Hogsmeade is a flurry of motion; students rushing all over, a cat shrieking, loud talking and some thick sunlight flittering through the heavy air. People are generally having a good time - but Harry is, of course, oblivious to this, as he's currently stepping into a private room in the Three Broomsticks.

The Minister is sitting by a table and reading a newspaper, but when Harry enters, he startles and looks up. The surprised expression fades in favor of a pleased one. "Ah, Mr. Potter," he greets cheerfully. "Very nice of you to come, my boy."

Harry blushes and ducks his head as he closes the door behind him. "I – of course, Minister," he replies, letting awe drip into his voice like sugar-coated honey. "Such an important man as you…"

Fudge puffs out his chest and preens a bit at that. "Oh, but you are an important young man, as well," he points out.

No, Harry thinks, not young at all.

He doesn't say anything, blushes again, and makes his way over to the table, where he sits down.

"But to get to business, Harry – can I call you Harry?" Harry nods hurriedly. "Well, Harry – your letter was a great relief to me," Fudge says, smiling warmly at him. It doesn't look half as fake as it should. "I was afraid Albus was getting to the students, you see, and that the two of you were – ah… conspiring against the Ministry."

Harry's eyes go wide and he reels back as if slapped. "Conspiring against – " he splutters. "Oh, Minister, I would do no such thing! I promise you, I am one hundred per cent on your side!" Here he takes a deep breath, widens his eyes again, and ducks his head. He lets a beat of silence pass before muttering; "I – I'm sorry. I didn't mean – "

Fudge chuckles warmly. "As I said, a great relief," he repeats. "And I have some matters to discuss with you…"

Harry looks up with an open and honored expression. "With me?" he repeats. "Oh, Minister, it would be an honor," he gasps. "Please, do go on!"

When Harry exits the Three Broomsticks forty minutes later, it's with a wide grin on his face. Fudge has confided in him; now he just has to push the thought of muggles being dangerous in through the cracks available to him.

Beautiful. This is going exactly as planned.

The next day Harry passes Umbridge in the hallway. He meets her gaze purely on accident – and nearly has a stroke when she gives him a genuine (and disgusting) smile.

God. She's a horrifying, vile creature.

This thought only increases in strength when Harry's returning to the Gryffindor Common Room after a chat with Tom. The halls of Hogwarts castle are mostly deserted, as it's less than thirty minutes left before curfew, and Harry's humming softly to himself as he walks through the stone halls.

Until he walks past an alcove and hears muffled crying.

He stops. Tilts his head. "I smell human," Athie offers (un)helpfully from inside Harry's robes. "Young hatchling, in need of protection."

"H – hello?" a soft, wobbly and uncertain voice calls from the darkness. Harry's heart stutters and he inhales sharply; Athie's right. It's the voice of a child.

"Hello," he calls back, schooling his voice to be calm and soothing. "Are you okay?"

"Y – yeah," the voice sniffles. Not believing that one second, Harry steps over to the alcove and into the shadows it offers. On the ground a young kid – not any older than twelve, Harry guesses – is huddled up against one of the walls.

"Hey," Harry mutters, crouching down in front of them. "What's wrong?"

Fresh tears streak the kid's face, their eyes blood-shot and wet. Their lower lip tremble, and then more tears well up in their eyes. "I – I got – detention for – defending – " they gasp out, between sobs and violent trembling.

"Alright, shh," Harry whispers softly, going down on his knees and shuffling a bit closer, "shh, it's okay, breathe, honey, breathe – "

The kid nods hurriedly through their tears. Harry keeps his quiet as they slowly regain their calm.

"You got detention?" he asks gently. The kid nods again, looking down at their lap guiltily. "With whom?" It's probably Severus – he's not gentle on any of the students, and it's often a shock for the first years the first time they end up with him –

"Professor Umbridge," the kid whispers, still without looking up at Harry. "I – my friends were – there were some Ravenclaws, I think, they were bullying my friends – I was late for class cus' I helped them, and – and – " Tears well up in the kid's eyes again, and they bring their hands up to their face and sob quietly into them.

