"That was….fucking insane," Malfoy mutters, lying down in the crook of a spent, exhausted Harry. Harry sighs against the pale skin of Malfoy's arm and presses his hand against his heart, which beats softly and quickly.

"All for you," he whispers.

Malfoy smiles. "You romantic fuck."

For a moment, the two sit in silence and stillness. Harry kisses the back of Malfoy's neck, sort of as he had earlier, only this time more softly, his lips gentle and warm.

"Malfoy, I feel like there's a lot that we need to be talking about. Now that we're alone and less horny," Harry says quietly. Malfoy can't help but laugh.

"Less horny? Impossible."

"Don't ignore the first part of that statement," Harry commands, voice stronger and more stern. "You have a Dark Mark. We never really discussed it before- as usual, we went straight into shagging. But I feel like we need to say things about it, you know?" Harry asks, biting his lip. I've gone over the line, he thinks. As per fucking usual.

"Yeah. Well. It's there. What else do you need to know?" Malfoy can't keep the venom from escaping past his lips. Harry feels Malfoy's chest tense against his. In an attempt to keep him from getting angry, Harry takes the hand that was resting against Malfoy's thigh and moves it to his chest, tenderly running his fingers across his smooth skin.

"I just…" Harry's voice trails off. Like a songbird trapped in a cage, he feels things move through him like an empty carcass. These days, breathing simply slips down his throat and sits in the caverns of his stomach, waiting for release. It never finds it. In this way, Harry knows that he is too similar to everything around him. The songbird hovers between his ribs. He swallows until she drowns.

"Potter?" Malfoy says his name with a tenderness that sends Harry's skin rippling into flames. Smiling to himself, he raises the songbird-which, he discovers, is really a phoenix- to his throat until he builds the courage to reply.

"Your people. They killed my family. All of them. You-Know-Who? He's the reason my parents are gone, my friends, Sirius. You joined them. Your parents may have forced you, but some people would rather die than do that. Rather die. I certainly know now why you weren't picked for Gryffindor. You don't have a brave bone in your body."

Harry regrets the words as soon as he's said them. His tongue feels too heavy in his mouth now, too wide for his teeth.

"That was a low blow, Potter," Malfoy says, "but I understand, I think, and I'm sorry."

It's the first apology Harry's ever received from him. And he has a feeling that Malfoy's saying sorry for a lot more than just the Mark- he's saying sorry for everything. Absolutely everything. Harry's heart is now a balloon, and it pops, pops, pops.

"I want this to last forever," he says before he can stop himself. "Do you?"

Malfoy tenses again against Harry.

"Forever is a long arse time, Potter. But yes. I think yes."

That's the only answer Harry needs. Pop. Pop. Pop.

"If Ron hasn't already gotten to her, I'm telling her in the morning."

When Harry traipses up to the dormitory, it's almost morning. The sun is creeping its way up from behind the faint line of the horizon, and a golden glow seeps through the castle like honey. ( If it were, I would pour it all over Malfoy and lick it off-)

Harry shakes his head. It's 6 AM. No need to be thinking those things at this ungodly hour.

But it's not like he hadn't slept. Last night, he and Malfoy had spent hours resting together, his head on Malfoy's stomach, Malfoy's hands in his hair, simply talking. About everything. About how things are actually much harder than they seem, and it's Lucius and Narcissa, really, that make Malfoy the way he is, and considering the fact that Harry has no parents, he feels that, in the end, it's all pretty easy to forgive.

As he climbs the stairwell and enters the common room, he feels an intense relief wash over him. Not only had he spent the night with Malfoy, he'd also escaped the clutches of Filch on the way back. Then again, he thinks, the man's got to sleep at some point.

6:07. The euphoria from the night falls away quickly as he realizes that he only has another hour before the Gryffindors start filling up the common room, and Ginny will be wondering where he is, and, oh, that songbird, that phoenix, is still caged, is still just ashes.

One hour.

"Harry! Where were you last night? I missed my goodnight kiss," Ginny jokes, planting a kiss on Harry's lips. "You… smell different. Harry, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, of course-"

"Oh my god." The smile falls off Ginny's face as she seems to have realized something, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. "You were with another girl. You were, weren't you?" She exclaims, taking a step away from him. All of a sudden, both Ron and Hermione appear behind her.

"Ginny, what's going on?" Hermione asks, placing a hand on the shoulder of her younger friend.

And then it clicks into place. Hermione opens her mouth into the perfect shape of an 'o,' and Ron folds his arms across his chest in a way that only sends Harry further into panic mode.

"Harry wasn't here last night. And he came back in smelling different. I don't know. I just don't know," Ginny whimpers, sitting down in one of the armchairs. "I've always been the perfect girlfriend. Giving you everything. Except my body- is that what this is about?"

Harry shakes his head before launching into a "No, Ginny, you're beautiful! You've got the completely wrong idea!"

Still, she disappears back up the stairs almost immediately. Hermione and Ron stare at him, anger riddling their features.

"You haven't told her yet?" Harry mumbles, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes.

"You've got two days," Ron says seriously. "Two days, and that's it. If not, we tell her absolutely everything. And Dumbledore, and anyone else who'll listen. You hear me? Two days, Potter."

Harry nods, his glasses sliding down his nose.

"Really, Harry, I would've expected more from you," Hermione whispers into his ear on their way out. And, all at once, Harry's left alone in the common room, the songbird, no longer the phoenix, lying bruised at the base of his throat.