As long as I kept moving, my grief streamed out behind me like a swimmer's long hair in water. I knew the weight was there but it didn't touch me. Only when I stopped did the slick, dark stuff of it come floating around my face, catching my arms and throat till I began to drown. So I did not stop.

~ The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

Dyre ran his fingers along the case. The moon reflected off the polished surface. It must have cost about the same as the blades, coded to recognize his hand only. The wind blew through the trees, rattling the pines. It pulled at the grass, freezing his ears and swiping a layer of ice down his exposed neck, where the collar had bent.

"I wish you wouldn't wear that thing," Yrsa said.

The chill raised pimples on her flesh and whipped her wild hair. She tucked the strands out of her face, but the cold itself did not bother her. The light from the moon illuminated the almost translucent glow of her flesh, the tunic discarded, only a dagger belted at her hip. Dyre nudged his cloak closer, unable even with all his practice to man the temperature like her.

"I like my cloak."

She rolled her eyes. She stepped forward, fiddling with the collar. "It's shoddy work and looks ridiculous on you."

He smiled. "I like it," he repeated. "You worked so hard on it."

She sniffed. "And completely ruined a perfectly good stretch of cloth."

"Weaving is not the same as sewing, Yrsa," he told her fondly.

"I need none of your excuses," she scoffed, releasing the collar with a repulsed flick.

He granted her another smile. He turned back to the case.

"How long can you stay?"

"Two nights." She was quiet for a moment, watching him. "Do they really mean so much to you?"

He was silent. Loki and Levi returned from stalking the unicorns. Two triangular tongues rolled out of Loki's mouth, one dangling while the other licked its maw. Levi sat beside Yrsa, its head reaching her shoulder. Solemn rust-colored eyes, the pupil tilted and slit like a goat's, regarded him. Yrsa rested her hand at the back of its neck, brushing the white coat.

Loki bent its head, extending a long neck to regard Dyre's face. Dyre allowed his palm to smooth the creature's ear. It wagged its long tail, claws denting the earth. It made a small whine, the chords in its neck shuddering.

Loki never could stand the temperament of its sibling. They were only fifty years apart, a small time for daemons, but Loki remained a child.

"Harry," Yrsa called. "Why does what they think bother you so much? Have you changed so greatly in these months?"

Dyre gave a final stroke, regarding the creature's demonic eyes without blinking. He sighed and released the hound.

"It was a mistake," he said, and though tempted to leave it there, he had never kept anything hidden from her. He looked out at the night, saying softly, "I thought they had accepted me."

"I accept you," she said hastily, drawing herself closer to him.

She was very beautiful. On the cusp of womanhood, she seemed like fertile land, something mysterious and wicked beneath the moonlight. Dyre had thought himself madly in love with her when he was her age, had pledged himself in a bond witnessed by the Maiden, had married her in all but body. But he had never lusted after her.

Even if it wasn't forbidden, even if her youth did not mellow him, he didn't think he'd feel anything for her but the love of a brother. It was all-consuming and powerful. It made him want to hold her, to run and laugh and sing with her, to have her sit in his lap while he braided her hair and hold her hand, but it did not make him want to kiss her.

It did not fill him with the fire that Draco did.

He put his hand around her waist and rested his head in the wild mat of her druid hair.

"I know, heart. You will always be first. I pledged to love and cherish you, to protect and serve you, and I will never betray you."

"Harald," she whispered, tears soaking the front of his doublet.

He tried not to think about how he wished she'd said "Dyre" or how her hair should be softer and blonde.

o.O.o

Draco peered into the forest. Even in daylight, it seemed dark. He grimaced. He'd braved it at night when Dyre had disappeared in flight with the Horntail, and surely it had been a lot scarier then. But he didn't have the comfort of his father or Victor's bulk. The trees groaned, and the wild cry of bird sounded out like a woman's ghostly wail.

He swallowed. Then, with a deep breath, he braced himself and entered the forest. He skirted the fallen twigs and the over-large roots, listening for predators, the grip on his wand sweaty. The last time he was in here, he was kidnapped by a malevolent sprite and spirited to the Unseelie Court. James and Sirius had found him before he could consume the fruit, but he had never looked at a brownie or pixie the same way again.

The trees weren't as dense as he thought, but the overlap of the canopy cast everything in shadow. He knew he made too much noise, jumping at small rustles, treading through the leaves, and stepping on twigs. He searched the woods for Dyre, not daring to call out. His heart was beating much too bloody loud, drumming in his ears.

