. "I wish you good luck at conquering the Rotfang Conspiracy."

For just a moment, Harry looked confused. But he didn't pursue the matter and then look bored by her explanation, which Luna had known to happen many times, and which always disappointed her. Conspiracies were like objects; they would be much more fascinating if people just listened. "Thanks, Luna," he said. "Good luck at—adjusting the size of rocks in the tunnels?"

"Yes," said Luna. "The Founders didn't always put Hogwarts together right, you know. Sometimes there's a sound of a stone crying out in pain, or a room crying because people are practicing too many of the same kinds of spells in it. Then I have to help." She gave Harry a severe glance. Even he wasn't beyond censure for this kind of thing. "Your own robes would be pleased if you could get a left hand. They're tired of flopping over your left wrist."

"Er," said Harry.

Luna listened for a moment, then smiled. "Oh, but you are planning to get a left hand," she said. "That's good. And Harry? I'm very pleased that you and Draco Malfoy are sharing a bed. That's nice for both of you. Are you redistributing your weight evenly across it when you bounce? Because that's important, you know, to be sure that the bed doesn't always get tired of having the same weight on every spring."

Harry's face was very red. Luna wondered in concern if a Heat Flea had bitten him. She was about to offer the incantation that could check when Harry said, in a strangled voice, "Happy Christmas, Luna," and beat a retreat.

Luna made a careful note to check for Heat Fleas later, and went back to work.

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Harry woke slowly. He nearly panicked for a moment, before remembering they didn't have to hurry to Silver-Mirror; instead, he, Draco, Connor, Peter, Owen, Syrinx, and Snape had come to Silver-Mirror last night, had a late dinner with Narcissa, and gone to bed. Draco had said that he didn't want to run around in the morning the way they'd had to do last year, and this was better.

His turning over and stretching woke Draco, who liked to sleep with both arms and legs tucked around him lately, as if he were a monkey. It made Harry think words like "adorable," which he didn't share aloud. Draco liked to be told he was beautiful, but there were certain lines to be drawn even in that.

"Happy Christmas," Draco whispered, and leaned forward to snog him.

Harry returned it eagerly enough. He didn't know what time it was, and he wasn't about to look away from the kiss to cast a Tempus charm. He rolled slowly over so that he lay half on top of Draco, and slipped one hand under his pyjama shirt.

The door flung open.

Harry made a muffled shriek, and, luckily, drew back before he could bite Draco's tongue, though it was a near thing. He turned around and glared at Connor, who stood in the doorway with red and white sparks leaping from his wand, grinning like Sirius in a really good mood.

"What are you doing?' Harry demanded.

"What is he doing?" Draco said at approximately the same moment, attempting to hide his nakedness behind Harry. Harry clasped his hand and glared at his brother, who didn't go away.

"It's time to come downstairs and open gifts," Connor announced solemnly. "And I knew that you were awake because I saw Draco go outside earlier." He nodded to Draco as casually as if they were already brothers-in-law and Connor walked in on scenes like this all the time. "You went outside to watch the sunrise with your mother, didn't you? A beautiful custom. And one that makes you wake up early. I was generous and let you have an extra three hours of sleep. You should thank me, really. All this lying around in bed all day doesn't get gifts opened."

He shut the door with a bang. Harry blinked at Draco. Draco blinked at Harry.

"I suppose we should go downstairs," said Harry reluctantly. "Or he's liable to come back in here."

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Connor leaned against the doorway in the hall and tried to keep his laughter down. He wondered how long it would be before Harry and Draco worked out that he had a ward up which alerted him when they were getting too "intimate," so that he could innocently interrupt them.

It had taken him only a few days to work out that just because he couldn't antagonize Draco any more didn't mean he had to have less fun. He now had a brother to tease. If he was having sex, Harry obviously wasn't that fragile on the subject any more, and he could take a lot of teasing. At the same time, he was unlikely to tease back for a while, until he grew more comfortable with the notion that he was not only having sex, other people knew that he was.

Connor liked to think of it as part of his brotherly duties in making sure that Harry could have at least a somewhat sane and normal life.

He trotted downstairs, chortling, and met the impatient gazes around the tree with a satisfied smile. "They should be down soon," he said.

