"Harry," Ron called softly across the room, "you awake?"

"Yea, but Draco isn't," Harry whispered.

"Who cares if the ferret is awake or not. Let's go. I'm starving."

"Ron, I can't move."

"Too much firewhiskey?" Harry detected a note a amusement in Ron's voice and frowned.

"No, but Draco's got his arm wrapped around me and if I move, he'll wake up."

Ron raised an eyebrow at the sight of Draco clutching Harry, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"I'll see you downstairs when he wakes up, then." Ron exited, leaving Harry free to slide his arm underneath Draco's sleeping form and pull him closer. Draco snuggled into Harry's t-shirt-clad chest, his soft lips curving in a delicate smile. Harry welcomed the extra warmth, breathing in the musky scent that surrounded Draco, and lightly running his fingers through the silky strands framing the milky face.

Merlin, he is beautiful. Harry smiled to himself as he let his fingertips graze over the skin that had the texture of rose-petals, soft and fragrant. How could anyone who can put up

such a cold, hard facade be this angelic?

But he's not angelic, said a voice in his head. You have the bite marks to prove that.

Harry's smile widened at the memory, his breath coming a bit quicker as Memory Draco's tongue swirled circles over every inch of his skin.

"If you want to touch me, I prefer you do it in other, more sensitive places." Harry jerked out of his reverie, warm gray eyes gazing up into surprised green from somewhere near Harry's chest.

"Didn't realize you were awake," Harry said, the smile still playing on his lips. "I was going to let you sleep in."

"Judging by the amount of sunlight coming through that window, I'm pretty sure we slept in." Draco squinted, wrinkling his nose at the blinding shafts falling across his face. Harry thought he looked cute like that and laughed.

"What?" The half-innocent, half-put out expression Draco wore just sent Harry into set of laughs that came from deep within his chest, and Draco slid his hand over Harry's shirt to feel the vibrations.

"You look so adorable when you scrunch your nose up like that." Harry leaned his head to the side as Draco swiped at him.

"Poof," he muttered, snuggling still closer to Harry. "I'll have you know that you are probably the first person to ever call a Malfoy adorable and get away with it. We have been called beautiful, cold, heartless, and drop-dead gorgeous, but never adorable."

"Well, you're not a typical Malfoy, are you?" This time Harry ducked too late and was

tapped on the cheek.

"That was pathetic, Mr. My-Name-Means-Dragon-In-Latin." Draco reached up and whacked him harder, leaving a red mark. "Okay, fine, you can bitch-slap. Ten points to Slytherin- yeow!"

Draco had launched a full-scale tickling attack on Harry, knowing all of his sensitive spots from weeks of experience.

"Draco, stop, oh GOD! Please!" Harry gasped through giggles.

"If you like laughing at Malfoy's so much, then you should be enjoying this." Draco put on his most innocent look and pouted, going for Harry's ribs. "Isn't that what you want, for me to touch you?"

"I, oh, Malfoy, please stop! Please oh please oh-"

"Are you begging him?" George asked, apparating into the room. Fred immediately appeared beside him.

"I-ye GODS Draco that, stop!- victim maniac," were the only words the twins were able to decipher through laughter. To their disappointment, Draco stopped torturing Harry, who was having trouble breathing now and still breaking out into sporadic giggles.

"Anyways, once you two sleepy-heads actually get your arses out of bed and get something to eat, we're going to have a game of Quidditch. Care to join us?"

Harry and Draco both leapt off the bed, tangling in each other and landing in a heap on the floor.

"Last one to the bathroom holds the game up!" Draco taunted, racing towards the bathroom. Harry flew after him, but was met with the door slamming in his face and Draco's elated laughter.

Harry grinned. Draco didn't have a change of clothes with him, and was going to have to walk back to the room wearing nothing but a towel. And Harry wasn't going to bring him anything to wear.

Judging from the groan that was emitted on the other side of the door, Draco realized that, too.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So who plays what?" asked Ginny.

