Chapter 11: More Than Friendship

Due to the pronounced and magical empathy of foxlet gliders, a magic that develops more completely when foxlets fully open their third eyes and mentally mature, a distressful or emotionally climatic situations is often felt on a more pronounced level. In such situations, the support of family groups or bond-parents is of particular importance. Individuals who have exhibited the formulation of an empathetic link or a 'friendship' with another member of the community have exhibited an inclination towards exclusive companionship with that particular 'friend' as a means of emotional support.

"She really is very lovely, Harry dear. Such lovely fur and so – oh!"

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley. It's othing against you or anything, but foxlet's just don't really like anyone other than their bond-parents."

Draco glanced towards where Harry was standing beside Mrs Weasley, the plump woman with an apologetic hand raised to her mouth as she drew her eyes from Pipsqueak back towards Harry. Pipsqueak herself had been practically sitting on Harry's feet, but at Mrs Weasley's attempt to touch her had sidled up to Draco's side and pressed her shoulder against his leg, the chain connecting her to Harry stretched taut. He found himself dropping automatically into a squat beside her, setting a hand to scratching her favourite spot between the two lines on top of her head. Pipsqueak hummed her approval, turning her wary attention for Mrs Weasley towards him instead and visibly easing.

Mr and Mrs Weasley had arrived at the school at mid afternoon. They'd taken themselves onto the grounds because, as they'd explained, they were a little confused after waiting for nearly half an hour outside of the Three Broomsticks with no sign of Ginny. Draco wasn't the one to ask them for that explanation; he couldn't bring himself to regard them both with anything but guardedness, despite the fact that Ginny's parents appeared to be nothing if not at least attempting to play nice with him. He barely spared them a glance at all. In fact, Draco found his attention largely monopolised by the construction of the second den down by the gamekeepers hut.

Kitsune had gone Berserk. Just like that, with not specific trigger apparent in the moment other than a build up of sadness and grief at Hermione's absence. Draco hadn't noticed at first, not until he'd seen Harry plummet in a frantic race across the pitch in the direction of the Black Lake. He hadn't seen much else, had only noticed briefly, momentarily, the expression of horror spreading across his face, visible even at a distance, that had immediately reared Draco's own.

Then he saw Kitsune.

She was baying and writhing, leaping and throwing herself around in the snow and appearing to be suffering from convulsions. The sounds of her yapping hadn't been audible at first, but as Draco chased after Harry, as he drew to where Lavender and Kitsune had drifted in their walk, he could hear it. It sounded horrifying.

Harry wasn't able to land his broom for the snarling attention that Kitsune swung towards him. Draco saw it, felt physically sickened by the sight of the foxlet-turned-Berserker in a way that he hadn't been with Tod. This time was different. This time he could imagine only too well how it could have been Pipsqueak who had turned, who had fallen prey to a bout of aggression and become effectively rabid to all but her bond-parents.

Kitsune was snarling, slavering, her hackles raised and shoulders bunched. Just as had happened with Tod, she appeared to have swelled slightly in size, grown just a bit bigger, only this time it was more impressive for her size was already considerable. Her third eye, the pale blue that was almost white, had opened in the centre of her forehead, glaring savagely at those around her, and that along with her size… all of it was intimidating. While Tod had been much like the rabid squirrel that Draco had once termed Pipsqueak, Kitsune was very large, very angry, and could likely do a lot of damage.

Harry paused just above them, holding catching onto Pipsqueak and drawing her onto his broom. He actually had to retreat slightly as Kitsune made a leap upwards towards them, prevented from actually making contact only by the chain linking her to Lavender. Lavender herself cried out as she'd nearly been hauled from her feet and into the air.

That had done it for Draco. He wouldn't stand for it, for Kitsune lunging and attempting to bite either Pipsqueak or Harry. Lavender probably could have done it herself, but she looked ashen, terrified, horrified and potentially on the verge of fainting as she struggled to maintain her footing. Draco ignored her and, drawing his wand, pointed it at Kitsune with a yell of "Incarcerous!"

The conjured ropes sprung from the tip of his wand, leapt towards Kitsune and in seconds reduced her to a tangled cocoon that, though she continued to growl and shudder in a flurry of snow, was blessedly contained. Lavender stood frozen alongside her just long enough for Ginny to skid to the ground beside her. Then she collapsed in a fit of sobs that were nearly as hysterical as Kitsune's yapping.