"You are ridiculous."

He screamed, frantically trying to aim his wand.

Yrsa stared down at him disdainfully from a branch from a rather unassailable-looking tree. It took him a moment of floundering to register himself. When he did, his eyes bugged.

"Why are you naked?"

"Why are you clothed?" she retorted.

Draco frowned, keeping his wand out.

"Where's Dyre?"

"Running with Loki and Levi. What are you doing here?"

He swallowed, averting his eyes. "I… I want to apologize to him."

"He will tell you to apologize to me," she said honestly.

"Yes," Draco said along his clumsy tongue. "We… we should not have assumed… We… I was just jealous."

Her eyes narrowed. "You desire my husband."

Draco clenched his fists and looked down. "I want to hear from him that he's your husband."

"You say I lie," she said with a dangerous lilt to her voice.

"I want to hear him say it," he repeated obstinately.

"What can you give him, lordling?" she glared. "Can you give him understanding? Can you heal his death? Can you protect him?"

"I… N-no," he admitted.

"You, you pretty creature, can you accept his scars?"

"Yes," he said hastily, glad to have a positive answer.

"Even the curse on his back?"

He swallowed again and looked back down. It hurt to even look at his back. He couldn't say in good faith that he would be able to accept such a thing, such a painful horror. And he had a feeling that the witch would know if he was lying.

"I want to try," he said, sounding weak even to his own ears. His meekness pissed him off. He drew himself straight, managing to met the witch with a glare. "The only person who can question my relationship with Dyre is Dyre. I don't care if you are his friend or his… wife. I won't leave until Dyre tells me to."

Yrsa jumped down. Draco gave a cry, moving to catch her. She landed spryly and Draco quickly counted the distance. It was a good forty feet. He stared at her in amazement then averted his eyes.

"Harry will always love me," she said, staring at him with dark, knowing eyes hot with resolve.

Draco felt his heart contract, his initial response to yell at her. But his initial responses, the ones prone to jealously and the one unwilling to trust Dyre well enough to ask him what he felt before drawing away, had screwed him over so far. So he counted to ten in his head.

"I really, really," he iterated rather needlessly, "don't want him to love you the way he… might… love me," he said awkwardly. He closed his eyes, relieved and scared when she did not interrupt him. "I know I can't keep him here. I mean, he… he might not want to stay anymore, if he ever did. He has to leave," he said, feeling the fight in him leave with the truth of his statement. "So I don't know why you're jealous. He has to return to you no matter what we do."

It was silent for a long while. He stared at the forest floor, repressing the urge to stumble over more silly declarations.

"Harry's skuld is already written," she said quietly. "And it is very unkind."

Draco looked up. She was looking away, biting her lips in a vulnerable way that belied her age in way that her unformed body did not.

"It is forbidden for me to have him like you can. If he sleeps with you, I will never see him again. He cannot have both us, Draco Malfoy," she said. "And you ask why I am jealous. What a cruel thing to say."

"I'm sorry," he bumbled. "I didn't mean- I didn't think. That's really screwed up," he said with an unhappy, hysterical chuckle.

"I hate you," Yrsa sobbed, holding her arms as if her stomach was threatening to cave. "I hate you so much."

"I'm sorry, Yrsa," he said again, not knowing what to do.

She sniffled, trying for some control. "If you love him, like you say you do…"

He nodded frantically. "Very much." He floundered for more words, more descriptive ways to articulate the overwhelming, aching sensation of loving Dyre Durmstrang, like he was going to explode at times and disappear at others.

"I hope he doesn't return it," she said honestly but not maliciously.

He swallowed "I hope he does."

She gave a brittle smile and wiped her face. Draco handed her a handkerchief. She accepted it, brushing the slight drizzle from her nose. She folded it and handed it back.

"How much longer are you staying?" Draco asked.

"One more night," she said. "I leave the coming morn."

"Come stay in the castle. We want to meet you. Really."

She nodded. "I would like to meet you as well. I would like to see the people that threaten to take him from me."

Draco got up off the ground, slightly surprised to realize that he had fallen to his knees. He offered her his hand, which she grasped, her fingers so small in his grip.

o.O.o

Lily gave Yrsa a big, watery hug. The girl looked surprised but patted her back. Dyre stood off to the side, not really sure how to deal with all this. Draco handled the introductions, completely at ease by her side. Dyre tried not to think about how much his smile, or the way he was so suddenly comfortable around the girl, warmed him.