"Seeker!" Harry and Draco called out in unison, leering at each other. They might have become friends, but the intensity of their Quidditch rivalry hadn't diminished.

"Wow, as if that wasn't obvious," Ron muttered under his breath. "I'll be a keeper."

"Chaser," said Ginny.

"Keeper," Hermione said, almost reluctantly. They had all dragged her out here and convinced her to play, despite her hatred for flying.

"We'll be chasers," said the twins.

"Chaser," said Bill, running out to the group. "I'll play with Ginny."

"Hey! Not fair!" exclaimed George. "There's no way we can beat you!"

Bill smirked.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" asked Fred, frowning.

"Brought it home with me. Now are we going to play, or not?"

They all mounted their brooms and took off, Hermione wobbling a bit until she balanced out. A practice Quidditch set was brought out, and as the Weasleys couldn't afford a full one, there were no bludgers. Instead of hoops, Bill levitated three baskets on either side of their expansive yard, each at a different height. The golden snitch was not-so-golden, instead being made of stainless steel.

Surprisingly, Draco made no comment, just hopped on his broom and did a few warm-up laps, relishing the feeling of the sun warming his back, his first time spent outdoors in weeks. He looked about for Harry, and spotted the raven haired boy going through a series of twists, dives, loops, and feints, his face split by a grin of pure ecstasy.

God he's hot. And Harry Potter on a broomstick, mmmhmmm. Draco snapped himself out of his fangirl-like obsession. Keep goggling like that and Weasley may get the chance to nail you, he thought at himself.

After they gave Hermione a few minutes to get comfortable on her broom, they began to play. Harry figured that the Weasleys had been practicing this summer: Ron was making some unbelievable catches, and Ginny darted past her twin brothers with agility to match Angelina's and Katie's.

Harry took his usual spot high above the field. He watched Ron, Fred, and George (his team members) battle furiously in offense and defense, keeping his eyes peeled for the

snitch.

Draco, on the other hand, was slowly skirting the perimeter, gaze lazily roving about for any sign of the winged ball. He smiled as the wind cut through his muggle clothes, chilling the blonde and making him shiver. Draco loved the feeling, the anticipation, the adrenaline rush as they searched for the evading snitch. He especially loved playing against Harry, the extra challenge it brought.

Not to mention that every time Draco had stared into those piercing green eyes for the past three years, something inside him awoke, drawing him towards Harry. Yet he never recognized the feeling. A whole new sensation, akin to nothing he had felt before, would engulf him, and out of fear, he would sneer and insult, hiding his nervousness and confusion.

But all it had done was made Harry loathe him and shunt Draco further away from this boy who changed something in him.

Harry had, for the first time, made Draco experience love.

But, love or no love, Draco was still ticked at never winning one sodding match against the Gryffindor. Yes, he loved to watch Harry as triumph filled him and his elation was absorbed by his teammates. But Draco was still a Malfoy, and he wanted to win.

The Slytherin spared at glance at Harry, who was scrutinizing the other players as he hovered at the opposite end of the field. The others were faring pretty well, making great saves and sneaking goals past the keepers. Even Hermione was smiling and having fun.

Then Draco saw the snitch. Unfortunately for him, so did Harry.

The dark silver ball was flitting through the shadows cast by the floating baskets, but took off as the seekers sped towards it. They spun, twisted, and maneuvered their way after it, flying head to head as they came closer and closer, the ball just beyond their fingertips-

Draco smiled as he felt the beating of the snitch's wing within his closed hand.

Wait. Wing?

He looked down, and saw the other wing being gripped steadfastly in Harry's clenched fist, then looked up at Harry. Simultaneously, they stopped their brooms and burst out laughing, collapsing onto the ground. Luckily, they had only been three feet above it.

"So does that make it a tie?" Harry wiped at the tears running down his face, still chuckling.

"Nope," said Draco, smiling innocently. Harry's face contorted into one of shock.

"What?"

"We have to see who's team scored more points before we caught it. Then we see who wins."