Ginny tried to comfort her. Draco didn't like the girl, liked her even less since he'd realised his feelings for Harry, but he would admit she did a good job of it. She wrapped an arm around Lavender's shoulders, squeezing her gently and resting a cheek upon her shoulder as she murmured comforting words in her ear. Draco didn't hear much of what she said, but did at one manage to make out the distinct phrase, "Don't worry, Lavender. It's not as bad as it seems. We knew it was possible that it would happen and it's okay. Really."

Lavender sniffled and blubbered in reply, choking out barely intelligible words. "But sh-she's gone… she's gone Berserk and now – now –"

"Shh," Ginny hushed, squeezing Lavender in a hug once more. "It's okay. Honestly, I know it sucks, and it would be better if they were Sedate, but really, Tod's not all that different. Not to me, or to Ron. When Kitsune calms down, she'll be practically back to normal."

Yeah, unless she's around literally anyone or anything else in the world, Draco thought, but didn't say the words aloud. Not when Ginny's reassurances actually seemed to calm Lavender's sobs from hysterical to merely profuse. He actually felt something approaching sympathy well within him for Lavender, a feeling that was largely foreign to him. It didn't feel good at all.

Instead, he turned his attention towards Harry, to where he still sat on his broom with Pipsqueak wrapped around him. The both of them were staring down at Kitsune with the same horror that Draco felt. Draco could perceive it even from Pips, from the way her ears pressed along her skull, her head dropped, how curl into Harry's side and despite her size managed to wrap herself around him in the sort of hug she used it. And Harry… Draco thought he could almost feel it from him, too. As though he shared the empathetic abilities of Pipsqueak, if only briefly.

That had been hours ago. Since, they'd all of them dragged Kitsune to Hagrid's hut, making sure to skirt far away from Tod's den, and set about building a similar enclosure. Ginny took the lead, remarkably practical and blessedly so, for Harry with Pipsqueak practically smothering him and Draco reluctant to leave there side – he didn't know why, but he just couldn't – Lavender sorely needed the help. Ginny and Neville, that was, the other eighth year boy lending a wary hand that Lavender accepted with a sniffle.

Hours later and they were still standing at a distance from the widely spaced enclosures, staring down upon the makeshift den that wasn't quite as stuffed with toys and blankets, hanging ropes and numerous shelters as was Tods but resembled it all the same. Lavender was seated in the very middle of that enclosure, not even bothering to conjure up Warming Charms upon the area that Harry, still maintaining his distance, had done for her. She watched Kitsune silently as the Berserker prowled around her new enclosure, afflicted by spasms and snaps and throwing herself at the taut, mesh wall every other second. She would occasionally drifting back to Lavender's side with a semblance of the calm, quiet foxlet she had once been in search of an affectionate pat, only to throw herself into a rage once more and set about with hackles raised, yapping and snarling at anything that moved in the slight breeze. Lavender hadn't stopped crying all day.

The grounds had begun to darken by the time Mr and Mrs Weasley appeared. They were all smiles, all hugs of welcome for Harry and Ginny and Neville, affection and open love that had shifted to sympathy when they became aware of the situation. They were shabbily dressed the pair of them, perhaps a little less so than they had once been in a way that was likely a result of Mr Weasley's promotion. Even so Draco struggled to suppress the urge to curl his lip at the sight of them, to express his open disdain briefly before offering a scathing insult and then proceeding to ignore them entirely. The prejudice that had been drilled into him since he was a child, prejudice against the Weasley name itself, was like a nagging itch that longed to be scratched.

And yet ignore it Draco did, if only because he felt it would have been in poor taste given what they'd experienced that day. Lavender's heartbreak seemed to overwhelm every onlooker, drawing them into communal sorrow and regret, into open displays of sadness and sympathy. Even Draco felt himself effected by it, and felt the need to simply touch Pipsqueak on frequent occasions as though the contact would ease him some, just as much as he felt the desire to remain by Harry's side for some reason. Thankfully, Harry didn't appear to object to such a need.

It was a shame, really. Draco had actually been enjoying himself before Kitsune went Berserk. Breakfast hadn't been nearly as intolerable as he had anticipated, and the quidditch match afterwards had actually been enjoyable. Even more so after Draco had quashed his frankly humiliating concern for Pipsqueak when she and Harry dropped from the skies, the foxlet spreading her limbs wide in a soaring glide. Playing alongside Harry, even in his distracted frame of mind, had been… fun. More fun than Draco had enjoyed in some time. It was even more so because he was playing alongside Harry, for the first time not on opposing teams. It had been a Christmas morning entirely different to those Draco had experienced in the past, but it had been enjoyable nonetheless.