It was lunch by the time Draco had taken them out of the forest, having found Yrsa's dress. Draco was skipping classes, and Dumbledore had somehow managed to find substitutes for Lily and Severus and had stolen from his desk despite Minerva's disapproval. They ate informally in the Potter's living room, Yrsa delighting in the array of foreign fruit, demanding that Dyre try the kiwi and mango as well.

Dyre kept out of the conversation and to himself for the lunch. Yrsa was talkative enough for the both of them, and he had to wonder what had led to such familiarity. She had dragged Draco down to the couch beside her and demanded the story of how they had met. As this was the first time the adults had heard the story, they gathered around the living room as well. Draco blushed and relented, adamantly not looking to the brooding boy against the wall. Yrsa smirked and flashed Dyre a dangerous grin that raised his hackles.

"Harald is always sweet to the all-sisters and all-mothers," she said, while Dyre tried to figure out where she was going with this. "Even when he did something foolish, they had a hard time punishing him. One time, All-Mother Sigyurd found him-"

Dyre vaulted the couch and slapped his hand over her mouth. The others blinked in astonishment, having never seen him react that strongly before, or so inappropriately. There was a blush on his face and a chagrined glare focused on the young witch whose eyes danced mischievously.

"Damn it, Yrsa," he cursed lowly in a resigned sort of way

She smiled against his hand.

"What happened?" Sirius asked excitedly.

"I was disillusioned in my youth," he said too quickly, keeping his hand tight on Yrsa's mouth.

"It is hardly respectable to hold your hand against a girl's mouth, is it not?" Lucius said with a slight smirk.

"Yes, Dyre," Severus joined. "It is proper to let the girl speak. I'm sure whatever mishaps your youth led you to are easily forgivable. We were all young once," he added with a grin that reminded Dyre of a jackal.

Dyre was forced to release her. She smiled sweetly and patted the seat between her and Draco. With a pained sigh, he sat on the couch. Thankfully, she didn't tell them about the minor episode he had when he was eleven, parading about the Tower in an all-sister's dress. All-Mother Sigyurd had found him before he'd done much more than enter the hall. The reprimand had been brief and half-hearted, and she had allowed him to slip away to show everyone else in the Tower, including the Maiden. He still grew red even remembering that, which Yrsa well knew.

Sirius would attempt to draw the story out of her for the entire night, which would make Dyre blush and Yrsa pretend to have forgotten. The manipulation worked and slowly Dyre engaged himself in conversation. He revealed that Yrsa had done the mangled patchwork of his cloak, which made her blush in turn and flick water in his face. They showed her their Christmas presents, which she praised with wonder, studying the blue flames in the center. She was still having a terrible time controlling glass, though she had a much more tolerable control on water than Dyre.

Draco reveled her with the tale of Dyre's defeat of Farkoff, acting it out with Sirius, who did an excellent impersonation of a flopping fish when the sword slashed across his throat. In return, Yrsa told them of when she and Dyre had stolen all the habits while the all-mothers were bathing and hidden them in the Maiden's room. The naked women had chased them about the courtyard, but the Maiden had saved them from a tanning.

They sat at the table for dinner, Dyre between Yrsa and Draco, a slight smile and a soft look in his jaded face as he tried to cut the lasagna into equal portions. They moved to an old drawing room where Dumbledore stored the piano, glasses of sherry in hand, while Severus played and Dyre danced with them all. Unlike the Yule Ball, his face was unencumbered. Yrsa was nimbly able to follow his carefree motions. They twirled neatly in and out, her laughter like music. As others joined in, she accepted Lucius' hand and Sirius eagerly went to meet Dyre. Yrsa moved on to Remus and Dyre took Draco.

His emerald eye, just a tad darker than his mother's, sparkled like the bottom of a pond.

o.O.o

Dyre and Yrsa declined rooms for the night. The adults retired, but the three youngest stayed the night before the fire in Lily's foyer. Yrsa sat on Dyre's lap, an introspective look in her gaze. Dyre too was staring into the fire, lost in the warm waves. Draco had eyes only for the northman.