"Oh, right," said Harry as he stood up, wiping away the shredded grass that clung to his clothes. He marveled at how Draco, who had been on the ground just as long as he had, was almost spotless and just a tad windswept.

He looks good rumpled. Almost like he looks after we snog. Harry indulged himself in memories for a moment.

"Harry? Wipe that stupid grin off your face. You look like Weasley did last night after he snogged Granger."

Harry, annoyed at being taken away from Memory Draco for the second time that morning, suddenly remembered the events of the past twenty-four hours.

"Draco?" Harry asked sweetly, stepping behind Draco.

"Hmm?" Draco was examining his clothes, double-checking for grass stains.

"What the hell was last night all about?" Harry yelled, causing Draco to spin around and come face to face with his seething boyfriend.

"Um, well, I..." Draco stammered, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. He had known Harry wouldn't be happy about it, but he didn't realize that he was going to fly into a rage.

Harry just stood there, glaring in all his angered glory, arms crossed over his chest and snitch still clutched by one wing in his right hand.

"I'm waiting for an answer."

"Can I take a rain check?" Draco hoped his innocent smile would soften Harry.

No such luck.

"I understand that you were mad about the shower. And that you don't like Ron. But nothing gave you the right to do that to both of us!" Harry's voice was cold as ice, quiet and deadly.

It reminded Draco vividly of his father in the calm few moments before he would be beaten.

Instinctively Draco backed up, throwing his hands over his head, squeezing his eyes and clenching his jaw, waiting for the harsh touch to come.

But when the touch came, it was comforting and warm, so much unlike the hand of his father. Draco felt his arms being lowered and opened his eyes.

They were reflected back to him in Harry's glasses.

"Draco, you alright?" Harry's worried gaze raked Draco's face. "You didn't honestly think I'd hit you, did you?"

Draco shook his head, avoiding looking directly at Harry's face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, I was just mad. Forgive me?"

"Oh stop sniveling, Harry. It just reminded me of . . . times at the manor." Draco picked up his broomstick and headed off in the direction of the floating baskets, where the other players were waiting for them. "Wanna see who won?"

It turned out that even with Bill on Hermione and Ginny's team, overall Fred and George had scored more goals, and once again Draco lost the match to Harry.

"Am I ever going to win a Quidditch match against you?" Draco fumed on their way back into the house. "We both catch the bloody snitch and I still lose!"

"He's Harry Potter, mate. You'll never beat him," said Fred, clapping Draco on the back.

"But look on the bright side- at least when you comb your hair it does something." Fred

smirked at Harry, who just shrugged back.

"Hey, if it's not going to lie flat, I'm not going to bother with it."

"Ever think of using hair gel?" Draco suggested.

"Hey! We could all try to get Harry's hair to behave!" Ginny exclaimed. "Draco, you do have some stuff, right?"

"I picked up some in Diagon Alley." Draco grinned.

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "There is no way any of you are going near my head. No. Not happening." He backed away from the group, the girls eyeing the mess on top of his head.

Eventually the walk back to the house became a chase for Harry, who had to run for his life for the second time in two days. Luckily he made it to the bedroom and shut the door moments before the others slammed into it, knocking and shouting at Harry to let them in.

Harry lay back on the bed, panting. He had no intention of letting anyone touch his hair, and he was safe as long as the door remained shut.

Oh shit, he thought. The twins...

There was a loud crack beside him, and two grinning faces leant into view.

"Hope you got your beauty sleep."

"Doesn't quite look like it."

"Hey!" said Harry, sitting up. "I know I'm not drop dead gorgeous or anything, but I'm not that bad."

"Well, after those little displays with Ron and Draco last night, we think you may have a few more admirers than before."

Harry blushed profusely, but kept his mouth shut, as he couldn't think of anything to say.

"So, ready for your make over?"

"I'm not going out there."

"Then we'll let them in here."

Harry groaned and lay back on the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. He heard the inevitable sound of the door being opened and the thunder of footsteps as Ginny rushed over to his bed, dragged him out of it, and sat him in a chair.

