AN: Finally! I got this updated. I didn't want to send an author's note instead of a chapter because I hate when other authors do that. Long story short, several things happened. I'm the president of a club and had to organize an anime convention trek for some twenty-odd students to Atlanta (nightmare), I changed computers (also a nightmare but on a lesser scale), and I applied for study abroad at my college (about equal nightmare to the anime con trip).

Suffice to say, I have been annoyingly busy this year and had no time to edit my work. I am deeply frustrated with this story and where it's going. Now, I'm trying to minimize the useless angst, quite the endeavor in most fanfics. Oh, right.

warning! male/male sex!

Yes, I finally did it. Please enjoy this chapter. I'm going through massive editing so I don't know when the next chapter will be out. I seriously doubt it will take as long as this one did, for which I apologize.

Onwards!

I want

to leap past gestures

we know, to savor cin-

namon, eat crushed thyme

and fall, locked, with you

through that kingdom

of exhaustion, wet

breathing nerve-and-sinew

wisdom, burning the gods.

~ "Hubris" by Robert Peters

Draco lied against Dyre's chest, his arms wrapped around his torso. His parents said no too. Dyre could see it on his face - the shame, anger and hurt added to a downcast look as if he expected Dyre to be angry with him.

Dyre had taken his face in his hands and kissed him, something smooth to equate the pounding pressed against the palm on his chest. They were in Dyre's mostly unused room, lying atop the covers though it was already midnight. Dyre ran his fingers through Draco's hair, marveling at how close they were and how pleasant it was simply to be there together.

"We could elope," Draco said suddenly, softly.

Dyre looked down at the top of his head. "That… is not what I want," he said carefully, unused to voicing such things.

Draco looked up at him, then nestling closer.

"I'm scared," he whispered so finely Dyre almost didn't hear.

He pressed his fingers into his scalp. "I know."

"That's it," Draco said. "You just know."

Dyre drew his fingers out of his hair.

"Don't-" Draco started. "No, please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get angry."

Dyre gave him an odd look. "You are entitled to your emotions, Draco."

"How can you be so- Aren't you affected? Don't you want to scream or hurl something against the wall or, or, I don't know, something?"

Dyre stared at the wall as if Draco had actually thrown something, a strange look on his face, before he turned back to him.

"What will happen will happen."

"But you're not going to die?" the blond said almost before he finished.

Dyre's lips parted for a moment, his brow crinkled. He touched the corner of Draco's eye lightly, hating the glossy shimmer.

"I promise I will return to you."

"R-return," he repeated, shaking his head. "What does that mean?"

He grabbed Draco's arms, staring at him fiercely. "This will not be easy. I will not die in the manner that you speak, but I might have to leave for a time."

"Leave? Leave where? Go where?"

He brushed back his hair. "Draco, trust me. Everything will be alright. This will not last eternity. I will not die."

Draco continued to stare at him, lost, and Dyre pressed their foreheads together. "No one else needs to believe me besides you. I can prove myself to all of them, but please," he begged unabashedly. "Be scared. Be angry. It's fine. It's fine, Draco."

Draco pushed him back into the mattress, grabbing the front of his doublet and straddling him. Their foreheads knocked awkwardly, but they both ignored the smart.

"I… I need- Merlin, so stupid," he chided himself.

"You know I will give you whatever you want."

"Do you even know what you're saying?" Draco asked breathlessly. "Do you even know how two men have sex?"

Dyre's silence gave him an answer. Draco drew away, sitting at the edge of the bed.

"You don't want to rush."

Dyre remained still beside him. Slowly, he reached over and rested his fingers against Draco's back. The touch was light, caressing him like he might a bird. There was flesh beneath his fingers, and he startled when he realized the obvious fact that Draco had a body, a human body like all other men. But it was Draco, and when he touched him, it was because he wanted to.

"Tonight or ten years from now," he said softly. "I will never rush the way I touch you."

Draco made a straggled sound. "You… you are too damn good. How do you even come up with shite like that?"

Dyre frowned, his fingers stilling. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I think that's part of the problem," Draco grumbled. He turned to look at him from beneath his palm. "You are amazingly sweet for a cursed assassin."

Dyre gave him a startled look before he started laughing. "And you are very considerate for an arrogant prince."

Draco made an expression as if trying to decide whether or not to be affronted. Dyre smiled, leaning up further. His hands went to his face, forcing his chin up slightly.