A real shame. Not that Draco could blame anyone, not even Kitsune, though he did regret that she hadn't been able to last just a few days longer. Surely Hermione would have been back soon, wouldn't she?

Harry appeared to be more listening than talking to Mr and Mrs Weasley, with Ginny and Neville being the primary contributors to their conversation. Ginny was an unexpectedly beneficial addition to their observing party for her proactive distraction, and Neville too as he spoke when she faltered to stare at Lavender.

Harry too appeared to be distracted by the sight of Lavender as she sniffled over Kitsune. He'd barely spoken a word except when Pipsqueak settled herself at Draco's side and he turned his attention towards them instead. Sparing half a glance for the Weasleys and Neville, he edged to their side and dropped onto his haunches on Pipsqueak's other side. His hand rose to stroke at the back of her head, his hand brushing just slightly against where Draco's did the same. Draco observed him for a moment with a sidelong stare, watched as Harry trained his gaze upon Kitsune's den and fought the urge to speak. Better that Harry do so first if he had anything to say.

He did, apparently, after only about a minute or two of silence. His voice was low, nearly inaudible. "Well. This is shit."

It was a blunt, largely redundant statement, but Draco couldn't help agreeing in sentiment. He nodded. "It is."

"Two Berserkers."

"And one undecided."

Harry glanced up at Draco, a worried crease settling on his brow just visible through his fringe. "So far."

Draco opened his mouth to speak before closing it once more. He nodded. Yes, so far. There was no guarantee that Pipsqueak wouldn't go Berserk and though Draco could understand the sincerity of Ginny's viewpoint, could see how perhaps maybe having their foxlet become a Berserker wasn't the worst possible thing in the world, he still didn't want it to happen. Not in the slightest.

They were silent for a moment, listening to the buzz of conversation driven by the Weasleys as they appeared to be attempting to impress a positive note upon that conversation. Attempted and didn't exactly succeed, though Draco had to give them credit for trying. His hand scratched almost compulsively at Pipsqueak's head, the comforting softness and warmth of her fur easing his discontent just a little.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Well, we'll just have to make sure Pipsqueak doesn't get upset enough to go Berserk, then."

Harry nodded fervently in immediate agreement. In this situation at least they were not at odds even in the slightest. "Whatever we can do."

"In which case, I swear, Potter, if you try and pick a fight with me, I'll kill you."

Harry actually gave a snort of begrudging amusement. Shaking his head, he turned more fully to face Draco. "Out of the two of us, I'm the one that needs to watch picking a fight?" He shook his head once more. "Besides, I think that would be counterproductive."

"Exactly," Draco nodded. "So don't let it happen."

'Wouldn't dream of it."

They fell silent once more, but only for a moment until Harry drew audible breath to speak. "Say, Draco. I know it's early and everything, but what were you thinking of doing for the Easter holidays?"

"Staying here," Draco said with such speed that he even surprised himself. Not that he would retract his words. He would be staying; the thought of leaving even briefly and having Pipsqueak go Berserk turned his gut. "Why?"

Harry shrugged, and for once Draco couldn't bring himself to bother with his annoyance at the gesture. "Just wondering."

"You?"

"Staying here. Definitely."

Draco nodded, releasing a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "That's good, then. Good."

"Yeah. Good."

They subsided into silence once more. Draco didn't stop stroking Pipsqueak's head and neither did Harry, though they did pause just briefly when their fingers brushed once more. It was almost like a reassurance, Harry's maintained contact, reassurance that he would be there for both Pipsqueak and Draco. It was calming.

When it became too dark to see properly, even with their communally conjured Lumos Charms, Mr Weasley made the suggestion to head back indoors. They paused only long enough for Ginny to call down to Lavender in the den. "Lavender? We're going up for the feast. Did you want to come?"

There was a pause. An extended pause in which Draco wondered if Lavender had even heard their call. Then she replied with a faintly warbling voice. "No. No, I- I'm fine. I think I'm just going to – to stay down here for a little longer. Thanks anyway."