"You're going to love this!" she squealed.

Harry seriously doubted that.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

An hour and a bottle of hair gel later, Harry was dragged into the bathroom to view his new look.

"So, what do you think?" Ginny asked, holding her breath.

Harry was impressed. The style wasn't anything like the disaster he had been expecting. In fact, it looked really good. Ginny had started out with trying to make his hair behave, but that hadn't worked. So Hermione tried a new look, taming the hair by going with it's natural untidiness, and using a lot less gel than Ginny had. Draco had sat on the bed making comments and throwing out some ridiculous suggestions. He had been smacked quite a few times.

"I like it," Harry said truthfully. He brought a hand up to feel the stiff locks, but Hermione slapped it away.

"I did not just spend half an hour fixing your hair for you to punch it flat. Hands off."

Draco shook his head. "You are every fashion junkie's nightmare."

The twins apparated in, landing on top of Ron's bed, where Ron was reading one of Harry's new Quidditch books.

"Gerrof!" and "Ouch, you bimbo!" were heard coming from the pile of appendages and red hair.

"You two can't ever do anything normally, can you?"

"Well, we thought you'd might want to see this as soon as possible," George said, looking

grim. Fred held out a copy of that day's Daily Prophet, which Hermione leapt for first. She paled as she read the headlines, sitting down on the bed next to Draco in shock.

"Oh, shit," said Draco. "Shit shit shit shit shit."

The rest of the room, minus the twins, either piled onto the bed or behind it, desperately trying to glimpse the headlines.

Harry felt the bottom fall out of his stomach as he scanned the paper. The inevitable had happened.

"What does it say?" asked Ron, who couldn't see. Hermione began to read aloud.

WIZARDING WORLD OFFICIALLY AT WAR

Although we have been warned of the second Rise of the Dark Lord since the beginning of summer, writes Rita Skeeter, special correspondant, it wasn't until this morning that the Ministry of Magic declared war against Lord V--------.

"We knew it was coming," says Albus Dumbledore, recently reinstated Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was not destroyed fourteen years ago, as many presumed, and was therefore given the opportunity of becoming whole once more." Dumbledore, who has insisted that The Dark Lord returned after a nasty ending to the Triwizard Tournament one year ago, is now a very popular choice for the vacant spot of Minister of Magic.

"There's more to it," Hermione said. "This edition is completely devoted to it. They re-ran some of the articles we saw at the end of last year, as well as Harry's 'exclusive' interview, all that junk. We've been at war. Now it's just official."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

During supper Mr. Weasley announced that since war had been declared, the children were now going to spend the summer at a much safer place than the Burrow.

"Since five Order members now reside here," he said, including the newly inducted Fred and George, "the Burrow is not a safe place for you five to spend the summer. We will all be spending the remainder of the summer at 12 Grimmauld Place. No arguments accepted, no exceptions."

Ron and Ginny immediately burst out into "That's not fair!" and "We don't want t be stuffed inside that old place all summer!" Eventually Mrs. Weasley began to border on a yelling fit, and they stopped abruptly.

"It's for your own safety. Now, hurry up and get packed. We leave tomorrow morning. The five of you who can't apparate will be flooing to a wizarding family down the street, then walking over." She continued to outline the plans, reminding them that they'd have to exercise caution. After an exhausting run through, she finally freed them. As if they had previously agreed, all the kids, plus the twins, gathered in Ron's room.

"This is all happening too quickly," Ron said with a sigh.

Draco shrugged. "When it rains, it pours."

"I guess. Harry, you all right?" Harry shrugged.

Twelve Grimmauld Place. Sirius's home. Well, not home, but house. The place where Sirius had given him the mirror. Where Sirius had kept Buckbeak. Buckbeak, whom Harry and Hermione had helped rescue, and who had helped them rescue Sirius.

Harry didn't know how he could go back without reliving every moment spent with Sirius. And the reliving meant pain.

