A/N: Er, yeah, so I've had it pointed out to me that naming the teenaged werewolf Jake was possibly not the brightest idea I've ever had . . . totally never would have made the Twilight connexion on my own, but now that it's in my head, it makes me cringe. Therefore, Remus' roommate has been rechristened Simon. I had to edit chapter 9 to replace the name, so let's just pretend it's been Simon all along, shall we?


Chapter Twelve

"Thanks for coming."

The anxious young man let out a breathy laugh of disbelief. "Am I supposed to believe that I had a choice of some kind?"

Harry gave Draco an impassable face, to indicate that he did not have the time or energy for a tiff. It must have gone awry somewhere between his intention and Draco's understanding, because his sharp features went pale and he shut his mouth. Apparently, Harry had finally managed to intimidate the little git.

"Let's get one thing straight from the beginning," Harry said, eager to get this meeting he'd requested out of the way. "You came to us for help. Which, strangely enough, seems to indicate you did make a choice."

Draco leaned back in his chair, posturing himself into an elegant sprawl, and looked up as though supplicating some deity to spare him from this.

"I'm regretting it more with every passing minute," he said to the ceiling of Grimmauld Place's parlour. "Potter, would you care to explain why on earth I'm here?"

"Don't act as if you don't know," Harry said harshly. "It's been a week already, and I need to get things settled with you."

"Fine. You can start by telling me what you know about Dumbledore."

The lazy drawl of his voice was nothing short of infuriating, but Harry's temper was carefully in check. His emotions still seemed to spiral out of control at a moment's notice, so he was watching himself. (He was beginning to get the feeling that his struggle for control was actually a connection to Voldemort, who was absolutely giddy about Dumbledore's death and the fact that Fudge was going to be stepping down from the role of Minister in a matter of days.)

"It is as I've already told you, and as I've already told the entire world. I went up to his office to speak with him, and all I found was his body, in his chair, at his desk. I don't know anything more than that."

"Which you have not yet proven with Veritaserum," Draco noted.

"Which is because I am not a suspect and they didn't ask me to," Harry said reasonably, as if to say he would certainly submit to Veritaserum if it was suggested. As if to say that the very notion didn't make his heart race. "And I've had enough of this. You are not in a position to negotiate, if you hadn't noticed."

Draco remained in his sprawl and his face continued to reflect simple boredom, but Harry could sense the speeding up of his thoughts that indicated he'd touched a nerve. "I repeat, Potter, why am I here?"

"To tell me why."

"Why what, exactly?"

"Why you chose to come to our side for help. Why you willingly chose exile and hiding for yourself and your mother. What made you reveal the weak point in our security so it could be dealt with. I need to know why."

"I was raised to have impeccable manners," Draco said slowly.

Harry snorted.

"But somehow the only response that seems appropriate, despite all the polite phrases in my repertoire, is: go fuck yourself, Potter."

Harry didn't allow himself even the hint of impatience. "As I said, Draco, you are not in a position of power. I don't have the time or inclination to be worried about you and what your plans are or to try to keep you in plain sight all the time. So you are going to tell me what I want to know."

Draco sighed, with what seemed like real regret. "I knew you'd make me. I've been thinking about what I would say all week."

He sat up straighter, but he didn't look at Harry once during what followed.

"When you spend your entire life among cruel, grasping people, and people who are truly insane, it can be hard to understand that some people are not like that. I have always thought that my family—that is, the parts of it that I knew—was comprised of greedy, prideful, and slightly mad people, and the only thing that kept my world from chaos was the allegiance they owed to a person more cruel, more prideful, and more insane than they. Nothing was important except being successful, and being a valued servant of the Dark Lord was the best kind of success, apart from money."

Harry tried not to throw up, and tried to get it. He'd asked for this, but he'd never thought it would actually happen. Draco was talking to him about something that Harry had hoped would come up between them over a year ago, when it would have done some good instead of being part of damage control. He had to listen to this. The worst part was, he was beginning to see that Draco had done the most good he had known it was possible for him to do, in his way. But he doubted Draco saw it quite yet.

"So that was my life. I believed all of it, Potter. Everything they've ever told me about blood status, money, the greatness of the Dark Lord . . . I was a believer. But my father taught me too well about being selfish, and I don't have the ability to show devotion to anyone at the expense of myself. At least, I don't think I do. Unless that's what I'm doing now."

