Later that evening, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in the Gryffindor common room. There was a fire going in the fireplace, creating a cozy atmosphere.

"Harry? Haaaarry?"

Harry blinked. He had been deep in thought. "Hm?"

"I said, you seemed to work well with Malfoy in Potions," Hermione said.

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"You were the first group. Even I was barely able to finish the potion in time."

Harry shrugged. "Malfoy did most of the work. I really only crushed the moonstones."

"Yes, well, he has always done well in Potions, even without Snape's help. By the way, what did you say to him at the end of class? He gave you a really funny look."

"Oh, I don't remember," Harry said. "I think I asked him what the potion was."

"No, it was before that, but it doesn't really matter. You didn't know what the potion was?"

"No, Hermione, otherwise I wouldn't have asked, would I?" Harry pointed out.

"I suppose not, but it was really quite obvious. Ashwinder eggs and moonstones are two very common ingredients in Love Potions." Hermione sighed. "Will you ever learn to do your homework on time?"

Ron looked up from the essay he was trying not to write."Not as long as we have you, Hermione. And what was that about Harry and the Ferret?"

"Nothing, really, Ronald, though you might make more progress on your essay if you actually wrote something instead of doodling in the margins. I was just noting that Harry and Malfoy seemed to work well together in making the Love Potion."

Ron nearly choked, then started to grin wickedly. "Harry and Malfoy made a Love Potion together?"

Hermione smacked him on the arm. "It wasn't like that, Ron. You were there in Potions class when we all made that Love Potion."

"Oh, is that what that was?"

"For god's sake, Ron!"

"Well, Harry didn't know what it was either, did you Harry? Harry?"

But Harry was in his own world again. Something about this conversation was nagging at him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. There was something he missed...

"Draco? Draco!"

Slowly, Draco's attention came back to the present. He was sitting in Snape's office in the dungeons–despite being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, he had preferred to keep his old office.

"You cannot even focus your attention for an entire conversation. It's no wonder your efforts seem to be slipping."

"Mind your own business, Severus. My grades are as good as ever, and I have the other... situation... under control," Draco snapped back.

Snape gave him a cold look. "Draco, while we may have a special personal relationship among professors and students, while we are at Hogwarts, you will address me as 'sir' or 'Professor Snape.'"

"Yes, sir."

"Draco, I understand the enormous pressure you're under, but–"

"No, you don't!" Draco exclaimed. "You have no idea what it's like! My parents–they're my only family. I can't... I can't lose them."

Snape gave him a long, even gaze. "While your young and foolhardy heart may have decided that it alone bears the burden of expectation, rest assured that your situation is not unique."

"What would you know about it? ...sir."

Snape sighed and said, very softly, "More than you could possibly imagine..."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione said goodnight and headed up to their beds. Harry, who still had the nagging sensation in the back of his mind that he was overlooking something, didn't feel tired. He went over to the window and looked out. There were clouds drifting past a nearly full moon, which highlighted the small snowflakes that had just begun to fall. The grounds were awash in the pale light of the moon, making them seem hushed and foreign.

Harry climbed into his four-poster bed and drew the curtains, casting a Silencing Charm before resting his wand and his glasses on the nightstand. It was always better to cast the charm and not have to worry than risk hearing your dorm mates' snoring, or worse, wanking, should they also fail to cast the charm.

Looking up into the blackness overhead, Harry saw in his mind's eye the pale, moonlight Hogwarts grounds. Such a beautiful colour, he thought. It reminded him of something... Yes, that was it: skin. He could see the smooth skin in his mind, gentle curves and flat expanses. He felt a tightening in his pyjamas as he concentrated more fully on the skin.

He could imagine the sound the skin would make as he ran his palms, roughened from Quidditch, over the smooth surface. He extended an arm and pulled his pyjama pants down. He could almost taste the saltiness on his tongue... He reached down and wrapped a hand around his now stiff manhood.

But whose skin was it?

Slowly, he allowed the image in his mind to contract. His hand began a simple up and down stroke as he saw a flat abdomen; long, slender fingers; the hollow at the base of the neck.

When he saw the face, he didn't question it. He didn't protest.

Up–down–up–down–

He bit his lip as he came onto his stomach, but the name flashed in front of his eyes. As he drifted off to sleep, he realized what had been nagging him about the conversation. He hadn't asked Malfoy what the potion was to illicit the odd reaction: he had called him "Draco."

Everything was forgotten by morning.