When Harry woke the next morning, Malfoy, as usual, was gone, his twin bed neatly made up, with no evidence that he and Harry had lounged on it last night, doing nothing more than talking until it was quite late. Harry smiled into his pillow. The whole thing felt like some sort of dream—a good dream, for once. He hadn't had a nightmare the whole time he'd been at the Burrow.

Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and took a deep breath. As nice as their conversation had been, he could barely keep up with the intensity of this...this thing... with Malfoy. Six months ago they'd gone from not having seen each other in years to sleeping together on a semi-regular basis. And now, in just three days, they'd gone from never speaking to staying up all night sharing their deepest secrets.

And Harry couldn't speak for Malfoy, but he, personally, and got to a place where the touch of Malfoy's hand on his bare arm could send him into a nervous fluster.

So while the whole thing felt a bit like a good dream, he also felt like he was well and truly fucked.

He stood up and dressed and looked around the room. It seemed oddly barren, and that's when he realized that all of Malfoy's things were gone.

Harry took the stairs two at a time on the way down, panic rising in his chest. Maybe it had all been too much for Malfoy—the talking and the near-snuggling, not to mention the days on end forced to room with Harry...maybe he'd left, maybe it really was never going to happen again and he, Harry, had caused it.

But when he burst into the living room, Malfoy was there, reaching under the Christmas tree to retrieve the scarf he'd received from Mrs. Weasley the day before.

"Oh. Hello," he said, looking up at Harry, his cheeks slightly flushed. "I—I didn't want to wake you." Harry watched in surprise as Malfoy wound the chunky green scarf around his neck. It looked terrible next to his carefully pressed blue shirt, but he didn't seem to mind. "The others are in the kitchen, having breakfast, and—"

"Where are you going?" Harry interrupted. He gestured to Malfoy's overnight bag, resting at his feet. "Are you leaving?" He paused, chewing his lip. "Was it something about...last night? I didn't mean to—"

"No," Malfoy said quickly, looking away from Harry. "Nothing like that. I talked to Mrs. Weasley. I'm going to go so George can come back." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Malfoy raised a hand and shook his head. "No, it's the right thing to do. He's allowed to be upset with me, and I shouldn't be here if it ruins his Christmas. It was nice of her to invite me, but it's time for me to go. I've got to write to my mother and figure some things out."

Harry understood. Malfoy suddenly put a hand on his arm, a tentative touch that felt neither platonic nor sexual, but somewhere in between.

"Potter— Harry —" Malfoy said quietly. Harry's heart leapt in his chest. Harry. "I, er," Malfoy paused, looking helplessly at Harry, as if he wanted to say something but didn't quite know how.

Harry took a deep breath. They'd talked so much last night, and yet there were so many things that Harry still wanted to say to Malfoy, and so many questions he wanted to ask. But instead, much like first night at the bar, Harry leaned forward and kissed him.

Except this time, the kiss was soft, gentle, and careful. Harry had kissed Malfoy dozens—hundreds?—of times in the past several months, but this was a new, intentional, daytime sort of kiss. When Malfoy didn't pull back, Harry slid an arm around his waist and pulled him in closer, reveling in the feeling of Malfoy's soft pink mouth opening for his own, the scratchy wool scarf brushing against his neck, Malfoy's hand coming to rest gently on Harry's hip. Harry was so caught up in his elation that Malfoy was kissing him back that he didn't hear footsteps outside the door.

Worse yet, he didn't hear the door opening until it was far too late.

"Oh, my God. Harry?"

Harry froze in place, his eyes widening to meet Malfoy's. With his arms still around Malfoy's waist, Harry turned to the door. Ron was standing there, and behind him, Ginny and Bill. And, worst of all, Charlie.

"Oh." The elation he'd felt from kissing Malfoy crashed down around him, turning to a churning sort of misery in his stomach.

"Hello," he choked out. Ron's face was blank and Ginny was gaping; Bill looked on in surprised amusement, and Charlie's eyebrows had disappeared under his shaggy hair, his face an expression that Harry couldn't quite read. All of them were staring.