The confusion in the other boy's voice was real, but Harry wasn't entirely buying what Draco was selling right now. There was one thing he wanted Draco to say, and it seemed more and more like Draco was going to dance around it and refuse to admit that he and Harry could ever be on the same side or believe any of the same things.

"So I . . . was concerned for my own well-being, more than that of the Dark Lord's. I don't suppose I can explain to you what a crime that is, for a person who . . . who . . ." Draco couldn't finish the sentence, but he was clutching at his arm and Harry knew what was hidden under the sleeve of his robe. "It's unforgiveable, and I couldn't hide how much I resented being a pawn much longer. I would have been killed simply because I wanted to be successful. My father never really told me that success has a limit, I guess because the Dark Lord wasn't in power when he was raising me. So I've been forced to leave, because I won't be a servant any longer. I know they will kill me if they find me, for daring to think I'm important."

Draco gave him a sickly smile, to indicate that he was finished.

Harry let out a derisive little chuckle. "Bollocks."

Draco was entirely affronted, and looked ready to jump up and lay into Harry.

Harry leaned back in his chair, affecting an attitude similar to the one Draco had pulled when he came in. The only threat Draco could possibly pose to him was his status as a loose cannon, and Harry was resolving that right now, and he wanted Draco to know just how far his star had fallen. He needed to know that, if he was ever going to start crawling back up again.

"You can't expect to feed me that crap story and have me believe it."

Draco did stand up, hands clenched. "Well, what do you want me to say, Potter? You asked why I was here, and I told you!"

Harry gazed at him with patience, waiting for him to subside. "You told me a lie, actually. What you just said makes no sense in the context of your actions. I would like to think you know I'm smarter than that."

"Of course it makes sense, because that's what I did!" Draco shouted, his face turning red.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay. You want money and success and more favour than you were getting from Voldemort? The way to get it was to make him happy. You make him happy by completing the task he gave you, and getting him into the school. You claim to be selfish, but you didn't want to go to safety without your mother. You've actually given up your information to strengthen Hogwarts defenses against your purported master, and you've divided your family in two in such a way that you stand to lose all the money and influence that came from being part of it. Don't try to tell me you've done this because you're a selfish bastard looking out for yourself, because it's a lie."

Draco suddenly deflated. He sat back down, and he lost all his ire. "Then why did I do it? Tell me that, Potter. Because I honestly don't know."

"Just think about it, Draco. For just a minute, think about why you didn't let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts."

Draco was pale and miserable. "Because then it would be my fault," he said quietly. "When Greyback starts eating children right in front of me, I can't blame anyone but me. I knew I would never be anything but a pawn to him, and I wanted out, but . . . I was being honest. My father never taught me any morals that weren't tied up in my own self-interest or those of my family. But somewhere along the way I figured out it was wrong to take part in killing my own classmates, and somehow, it became more important not to do that wrong than to look after myself. So I came to Dumbledore, because he was a sap who'd take care of me just because I— well, for helping him."

"Say it, Draco. Out loud, tell me what it was you did."

Draco was disgusted. "Why?"

"Say it."

"I did the right thing," Draco muttered. He gave Harry a hard, angry look that was full of accusations, but it hardly seemed like he knew what he was accusing Harry of. "I did the bloody right thing, and I knew that Dumbledore would help me out for doing it. That's just about the only thing your side has got going for it, you know. They take care of each other."

"And now we're taking care of you," Harry said quietly. "You didn't even have to be one of us. You just had to ask."
Draco slumped back in his chair, but it was no pose this time, it was weariness and confusion. "Which makes no sense whatsoever. I can't imagine how you think you could win when you operate like that."

"But you're here."

"I know I am. But I still don't think I know why."

"It's something you figure out as you go along," Harry said gently. "Took me a while to decide to be here, too."

Draco looked revolted by the comparison. "I am nothing like you, Potter."

"I came here and asked for protection while I figured out what I wanted. Because I had made a choice to do the right thing and save some innocent lives at cost to myself."

"But you act like you always knew it was right."

Harry shrugged. "Sirius didn't teach me about success. He taught me about knowing who I was. And I knew that I was a person who did the right thing, whatever the price. It cost me everything I wanted, you know. When I was twelve, Sirius and I had a real home and real family, and we were happier than we'd ever been or have been since. I had a girlfriend two years ago that I think I would have been really happy with if we'd gotten to stay together. But people were going to be hurt and killed while I was in a far-off place being happy, and I couldn't live with that. Some part of myself that I didn't know I had in me told me that I couldn't live with that. So I made myself into a fighter through a lot of blood and sweat, and I left behind my home and family, and I came here against my will, to do battle with someone who is way stronger than I'm going to be for a long time."