And if they aren't, then I'll take Snape with me when I fetch them.

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Harry watched Connor's face closely as his magic Levitated gifts from under the trees, slinging them to their owners. He saw his brother blink and let his face fall a little when he realized that Harry apparently had no gift for him.

"Sorry for not putting this with the others, Connor," Harry said, clearly enough that everyone heard. "But there's no way that you wouldn't have guessed immediately what it was, no matter how hard I tried to wrap it." He turned his attention to the doorway and sent out a silent Accio. Connor's gift hurried from the obscure room where Harry had put it, one close beside Neptune Black's paintings of other worlds, and through the doorway.

Connor's face when he saw it made everything worthwhile—even, Harry thought, his interrupting them this morning. His hands trembled as he settled the Firebolt on his lap and stroked it, and his glance towards Harry had turned so bright that it really seemed to outshine most of what was in the room.

Harry grinned. "Happy Christmas, Connor."

Connor gazed dreamily at the broom, as he might have at Parvati. Harry leaned back against Draco's shoulder, and just barely restrained the impulse to kiss him, not wanting to look away from his brother's glowing face. It had been obvious that Connor was jealous of his Firebolt, though he'd tried not to be. And why shouldn't he have a good broom? He was playing Quidditch this year, while Harry wasn't. He both needed and wanted it more.

"That cost lots of Galleons," Draco hissed in his ear. "Even now."

"Yes," Harry agreed simply.

"Mine should be at least as good," Draco said firmly.

Harry raised himself on his elbow so he could see Draco's face. "It's not as expensive," he said. "But I think it's even better. Money isn't the only measure of worth, Draco. You've helped teach me that as much as anyone else."

Draco blinked, looking both stunned and cautiously pleased, and then unwrapped his gift. Harry watched his face for the moment when he realized what it was. There it was—the flicker of a line across his brow, a sharply indrawn breath, and shadows in his eyes.

"A Pensive," he whispered. "But it's already full."

Harry nodded. The Pensieve had a containment spell on it that kept the silver liquid inside from sliding out. "It's my memories of some of the most painful times in my life," he said. "And the most joyful." He thought of the perfect wording a moment later, and shook his head ruefully. "The most intense, perhaps I should say. And it's bound to that spell you invented, the one that lets you go inside someone else's memory and feel their mindset."

Draco's stare at him demanded more information.

Harry kissed him, not caring for the fact that Draco's mother and his guardian sat right across the room. "I've still hidden some things from you," he whispered. "The way I felt about my parents' trial, for example. And some others were always mysterious. I don't think you've ever really understood the way I felt about Connor in first year. I don't want those to be secrets anymore, Draco. So here you are. Whatever you want to know about me, it should be in there. If it isn't, ask."

Draco made an incoherent noise and set the Pensieve aside before lunging forward and seizing him in a kiss. Harry almost let himself be pushed flat before he heard Snape clear his throat.

"Perhaps," Snape said, in a voice so dry it reminded Harry of a desert, "we can continue with this undignified orgy of gift-giving and save the other parts of the undignified orgy for later?"

Harry heard Connor laugh, and had his suspicions about the way his brother had come bursting in on them that morning. He sat back up, clearing his throat, and trying to smooth his hair flat, while he looked at Snape. Understanding the silent command, Snape opened the wrapped package in his lap.

He went very still.

Harry took a deep breath. This was another of those risky gifts, like the forgiveness letter he'd written to Snape last year. It seemed that their relationship was doomed to be so volatile they'd never give each other normal presents. Of course, Harry thought, if they did reach the sock-trading stage they would probably be on the verge of never speaking to one another again.

Snape opened the book, and flipped through it, looking, it seemed, at each page, or at least each clump of pages. Harry waited, his heart loud in his throat and Draco's hand on his shoulder, just at that moment, most welcome.

"Some of these pages near the end are blank," Snape said at last.

Harry cleared his throat. "Ah—those are supposed to be for you to write what works well for us," he said. "And I have no doubt that you could write a book of your own on the subject, at this point."