But then again, staying there might be a good chance for him to come across Sirius's old things. And Harry was desperate for anything that could link him to his godfather.

"Yea, I'm fine," he said in a tone that convinced the others he was anything but. They didn't push, though. "I'm just really exhausted. Little sleep, Quidditch, the war . . ."

"Firewhiskey . . ." added Ron.

Harry threw a pillow at him.

"Yea, I'm going to bed. So out." Harry pushed everyone off his bed and out into the hallway, shut the door, and locked it before he realized something.

"Hermione, what do I do about the gel in my hair?"

"You have to wash it out."

"Oops." Harry unlocked the door, grinning sheepishly, and proceeded to the bathroom.

This stuff makes my hair crunchy, he thought as he ducked his head into the sink, the gel becoming slimy once more as he worked it out of his dark hair. And I liked how it looked, but I am not getting up that early to look good. That's Draco's department.

Padding back down the stairs, he realized that everyone had either gone their rooms or had gone to bed, but no one was wandering the halls. In Ron's room, his roommates were slipping under the covers, and Draco scooted over as Harry followed him into bed.

"Night guys," called Ron as he blew out the candles.

"'Night," responded Harry and Draco in unison.

After their silent goodnight peck, Draco fell into dreamland fairly quickly.

Hours passed. Harry heard Hedwig, Errol, and Pig flying around outside. Thunder shook the house as a storm gathered overhead, the rain being withheld in favor of the making the air so heavy and thick that even breathing was difficult.

Finally Harry gave up and rolled out of bed. Taking caution as not to wake anyone, he snuck through the house, silently opening the back door and walking out to the middle of the pseudo-Quidditch pitch. There he lay down and gazed at the swirling clouds above him, frequently backlit with jagged slices of lightning.

He lay there for a long time, sorting through the many thoughts that plagued him. So much had happened so quickly that by the time he grasped one thought, it had grown thousands of little branches and posed many more questions.

Life is giving me a very, very painful headache right now.

Suddenly, Harry sensed a change around him. He sat up, looking around for any sign of something different. Seeing nothing, he was about to lay back down when he saw the dim silhouette of a figure moving straight for him.

Shit. I'm out here all alone, we're at war, and I'm number one on Voldemort's most wanted list. I am dead as a doornail. If I ever escape Voldemort alive, Mrs. Weasley is going to skin me, murder me, then raise me from the dead to do it all over again.

Harry belly-crawled about five feet when a voice froze him in his tracks.

"Harry Potter, you were never good at sneaking around without the invisibility cloak at Hogwarts, and you still suck here."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he realized it was only Ron.

"What are you doing out here at this ungodly hour?" Harry asked his best friend.

"Watched you come out here through my window. Gave you about fifteen minutes, and when you didn't come back, I came after you." Ron plopped down next to Harry and stretched out, hands pillowed behind his head.

"It's strange, isn't it?"

Harry turned to look at Ron. "What's strange?"

"The way life works. People come and go, things happen that you have no control over.

No matter how hard it seems, you're always able to go on. And just when you think one thing is over, something else happens."

"Anything in particular you're talking about?"

"The war." Ron sighed audibly at this and turned on his side to face Harry. "It all just seems so surreal, all the battles against him and shit for the past five years. Yet here we are, on the brink of a war that will almost certainly involve us, and I don't feel a thing."

Harry studied the sky, thinking over Ron's words. He was the same way: the news of the war hadn't affected him at all.

"Maybe we're not as surprised by all this because we've been at war with Voldemort for years already." Harry saw Ron shiver out of the corner of his eye at the dreaded name.

"That, and the whole gravity of the situation just hasn't sunk in yet. But the war can't do too much to us. We'll be in school, and maybe someone else will be able to get Y-You-know-who before he can get to you now that the Ministry is looking for him."

Harry felt his stomach flip. Despite all they had been through, Harry still hadn't told anyone, not even Draco, about the prophecy. And he wasn't going to worry Ron by telling him now.