Draco just stared at him. This was the last thing either of them had expected to be doing.

"I don't believe it had to be me," Harry said. "I don't believe I'm special at all. But Voldemort got that idea in his head, so I've been forced to react to that. I've spent the past two years trying to figure out why I'm really here, and why I'm really fighting. It doesn't just come to you one day, out of the blue. You start with one right decision, and you work at it. It helps, when the people around you are doing the same thing. And the rewards . . . I never would have imagined what I'd get in return. I got Hermione."

"I am not on your side, Potter," Draco said softly. "I refuse to fight for the rights of Mudbloods and traitors. I'm only here because I won't be responsible for the destruction of Hogwarts."

"At least you don't have to see your Aunt Bellatrix anymore."

Draco shuddered. "I suppose I should have known that my mother's family wouldn't all be like her, but it surprised me, anyway."

Harry, who had only met Andromeda Tonks once so far and found her to be rather stern (although that might have just been her reaction to the news that her long-estranged sister and nephew were going to be sleeping in her daughter's old room and a bunch of Death Eaters were going to be looking for them). Still, she was a sight better than Bellatrix Lestrange.

"How are things over there?" Harry asked as casually as possible.

"I suppose it's quite splendid, for a prison."

Harry frowned.

"Oh, please, Potter. You don't think I'm stupid, or that my mother is stupid? We are well aware that you deliberately placed us where no one would look for us, and no one has been exactly shy about telling us we're not allowed to leave. What on earth does my father think has happened, anyway? Where are they looking? You must know something."

Harry shrugged. "Well. We let word get to the Death Eaters, and only them, mind you, that our side had something to do with your disappearance."

Draco looked at him blankly.

"That we used you as bait because you were easy to grab, and that you and your mother are dead as retaliation for Dumbledore," Harry clarified. "Not sure if they believe it. But they do know that even if you are alive, they won't get to you until they get to us. And so far, they haven't been able to do much to us. Only to innocent people who didn't see them coming."

Harry tried not to sound smug about the lack of casualties among the Order. It wouldn't last forever, and he knew that. But they were holding out, and they were still strong. Even with Dumbledore, their true leader, gone, the Order was still there and still fighting.

"So, now I know," Harry said, standing.

"Know what?"

"That you can't go back to their side, because you've finally realised that you are not an evil person. You tried so hard to be cruel and cold, but even you have your limits. You've figured that out, so I don't have to worry about you anymore. I'm not asking you to join our side, Draco. I'm not that foolish. But I won't have to watch you night and day, either. Don't think of where you are as a prison. It's exactly what you asked for. It's a safe house. And you'd better not take for granted how hard it is for the Tonks to take you in."

Draco's face was going red again, but Harry was strolling out. "I have some tricky potions experiments to work on," he announced. "Sirius can take you back to the Tonks's." Wolfsbane was a never-ending process, since he was brewing it for seventeen freaking werewolves, even if Sirius was doing some of the work. At least nine of them had jobs now, and they were contributing almost enough money for the supplies. Harry and Sirius weren't exactly getting paid for their work, but Harry found the bridge he was building to be far more important than money.

He had sort of forgotten how ill and exhausted Draco had become over this past year, but he certainly noticed when Draco transformed at the mention of potions experiments. The boy lit up like a kid on his birthday, and some of the pallor fell away from his face.

Oh, yeah. He'd sort of forgotten about how boring it would be to be stuck at your aunt's house when you hated her husband and had to cope with a decades-old feud—indefinitely.

"Come on," Harry said casually. "Just because you aren't on my side doesn't mean I won't put you to work." Inside, he was practically dancing with glee. Draco was probably the only person he knew with both the Potions skill and an inclination toward brewing that were necessary for this work—and the free time on his hands. If Draco proved capable and willing, it would be like Christmas come early.

"You cannot force me to work for you," Draco said primly. As he followed right at Harry's heels.

One week later, Harry was brushing a bit of plaster dust off his hands and feeling satisfied. They'd taken out the wall separating the two spare rooms in the house and converted it into a Potions laboratory. Using one spare room just wasn't enough anymore, especially since they now had someone who was interested in brewing all manner of healing potions and other things that would be useful to the Order of the Phoenix. Draco was no master brewer, but you didn't have to be as brilliant as Snape to make a Blood-Replenishing potion. Harry had shared a classroom with Draco for two years and trusted his skill well enough, although he still planned to personally be involved in the final stages of the werewolf's medication. That was too tricky and too important to trust to Draco Malfoy.