Harry coos softly and pulls the kid closer, letting them latch onto him and bury their face in his shoulder. Sometimes that's all you really need.

"What did she do?" he whispers, keeping his hands still on the kid's back. "Professor Umbridge, what did she do?"

"I – it's probably usual, I wouldn't know, but – but it hurts, I don't know what to do – "

Harry stiffens. It hurts? Detention isn't supposed to hurt, what has that bitch done? What has the bitch done to a kid? "What hurts?" he asks softly, pulling back from the kid to look at them with a worried frown.

The kid silently holds out their hand. Harry takes it gently, at first not understanding –

but then his fingers make contact with something wet and slippery, and when he leans closer, he sees –

sees –

"What did she do?" he repeats, careful not to let the fuming anger into his voice. "How did she do it?"

"I – she had me – she had me write lines – " the kid stutters. "I'm – I'm sorry – "

"Shh," Harry whispers, turning the tiny hand over in his own to see if more damage is done. "Look, I'm good at Healing spells – would you like me to patch it up for you?"

The kid stares at him with wide eyes. "Yes, please," they squeak. "I – yes."

Harry smiles sadly at them, pulls out his wand, and begins the complicated process that is healing wounds caused by cursed objects.

The next time he visits Tom, cuddled up against his side and reading through his homework, he spits out a cold, "I know I'm supposed to be nice to her now, but when all this is over and I get my hands on her…" The words trail off to a growl, and he grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.

"My," Tom purrs, tugging at a loose strand of Harry's hair, "considering torture, are we?"

"Yes."

Two weeks pass like that. Study Groups, making friends with the other students from the other houses (and pretending to be asleep on top of a book so he wouldn't disturb Hannah and Susan's snogging session, whelp), chatting with Tom over mirrors, exchanging another letter with the Minister wanting a second meeting, chilling with Neville, exchanging sarcastic remarks with Athie in the cover of shadows, and generally being okay.

But nothing lasts forever, does it?

The bond slowly crumbles, and suddenly Harry has to portkey over to Tom every third day or so, or the bond will tear him apart. That in itself is okay, it's good, it's fine – the problem is that it's not always predictable, and if Harry forgets it or loses track of the time he has to sneak back to the Common Room after curfew, often without his Invisibility cape.

Which, of course, means that he stumbles into Severus.

"Mr. Potter," the Death Eater drawls, glaring down at Harry. "It's forty-three minutes past curfew. What, pray tell, is more important than following school rules?"

Not going mad thanks to a bond, Harry thinks sourly. He's tired, he's in a bad mood, and he'd forgotten Athie in the Dorm when he rushed off to meet Tom, so she's probably pissed. He really doesn't have time for Severus' bullshit.

Thinking fast, he manages to utter the reply, "living in my father's memory, of course."

Severus' right eye twitches. "Ten points from Gryffindor," he whispers coldly, "for blatant disrespect of a professor – and detention, for – "

Really, Harry does not have time for this. "But think of what my father would say!" he wails. "You know, James?" Here he raises his eyebrows very deliberately.

Severus hesitates for .01 second, and then he scowls. "I have no idea what you are insinuating, Potter."

"Oh, but I think you do, Severus," says Harry, with a carefully blank expression. "Now please let me back to my dormitory."

"Mr. Potter," Severus snaps. "Just as arrogant as your father – !"

"I also share the name of my father," Harry reminds him, acting far more calm than he is – he's losing his patience. "You know. James? Jakobus?"

At the last name, Severus tenses. A few moments pass where they have the most intense staring contest known to human kind. "You can't be," Severus whispers, a breath of disbelief in the cold corridor.

"But I am," Harry chirps. "Now, would you please let me go to bed, before I have Voldemort chop of your fingers?"

Severus seems to have a long debate with himself, considering the pros and the cons – but finally settles on the only logical conclusion.

He steps aside. "Go to bed, Mr. Potter," he hisses.

"Good night, Severus!" Harry throws over his shoulder as he jogs back to the dormitory. He can smell his warm bed waiting for him, almost hear Athie's sass –

but, alas, he's not that lucky.