"I should go," said Malfoy, flushing. "Potter was just—I mean, I was just—" He looked from Harry to the others. "Fuck. I''m sorry."

"Wait," Harry said. "Mal—Draco!"

But Malfoy was shaking his head, avoiding Harry's gaze. "No, Potter," he said quietly. "I'm leaving." He picked up his bag and pushed through the crowd of Weasleys at the door, his ears red.

When he was gone, the others turned back to look at Harry. He felt bereft, alone, and more confused than ever, standing there in the center of the room.

"What the hell , Harry?" Ron said, aghast. "You and...Malfoy? Is this a joke?"

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn't think of anything to say at all. He was torn between wanting to die, right there in the living room, and wanting to chase Malfoy down and kiss him some more. What had it meant for him to leave like that?

"I don't think it's a joke, Ron," said Charlie at last, looking at Harry.

"No." Harry sighed, looking Charlie in the eyes. Without waiting for any more answers, Ginny turned to leave.

Harry sighed. '"It's...complicated...but it's not a joke."

Harry didn't know what to do, so he went upstairs to pack his things. He'd go home, he decided. Go home, and clear his head. And then, maybe then he'd go find Malfoy. Or would an owl be better? He sighed when he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," he called. Ron entered, his ears red and a pained expression on his face. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of Harry's bag open on his bed.

"Leaving?"

"I dunno," Harry said. "I guess."

Ron nodded and sat down on Malfoy's bed, opposite from Harry. "I don't blame you," he said, shaking his head. "But you can't leave before you do an enormous amount of explaining. You've left a right mess downstairs—Ginny's told Mum what, er, well, what we saw—don't worry, I've held her off so far—but Harry, what the hell is going on?"

Harry grimaced. "A lot, I guess." He didn't elaborate, and Ron gave him an exasperated look that was rather reminiscent of Hermione.

"Merlin, Harry, if you're going to make me ask questions, I don't even know where to start. So you're—Malfoy—are you gay ?" Ron asked. "Did you ever like Ginny?"

"No," Harry said with a sigh. Ron raised his eyebrows. "Wait, that's not what I meant," Harry closed his eyes in frustration. "I mean, yes , I liked Ginny. But no, I'm not gay. I'm bi." He sighed, and sat on the edge of the bed next to Ron. "But I've been seeing men, lately."

"Oh," said Ron. He didn't say anything for a while, his brow furrowed. Harry didn't say anything either, waiting nervously for Ron to think it all through. "I guess it makes sense," he said after a moment. Harry stared at him in surprise.

"It does?"

"You were always noticing things about blokes," Ron said thoughtfully. "Things I never did. Like Diggory or Zabini...you'd look at them, I dunno. In a way I never really understood."

Harry was quite sure his face was on fire. "We were so young," he said, embarrassed. "I just...I mean, I liked girls too, so I didn't even consider it till later—"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "When you were with Gin, you mean?"

Harry sighed. "We were so young," he said again. "I never had time to be a grownup. I just went right from Hogwarts to the war, to Ginny and Auror training—I never considered whether I really wanted any of it." His heart sank, suddenly remembering about the documents he had to proof for his senior partner within the next few days.

Ron blinked at him. "Just don't tell me you're quitting the Aurors, okay?" He laughed as though it were a joke, and Harry smiled wryly. "And Malfoy? "How on earth does he come into this?" Harry grimaced, and Ron gave him another Hermione-like look. "You know I have to ask."

Harry sighed. He felt like he'd talked more in the last couple days than in the rest of his life combined. "Ran into him at a bar a few months ago. I dunno...it's complicated. We've been having, well, hate sex, I suppose. For months."

Ron gawked at him. "Hate sex?"

Harry shrugged. "We were drunk just about every time," he offered miserably. "Then he'd kick me out the next morning. We kept saying we'd stop—we hated each other, after all—but it just kept happening ." He put his head in his hands, wondering what Malfoy was doing right that moment. Maybe he was panicking at having been caught, like Harry, or maybe, Harry thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he was regretting the whole thing.