"Don't look smug, Potter," Draco said, sitting primly on a stool that he'd brushed free of dust with a clean handkerchief. "You have your end of the bargain to live up to, as well."

Harry took out his wand and began to assemble the furniture that was stacked in pieces in a corner of the newly designed room. "I haven't failed to live up to a promise yet," he said without concern.

"There's always a first time," Draco muttered, leaning over the small cauldron that was fuming greenish smoke into his face, his nose twitching as he picked out the smells and giving him the most unfortunate resemblance to a rodent. "Be my luck if it was me you let down."

Harry wasn't worried, because his end of the bargain was perfectly simple. When the war was over and Draco could come out of hiding, Harry was his character and job reference. He would have spent no small amount of time working for Harry, so Harry supposed it would have been only fair, anyway. And since he'd be hiding with his family instead of spending his seventh year at Hogwarts, he would desperately need the reference (assuming, of course, that his father didn't get killed by the Order and the Malfoy estate didn't automatically revert to Draco and leave him filthy rich).

"Mine is easy," Harry said, levitating a set of shelves up and Permanently Sticking them to the walls. "I just have to live through the war. You, however, have to brew acceptable potions of several varieties and fight your daily inclination to poison us all."

Draco was stirring his cauldron with steady hands, but he was pale and worried. "I don't lack motivation, Potter. You realise that I now have a personal interest in seeing your side win?"

"What's that?"

"If the Dark Lord is victorious, he will kill me and my mother," Draco said, in his most lazy, drawling voice. He didn't even bother looking up. "So it would really be to my benefit to do this job well, wouldn't it?"

Harry's mind briefly passed over Draco's. The outer calm was a truly impressive feat of control. Because inside, Draco was trembling and terrified. His revulsion over letting the Death Eaters into the school, and the mental and moral strength he'd marshaled to decide not to, had left him with no choice but to throw himself on the mercy of the Order of the Phoenix. Not a good place to be, for someone with a Dark Mark on his arm. He couldn't know that someone else had done the same, years before, and had been treated as well as expected. He didn't know whose side Professor Snape was on.

"Well, then," Harry said, setting the last little table in place. "I'll leave you to it, and I'll go study. I have exams next week."

Draco finally looked up from his cauldron. "Didn't Professor Black tell you? I'm taking them, as well."

"You are?"

"Apparently he and Professor McGonagall are the only ones who will know about it, which is the only reason I agreed, but they will administer the exams to me and record my scores. Professor McGonagall is still acting Headmistress, so no one else need know."

"Well, that's excellent," Harry said. "You won't have wasted this whole year of school."

"Precisely, Potter. It is amazing what your mind can do when properly applied."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What about your NEWT year, though?"

"We haven't really come up with a solution to that, yet," Draco admitted, turning back to his potion and giving it a vicious stirring.

Harry shrugged. "Don't feel too bad. I haven't come up with a solution for mine yet, either."

Draco was startled by that. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Haven't really decided yet."

Draco was ready to ask a few more questions, but there was a voice downstairs calling out, "Hello?"

"Remus?" Harry muttered, confused, and left Draco there to hurry downstairs. "Hey, Remus, is that you?"

"Oh, Harry," the werewolf's voice floated from the hall. "Sirius here?"

"No, he had to oversee a couple of detentions today," Harry answered, and finally met up with Remus at the foot of the stairs. "It's good to see you," he said, embracing the man. "Tonks isn't with you?"

"She was last night,"—great Merlin, he still blushes when he says that— "but she had to go in for some kind of emergency at work."

"Well, come on," Harry said, leading the way toward the kitchen. "I'll get you a cup of tea. Hungry?"

"No, not really. Kreacher isn't making tea?"

Harry pulled a face. "I thought Tonks would have told you. He's sort of on loan to her parents right now."

"On loan?" Remus repeated in an unhappy tone.

"Oh, fine, we politely asked him and he politely agreed," Harry corrected himself. "Either way, he's staying with the Tonks family to help alleviate the burden of having the Malfoys there. He's happy as a niffler with a pile of Galleons, waiting hand and foot on the most noble mistresses of the Black family." He raised his voice, knowing Draco was listening from the top of the stairs. "And the mistress's ferrety little brat!"

Then he cast a Muffliato charm on the kitchen.

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Take it someone else is here?"