Hermione's waiting for him by the fireplace. When the portrait of the Fat Lady swings open, she shoots up, a flurry of motion, and stalks a few steps in his direction. "Where on Earth have you been?" she asks, her voice calm, but every inch of her – including the run-away strand dangling in front of her face – looks stern. "You've been disappearing a lot lately."

Lie, a part of him whispers, lie fast and lie well. "Oh, er…" Harry says, scrambling for an excuse, "uhm, Draco. Draco wanted help with the charms essay for Tuesday."

Hermione slowly raises an eyebrow. "You've been gone for two hours, Harry. Draco spent the last three hours before curfew with me in the library, studying the proper uses of oak as a wand wood in America."

"Oh…" Harry trails off. He scratches at his neck. "Uhm… listen, Hermione, I… I don't feel up to telling you just yet… okay?" he asks softly. Hermione's eyebrows fall into a soft, confused frown, and her stance shifts from offensive to exposed. "I will tell you," Harry hurries to add, "and I promise I'm not doing anything dangerous – but… I'm not… I'm not ready to tell you just yet."

The frown softens. "Oh, Harry," she sighs. "Of course. It's just… I've been worried, you know? After this summer, and Cedric, and all the stress of V- Voldemort… I'm worried you're – hurting yourself or – or something."

Alarmed, Harry widens his eyes. "Hurting myself? Oh, no, Hermione, it's nothing like that – quite the opposite, really – I'm doing it for my own sake – "

Hermione holds up her hands. "Say no more," she interrupts. "You don't have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable, Harry, as long as you promise me you stay safe."

Harry thinks to the Death Eaters he spends more than a few waking hours with every single week. "Of course," he replies, feeling only a little bit guilt at lying to his friend. "Thank you."

Hermione gives him a grateful look. "Well… I'll see you tomorrow, Harry. Good night."

And finally – finally – Harry makes his way to the dormitory. He considers, briefly, to call Tom with the mirror to tell him about Hermione and Severus, but before he can decide against it he's fast asleep.

Oh, well – he'll just have to go talk to him tomorrow, then.

"Tomorrow" Harry sneaks away after dinner. He gives Tom a heads-up that he's coming, and portkeys almost promptly over to the Manor.

Tom is in his office, idly flipping pages in a book. "Hello, Harry," he greets calmly without looking up.

"Tom," Harry replies. He sighs and sits down in the chair opposite of Tom's. "Uhm… Hermione knows that I keep going here."

Tom's head snaps up, eyes wide in surprise and slight fear. "How?" he whispers.

"She's a smart kid," Harry defends himself, "she picked up on the fact that I kept disappearing for some hours every other day."

This seems to calm Tom somewhat. "What did you tell her?" he asks, pushing aside his chair and walking over to the comfortable couch alongside the left wall. It's the couch the two of them usually, well, cuddle in, so it's an obvious invitation.

"That I wasn't ready to explain," Harry shrugs. He walks over to the couch as well, accepting the invite and dropping his satchel to the floor as he settles into the couch and snuggles up to Tom's side. "She accepted it upon the premises that I knew what I was doing and wasn't hurting myself."

"Ah," Tom mutters, "the ever-loving friend."

"Yep," Harry replies, closing his eyes and savoring in the pleasure the bond offers at the contact. "Oh!" he suddenly blurts, eyes snapping open again as he remembers the other reason for his visit. "Also, key Severus into my disguise, will you?"

"Did you – " Tom cuts himself off and groans. "Harry," he berates. "You – "

"I know," Harry snaps, "I know and I'm sorry, I was mad and tired and he was standing in my way. I shouldn't have acted so rashly and I will be more careful in the future, yada, yada, yada, I understand the severity of my actions, now will you please key the blasted man into my disguise?" Harry rants. By the end of his little speech his heart's beating fast in his chest, anger tearing through his veins though there's no real reason for that to be.

Tom is still next to him.

The silence stretches on.

"I'm sorry," Harry says quietly, trying to sit up straight. "That was – "

"Don't," Tom says softly, tugging Harry back into the crook of his arm and nuzzling the top of his head. "Don't worry."

Harry hesitates. "Okay," he whispers, "okay."

And it is.

