Strange how I fit into you

There's a distance erased with the greatest of ease

Strange how you fit into me

A gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs

And with each passing day

The stories we say

Draw us tighter in our addiction

Confirm our conviction

That some kind of miracle passed on our heads

-Vienna Teng

"Harry?" Hermione squeaked once more, her voice tight with a barely reined emotion. "What's going on here?"

Harry stirred uncomfortably beneath her gaze. "Well—er—you see—"

"What are you doing here, Granger?" Draco voiced snappishly. "You look like shit by the way."

To be frank, Harry agreed with him. Her normally well-kept hair was bushed and mousy, and hung in greasy tendrils over her shoulders. She wore old tattered clothes—probably belonging to Ron—that were draped limply over her shoulders and hips. Her skin was overly pale, and dark circles were cratered beneath her murky cinnamon eyes. In a nutshell, yes, Hermione Granger looked like shit.

She glared over at Draco. "It's none of your business why I'm here, Malfoy," she spat unkindly. Her glare moved towards Harry, but on the way, caught sight of something glinting in the moonlight. She sprung forward wildly. "The wand!" Hermione pricked the Elder Wand from the Hogwarts lawn. "What the hell is it doing on the ground? Harry! What is going on here? Why is Malfoy here? And what in Merlin's name were you doing with him when—"

"Hermione," Harry said gently, stepping forward with his arms held up defensively. He barely recognized this girl in front of him—it wasn't like Hermione to yell. "It's alright. Calm down. Let's just go back to Grimmauld Place and I'll explain everything."

She looked both of the boys over once more before muttering an apprehensive, "Fine." Hermione made her way over to Dumbledore's grave, where she wordlessly set the wand back in its proper place. "I can't believe you, Harry," she hissed at him under her breath as she passed him.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but a subtle jerk of Harry's head was enough to silence him. It was unwise to mess with Hermione when she was in a mood.

Less than ten minutes later, the three found themselves perched on the front steps of number twelve Grimmauld Place. Harry mumbled the password and opened the door for Hermione. She swept through with a cold, detached silence.

Harry and Draco exchanged a look. The Slytherin's pale brows were knitted firmly together. "I wonder what has Granger's panties in such a bunch." Draco stepped in after her, leaving Harry blushing in the doorway. He had at least one idea what had Hermione so bothered. By Merlin! He couldn't believe she had caught them together like that.

He entered the house with a feeling that could only be described as absolute dread. Hermione waited for him in the entryway, passing the time by glaring daggers at Draco. "I want to talk to you alone, Harry."

"What for?"

"In the kitchen," she ordered. "Now." Then she turned on her heel and stormed off down the hall.

The firmness of a hand on Harry's arm made his head turn. Grey eyes met him, dark and foreboding. "Quite the bossy little Gryffindor isn't she? I'll come with you if you want."

"No. It's alright."

"You sure?"

Harry sighed heavily, his eyes drifting across the overcast hallway. "Yeah. She's…I'll handle it."

Draco's hand gave a soft, almost imperceptible, squeeze before it fell silently to his side. "I'll be upstairs then."

All Harry could do was nod and watch him as he turned and disappeared up the stairs. It wasn't until he heard a door open and close up above that he thought to move. With a deep breath and nerves curdling in his stomach, he marched into the kitchen.

Hermione was standing hunched over the table, tapping her fingers irately against the wood in the same way that she did when she was dealing with a particularly hard Arithmancy problem. In the light of the fire that was burning at the room's edge, she looked even worse. The flickering glow drew harsh shadows over the thin bones of the face, and the ridge of her spine looked oddly sharp. "Herm?" it was both a question and an announcement of his presence.

She turned slowly, running a shaky hand through her mess of hair. "Harry I—I'm sorry I yelled at you like that—before I mean. I don't know what it is lately."

"It's alright," he replied truthfully.

"I was just so scared," she continued absently, her eyes jumping around the room, looking anywhere but at him, "when the alarms went off." At Harry's confused expression she launched into a quick-tongued explanation. "I put alarms on the wards we set up around Dumbledore's grave, just as an extra precaution. No sense in not being careful. But when the alarms told me Malfoy was there I—I just—freaked."