Ginny paused and by the light of her Lumos Draco could see her bite her lip, frowning. Then she raised her voice once more. "I'll bring you down something afterwards, okay?"

Another pause, then Lavender replied once more, even more faintly this time with the sound of tears welling once more. "Thanks, Ginny," she called back, and Draco got the distinct impression that it wasn't only for the offered delivery that she was grateful. Without another word they made their way back up to the school.

The feast was a more subdued event than it perhaps should have been, than breakfast had been that morning. Word had spread of Kitsune's maturation into a Berserker, and even the students who had absolutely nothing to do with the situation were hushed in regret and commiseration. It was far removed from the typical Christmas spirit, and Draco found himself somewhat put off his appetite despite the vast array of roasted fowl, baked potatoes and richly cooked vegetable drizzled in gravy on offer. Even Pipsqueak seemed less than enthusiastic, more interested in clambering from Draco's lap into Harry's, then back into Draco's again numerous times throughout the meal. It was as though she felt their distress and concern, sought to alleviate it with her simple presence. Draco found that, just a little bit, it actually worked some.

Draco decided to make his retreat early. Urging Pipsqueak from his lap, for it was apparently his turn, he leaned towards Harry to murmur in his ear. "I think I'm going to head up to the tower."

Harry turned towards him. He'd been largely attempting to make conversation with the Weasleys seated across from him, with Ginny and Neville and even some of the other students along the table, but Draco could tell simply from the tightness of his expression that his heart wasn't really in it. "Oh. Alright, then. I'll come."

Draco shook his head, even as a spark of warmth flared briefly within him at the readiness of Harry's offer. "It's fine. Pipsqueak can handle being away from me just for a little while." Even if it might be distressing on my end, Draco thought, and was a little stunned to realise how true it was. He did want Pipsqueak at his side. Harry too, for that matter. It was almost a need, that he just wanted them beside him. He didn't know why but – no. No, that wasn't true. He did know why. He was just surprised that his feelings on the matter were so strong.

But Harry was already rising to his feet, sparing a moment to turn back towards the Weasley's and the rest of the table. "Sorry, everyone. We're going to turn in a little early, I think. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," was the chorus of reply, spoken with an obvious attempt at lightness and joviality that was certainly more muted than they all pretended it was. Mrs Weasley reached a sympathetic hand towards Harry and patted him gently as Mr Weasley offered them a final farewell. "We might see you tomorrow, Harry. We'll be staying at the Three Broomsticks if you've a mind to come down for a visit."

Harry nodded, offering them both a small smile. "Yeah, definitely." Then he turned and, falling into step beside Draco, left the Great Hall. Pipsqueak squeezed into step between them so that she was touching both of them at the same time. Draco found it only a comfort.

The eighth year tower was, unsurprisingly, empty. It seemed even more starkly so after the presence of everyone else in the hall. The fire crackled with its usual purple-orange flames, and someone – the house elves, most likely – had cleaned up the mess of wrapping paper missiles that they'd abandoned strewn across the room that morning. They'd removed the presents too, and Draco suspected that if he went up to the dormitory he would find them piled upon his bed.

Without a word, he eased himself into the very seat he'd sat in that morning. Similarly silently, Harry lowered himself onto the cushion beside him, and a moment later Pipsqueak made no attempt at subtlety as she clambered into their laps. She stretched across them both, her upper half resting across Harry's legs and lower on Draco's. The warmth she radiated was just as comforting as her contact had been before.

They were silent. Silent for a long time, Draco lost in thought and Harry likely the same. For Draco, it was of contemplation. He marvelled at the revelation that Christmas day had brought him; not only had his acceptance of his feelings for Harry become more defined but he realised that for Pipsqueak they were markedly deeper and more pervasive than he'd thought before. He'd known he liked the foxlet, had even admitted it when Harry had teased it out of him. He simply hadn't realised quite how much that had been true.

Draco loved the Pipsqueak. He loved the simple companionability of her presence, the affection she rained upon him when he received precious little enough from anyone else. Even Blaise wasn't anything more than a friend, and everyone else was simply… there. Except for Harry, really, who appeared to have developed some sort of regard for him of which Draco was still attempting to discern the true nature of. But he didn't dwell upon that. He couldn't, otherwise he would start assuming, would get his hopes up, would think it was something more than it was, and he wasn't prepared to make a fool of himself in pursuing that suspicion when it could very likely be simply wishful thinking.