Harry chooses to stay for a little longer than necessary, just because he can. He's reading over some Potions homework, Tom having moved back to the desk once more, when Tom pulls out a scrap of parchment and hands it over to Harry. Raising an eyebrow in confusion, Harry takes the parchment and glances at it. Startled, he takes a double look.

It's a pencil sketch of – a cuff? No, a wide bracelet. It resembles the brooch in the way that the decorations match – the bracelet has three intricate snakes curling around it, twisting around each other once or twice, small jewels or stones placed as their eyes.

Harry blinks and looks up at Tom. "Tom?" he asks softly. "What's this?"

"I was thinking of making it for you," Tom admits nonchalantly, opening the book he'd been reading in when Harry first entered. "The quill-portkey can easily be lost."

Harry's fingers tighten around the parchment. "Why a bracelet?" he wonders. His voice trembles.

"Matches the brooch, doesn't it?" Tom asks. He looks up from the book and throws a grin in Harry's direction. "Besides, if you keep it on all times it'll be harder to lose, and if someone steals it it's easier to find."

Harry looks down at the sketch again. "Looks expensive," he mutters.

"It's supposed to be silver," Tom says, "the snakes are to be a mixture of bronze and copper, their eyes an emerald."

Harry hums. "And you are to make it yourself?" he asks, looking back up at Tom.

In his chest is a soft thrum, a deep sense of longing that he doesn't quite understand.

"Yes," Tom replies promptly.

His heart beating thickly at the back of his tongue, Harry stands up from the couch, walks over to Tom, and presses a kiss to the nape of his neck. "Thank you," he whispers, letting his breath fan over Tom's skin, "I love it."

Tom, who'd tensed up when Harry stepped up behind him, exhales shakily. "Someone had to do it," he mutters. "I'll have it ready for your next visit."

"Wonderful," Harry breathes, straightening up and walking back to the couch again, "thanks."

The rest of his visit passes by in a heavy but comfortable silence, and when Harry leaves he offers Tom a small smile as he portkeys away.

They both know that Tom did not make the bracelet with a portkey in mind.

Umbridge passes the Decree Number Twenty Four that says no more than three people are allowed to hang out. The Study Group is surprised and pissed – and Harry is quite smug, to say the least, that the nine of them have bonded so much already.

Harry takes it to Umbridge, who's surprised to see him at her office, but gives them permission to keep up the study sessions – "As long as you keep control over Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom and Miss Granger, of course."

Speaking of Study Sessions…

"Are we the only couple in this group?" Hannah pipes up during one of the sessions, gesturing between her and Susan.

The others exchange looks. Not all of them knew that the two Hufflepuffs were dating – but hey, now they do, so…

"No," Luna says. She's picking at a swan-feather quill, her wide eyes calm in a way they rarely are these days. "Draco and I have been going out for a while."

Hermione gasps. "What, really?" she exclaims.

All eyes snap to Draco, who's blushing slightly. He nods mutely. The blush intensifies when Hermione, Hannah, and Susan coo.

"Congratulations," Theodore smirks, "didn't think you had it in you." He yelps, which means that Draco just kicked him underneath the table. Unfortunately for Theodore, Hermione's also sitting next to him, and she swats his shoulder.

"Come, now, Theo," she berates sternly, "that's not nice."

Theodore pouts at her and returns to his book.

"How did that happen?" Ron asks, an uncertain eyebrow raised in Draco's direction.

"She, uhm," Draco stutters, "sort of… latched onto me and wouldn't let go before I told her why I'd been avoiding her."

Luna looks at him with wide, innocent eyes. "I did?" she asks. "I had no idea."

Draco scowls at her, the stern expression cracking up when she leans over and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Hermione, Hannah, and Susan coo again.

"Anyway," Draco coughs, turning back to his book – but before he can continue, Hermione blurts out with –

"And you, Harry?"

Harry, who's been on-and-off reading his book throughout the conversation, blinks up at her. "Hm?"

"Are you dating anyone?" Hermione clarifies.

"Dating?" Harry repeats. "Nah." He turns back to his book. Seeing someone twice a week and talking about how to gain control of the wizarding world with? Now we're talking.