Ron shuddered. "You always did have that weird...thing...with him. Watching him, following him..."

Harry closed his eyes, mortified, and Ron patted his back sympathetically. "No, I'm serious, Harry. God, honestly, so many things are making sense right now. Did you have a crush on him at school ?"

"No! At least...I don't think so." Harry's face burned. "I'm er, sorry I didn't tell you any of this. It just all felt so bloody weird."

"I get it," said Ron. "Wish you'd ever told me about the liking blokes bit, but I understand why you didn't tell me about Malfoy. Although he's not that bad, honestly. I didn't mind having him around. You know he apologized to Hermione?"

"Yeah, he told me," Harry said with a sigh. "I didn't know he'd be here, you know. I was furious at first. We never talked much before this weekend. It was mainly...other things," he admitted, blushing furiously.

Ron grimaced. "Listen, I know I'm not all that observant—I'm no Hermione—but it didn't look like hate sex to me, what was going on in the living room."

Harry sighed and put his head back in his hands. "No, I don't suppose it was."

By the time Ron left the room a half hour later, they'd agreed that it might be best for Harry to leave, if only for his own peace of mind. Ron agreed to talk to the others for him, and Harry decided he'd write Ginny a letter. It might be easier that way, for both of them.

There was one other person that he wanted to talk to, however. He found Charlie in the broom shed, carefully pruning the broken branches of his old school Cleansweep, well-worn and well-loved next to the shiny new set of Nimbuses.

"Charlie," he said quietly, setting his bag down in the doorway.

Charlie turned and gave him a tired smile. "Harry. I was wondering if you'd find me here. Leaving, then?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm sorry. I've turned Christmas into a colossal mess."

"Nah, Mum did that when she invited Malfoy," Charlie said, and Harry forced a smile.

"I didn't know he'd be here. I really was looking forward to spending time with you," he said honestly.

Charlie nodded. "Me, too. You do have a history with him, then? Aside from being school rivals or whatever, I mean."

"Yeah," said Harry, blushing. "It wasn't...I mean...it's not anything, exactly. Not really." He trailed off awkwardly, unsure what it really was, or what he wanted it to be.

Charlie's brow furrowed.. "I wondered, when I saw you together...but I thought you'd have told me if you were...seeing him?" Harry shook his head. "Sleeping with him, then?" Harry nodded miserably, and to his surprised relief, Charlie laughed. "You still could have told me, you know."

Harry sighed. "What did you say the other day? Communication's not my thing."

Charlie smiled. "To be honest, I've liked that about you, Harry—you mind your business better than anyone else in this family. Maybe too well." Harry smiled in spite of himself, and Charlie squeezed his arm. "Listen, don't worry about any of it. You and I—well, you were well within your rights to do whatever it is you do with Malfoy."

"I'm sorry all the same," said Harry. "I didn't think—I didn't mean for anything to happen here at the Burrow." He hadn't meant for anything to happen with Malfoy ever , and now look where they were. "And listen, Charlie, I talked to Ron—he understood, said he'd talk to the rest. Not just about Malfoy, but about me being bi, I mean." He chewed his lip and looked back at Charlie.

Charlie sighed. "I know what you're getting at, Harry. And I never doubted that they'd understand. I just am not interested in having that conversation with them about me ." Harry nodded. "And I hope it works out, you and Malfoy," he added.

Harry's face flushed. "There's nothing going on with me and—" he began, but Charlie shook his head.

"All I'm saying is that you deserve something more than a romp in a twin bed at Christmas, Harry. Whether it's with your childhood rival or your best friend's older brother. But if you're ever in Romania, look me up," he added, looking fondly at Harry. "I don't know if I'll be coming around here again for a while. Maybe next Christmas. The family—it's a lot."

Harry nodded. It was funny how the very thing he liked about the Weasleys—the noise, the nosiness, the care—was what Charlie couldn't take.

"Thanks, Charlie," he said quietly, and Apparated home.