"I will marry you, Draco Malfoy, and we will live together. You won't be alone."

Draco choked. "I won't forgive you if you're lying."

Dyre nodded in understanding.

Draco licked his lips. "Do you really not know how men have sex with each other?"

Dyre's smile was not embarrassed. Calloused fingers moved over Draco's face.

"Would you like to teach me?"

Draco gaped at him for a moment. Hesitantly, he moved to straddle Dyre's waist again. The northman sunk further into the folded sheets, allowing Draco to tower over him. Draco touched the collar holding his doublet together and looked into his uncovered eye.

The green was burning, dark with promise. Its intensity caught his breath. He swallowed, and his fingers fumbled at the clasp.

"Fuck," he cursed, lying out across him. "I'm nervous now."

Dyre's arms rested lightly on his hips. "Do you hear my heart?"

"Yes," the boy answered softly.

"How does it sound?"

Draco listened the wet thump, feeling the motions of his lungs in slow work.

"Nice," he said at length.

"Do not think that anything you might do won't be beautiful to me. I trust you."

"What if I do something that you don't like?" he said quickly, leaning up to look at him.

"Draco," he said with a tone that told him he thought the blond was being silly. "You have been nothing but considerate to me since we met. It is not in your nature to want to harm me."

"Accidents happen," he argued stubbornly.

"What do you want, Draco? What do you think is best right now?"

Draco gave an irritated grunt. "What do you want?" he threw back.

Dyre was silent a moment, thinking, and Draco tried to wait patiently.

"I want to feel you. I want to know what faces you'll make while you're being pleasured, and I want you to look at me like I'm the only one who will see such things."

Draco moaned, fisting his doublet. Who the hell knew dirty talk could be so sweet? He wet his mouth.

"I think I can do that."

"You will have to tell me how," Dyre reminded him.

Draco's groin tightened, and he stifled the urge to rub against him.

"You need to take off my pants," he said breathlessly.

His hands moved and he spoke, "Lean up."

Draco obeyed, shutting his eyes. He went to all fours atop him, breathing heavily and slightly embarrassed. Dyre worked at the clasp of his belt, hands steady. Draco clenched his abdomen, followed quickly by his jaw and fingers. Dyre had leaned up to tug them down, and it allowed their chests to come in contact. Draco expelled his breath violently, feeling unsoundly sensitive. He felt Dyre smile into his hair, taking a moment merely to press together innocently.

He lied back down, and Draco kicked off his trousers, joining him, though now his unclothed erection rubbed against Dyre's garments.

"Do you know how to stretch?"

He didn't need to look to feel Dyre's confusion. He grabbed the boy's shoulders and moved up a little.

"Put your finger in behind me. Slowly," he added. "Otherwise it will hurt."

Dyre did as commanded, adding kisses to his neck. Draco reached to the bedside where he kept his wand and muttered a spell that coated Dyre's fingers in oil. Dyre paused for a second then continued. He circled the entrance, waiting for the jumps and involuntary clenches to fade and for Draco to make a low, heady groan. He pushed in without resistance, feeling Draco's muscles relax familiarly with the presence.

The angle was awkward, and he had to sit them up slightly. Draco rose to his knees, hands on the headboard, face meshed with conflicting sensations. Dyre thrust in and out of his own resolve, watching him.

"O… ok. N-now another."

It was tight this time and slightly difficult. Dyre didn't try to force it, waiting after a contraction to press forward. Draco hummed, sweat gathering on his forehead. He kept his eyes closed so he didn't have to watch Dyre watching him.

"Now… now you have to… have to stretch it."

"May I flip us?" he asked politely.

Draco nodded enthusiastically, gripping his shoulder. He made the motion quick. Draco's legs spread accommodatingly, falling to either side of him. He threw his head back, exposing the long line of his pale throat. Reading his need, he made the thrusts harder, turning and twisting his fingers as he scissored. Draco rutted against him, kicking his heels for more momentum and slipping on the sheets. He lifted his hips. Dyre's other hand smoothed up his sides, exposing his chest. His fingers seemed fascinated with the spasms in his muscles. He didn't even seem to think that Draco might want that attention on his cock.

"Another," he ordered/begged in a tight, breathless voice.

Dyre pushed in a third finger, spreading the oil generously. Draco's legs clamped around him and turned them. The blond fumbled with the laces of the doublet, abandoned them half undone and reached for his trousers. Dyre allowed himself to be undressed, aiding only in lifting his hips when Draco demanded they be tugged down. He took his erection in hand, coating his hand in the lucrative oil seeping out his passage.