"You okay mate?" Harry looked up at Ron's words. "You've been kinda quiet lately, withdrawn. Almost distant. Is there something you want to talk about?"

Let's think. 1) The last person I considered family died, and no one really seems to care. 2) I have to kill Voldemort, or he has to kill me, no buts about it. 3) I'm gay, having a secret relationship with Draco, but I know that if I tell you you'll flip out and probably never speak to me again.

"Nothing really. Things just seem so strange lately. Nothing is what it used to be anymore." Harry looked over at Ron. "I'm sorry."

Rat sat up, incredulous. "About what?"

"For bringing you into this whole Voldemort mess, for making your family a perfect target, for always relying on you to get me out the messes I'm in, all the stuff that comes with being the best friend of a celebrity." Harry practically spat the last word, a wave of bitterness washing over him.

"It's not your fault you are who you are," Ron said patiently, propping himself up on his elbows. "As for my family, they were in the Order before we were born, remember? And I think you have the messes turned around- you're usually saving my ass."

A weak smile worked its way onto Harry's face, and Ron fell back onto the grass beside Harry.

They lay there in silence until the cool raindrops began to patter around them, softly kissing their skin and crescendoing into a beating torrent.

"Maybe we should go in," Ron yelled over the roar. He tried to stand up but slid in the slick mud and fell right back on his bottom.

"Well, if we could stand up, we would!" Harry called back, laughing as he struggled to his feet, shaking the water droplets out of his eyes. He had to take off his glasses- he couldn't see anything when they were coated in water. Immediately everything was one large blur with random color changes.

"Ron! Where are you?"

Harry saw a large image off to his right coming nearer and turned towards it.

"Ron! That you?"

"No, I'm down here you dimwit!" Harry felt something tugging at his pyjama bottoms and looked down to see Ron using Harry's legs to pull himself up.

"Then what's that?"

Ron turned towards the oncoming figure, frozen in shock. Both boys stared, unable to move, wandless, as it steadily approached them, looming ever higher as it got closer.

"Harry?" squeaked Ron, clutching his best friends forearm.

"Yea?" Harry could barely make the air pass through his lungs.

"If I die, tell 'Mione that I love her, ok?"

"What makes you think it'll kill you without killing me?"

"Oh, right."

"We're screwed."

By now the figure had drawn up to the boys and stood a good six inches above Ron's head. Slowly it raised it's strong, muscular arms, arms Harry knew could wring his neck in an instant, and drew back the hood of it's long black cloak.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING OUT HERE?"

Harry felt his knees grow weak with relief as he saw that it was only Bill. A livid, raging, very unhappy Bill.

"Merlin, Bill, you scared us," breathed Ron, letting go of Harry. "We thought for a minute that you were a dementor or something."

"I could just as well have been!" Bill grabbed Ron by the upper arm and pulled him so that they were face to face. "Maybe you didn't hear the news, Ron, but we're in the middle of a bloody war! You could have been killed!" He threw Ron backwards into Harry, who caught him.

Harry thought he might have rather faced a dementor, seeing as Bill was bordering a Mrs. Weasley yelling fit.

"And of all people," Bill continued, rounding on Harry, "I'd think you would know how dangerous it is to be out here without any guards! You're both flaming idiots!"

"Bill, I . . . I'm sorry," stammered Ron, mouth agape. "I wasn't thinking."

"Damn right you weren't thinking!" Bill presented a very frightening figure when angry, his long damp hair clinging to his flushed jaw line, eyes flashing. "I didn't set wards up all around this property just to have them go off because you two don't give a shit about life

or death. Now get in the house!"

Ron and Harry quickly did what they were told, rushing back to the house as quickly as was possible given the weather conditions. They waited on the porch for Bill, who performed a few quick cleaning and drying spells on them all, and stepped inside.

"Sit down." Harry and Ron stopped on their way to the stairs. "Come on, I'll make some hot chocolate. You guys must be freezing."