Snape met his eyes. Harry looked back as fearlessly as he could when fear was trying to eat him alive. The gift—a book called, What To Do With a Powerful Wizard: Handling Relationships Between Magically Strong Parents and Children—was less literal and more symbolic. Harry hoped the symbolism, of his desire to consider Snape a parent and not just a guardian, was actually obvious.

From Snape's small smile a moment later, he supposed it was either so, or Snape had read the reason out of his eyes with Legilimency.

"Thank you, Harry." Snape put the book aside. The gesture might have looked casual to anyone else, but Harry had seen the way his hands were trembling. He relaxed.

The other gifts went more easily; He'd got books for Peter, Narcissa, Owen, and Syrinx, all on various subjects. Peter's was the one that might have been most sensitive, given that it documented wood-carving techniques developed in the years he was in Azkaban, but it only made him caress the cover and look wistful. Syrinx had already opened her book, which was about advanced training for war wizards, and didn't look inclined to pay attention to anything else.

That done, the rest of the gift-giving could begin. Harry wasn't very surprised to open a book on art appreciation from Peter. Now that he could see beauty in physical objects, he suspected Peter would patiently tutor him into seeing beauty in wooden carvings, paintings, murals, and the like. Harry wondered if his days of draining pretty but useless Black artifacts for their magic were over.

Narcissa gave him a curious object that felt heavy in Harry's arms, but slipped and slithered as he unrolled it, so that it took him a long moment to see what it really was. He smiled, embarrassed, over the top of it when he caught a glimpse of "Sirius" and "Regulus" and realized its nature: a copy of the Black family tapestry with his name added. It wasn't magical, so it wouldn't change to reflect the living and dead status of members of the family as the original did, but it did show him bound to Regulus with a dashed silver line, as adopted heir.

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," he said, and she corrected him to Narcissa before he really finished, glancing at him severely. Harry could almost see the wheels in her head turning. If he will acknowledge himself as adopted Black heir, perhaps he will begin to acknowledge himself as my son-in-law.

The tapestry was a beautiful gift, woven from some pure black fabric Harry didn't know and with the names done in silver, but it made Harry miss Regulus something fierce. He put it carefully aside before he turned to the next gift, Owen's.

It was a wooden plaque, empty but for what looked like a depiction of the most recent generation of Rosier-Henlins. Harry blinked at it, then turned to look at Owen in puzzlement.

Owen met his gaze calmly enough. "My mother is pregnant," he said. "I told you that. She's due to deliver in three months. She'd like you to be godfather for the child, Harry. Or—well, if you'll accept, something a bit more permanent than that. An office much like the one you're performing for Marian Bulstrode, where you show my little sibling from the first day he or she exists that powerful magic isn't something to be feared, or revered. The world's changing. My mother wants her daughter or son to grow up in the world as it is, not as it was."

Harry thought he knew what the plaque was. "And if I agree, then it changes to reflect my new status in relation to your family?"

Owen nodded.

Harry went on looking at him for a moment more. He hadn't had as much time to spend with his sworn companions as he'd like. He still barely knew Syrinx. And he hadn't known Michael well enough to prevent the situation that arose with Draco. It was something he'd like to change.

"Thank you, Owen," he said at last. "I'd be honored." He faced the plaque and breathed on it, vaguely remembering that he had to do something like that. Some of the plaques were so sensitive that they picked up the magic from the sound of the words alone, but most needed a more concentrated blast of air. "I accept."

The plaque shimmered, and an invisible hand carved his name into the wood. Harry was startled to see that three lines appeared with it. One dashed one linked him to Medusa's name, and Harry guessed that would be the one signifying his choice to stand in for the child. A thicker, curvier one curled from him to Owen—the sworn companion bond. Harry had no clue what to make of the thin line that curled about the spot on the plaque beneath Medusa and Charles that the child's name would presumably fill.

Owen came and looked over his shoulder. "Oh," he said, sounding surprised. "I didn't know my mother did that. She evidently wants you to name the child."

"She what?" Harry was immediately apprehensive. The thought of saddling a wizarding child with something unfortunate for the rest of his or her life immediately filled his thoughts. What if he did it wrong? What if he violated some naming tradition in the Rosier-Henlin family that he knew nothing about? What if—

Owen's hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry about it," he murmured. "I'm sure you'll do just fine."