He was beautiful with a smile on his face. Draco had thought the darkness, the sober chill that surrounded him like a fortress, was what made him beautiful. That mysterious, unapproachable quality like a tempting Dark spell. But it wasn't. Dyre's beauty shone even through that. Beneath the hardness was something soft, something kind and true, a wicked lovely like monkshood. Something gorgeous blue, hanging beneath the hood of a dewy habit, that only when consumed was poison.

o.O.o

Morning placed them at the shore. The hour was early enough that the light from the sun was still white. A mist rolled over the Great Lake. The skiff, manned by a single youth who looked eager to be on his way, rocked in the soft lapping of the waves. Yrsa stood with her back to the lake, the wind creating a wilder ruckus of her hair.

Dyre met her gaze, neither one of them knowing what to say. He handed her a bundle, two of the books that Lily had promised to deliver to the Maiden – one on African flora and the other on butterflies. She stared at them a long moment.

"You are not coming back."

He stared down at the top of her head. She fingered the wrinkled paper that protected the bundle. Her nail flicked a corner with a slight crinkle. She sucked in her breath and looked up.

"Kiss me," she demanded.

"Yrsa-"

"I will never receive another kiss in my life," she said, her eyes hard and teary. "Just one."

He moved forward toward her cheek, but Yrsa stopped him with her finger. He looked at her in confusion.

"Like you would kiss him," she said, gesturing to Draco with her chin.

Dyre froze. He looked back to Draco, whose expression was frozen as well. His gaze went quickly to Dyre's, and the Norse man was forced to turn away.

"Please, Harry," she said softly. "Just once."

And because he had never been able to deny her anything, he tried to banish the pain from his face and closed his eyes. He pictured Draco. He thought about how he smiled, how he laughed, the foggy mist of grey that rose in his eyes when he was aroused. He thought of the emotion that swarmed him, the impulse to pick up his fingers and deliver a kiss to the back of his knuckles, the warm pride when Draco trusted him to return from battle alive, when he ran his knuckles over the scar on his face.

He kissed her, stealing the slight exhalation from her lips, and he could pretend that it was Draco. He could remember the way it felt to have him rise up to meet him, to know that at least some of his feelings were returned. The skin, the warmth, the movement that identified a living being, with a will beautiful and independent, choosing to believe in him, choosing to be with him.

He didn't have to pretend that Yrsa's jaw was stronger or that her mouth was more experienced. He didn't have to imagine that her hair should be softer and shorter. It was not that far a stretch to release the burning ache that existed for Draco onto the girl. Even if it only existed for a moment, he could imagine that this was Draco and that this would be the way he wanted to kiss him if they could never see each other again.

He broke away. He took a step away from Yrsa, who had her eyes closed in an almost peaceful expression ruined by the tears running down her cheeks. She remained on her tiptoes. She lowered herself, pressing her fingers to her lips. Dyre looked away.

Yrsa remained silent for a long moment, and he knew that she was watching him, waiting, hoping for some sort of acknowledgement. She turned away and climbed into the boat. The oarsman pushed them into the water. They floated out, following the current until the boy started to row. Karkaroff's ship was in the middle of the lake. From there, she would Floo to the antechamber of the Tower to be purified before entering the sanctum.

She sat with her back to them. Dyre passed his hand over his eyes, fighting the urge to call out to her or follow her into the lake. Suddenly, Yrsa stood, unbalancing the skiff. The boy shouted, releasing the oars to grab onto the sides of the boat. Yrsa ignored him, jumped into the lake. Hiking up her dress, she ran across the surface of the water, tears streaming heavily down her face. Dyre stepped into the lake to catch her as she catapulted herself the last yard.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Harry," she sobbed, burying her face in his cloak.

Dyre couldn't speak. He held her tightly, pressing his cheek against her wild hair. His grip must have hurt. It must be leaving bruises, but he couldn't move. He couldn't do anything more than press his eyes shut and return the love that belonged to her and her alone.

"I'll watch over you," she said wetly. "I'll weave you a happy ending. I promise."

With a firm push, she tore herself away and ran back onto the lake. Dyre watched her go, not moving forward and not crying out, his arms left outstretched. She ignored the boat. The water rose around her, skirting at her ankles then weaving in thick coils around her shoulders. She did not look back this time. The swirling waters clashed in a peak and fell, revealing the empty space where all of the girl that remained was a single ripple.

Dyre remained in the water, the edge lapping at his shoes, and eventually his arms fell to his side.

"Dyre?" Draco called at last when he continued to stare out onto the water.

He turned away from them, shifting into a black hart. Two hellhounds joined him at the edge of the forest. They howled, turning their blood cold before disappearing with him into the wood.