After the initial scrape of chairs, the silence was only broken by the clanking of mugs and sounds of liquids being poured and measured until Bill joined them at the table, three steaming cups of chocolate in hand. He also passed out small chunks of chocolate, and plunked his in his drink to melt.

The pattering of rain on the kitchen windows was relaxing, and soon, with the help of the chocolate, Harry was feeling very relaxed, warm, and content.

"What were you guys doing out there?"

Harry and Ron glanced at each other and smiled, which gave Bill the wrong impression.

"Are you two . . ." he asked, eyes wide.

"Hell no!" exclaimed Ron, horrified. "Harry's my best mate and all, but we are not . . . like that."

Bill chuckled and ruffled Ron's lengthening hair. "Just checking little bro. You never know these days."

"Thinking," Harry said quietly.

"What about it?"

"That's what we were doing out there. Thinking. And talking. About the war." Harry studied the vapors rising from his chocolate, his hands wrapped around the warm

porcelain for warmth. "Do you think it'll effect Hogwarts?"

Bill thought for a moment before answering. "You all will have to be careful this year. You've overcome one of the biggest hurdles: interhouse friendships. The fact that you befriended Malfoy of all people was a big step. But it'll be dangerous."

Harry's head snapped up. Bill held up a hand to silence him.

"We don't know what the other Death Eaters have said to their children. We don't even

know what Malfoy Sr. Has reported to the other Death Eaters. You-Know-Who knows, that's a definite. But there may be children of the Dark Lord's servants in other houses as well. We don't have the full roster."

"So basically we can't trust anyone at school and we always have to watch our backs?" Ron asked, a frown twisting his face. "This is really starting to become depressing."

Bill laughed sardonically. "Welcome to war, little brother."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Boys! Get up now before I have to come in there and drag you to Grimmauld Place in your pyjamas!" called Mrs. Weasley's voice up the stairs at a quarter past eight the next morning. "And no, Ronald Bilius Weasley, you may not have five more minutes!"

"Alright Mum! Don't exhaust the exclamation marks!" Ron yelled back as he rolled out of bed.

"I have officially not slept well for days," yawned Harry, stretching as he blinked the moisture from his eyes. "What time did we get to bed last night?"

Draco, who was still lying on his stomach, frankly couldn't care less about why Harry had left the bed and come back hours later, because from his position he had a perfect view right up Harry's shirt. And he was enjoying what he saw very much.

"Wait, is that . . . sausage? I'm up!" Harry scrambled out of bed, to Draco's disappointment, and Draco scrambled for one of Harry's warm pillows.

I could get used to this whole wake up to Harry and the smell of breakfast thing.

"Aren't you going to come down and get something to eat?" Ron asked, pulling on a jumper over his shirt. "Mum's going to make you eat something, and warm food is always better than dry toast."

Draco grunted in consent and pushed himself off the bed, hands fumbling for clothes. Harry unceremoniously dumped a wrinkled shirt and an old pair of jeans in his hands.

"They smell," he complained groggily, still ticked about losing his view of Harry's chest.

"Detergeo." Instantly the clothes were as fresh as if they had just been washed.

"Show off," Draco muttered, tossing his pyjama top aside and shrugging into the dark blue shirt Harry had given him. "Know a spell for everything, don't you?"

"Comes from being friends with 'Mione for five years." Harry had alwready finished getting dressed and was waiting for Draco, who seemed to be taking forever in changing pants.

"Could you take those off any slower?" Harry questioned impatiently. "Ron's going to eat all the sausage."

"You want to help get them off?" Draco asked coyly, raising an eyebrow and licking his lips seductively. Harry flushed, shoving Draco playfully on the arm.

"Don't try it, it's too early." Harry crossed his arms and tapped his foot as Draco took his sweet time in getting dressed, sweet time in which Harry spent looking very pointedly at said changer's behind.

"You know you like it," Draco said as he kissed Harry lightly on the mouth. "You can't resist."

"No, I can't." Harry slid an arm around Draco's waist and brought him in for a deeper kiss, in which Harry let his hands snake down to the aforementioned arse.