"I think it'd be good for you," Hannah chirps, "do we know of any possible candidates?"

Hermione hums. Harry, deeply amused, shakes his head and buries it further into his book.

"I think Cho Chang likes you, Harry," Hermione muses. "What do you think of her?"

"Chang?" Harry, absentmindedly, says. "Nah, she's far too young for me."

"Too – " Hermione splutters. "Harry, she's – she's older than you!"

…ops.

And so time passes – late summer becomes early autumn, and the bond slowly starts to crave more.

It's fine – Harry can take it, as long as he has the short moments with Tom squeezed in between everything else –

but of course, one week he's given just a bit too much homework, Ron begs him to watch Quidditch fights, Neville wants help with a Charms project – and when you throw the Study Group into the mix, he's rendered incapable of going to see Tom when he otherwise would.

By the end of the week everything feels wrong; his skin itches, dark rashes spreading across his body, he's having problems concentrating – in intervals he has too much energy and then not enough at all, and fuck but he needs Tom, the bond needs Tom, Harry needs Tom –

the moment the last class of Friday ends, Harry runs out of the castle and portkeys the moment he feels himself escape the wards. Tom is in the office when he enters, and Harry knows he doesn't imagine it, he sees the bags under Tom's eyes and knows that Tom's been just as troubled as him –

Harry stumbles in his own two feet in his haste to get to Tom, and when he throws himself at him, his weight causes them to topple over – and the warmth, the smell, the closeness, the comfort – it's good, it soothes, but it's not enough, it's not enough, has never been enough, and the bond is screaming at the top of its lunges and oh, Harry needs, Harry needs –

he pulls back and mashes their lips together in a rough, messy kiss, and God, he's drowning, he's drowning in Tom and the bond and this great relief welling up in him and Tom's kissing him back, hands on his back and pulling him closer, and Tom's everything he's everything –

afterward, when they've both discarded more than a few clothes, Harry on top of Tom and fingers tangled messily above their heads, Harry feels complete in a way he's never done before.

If it's the bond causing it, he doesn't know.

He's not sure if he wants to know.

Later, when Harry returns to Hogwarts, dizzy and grinning like a mad-man, more than half the school is eating Dinner.

Which, of course, means that Hermione's the only one in the Gryffindor Common Room. She's reading before the fireplace, but when he enters the room, she looks up with a smile. "Hey, Harry," she greets. "Been off to mysterious places again?"

"Yep," Harry smiles, trotting over to the couch and plopping down next to her, "that I have."

Hermione's smile freezes and her eyes widen, gaze focused around Harry's shoulders. "Harry," she gasps, "is that a hickey?"

Teeth on his skin and a low rumble in his ears, gentle sucking and a low laughter –

Harry's eyes widen and he slaps a hand to his neck. "Uhm," he says, "no?"

Hermione narrows her eyes. "I expect you to tell me sometime," she mutters, "but – "

"It's Thomas," Harry blurts, an idea falling into his head out of nowhere. "You know, Draco's cousin?"

It's as if the words are magic. Even though it's only Harry and Hermione in the room, everything goes deadly quiet. "Thomas Malfoy?" Hermione repeats weekly. "Thomas? As in the squib we met in Diagon Alley?"

Harry flushes. "Yes," he whispers, "that's… that's him."

Hermione sits back in her seat, a deep frown on her brow. "That's… Harry, how did this happen?"

Harry scratches at his neck and looks away. "I… this summer… Draco's my friend, but… but with Thomas, everything was different. I… we… we fell in love. Over the summer. I didn't say anything to you because I was worried about his reputation, and…" Harry trails off, ducking his head to blink sadly down at his lap. "I'm sorry. I should've told you."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione whispers. "He's the one you've been sneaking over to?"

Harry nods mutely.

Hermione sniffles. "I'm so happy for you," she mutters. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

"You – you're fine with it?" Harry asks, looking up at her with feigned surprise. "That – that he's a boy? That he's a Malfoy?"

"Of course," Hermione says. There are tears in her eyes. "Of course, Harry, I'm your friend, why wouldn't I be fine with it?"