"Draco," Harry muttered, still not entirely sure how he felt about this whole situation. Here he was, giving Draco another chance, just like he'd decided he wasn't going to do, and feeling satisfied because Draco was taking to it like a duck to water. For Merlin's sake, maybe Draco had a point about their side being pushovers. "You really need to get over here more often so the information moves more quickly," he chided Remus. "The Order has agreed to let him work as a potions supplier for us just to give him something to do. And speaking of people who are happy as nifflers . . ."

Remus gave him a wide-eyed look. "You trust him with that?"

Harry shrugged. "He did tell us about the twin cabinets. And Tonks's mum caught him trying to slice off the skin on his left arm with a kitchen knife a few days ago."

Remus winced.

"Of course, it was a mark in his favour that he managed to whip himself up a healing poultice after she interrupted him."

Remus shrugged. "I suppose he must be competent, especially if he's qualified to take NEWT level potions from Severus."

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm going to have him help with the Wolfsbane treatments."

Remus scowled. "Harry, those are—"

"He will do it well, Remus," Harry interrupted firmly. "He doesn't have a choice anymore. He needs us more than we need him, and he's counting on my personal reference to survive once he can come out of hiding. He is going to do whatever pleases me."

"Harry," Remus said, using his best reasonable-but-firm voice, making Harry feel that he should politely listen, "I have asked my community to trust you with this, and you have made a real difference in their lives. However, asking them to trust a known Death Eater who has a history of changing loyalties is a different matter. It is not fair to give them such a gift and then, in essence, take it away by passing the responsibility to someone like Draco Malfoy."

Harry knew better than to suggest that Remus not tell them about the change in staffing in their impromptu Potions laboratory. He had too much respect for them to do that. "Do you trust me, Remus?"

Remus opened and closed his mouth, and looked angry.

"Well?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Then you can trust me to choose someone to help me work," Harry said simply. "It's too much for me to do on my own."

"Okay, I understand that, but—"

"Draco is the only person I know who has the predilection for it, intelligence for it, and the time for it. Hermione could help, but she doesn't really like Potions and she already has enough to do. It's like I said: Draco is going to do what pleases me. He doesn't have much of a choice."

Remus looked awfully sad, at that. "All he's really done is exchange one master for another, then."

Harry froze. He felt exactly like he had the first time Miguel had launched a surprise attack and punched him in the stomach while he was clearing the breakfast dishes from the table. Stunned, breathless, almost as emotionally bruised as he had been physically. You didn't just turn around and slug a part of your own family right after you'd eaten scrambled eggs together.

Harry staggered up from the table, breaking the wards he'd had on the kitchen as he passed through them and marched upstairs.

"Draco," he said, standing in the doorway.

Draco had begun his painstaking project of organizing his supplies by applying coloured labels according to the type of ingredient and then placing the bottles on the newly installed shelves. He looked perfectly happy. His face sunk into a frown as he took in Harry.

"What did the werewolf do to you?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not making you do this."

Draco raised and eyebrow and set the bottle he was holding down on one of the tables. "I am not much in the mood for a game, Potter. If we must have another conversation in which you try to convince me that I am doing this simply out of the goodness of my heart, can it at least wait until I finish with this box?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm really not making you do this. I don't own you or your mother. You asked me for help, I gave you help, and I'm not asking you for anything in return. You don't work for me. I'll give you whatever you need after the war's over, either way. Just so you know that. You don't have to do this. Not to impress me, anyway."

Draco stared at him, looked down at the boxes stacked at his feet that were still waiting for his organizational touch, and back up at Harry. He rolled his eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter, what else would I do all day?" he muttered, and went back to his work.

Feeling a bit more absolved, Harry went back downstairs. Remus was still in the kitchen, nursing the remnants of his tea, with a look of guilt on his face.

"I didn't mean to make it sound like that, Harry," he said quietly.

Harry shrugged. "We've worked it out, so it's fine."

Remus frowned. "You don't mean he's actually volunteering for this?"

"He's been in hiding for a couple of weeks, and he's already bored out of his mind," Harry shrugged. "He has to do something."

Remus sighed. "I suppose you have your reasons for letting him do this."

Harry sighed back. "Thanks, Remus."

He got up and made himself a cup of tea. He debated making one for Draco, then dismissed the idea. If he wanted one, he could damn well make his own. High time he learned how.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked as he poured.

"It's about Simon," Remus said reluctantly. "Cheers," he added when Harry refilled his cup.

"What about him?"

"He's thirteen, Harry."

"I know."