Harry, though not so sure, nodded, and opened Syrinx's gift. A shoe? After a moment, Harry understood. War wizards were supposed to own few possessions, at least during this stage of their training. Like independent action and unimpeded emotion, the right to them was something they gave up, and then regained at the end of their training. Syrinx would give some of her possessions as gifts, as much to say that she valued the people who received them as for any practical benefit.

When he looked at Syrinx, she was smiling at him. "It's charmed to leap up and kick your enemies in the jaw," she said. "It should break the jaw if I did the charm right." A tremor of anxiety crossed her brow. "I'm sure I did."

"Uh—thanks." Harry set the shoe cautiously on top of the Rosier-Henlin plaque. Luckily, it didn't appear to think the plaque was an enemy.

From Connor, he received a watch made of bronze, which whirled with three-dimensional representations of the planets when he opened it. Connor grinned at him. "Brilliant, isn't it?" he asked. "I found it in Lux Aeterna, behind a ward. It lets the current Potter heir know when the bearer is in danger."

"And what else?" Harry could feel a good deal of concentrated magic in the watch, though not clearly enough to tell what it did.

Connor shrugged, more interested in Peter's gift for him, a book on Animagus training. "Don't know."

Harry thought it wouldn't be a good idea to wear the watch as yet. He wrapped it around the shoe, then took a good look at the gifts from Snape and Draco.

Looking told him nothing. Snape had filled his box with soft parchment, from the sound, so that Harry couldn't tell what it was from the shape. He opened it, and exclaimed softly. "I didn't think you brewed this, sir," he said, tilting the vial he uncovered from side to side. The golden shine clearly proclaimed the potion to be Felix Felicis, which Harry had never tried to make himself; one slight mistake in the brewing and things would go even worse than they usually did with a volatile potion.

Snape snorted.

Harry glanced at him, and was surprised to note a faint red tinge to his cheeks. He's…embarrassed? "Thank you, sir," he said. "Really."

Snape nodded stiffly and looked away. Harry decided he shouldn't call any more attention to it. Snape was against potions like Felix Felicis as much as he was against love potions, at least on the surface; he might not be fair, but that didn't mean he would approve of a luck brew that was essentially a way of cheating the odds. Harry carefully slid the vial back into its parchment, and tried to bury his own emotions, as he thought about what it meant that Snape believed that and yet had brewed the potion anyway.

When he opened Draco's gift, he didn't understand at first. The object hummed with concentrated magic, but it appeared to be a perfectly ordinary mirror. Harry turned it back and forth, and still could see only his own face in it. The frame was beautiful, carved ivory with small curlicues around tiny pearls, but had no sigil or lettering that said what it did. Harry gave Draco a doubtful look.

Draco smiled at him, and cupped his hand around the back of Harry's neck, bending his face towards the mirror. "There," he breathed. "What do you see?"

Harry peered close, obediently, muttering under his breath the whole while. "Just myself," he said.

And then he gasped as the image rippled and changed, and color appeared to flow from the side, where Draco had just touched the frame. What was left, when the ripples settled, was—

No.

Harry tried to put the mirror down. Draco wouldn't let him, wouldn't release his grip on either the frame or the nape of Harry's neck. His murmuring in Harry's ear sounded half-feverish.

"Yes. That's what I see when I look at you, Harry. When just one person is touching it, it reflects what that person thinks of the object in the glass. But when someone else touches it, then it asserts his reality. And you're beautiful to me. You are." Draco kissed his ear.

Harry tried to turn away from the image, but it was hard. The face—that wasn't his. It couldn't be. It irradiated his eyes, his hair, practically his skin with light as he had thought darkness irradiated Draco's face on the day of the Justification. He was fascinated by the picture, but it wasn't him. It couldn't be.

He buried his face in Draco's robe, overwhelmed.

"It's all right, Harry," Draco crooned into his ear. "Take as long as you need to get used to this." His free hand swept over Harry's forehead, tugging at his hair now and then. "We've already started on that road. You can admit I'm beautiful. I've seen you staring at some things as if noticing them for the first time. It'll come, Harry. You might even acknowledge yourself as beautiful in a few years without prompting, but I want you to know exactly how I see you."