Dyre's breath hissed, and he twitched, hand grasping Draco at the bend in his knee. The blond leaned up, guiding the erection behind him.

"Ready?" he said shakily.

Dyre scooted down a little further in response, allowing him more room to sit. Draco gave a beautiful, breathless smile and eased himself over the head. Dyre swallowed convulsively, his muscles tensing. He thrust upward, and Draco rode the movement, too soon to have all of his cock in him. Hands scattered around them. They panted. Draco remained seated, adjusting to the feel. Dyre shook his head.

"I need more. Would it…" he trailed in Icelandic and had to shake his head, "Hurt? You?"

After a moment, Draco shook his head. Dyre, in a rare moment of boldness, sat up quickly. He pushed Draco backward on the mattress, and the slight yelp turned into a crass scream. Muscles quivered around him, chests heaving. Dyre gave a small thrust, and Draco's own erection jumped. He garbled out the boy's name, eyes closed and moaning wantonly.

It did hurt, but he wasn't going to tell him. It felt good too. He'd been celibate since before the Durmstrang ship landed. While that meant that his muscles were unused and un-stretched, it meant also that the feeling of having a body between his legs was like bliss. And that it was Dyre… He tried to grab the boy's hips but shuddered, out of practice and lacking the strength. He grabbed his cock instead. The touch made him release a wasted groan.

Dyre gave a grunt, but it still wasn't enough. Gently, fingers twitching, he coaxed Draco onto his side. The boy followed, yearning for more friction. Careful to remain sheathed, he drew the boy's leg over his shoulder. Draco eyes jerked to him in surprise, but he braced himself for those last few centimeters, tilting his hips.

Dyre rolled forward on his knees and sighed.

"I'm in you," Dyre whispered, in awe.

"I feel it," he panted in return.

The pain was a wicked throb. He didn't think anyone had ever been this deep before. He didn't know anyone who wanted to be, and never assumed that it was pleasant. It was impossible for Dyre to hit his prostate at this length and angle but the feeling itself, the oh-my-god, filled-to-the-brim wonder of lying together like this made him want to cry. He could feel himself gaping, his muscles working and failing to make sense of it. He couldn't move.

"Are you alright?" Dyre asked, somehow controlling the urge to roll into him.

He spoke and the sound didn't come up. "M-hmm," he said, after a second try. He rested his cheek on the comforter, awash in the shivers and twitches his body was making. His hand fisted, fingers scattering over his erection. "I'm fine," he whispered. "I'm fine." Though the pain jumped like a rubber ball inside him.

Dyre rolled his hips, delivering a jab that made Draco shudder. The brunet turned his face, kissing the milky inside of the exposed thigh on his shoulder. Draco suddenly felt something hot coil in him, like a heated, metallic snake in his groin.

"What is that?" he said, voice cracking.

"Minn... my magick," Dyre said, adding a slow roll.

Draco bit off what he was going to say when it climbed upward to his spine in a strange tingle, and he even released his prick in shock. The coiling pooled in places and tightened in others, mixing in a strange whirlpool too difficult to describe. Pleasure struck at him like a hammer at an anvil. He jerked, crying out, only to pant, releasing a line of spit, a moment later.

"You are part of me," Dyre said, rolling his hips evenly now, making them bounce. A spike brought tears to Draco's eyes. "That part, my core."

"Your core?" Draco whimpered.

The magic entered him in an electric rush. Precum shot through the tip of his erection.

"I share magic, this deep," Dyre told him, his voice a shudder.

"Merlin," Draco muttered, burying his face in the covers.

He wouldn't be able to ride this much longer. He should have guessed that Dyre's endurance to pain would extend to pleasure as well. He knew enough of human anatomy to hit all the pleasure sensors with his magic, spacing strokes so it didn't drive him insane or make him pass out.

"Dyre," he tried to say. "I can't-"

Dyre came with a growl, and the magic flared to the point of pain. Draco cried out and climaxed after him. Dots ran on his vision, spots he hadn't seen since he had lost his virginity. He felt and heard Dyre pull out but was asleep before the sensation stopped.

o.O.o

Draco awoke to the feeling of Dyre cleaning the space between his thighs. The skin tingled, and he suspected Dyre had added a numbing mixture to the washcloth. (Thank all graces.) He had known the intrusion would have laid him in bed for a while, but the notable lack of pain was unbelievable. Even the throbbing was dulled.