"He shouldn't be with us. I wanted him to go to Hogwarts in the autumn, but I don't think that's likely to happen. I don't know who will be running the school, but I'm sure it won't be McGonagall."

"He should be with you," Harry argued. "You've all but adopted him."

"More like having a very resentful stepson," Remus said mildly. "At least he loves Dora. Anyway, it's not that, I don't mind having him with us. But it's not safe anymore."

"When was it ever?"

"Point," Remus agreed. "But I think we both know that it's about to get worse, much worse. And he's just a kid. He shouldn't be involved in the fighting. I want to get him out of there."

"If he can't go to Hogwarts . . ."

"I was hoping he could come here," Remus answered.

Harry thought of Draco, working upstairs, of the amount of time Remus had lived here, and then thought about having Simon stay in the room Remus used to live in. He snorted.

"Bloody halfway house we're running here," he muttered. "Of course he can stay here, assuming he and Sirius don't kill each other. Sirius doesn't like teenagers with bad attitudes. He likes to beat it out of them."

Remus shrugged. "He's a scrawny kid. Might benefit from a little time in the training room."

"You still practicing?" Harry asked.

Remus shrugged. "As much as it's possible to do by oneself," he said dryly, then slapped his firm abdominals. "Got to stay in shape for Dora's sake, don't I?"

Harry grinned. "Sirius wouldn't stop complaining yesterday about dear cousin Andy, and how she'd never been so girly that he could remember. Apparently she's got weddings on the brain."

Remus blushed right to the roots of his hair.

"Aw, come on, Remus," Harry cajoled. "She's been practically living in your compound for months. You think we didn't notice?"

His hands tightened on the cup in front of him. "It's not . . . good for her," he said, struggling to get the words out. "I mean, we're doing our best on the legal front, and Madam Bones being the popular candidate for Minister is great news, but . . . I don't know why she spends so much time with us. We take the potions, but that doesn't make us safe."

Harry just crossed his arms and glared at Remus. "It's a little late for that, don't you think? I mean, at some point you've got to stop with all this nonsense about not being good enough and wake up and realise you've been happily shagging for months and nothing bad has happened yet. She knows the risks and apparently thinks you're worth it. Little harsh on her to think she has such terrible judgement, isn't it?"

Remus took his cup over to the sink and rinsed it out. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you," he muttered. "It's like talking to Sirius all over again."

Harry thought his chest might explode with pride at the very idea. If all he accomplished in life was to be like his godfather, he'd be okay with that. He'd rather accomplish a great deal more, of course.

"Remus, I swear that if you don't ask her to marry you by the end of the summer, I will," Harry said severely.

Remus blinked at him.

"What? She's bloody gorgeous, isn't she? Smart, funny—she's got it all."

For a minute, Harry thought Remus was going to attack him. Instead, he just dried his cup and put it back in the cupboard, muttering, ". . . like he's channeling the bloody man . . ."

Harry got up to rinse out his own cup and gave Remus a poke in the ribs. "Just go with it and try to be worthy of her," he said. "It's what I'm doing."

"With Hermione?"

Harry nodded. "We're not quite at the stage you're at, yet, of course, but I think we might be before too long."

"You are far too young to think about marriage," Remus said with complete conviction.

"I'm turning seventeen in a month."

Remus blinked. "Merlin, I'm bloody old," he remarked, then strolled out into the hallway. "I should get going. Talk to Sirius tonight, would you, about Simon? Have him get in touch with me if it's all right with him."

Harry gave him a look. "As if it wouldn't be. I'll tell him when he gets here, but go ahead and have Simon pack up his stuff. He can move in tomorrow."

There was a thump upstairs, Draco moving something heavy, and Harry winced. "Boy, it'll be fun having those two under the same roof," he said brightly. "Barrel of laughs every day, I'm sure of it."

Remus winced, too. "Maybe we can convince Simon not to go into those rooms."

He and Harry looked at one another for a beat of silence.

"Maybe you'd better give Sirius a couple of days to get used to the idea," Harry finally said.

One week later, Harry and Hermione were cuddled up together on Harry's bed at home in Grimmauld Place. Their exams were over and they were both confident that they'd done well. They'd cast several spells on the door to be sure that they wouldn't have to hear anything going on in the rest of the house. Sirius and Simon were butting heads about twelve times a day, and Simon and Draco had become bitter enemies within five minutes of their first meeting. Luckily that hadn't been until two days after Simon moved in, because Harry doubted the boy would have stayed unless he'd already arranged all his stuff. Draco had taken particular relish in coming up with new synonyms for the word "freak."