Harry frowned. "It's understandable."

Her eyes gave a sudden jerk before finally freezing on him. "What were you doing with him anyway?"

"Huh?" Harry's stomach fluttered violently at the sudden change in Hermione's demeanor.

"When I got there," Hermione lifted her chin skeptically, "it looked almost as if you were…about to kiss him." Her lips pursed strangely.

"Ah—well you see—about that—"

"And why did were you even there in the first place?" she asked, her cheeks growing bright with feeling. "Especially with Malfoy! Don't you realize what a danger this poses? He knows where the wand is now, Harry! We may have to move it! Set up new protective wards and spells! Maybe even obliviate him! What were you thinking?"

Harry's shoulders sagged heavily. There was no getting around it. "It was the only thing we could think of," he began gingerly, "that could break the spell."

Hermione's gaze sharpened, honing in on him. "What spell?"

Harry bit his lip, feeling as if his toes were teetering over the edge of a cliff. "A love spell?"

Color drained from Hermione's already sallow cheeks. "Is that a question?"

"No?"

"Harry!"

"Okay! Okay. Yes, there was a love spell. I was under it, and Malfoy was the—er—the person who, well, I…you know…" Harry flushed, feeling his entire body grow hot.

"How?"

"What?"

"How did you get cursed by a spell like that?" Hermione asked, her voice thin. "Love spells are very different than the potion variety. That's dark magic, Harry. Really dark."

"It was…" Harry floundered.

"Did Malfoy curse you?"

"No! No, Hermione…" He could feel her understanding slipping through his fingers like water. "We think the spell was on Malfoy's front gate."

"The front gate?" Hermione's brows drew together as she shifted her weight. "Did you touch it?"

"I—well, yes." Apparently, Harry had missed the memo about not touching gates. It seemed to be common knowledge that it was dangerous.

"You thick-brained…" Hermione shook her head. "How long were you under the spell?" The question was like a wasp's sting.

Harry lowered his gaze. "Nearly two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Yes, but everything is fine now! The spell is gone."

"It's...gone? Are you sure?"

Harry nodded, wishing that his chest didn't feel so tight. It was starting to get hard to breathe.

"Why didn't you come and tell us?" Hermione asked, charging towards him. "We could've helped you! A love spell? Merlin, Harry! Do you know how rare those types of things are? How hard they are to reverse?" Hermione turned her back towards him. "Only a select few Ministry officials have access to the details on those sorts of spells. How in the world…" she trailed off, her eyes hazing in thought.

"But it's over now," Harry assured her once more. "It's done."

She craned her neck to face him once more, every line in her face creased. "Why didn't you tell us, Harry?"

"I didn't—well I thought—I thought that you just blame Draco for the whole thing. Hermione, you know what Ron's been like."

"That's no excuse. Ron has been trying to protect you. You know that."

Harry crossed the room in three short strides, and gently laid his hands on her shoulders. They felt unnaturally frail beneath his palms. "I'm so sorry, Hermione," he whispered.

Her muscles tensed and relaxed in rapid succession beneath his touch. "It also sounds like you don't know if Malfoy really did it or not—"

"Hermione," Harry breathed, his voice pleading. "Please don't start on this again."

"But we had that fight when you were under a spell," she replied, ever practical. "Harry, what if he's the one who did this in order to—"

Harry squeezed Hermione's shoulders. "He didn't."

"But what if—"

"He didn't, Hermione," he insisted, a note of finality in his voice.

Hermione's eyes glistened in the firelight, the jut of her chin growing sharp. He could see the disagreement wading just beneath the surface of her features. But there was something else too…a different kind of trepidation.

"Hermione?"

She backed away from him, her bushy hair swaying over her shoulders as she shook her head.

"Hermione? What is it?"

"I—I don't know. It's…" She looked at him with pinched lips. "Things have just been very strange since you've been gone. But it's probably just my imagination. I shouldn't—"

Harry pressed forward. "What's been strange?"

Her brow wrinkled as she folded her arms. Her entire body seemed to be caving in on itself. "Just…things…" Her eyes misted further. "After the attack at the Burrow—I don't know—everything has just felt…off. I can't tell you how many Aurors have tried and failed to figure out what happened. All they could tell us was that the magical signature was old…like, really old, Harry. Over half a century old."