Harry managed to murmur his thanks, though still without looking up. He was half-afraid to meet Draco's eyes at this moment, and see the burning, possessive pleasure in them.

Draco kissed him again. "Happy Christmas," he said into Harry's skin, more than his ear.

Connor saved the moment, or at least saved his brother from making a right idiot of himself. "We still have some time before the others come," he said brightly, impatiently. And he was right, Harry knew; his other allies would be arriving later that afternoon, delaying because they wanted to spend Christmas morning with their own families or, in Hawthorn's case, because last night had been the full moon and she would need time to recover. "Let's go flying in the wind-pool!"

Harry choked, especially when he heard Draco's indignant mutter about not having a broom behind him. He kissed Draco's chest and sat up, still careful to avoid both his boyfriend's eyes and the mirror. Some changes were harder than others.

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Harry woke that night with a start. For a long moment, he lay in his bed, skin tingling, and tried to think what could have awakened him. It wasn't Draco, who rushed soft snores into his ear without moving. And it definitely wasn't Connor sneaking in to play a prank; when Harry chanced a look at the door, it was firmly closed.

But something had changed.

A bit unnerved, and wondering if someone had managed to Apparate in past Silver-Mirror's wards, Harry rolled gently from under Draco's guardian arm. Draco turned and hugged the pillow instead. Harry lingered to stroke his cheek and shake his head; he would be back, hopefully, before the cold woke Draco up.

He made his way carefully down the stairs. The celebration with his allies had been louder and more raucous than Harry had expected, if only because Thomas had brought his children along, and Marian Bulstrode could walk now. A child nearly two years old with accidental magic not fully under control, and utterly unafraid of any Black artifacts or magic from the adults, could, Harry had discovered, get into quite a bit of trouble. And then Thomas had stayed for a long time talking about how he had received an invitation to visit Malfoy Manor from Lucius, but had not gone because he was busy writing an article on centaur magic and in the midst of some delicate research. It had been entertaining, but had distracted Harry from helping to clean up the rubbish. He hoped nothing had been left on the stairs.

He reached the main room of Silver-Mirror, lit as always by the golden pool overhead that forever sent its drops of flame down to fill the lamps, and looked cautiously about. No one lunged out of the shadows at him brandishing a wand. Harry frowned.

Then he heard a voice, familiar and not heard in far too long, say, "Harry?"

Heart pounding, he turned. Regulus stood next to one of the paintings, his hand resting lightly on the wall beside it, his face widening into a smile as Harry watched.

He might have repeated Harry's name, but if so, Harry didn't hear it, since he'd practically levitated across the room and gathered Regulus into a hug. Regulus lost his breath, then got it back again long enough to laugh, and returned the embrace.

Harry buried his head against Regulus's chest, silly tears of gratitude making his shirt damp. He hadn't dared think too much about what was probably happening to Regulus in the world of the paintings. He was gone, and there was nothing Harry could do to help him but make sure the Black houses and artifacts were taken care of properly in the meantime. No way to reach him, no way to know if he had succeeded or failed in his quests to heal from the infection around his Dark Mark and to find out what the Slytherin locket had been to Voldemort.

No way to know, but now he was back, alive, warm, real, in Harry's arms. He was back.

Regulus chuckled above him. "I was automatically trying to read your thoughts and learn what had happened since I was last home," he whispered. "Sometimes I forget that I have a body, even now."

"I'll tell you," said Harry, pulling back and staring into his face, dazed with joy. "I'll be happy to tell you. But you tell me something first." He took a deep breath. "Did your healing go well?"

"It did." Regulus's face was shadowed for a moment, but it couldn't restrain the smile that burst forth. "The infection in my Mark is cured."

"Then I don't care about anything else right now," Harry said firmly, and clung to him again.

He knew Regulus had probably had disturbing things happen to him, and found disturbing things out. It was there in the shadows around his eyes and his mouth if nowhere else. And he knew he probably wouldn't like hearing some of those things, that Regulus might be the bearer of bad news.

For now, he didn't care. He didn't care about anything but the fact that Regulus was there, one heavy hand stroking his spine, here and back and home.