Harry sighed with contentment and nuzzled his face against Hermione's neck, losing himself in the flowery scent of her hair. "Glad I don't have to worry about homework for a while."

Hermione made a soft noise. "I know better than to think you won't do any studies on your own this summer. And NEWT year is a killer, you saw how all the seventh-years looked these past few weeks."

Harry made a soft noise of his own.

Hermione shifted, raising herself up so she could look him in the face. "What is it?"

His face said it all.

"Oh, Harry, you can't leave now," she said in dismay. "You know how hard it is to get a career without any kind of educational certification."

"I'm not really worried about that right now," he said frankly. "With Dumbledore gone, that school is not going to be safe for me anymore. And I have a job to do."

"A job that Dumbledore forced on you by making it such a big secret," Hermione said fiercely.

Harry gave her a placid look. "I didn't have to take it. But I did. You know how important the secrecy is. Honestly, I wish I hadn't told Sirius, just because having the knowledge is dangerous, whether he uses it or not."

"Which is why you won't tell me what you know about what happened to Dumbledore," she said, still looking unhappy.

Harry nodded. "I would if I thought I could," he murmured, and pulled her back down to lay next to him. "But you have to at least let me maintain the illusion that I'm doing something to keep you safe."

Hermione wasn't thrilled, to say the least, but she didn't argue. She understood.

"So many secrets," she sighed. "Speaking of which, did you ask Sirius about the Secret-Keeper?"

"Yeah. He's told the Order that the new Secret-Keeper is already in place and refused to reveal their identity."

"But it's not true?"

"Apparently not. He wouldn't tell me what was going on, though. He just said the person he wanted for the job wasn't ready yet. He won't tell me who it is or anything. Weird, right?"

"Very," she agreed. "But Sirius knows what he's doing."

"Yeah," Harry sighed. He buried himself in her hair again. "Hermione? I'm so glad that we can do this now. That you're not so afraid, I mean."

Hermione clutched his hand. "I am, sometimes. A little. The amount of time that's passed has done a lot toward getting rid of the fear, but mostly it was just that I made the decision that I didn't want to be afraid anymore. I knew Jonathan was no threat, but I was never all that attracted to him, anyway. But the relationship was good for me. It was . . . it seemed like I was in charge. That helped. But being with you . . . it's scary in a different way. Just because it's unpredictable. I'm not afraid of you, I trust you more than anyone in the world. And I've come a long way, too. But can you be patient with me, when I do get scared?"

Harry's fingers tightened over hers. "Of course I can. This is good, right here."

"For now."

"Well, I haven't had sex in a year and I might go mad, but yeah. This is good for now."

She kissed his knuckles. "Thank you."

"Hermione?" he murmured.

"What?"

"I just finished the most grueling school year of my life, and we're already just laying in my bed here . . . can we take a nap?"

She chuckled softly. "I was about to ask the same thing."

They slept.

He woke slowly, smelling ink and flowers and feeling safe and comfortable. He smiled. He'd enjoyed the sensation of waking up beside a girl before, another girl who was curvier and blonde and whose hair smelled of coconuts and her bed of sex. But this was different. This was the same feeling of warmth and delight, but stronger, and he hadn't even needed to have sex with the girl. That was how much he loved Hermione. He'd been wondering (although never admitting it, not even to himself) if he was capable of that kind of love. It appeared that he was.

She was looking at him, her back propped against the headboard. She'd been awake for a while.

"Hi," he said, groggy and making no effort to wake up any faster than his body wanted to.

"You're beautiful when you sleep," she whispered. But she was frowning.

"What's wrong?" he said, more alert instantly.

"Shhh," she said, laying a hand on his chest and pressing him down. "Nothing. You were talking in your sleep."

Heart thudding, he tried to remember having a conversation with Voldemort, but he was quite sure that he hadn't. Must have just been a normal dream, then.

"What did I say?" he asked with a lazy smile.

She didn't smile back. "You were very upset."

"I was?"

"You kept saying you weren't going to be a lord. You kept saying you were going to put the wand away forever when you were finished. And that you didn't have servants."

"Oh," he muttered, and turned his face away from hers. He didn't know he'd been talking out loud in his dreams. Good thing he'd never gotten out of the habit of casting a spell around his bed in the dormitory, or his Gryffindor roommates would be seriously creeped out.

"Harry," Hermione said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I can't help what I say in my sleep," he said grumpily.