Confusion rippled through Harry's thoughts. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, that the Aurors allege that the spell was cast over fifty years ago. Or…that it was somehow cast by someone who traveled to this time from the past."

"But that's—"

"Impossible?" Hermione nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I thought. And yet…" She turned away from him and strayed towards the fire. Harry watched her, unable to keep a cold shudder from taking hold. "And yet now I'm not so sure." She paused, and the silence that stretched between them was inexplicably thick. "Harry, you haven't had any pain in your scar recently have you?"

Alarm rocketed through Harry's chest, his heart leaping into his throat so suddenly he thought he might choke on it. "My scar?"

"Yes…"

"Hermione!" Harry stormed forward, grabbing her shoulder and turning her back towards him. "What are you talking about?"

"I just—I thought that maybe—"

"You can't just say things like that!"

Tears danced in her brown eyes. "I know!"

"He's dead! Voldemort is dead! We made sure of it!"

"I know!" She jerked away from him as if she'd just been struck. "I'm sorry, forget I said anything."

"Why in the world would you even think that—"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione cut over his sharply, like a cat extending its claws. "You're right. I'm just—I'm just being paranoid. Please just...forget I said anything."

But Harry doubted that he could. He knew better than most that Hermione was not one to simply jump to conclusions, and her insight had saved his life more times than he could count. So then, "Why would you think what happened at the Burrow has anything to do with Voldemort?"

Hermione wrung her hands together, the muscles in her jaw tightening as she ground her teeth together. "I don't know. I mean, I've only ever seen him once, but the way his magic felt..." Once more, she looked away. "Something about the residual magic at the Burrow felt similar is all."

"Similar?" Harry repeated. "Similar, but not the same?"

She smiled, almost bitterly. "Exactly. See? I'm just letting my head get away from me."

Harry's chest felt too tight around his lungs. He couldn't manage to breathe in enough air.

"We were fighting him for so long it's almost like I've forgotten what not fighting him feels like. I had thought that this part would be so easy—that we could just slip back into our old lives like we hadn't been scarred by everything that happened. I thought we would be able to just skip to the happy ending..."

The painful truth in Hermione's words rang through Harry's blood like a siren's song. He was intimately familiar with that grief-the kind that came with the loss of a dream. He remembered how hopeful he'd felt those first few days after the war had ended. He remembered smiling as they pinned medals on his chest, and how optimistic he'd felt as the crowd had cheered his name. But the hope that had welled within him had been torn from the moment he stepped down from the podium and he realized just how many faces were missing from the people that awaited him. No matter the outcome, the war had changed things, and there was no going back. In that moment, the happiness that he'd dreamed of had been permanently and irreparably shattered.

He wondered if he had looked as lost then as Hermione did now.

"Hermione." Her gaze met his and held. "It's fine. Everything's going to be fine. Ron and I will patch things up just like we always do and things will be better. You'll see."

Hermione sniffled. "Really?"

Harry smiled and pulled her into a hug. "Definitely"

"We've planned a birthday party for you by the way," Hermione said, almost brightly.

"Oh yeah?"

Hermione released him and stepped back, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "Yeah. This Sunday at the Burrow. I know it's a bit early but we had to work around some crazy schedules."

A birthday party. Harry had never had one himself, but he'd seen enough of Dudley's to understand what one entailed. Namely, lots of screaming children and a towering cake with far too much icing. Maybe he'd once seen the appeal of such a fiasco—of a special celebration just for him—but those days were now long past. He was tired of all the attention. However, if it meant that Ron was trying to mend the bridge that was crumbling between them...

"Sounds great," Harry said. "What time should I be there?"

"The festivities should start around 10 am. But it's your party, so I suppose you can show up whenever you want."

Harry wanted to laugh, but found that he couldn't. Instead, he rubbed his hands up and down Hermione's arms. "Okay."

She smiled up at him, but there was something fractured around its edges. "Well, I should be getting back. I left in a bit of a flurry. I'm sure Ron is worried."

"How is Ron?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.