Harry smiles softly at her. "Thank you," he replies. "It – it means a lot."

Hermione nods, before her expression withers into uncertainty. "Uhm… now that you've admitted this to me… I… uhm…" She pokes her index fingers together. "IthinkI'mfallinginlovewithTheo."

Harry blinks. "Theodore?" he repeats. "Theodore Nott?"

Hermione nods.

Harry smiles. "Good luck," he offers. "I hope you'll find happiness with him."

Giving a watery laugh, Hermione rubs at her eyes. "Y – yeah," she giggles, "so do I."

Harry hugs her briefly before patting her shoulder and going for the staircases up to the Dorms. He's tired, damn it. Food can wait. Sleep is now.

The next morning, Harry decides to mirror-call Tom as soon as possible to tell him about the newest change in plans. "As soon as possible" turns out to be pretty late, as Harry sleeps in and doesn't wake before noon.

"Morning, Athie," he calls, sleepily rubbing at his eyes as he sits up.

"Good morning, hatchling Harry," Athie replies, hissing from somewhere near his feet. "And congratulations."

Harry blinks, stopping with the rubbing to throw his feet a confused glance. "Congratulations?" he repeats.

Athie pokes her head out through the covers near the far-end of the bed. "Yes," she hisses, sounding faintly confused herself, "I can smell your mate on you," she attempts to explain, "I am merely congratulating you on the fact that you finally solved your problem."

Harry blushes. "Uh – uhm, okay," he mutters. "Er… thanks, I guess."

Shaking his head slightly when Athie gives no reply, he pulls apart his hangings and lets light into his bed. And then, without further ado, he reaches for his mirror and calls for Tom.

"Good morning, Tom," Harry chirps, when Tom's face shows up in the reflection.

"Morning?" Tom repeats, raising an eyebrow. There's a dark hickey just beneath his jaw. "It's after noon, you idiot."

Harry shrugs. "Life's too short to worry about time, Tom," he berates jokingly. "Anyway, I just wanted to inform you that "Thomas" is now my boyfriend."

Tom blinks. "…how did that happen?" he asks cautiously.

"Hermione caught me yesterday," Harry admits. "She, ah, wanted to know where I got my hickey from."

Some light color rises to Tom's cheeks. "And you told her what?" he asks, determinedly ignoring said color.

"That I'd fallen in love with Thomas over the duration of the summer, that I've been visiting him the last few weeks thanks to a portkey, that he's made me realize a lot about myself…" Harry says with a small shrug. "Basically just our history, minus all the details and things that could give us away."

Harry doesn't realize what he's said before it's too late.

Tom is silent for a long time, only staring at Harry with a blank and somehow still vulnerable expression. "Harry," he finally says, voice soft and frayed at the edges, "do you… have you fallen in love with me?"

Time halts. Harry's eyes widen in surprise, and he's about to blurt a shocked no! when his senses catch up with him.

And… is it really that far-fetched of a thought?

Harry looks away, uncertainty tearing at the roots of his hear.

He thinks about it – thinks back to their training sessions, to Tom's humor, to Death Eater meetings and robes and planning and fingers tangled and two hurt voices crying out in the same broken tones.

He doesn't have to think long.

"Why, yes," he admits, wonder oozing from the simple words. "It seems I have."

There's exactly two beats, and then Tom's frail voice pierces through the air. "Do I have to say it back?" he asks, and he sounds, for one brief moment, like a fragile glass figurine in bright moonlight.

"Don't lie to spare my feelings, Tom," Harry says with a smile.

"No!" Tom exclaims, a spark of panic flaring up in his eyes. "No," he repeats, more calmly this time, "it's not like that. I just – I'm not comfortable saying it."

Harry's smile fades, and he tilts his head slightly.

He doesn't want to hope, but –

"But if you were to say it," he says, "would it be sincere?"

Tom doesn't hesitate.

"Yes," he whispers desperately. "Merlin, yes."

And God, sometimes life is good. Sometimes life is so good that you can barely breathe, that you keep smiling for hours, that your own joy overshadows any artificial ones by great margin. Sometimes, life is good.

But sometimes it isn't.