She leaned down and kissed his shoulder. "I know." She pointed to the wand he'd left on his nightstand. "That's your normal one, isn't it?"

"Yes," he answered. "I've got the other one hidden for now."

Hermione slid down in the bed and snuggled against his back. Now that he was awake, that wasn't such a sleepy, comfortable pose. Good thing he was the one with his back turned to her. "It's going to be okay."

He grunted in disagreement. There wasn't much that was going to be okay, not for a long time.

"You're a good man."

"Not yet," he said wryly. "I'm still a minor."

She pinched the skin on his side, which made him yelp but also made him more glad that he was facing away from her. "Don't make light of my opinion of you. You should listen to me."

"Thank you," he said simply.

She relaxed against him a bit and murmured something about taking another nap, her breath tickling against his neck. He scrambled off the bed.

"Go ahead and sleep," he said cheerfully. "I'm starving, I'm going to go fix something to eat. You want me to save something for when you wake up?"

She had an amused expression, almost cat-like on her face. Well, he supposed it was kind of obvious what his problem was. "Sure," she said simply.

"Are your folks going to be worried about how long it's taking you to get home?" he queried.

She shook her head. "They know I'm with you."

Harry laughed. "And they have such a high opinion of me?"

"No, of me," she retorted. Then her face closed down. "That's likely to change soon."

"What? Why?"

"Nothing, never mind," she said. "Go get some food. I'm just going to sleep awhile longer."

Harry frowned at her but did as she said. He met Simon in the kitchen, where he was, as usual, scarfing down anything in sight.

"I was hoping to get away from all the lovey-dovey stuff when I came here," he said without preamble.

"I was going to say, 'Hi, Simon, how are you?' but since the obvious answer is 'snarky as always, thanks,' I'll just skip it."

Simon made a face.

"And if you say anything remotely resembling an insult to my girlfriend, I'll dismember you," Harry said in bright voice.

Simon looked shocked.

"Get used to it, mate, we're rooming together all summer." Harry went to the pantry and started rummaging around. Close enough to dinner time to start putting together a meal for everyone, he supposed. He was actually looking forward to it, he hadn't cooked a thing since Christmas and he kind of missed the mundane pleasure. He hoped Hermione would stay for dinner.

Simon was drinking milk from one of the Engorged mugs they kept around for Hagrid. He finished it off while staring at Harry with an evil eye.

"Whatever," he grumbled. "I know it's your house, not mine. I'll try to stay out of the way."

Harry brushed his mind over the younger boy's, and what he saw there made him both sad and angry. He thought he was getting passed around like the orphan he was, and he was trying to resign himself to never having a home. It made Harry angry because Simon was so obviously not giving Remus the credit he deserved.

"Remus was telling you the truth," Harry said casually as he got out a pot to boil some pasta. "Things are about to get much worse. You're a lot safer here."

"I know that," Simon said in a belligerent tone.

"If you believed it, you wouldn't be feeling so sorry for yourself. He cares about you," Harry said sharply.

"What's it got to do with you?"

"It pisses me off that you think so little of Remus," Harry shot back. "He's one of the best men I know, and he's given you a lot more than you've earned. I'd be a little more gracious, if I were you."

Simon looked like he was ready to fight.

"If you want to start something, I will cheerfully prove to you just how badly I can hurt you. But I wish you wouldn't. I'm really not in the mood to beat the crap out of you."

Simon just stood there with his jaw locked and his hands trembling from clenching so tight.

"Listen," Harry said in a much more sober, reasonable voice. "My parents died, too. I lived with Sirius a long time before I let myself love him. So I know the place you're in. But sometimes, life gives you something good that you don't want to trust, and my advice is to just take it because it's not going to happen twice."

Simon still didn't look particularly convinced, but he didn't look like he was on the verge of transforming anymore, either. Harry felt a lot of compassion for him, suddenly. It couldn't be easy, to go from trying to live up to Fenrir Greyback's expectations, knowing he was your only hope despite also knowing that he'd killed your father, all the way to being rescued by someone whose only expectation was that you accept some help as you tried to heal. Simon had first been taught that life was brutal, and now he was trying to deal with the idea that sometimes it could be kind. Confusing for anybody, much less for a werewolf who was also going through puberty.

"Also, meet me outside that room we keep locked, at eight o'clock tonight. I know something that might help."

Simon looked interested, at last. "What's in there?"

"Generally, a lot of pain and shouting," Harry answered. "But don't worry, it's good fun."