"He's as fine as he can be," she replied. "He hasn't been sleeping well though. I think he's waiting for another attack."

Harry grimaced. He should've been there for them when it happened. He should be there now.

The crack in Hermione's smile deepened. "I think we all need this party."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're probably right."

With a nod, Hermione slipped from his grasp and backed towards the door. "I really should go."

Harry watched her retreat, an odd tightness coiling in his stomach. "Okay."

She turned and made her way back towards the door. One hand was already set and turning the knob by the time she paused. "Harry…" she inclined her head to look at him. Her pupils were mere pinpricks in a desert of mud. "Promise me that you won't use the Elder Wand again. We agreed that it's dangerous. It needs to be forgotten…like we said."

"I won't. I promise."

"And…" She pursed her lips, frowning.

Harry cocked his head.

"Don't bring him. He wouldn't be welcome there, regardless of your trust."

She didn't give him an opportunity to reply. She was out the door in the next breath Harry took, and he listened to the muffled sound of her footsteps retreat down the entry hall and finally fall into silence. He continued to stare at the door, feeling oddly hollow.

Sighing, he retreated back to the small table tucked against the wall and he lowered himself down into one of its accompanying chairs. Hermione's appearance, albeit brief, had left him drained. But at least things seemed to be looking up. Maybe everyone really did need this party.

The sound of complaining hinges pierced through the silence. "Potter? I heard Granger leave and—are you alright?"

Draco crossed the room and slid into the remaining chair. Tentatively, he reached across the table and covered Harry's hands with his own. All of a sudden, his grey eyes became the clearest thing in the room.

"I'm fine," Harry said.

Draco intertwined their fingers, his thumb skimming Harry's forefinger. The resulting tickling sensation that spread through his hand was jarringly grounding. "You don't seem fine." Draco's fingers gave a soft squeeze. "What did she say to you?"

"It's…" Harry looked away, struggling to push the words past the rising ache in his throat. "She just asked me a strange question is all."

Draco was silent, waiting for him to continue.

"Did you know that my scar used to hurt?"

The wooden chair creaked as Draco shifted his weight. "Scars don't hurt, Potter," he said. "Wounds do."

"Not for me." Harry's brows furrowed together and his fingers tightened around Draco's hand. "When Voldemort tried to kill me that night and the spell backfired, he unknowingly severed a part of his soul and attached it to mine. That's what my scar is; it's a marking of our connection. And back when he was alive I could…feel him through it. Whenever he was close, my scar would burn—and the closer he got, the more it hurt. And whenever he would touch me…"

Draco's lips twitched nervously. "I never knew it was that bad. I never knew you were actually…connected to him."

Harry nodded distantly, his eyes flicking around the room in thought.

"But that's all done with now right?" There was some underlying panic in Draco's tone—some part of him that was catching on to why Harry had brought up his scar. "I mean—I'm assuming the pain stopped after the Dark Lord died."

"I thought that too. But just now, Hermione asked me if it had started to hurt again."

"What?"

Harry shook his head. "She took it back. She said she was just being paranoid, but it was just…so unlike her. I know you don't know Hermione, but she isn't the type to just lose her head—she doesn't just say things for no reason. I mean, what if…" Harry could barely stand to think it, much less say it. "What if we were wrong. What if he's not actually gone?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Draco hold on him tightened. "I saw him die. I watched you kill him."

Harry was overcome with an eerie sort of calm, as if he was somehow detached from everything around him. "Everyone thought he was dead seventeen years ago. He came back."

"That was different." Draco's hands trembled feebly before he yanked them away, his cheeks flaring with heat. "I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with her. I swear I'll wring her scrawny little mudblood neck—"

"Draco!"

"What?" Draco snapped, his short temper flaring and making the air around them crackle. "She made you upset and I'm not allowed to be angry at her?"

Harry twisted his lips, raking them under his teeth. "You're not allowed to call her that."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and gazed back towards the door, simmering.

"Draco, I…" Harry hummed thoughtfully, allowing his nerves to settle. "She didn't upset me. The Burrow was attacked and they still don't have any answers, that's all. She's concerned. She said she didn't mean it."

"You don't sound very convinced," Draco noted.