"How are you feeling?" Dyre asked, clothed in nothing but his johns.

Draco smiled, not even bothering trying to move. "Sated."

Dyre gave him a soft smile.

"You're possessive," Draco noted absently, reaching to tug fondly at his hair.

Dyre paused and looked up at him.

"I am," he acknowledged.

Draco smirked, dropping his hand with an exhausted sigh. "I'm really popular. You might have to fight for me."

Dyre quirked his brow. "It is fortunate that I am a good warrior."

Draco felt the pride in his voice and felt like he had become a part of it. It was a new sensation, something he had never thought of before. Pride seemed to him a creature of solitude, making barriers and raising wars like a dragon with a pot of gold. Pride was not something that extended its reach beyond its wall. Except, it seemed, with Dyre, whose soft smolder might have stoked armies or a single, defiant heart.

He raised his arms, needing to touch him. Dyre obliged, setting aside the cloth and water, and Draco marveled at how he made that too seem like a touch of magic. Dyre climbed up to him, settled him in his lap. Draco could feel the ridges of the curse through his thin shirt and allowed his fingers to follow outside the lines instead of avoid them .Dyre didn't even flinch.

"You'll be here to fight them," he said, lying his head on his shoulder, his bottom beginning to burn warmly. He stroked his back, memorizing his jaw before touching at his strong face. "We're going to get married and run an empire and find an heir and grow old together."

"Yes," Dyre said with so much emotion that he hissed. He closed his gaze, resting his chin over Draco's head.

Draco nodded, and for some reason, it brought tears to his eyes. Of course, they wouldn't fall.

"I'll wait for you then. Wherever you are going, if I cannot follow, I will wait, and you'll come back to me." He leaned back. "You'd better come back to me," he warned. "I'll kill you. I swear on the name of my magic, I'll kill if you don't, Dyre."

The brightness in his eyes was burning, Dyre thought. As fiercely as liquid sun. It was true, he didn't have to pretend that Draco was a warrior. He conducted battles differently, with all the strength of violent and vengeful hellspawn. It's strength was laid bare in blue deserts, as entrancing and dangerous as glass.

If betrayed, this boy would search hell for him and kill him. Fierce and unforgiving as a harpy.

"I love you," Dyre said, staring into those fathomless acres, hopeless and homeless in the world.

He looked shocked that his threat had been met with such declaration, but there was no injured pride, as if he understood exactly how he stood in Dyre's eyes. Such confidence, my starling.

"I love you too, Dyre." He touched his hand, finding the fear equal to the bliss in his statement.

o.O.o

Dumbledore's office was already filled when they took the seats at the couch. No one save Dumbledore looked particularly happy, and even the old man looked slightly strained, his robes lacking any sort of flourish. He was sitting in a common kitchen chair across the coffee table with nothing to hide the motions of his hands or lean over.

"How are you feeling, Dyre?" he asked.

Dyre's gaze stayed on the wizard as he surreptitiously rubbed his thumb over Draco's hand. "Quite well, Headmaster, though you could have asked me that without calling a meeting," he said kindly.

The old man smiled. "I still enjoy some pleasantries, my boy."

Rather than letting it upset him (like it would normally), he inclined his head. "Then, how are you feeling, Headmaster? Have you finished preparing for the third task?"

"Enough," Severus snapped. His glare bored into Dyre. "Do you even realize the gravity of your situation?"

Dumbledore raised his hand to cover his mouth. "I'm actually feeling quite my age recently," he said honestly. He gave another tired smile. "I appreciate that you would ask."

"You're welcome, sir," Dyre said. He turned to Severus. "Yes."

"Yes?" the man snapped. "Yes what?"

"Yes, I likely know much more than you how serious the circumstances have become."

"Well, by all means share," the man said through gritted teeth.

Dyre sighed. He gave a glance to Draco, who wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for but gave his hand a squeeze anyway.

"I cannot."

Severus immediately began yelling. Dyre bore it until Dumbledore and Lily could calm him, which only took as much time as Severus took to realize that Dyre was unfazed.

"You arrogant…"

"Severus," Draco cut off. He met his godfather's eyes.

Severus sniffed but calmed. Dyre suffered the hostility by staring at a space on the floor, but Draco didn't think he'd really heard most of what Severus had said.

"Do you have a plan?" Remus asked when no one else took the burden.