"Come on," Harry said, breaking away. "I'm starving."

After scarfing down a quick breakfast and throwing the last schoolbooks and belongings in their trunks, the children were ready to leave for Grimmauld place.

"Now remember, the family's name is Laurolyl, and they'll show you the way to headquarters. Act like normal kids, don't draw any suspicion to yourself, and don't call each other by name in public." Mrs. Weasley was wringing her hands in worry, the skin red where she kept rubbing it.

"Mum, we'll be fine," Ginny reassured her mother, embracing her in a strong bear hug. "We'll see you in a bit, alright?"

One by one the five Floo-traveling children disappeared in a pillar of green fire, and landed inside a homely living room that looked anything but wizarding. The walls were covered in a flowery wallpaper with a white wooden border separating one third from the rest that circled the entire room. The fireplace they had stepped out of was rather large, and directly in front of it was a dark oaken coffee table, two overstuffed chairs, and a brown leather couch. Harry couldn't help but feel relaxed as he spotted Mrs. Laurolyl standing in front of a table full of pictures of what Harry presumed to be the family.

"Glad you dears made it safely. Now, if you'll follow me this way, we can grab a glass of ice tea before we set off for your final destination."

Ron grinned at Harry as they followed their hostess into the kitchen, which was just as welcoming as the living room. Mrs. Laurolyl was a plump woman obviously around Mrs. Weasley's age, plus a few gray hairs, and was also just as bubbly and full of laughter.

"You two must be Weasleys- the hair gives it away," she said to Ron and Ginny as she poured the drinks. "You, of course, are the ever famous Harry Potter, and I don't know either of you," she said eyeing Harry, Draco, and Hermione, who hastened to introduce themselves.

The next few minutes found the children conversing openly with this friendly woman, who took pleasure in refilling drinks as glasses were drained. Draco thought to himself that it was a good thing she wasn't a bartender- all the patrons would go home completely wasted.

When the children's thirst had finally been sated, they proceeded down the street and around a few corners, each step of Harry's filling him with more anticipatory dread. At last they appeared in between 11 Grimmauld Place and 13 Grimmauld Place.

"Now think children."

Harry thought about the address automatically, and no sooner had the thought "twelve" popped into his mind than did images of Sirius, Buckbeak, and various scenes from the past summer.

And the veil . . .

"Harry, we're going in now," Ginny said as she waved her hand in front of Harry's face.

"You going to be okay?" Ron asked as Hermione sent him a compassionate glance. Harry felt the hand on the small of his back and turned to see Draco looking at him concernedly. The small touch may have seemed platonic to the others, but it was all the comfort Harry needed to face his memories.

"Yea. Let's go." He stepped up and knocked on the door once, since none of them knew what spells or charms were used to open it, and they all waited with bated breath.

Ever so slowly, the door opened to reveal their Potions Master, reveling in all his greasy glory as usual. He stepped aside to allow them in, then closed the door with a bang. His keen eyes took in every detail, from Harry's pale skin to the addition of his favorite pupil.

With a wry smile he turned and walked off.

"What a nice house-warming," Ron said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "How come he always has to be here?"

Just then the twins came hurtling down the stairs and threw themselves at the group.

"So glad you're here," said George breathlessly as he crushed Ginny in a hug.

"Couldn't have survived without you," Fred exhaled as he wrapped his arms tightly around Ron.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ron was struggling to escape the death bind, but it wasn't doing much good.

"We snuck some dungbombs into the toilet upstairs."

"And we figure that if we're attached to somebody other than each other, Mum won't hex us as bad."

These words just made Ron and Ginny squirm more.

"Different house, same twins," muttered Hermione. "It never ends."

"Yes, but life would be so boring without us, wouldn't it?" grinned Fred.

"Yea, but it'd be quieter." Harry ducked as Fred swung at him.

They may have changed locations, but Harry felt as if the rest of the summer was going to be as interesting as the beginning.