"Well you know how stubborn I am," Harry halfheartedly jeered. "It's hard to convince me of anything."

Draco stared at him, unblinking. "And now you're going for the self-deprecating bit. Things must really be dire."

All Harry could do was smile, and try to ignore the tight feeling in his throat.

Draco shoulders relaxed slightly as he took a deep, ragged breath. "By Merlin," he whispered as he released the air from his lungs. "Being around you is quite exhausting, Potter. I think I'm starting to get premature worry lines."

The comment pulled a half chuckle from Harry's sigh. "Try actually being me sometime."

Draco's lips raised, "No thank you. I don't even want to think what your face will look like by the time you reach thirty."

Harry wrinkled his nose at the other boy, feeling unimaginably more eased by the fact that Draco could so effortlessly change his mood.

"So," Draco narrowed his gaze searchingly, his coy smirk dropping, "what else did Granger want then? Did she ask about…?" He gestured suggestively between them.

Harry swallowed. "She—uh," he stuttered awkwardly. "S-she didn't want anything. She just wanted to pass along that the Weasleys are throwing me a birthday party."

Draco nodded dispassionately. "That's right. Your birthday is coming up soon."

Harry merely hummed his agreement.

"And I assume I'm not invited."

Harry grimaced. "I'm really sorry…I mean it's not like I don't want you to come—but you've seen how Ron gets when y—" Harry's sentence was cut off as Draco leaned across the table and pressed their lips together. A small tingle like the tip of a feather teased the nerves in his spine.

Draco smiled, a gesture Harry felt rather than saw. He found he liked the feeling of Draco's smile. "You talk too much."

Harry's gulp was audible. "Do I?"

Draco's head moved to the side, and he batted Harry softly with his nose. "And you're trembling." His voice was a sweet whisper of nectar.

"Oh?" Harry realized, even then, the quavering in his voice. "I guess this whole thing," his lips brushed across Draco's as he spoke, "just has me a little unsettled." Along with something else. He chuckled awkwardly, feeling the warmth of his own breath bounce back against him.

Draco nodded, teasing Harry with the supple smoothness of his skin. "Yeah," he sighed, "me too." He pressed his lips once more against Harry's with a pressure so soft it could hardly be considered a kiss.

"Will you go out on a date with me?" The words spilled out of Harry's mouth before he'd even realized he'd thought them.

Draco pulled back, his eyes narrowed and searching. "I knew it. You do want a relationship."

"It's just a date! One date does not constitute wanting a relationship."

"No," Draco puckered his lips. "But something tells me you're not a one date kind of guy."

Harry tried very hard not to look at Draco's mouth while he was talking. It was beyond distracting. "I only went on one date with Cho Chang."

"What, fifth year? Potter, I hate to break it to you, but half of Hogwarts went out with Cho Chang that year."

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

"It was quite pathetic—in a depressing sort of way. I mean, personally, I would never grieve over my dead boyfriend by trying to sleep with all the other less-dead boys around me, but to each their own I suppose."

"Draco, you're being cruel."

Draco hummed, starting to look amused now. "Am I? Now is that a fault in my character, or your taste?"

"Probably both," Harry replied grimly.

"And you say you want to be in a relationship with me."

"I never said that!" Harry huffed, the line between his brow creasing. "But…I do want to talk to you about it."

"Ah hah!" Draco jabbed him in the sternum with his index finger.

Harry grabbed Draco by the wrist, and pressed his thumb into Draco's palm. Something about it made Draco's smile fall. "I kissed you and you kissed me. Twice now. Shouldn't we at least talk about that? What it means?"

"It means that you're not entirely straight, and not quite unattractive enough for me to find kissing you unappealing. There, discussion had."

"How about dinner? The night before my party?"

"No."

"It'll be my birthday present."

Draco's upper lip curled. "Well now you're just not playing fair."

Harry beamed at him. "My inner Slytherin rears its ugly head once again."

"Fine, fine," Draco caved. "I'll take you to dinner—someplace atrociously fancy where you're sure to stand out like a troll among Veelas. The menu will be in French and I won't help you out one bit!"

"You really seem to like comparing me to a troll."

Draco grinned at him. "And you say you want to be in a relationship with me."