Dyre blinked and looked up. "Plan?" His lip curled in disgust, and he looked away again, shutting his eyes.

"I have asked you not to believe the Norns. I know now that this is too difficult, but I say it again." He looked up defiantly. "They twist their riddles. Even their secrets have secrets, and whatever we divine of them is only half an understanding of the gods. That's why we leave weaving to All-Mothers," he added a tad spitefully. He shut his eyes. "Whatever I plan now, it cannot go against what they have weaved."

"Then you will die," Sirius choked.

"Dyre," Albus said. He soothed his voice, but it remained sad and weary. "It's not worth your life."

Unexpectedly, Dyre smiled. "Thank you, but you seemed to have yet again conveniently disregarded half of what I have said." His tone broached amusement, making it sound less like a reprimand and more like a bitter joke. "The fact remains, that you think of me as a child and my word is untrustworthy."

No one spoke, and Draco squeezed his hand.

"I will met my Fate," Dyre said at last.

"No," Lily whispered. She leaned even further forward, almost falling off the seat, and stared at Dyre with bright fern-gully eyes. "No, you'll do no such thing. You are going to leave here. Go someplace where it's safe."

"Where would you have me go? The stretch of Volde-" He cut off, closing his eyes.

The room went quiet again, watching him. Some in confusion and other in much more, painful knowledge.

"You can't say his name anymore, can you?" Dumbledore said.

He ignored him. "His magic spans the continent."

She licked her lips. "Then leave the continent. Go to the Tower," she said. "It will be safe there. We'll find some way to null the contract."

Dyre was already shaking his head. "I can't go there."

"If this is about your being a warrior," James said, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder, "you're the best warrior I've ever seen."

"No," he said firmly, cutting him off with a raised hand. "I mean I can no longer enter the Tower."

"Wha-" he floundered. Then as if on cue, they looked to Draco.

The blond tightened the grip on their hands and raised his chin defiantly.

"What have you done?" Lucius whispered, his wife staring pale.

"What you all are incapable of doing," Draco said proudly. "I believe in him."

"My god, Draco. This is foolishness," Severus said, breathless.

"I love him," Draco said, glaring back unashamed.

"Love isn't always enough," Narcissa said gently. Her eyes buried themselves into his, like knifes.

Draco shuddered. "But sometimes it is. I love him," he said, facing her. "I'm not leaving him alone."

"You are our son!" Lucius shouted, losing his decorum. He took a step forward as if to wrench Draco away. Dyre twitched but did not move. "Would you have us lose both our sons?"

Draco's resolve almost broke, but he bore through it, not looking away. "Father, this is right. It's all I can do. Would you truly order me away?" he asked. "I would not do it," he said in outright disobedience.

"Draco-" he started angrily.

"I will not," he snapped, rage following the grief on his face as he faced his father. "You did not raise me to fear the future. It is mine! It is what I make of it! And I chose Dyre."

Lucius' gaze flickered to him then back to his son, falling in vengeance to the simple fears of a father.

"If the boy dies, you will regret this."

Draco gave a small, bitter smile. "If he dies, there is nothing I will not regret. No matter what I do."

Silence fell once more, and Lucius backed away. Narcissa sighed shakily.

"I am proud of you, Draco. For all that it pains me."

He nodded without words.

"Madness," Severus whispered, hanging his head in his hands so his oily hair fell to either side of his face, hiding his expression.

"Perhaps once I could have run," Dyre said, thinking of the unweaved roads. "But he would follow now. Even if I kill myself-"

"Say that again," Draco said, crushing his hand. "And I'll strike you."

Dyre frowned but nodded. "I cannot run from this. This is the meaning of Prophecy."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Some liken prophecy to disease. It takes hold of something inside you and forces you to events."

"It is more complicated than that," Dyre said. "They have wills. They want things. Their greatest desire is irony."

"Irony?" Sirius repeated, confusion.

Dyre summoned two soldiers from Dumbledore's chess set. "They speak of twos. Not opposites so much as twins, as different as they are the same."

"This is you and Voldemort," James said, watching the figures.

"You are nothing like him," Sirius argued.

Dyre stared at him. Sirius shivered. Gently, Dyre caressed the dark piece, a slight weight in his hand.

"I was offered to him because we are similar. Though I do not know how." He set the pawn down next to its brother. "He craves power, and he used me as a catalyst. I was to be a vassal, a pawn he could use as he saw fit. I was to be his mirror. A reflection of ambitions."

He knocked the white pawn down. "Perhaps he knew that we would both die and that was the sacrifice he made. Perhaps he didn't. How that night works in our Fate, I still do not know. He was barred from the world, and I was given time. None of this was an accident." He pushed the black soldier down as well. "Not by Fate. I do not believe such a thing as my life is so simple."

"What," Lily whispered, her head in her hands, "About any any of this, has been simple?"

"The world feeds a monster," Dyre said. "The world bears a hero. Hero defeats monster, but in doing so forsakes his life." He closed his eyes, a frown etched on his face. When he opened them, they blazed with amazing strength on his mother. "Why not let us both die that night? Why not let a child's purity vanquish an evil? It is never that simple."

"Why did it have to be you?" James cried, his tears in his throat rather than his eyes. "Why you when it could have been anybody?" he yelled.

"Because I chose to bear it."

James stared at him. Dyre's face revealed nothing but determination, without fear, without doubt or qualm. Though that too had to be some sort of mask.

"I chose right now," he said when Lily and Sirius opened their mouths. "I was chosen for this task. It doesn't matter if it was unfair to ask of me. Tragedy comes to everyone. No one asks for it. Still, they must chose to bear it. That's all we can do."

Do you think I would ask you to bear this, his eyes seemed to say. Do you think I would ask this of Draco, of you, of her, of anyone who loves me? Didn't I tell you to abandon me?

His face softened. "So easy, you could have never known me. If I had stayed in Iceland," he said, looking away to the north. He could almost feel the burn of its air, white in his breath. "All the times I thought of fleeing into the forest while Karkaroff's eye was no longer on me. How would the weave have made us then? Strangers on opposite sides of a war."

"At least we wouldn't know," Sirius said.

"Yes, you wouldn't know. You wouldn't know it was your son who bled you. What would you care if a stranger with a familiar face murdered your comrades? You would have your doubts, but what would it matter while I stood at the Dark Lord's side?"

Sirius flinched and looked away.

Leopold fluttered into the room and landed on his shoulder. It chirped and flew to sit on the perch beside Dumbledore's phoenix, which regarded it with bewildered curiosity.

"About the prophecy," Dumbledore said, changing tacts. "What can you tell us of this trickster?

He shook his head. "It is an old tale. The god Loki felled the god of beauty Baldar with a can of mistletoe, the only thing in the world that refused to love him. The tale involves donning guises, but outside the realm of our lore..." He held out his hands. "I cannot tell you."

"What, you can't divine him?" Severus said scathingly.

Dyre was silent a moment, frowning before he clicked his fingers. "Mordant. I've been trying to find that word the moment I met you. You are mordant."

Dumbledore chuckled. "He is quite," he said, ignoring the master's glower. "Is there nothing else you can tell us?"

"I've thought of it." He gave the headmaster a coy look. "As you have as well. I assume we came to the same conclusion."

Dumbledore leaned back, some of the weariness draining from his face for the first of the evening. "I believe so."

"And of course, you must confer among yourselves rather then give such fickle information to us lowly servants," Severus quipped, folding his arms.

"I do so cherish him," Albus informed Dyre pithily. Severus hit the table.

"I'm rather surprised you haven't come to the same conclusion, Master Potions-Maker," Dyre told him.

Severus blinked, but it only took him a moment. "Polyjuice? Someone's been under polyjuice."

Dyre nodded. "That's the conclusion I came to, but it might still be wrong. Mistletoe is an ingredient, but it mentions nothing of the love in the tale. But that might not even be important." He shook his head in exasperation and stood.

"Where are you going?" James and Sirius demanded at the same time.

"The inner workings of the school and its wards are not my domain." He reached for Draco's hand. "I promised Draco dinner."

Draco gave a preening smile, no shadow of the discussion falling over his face. Dyre loved him a little more.

Severus frowned fiercely at the display, turning his back.

"You aren't leaving the grounds, are you?" Lily asked.

Dyre shook his head. "I have an arrangement with the house elves to use the kitchen."

"However did you manage?" Dumbledore asked. "The head elf is always adamant about keeping me out of the stores."

He gave a secretive smile. "A servant recognizes a fellow servant."

He left Draco by the door to turn to Lily. He bent down and pecked her cheek.

"You can survive this madness," he whispered in her ear. "You are forever loved, Lily."

He returned to Draco's side, and they left their startled audience behind.