But Pipsqueak was different. She didn't care that Draco was a Death Eater – likely because she didn't even know or understand such a concept, but Draco chose to overlook that fact. She was a crutch of support in many ways, and the need for simply being around someone, for Draco to have a friend in constant company, had eased with her presence. he couldn't help but appreciate that, but even more, he appreciated the foxlet for herself, in a way he never would have considered himself capable of feeling for an animal. Because Pipsqueak was smart. She was affectionate, and loved him, and she was funny, and teasing and adoring, and seemed to revel in the simple act of living as so few people did in Draco's life at the moment. For Draco, that aspect of Pipsqueak's was just as important to him as everything else.

Almost as important as the fact that, quite against his will and before he'd even realised he wanted it, their mutual bond had drawn him closer to Harry.

Turning to regard Harry out of the corner of his eye, he observed him silently. He watched as his fingers stroked gently across the space where Pipsqueak's third eye should be, an eye that Draco hadn't seen opened since she had chosen him as her bond-parent. He appeared deep in thought, his eyes trained upon Pipsqueak who, contrary to her earlier nervousness, appeared to have calmed some over the hours into limp exhaustion.

Draco watched and he considered. He truly did fancy Harry, but it was more than simply attraction. He'd come to realise that through the company Harry and Pipsqueak had mutually forced upon him. He liked Harry, liked him a lot. He wanted to make it work with Pipsqueak, to ensure she didn't go Berserk, as much because he knew it would upset Harry as much as he felt it would him if they failed. If anything, Harry was even closer to Pipsqueak, and Pipsqueak to him, in a way that Draco was gradually coming to terms with gradually, his jealousy dampening slightly from what it had once been. There were more important things to consider than his own jealousies.

"Did you want to sleep with her in your bed tonight?" Draco asked. He didn't know what made him say it; Pipsqueak had always slept in Harry's bed for the entirety of their bonding. He didn't know why he would consider it would be any different.

Harry glanced up at him, lips quirking slightly to the side in a downward tug. "I doubt I'll sleep all that much tonight."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to sleep? At all?"

"Probably not," Harry muttered, turning his gaze down to Pipsqueak once more. The foxlet blinked her eyes open, tilting her head backwards slightly to peer up at him as though he'd spoken to her. "I'll probably just stay down in the common room or something. You're welcome to join me as long as you want."

Draco stared at Harry for a moment as the pieces slowly clicked into place. "You don't sleep all that much, do you?"

Harry glanced back at him without turning his head. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"So every morning you're down in the common room when I get here -?"

"Not every morning," Harry corrected. "I usually do just get up early. But sometimes… yeah, sometimes I just can't sleep."

Draco wanted to ask why. He wanted to know just for the sake of knowing, in a way that he'd never had an interest in anyone before. But he didn't. He could suspect the reason and he didn't think he wanted Harry to have to say it.

The war. It was always the war. It was what had awoken him from nightmares more times than he could count, what had driven he and his mother to sharing a bed for the simple comfort of having someone nearby. For Draco, it was the memory of the Dark Lord, of the tortures he and his Death Eaters had conducted that Draco had witnessed, that he'd heard through the walls of the manor when he'd managed to escape from watching them directly. It was recalling the stories the Death Eaters had told of their exploits, their laughter that had sounded nothing if not purely insanity. It was the largely unspoken threats that each held in their gazes when they'd turned to regard Draco, the curl of their lips and the utter disdain as though he were nothing more than a mite to be crushed beneath their shoe.

Draco remembered that. He remembered each aspect of it, so many encounters that he'd forced himself to shunt to the furthest recesses at the back of his mind. He'd worked with his mother, developed his Occlumency skills enough that he could suppress the significant effects of those experiences, but sometimes the memories still rose to the fore. There was no escaping them, even if Draco had mostly come to terms with his situation. He was, if not content, then at least able to survive. To continue. To exist without those memories dragging upon his every step.

If his memories were bad, what of Harry's? Harry, who had been fighting the people who were supposedly Draco's allies but terrified him nonetheless. Harry, who had faced the Dark Lord countless times, who had been killed by him when the Dark Lord had fired the Killing Curse at him. Draco had heard the rumours even if Harry hadn't validated them himself. That he had truly been shot dead but had returned to fight again, just as he had been doing for years.

Really, it was no wonder that he struggled to sleep.

Nodding his head, Draco turned his gaze down to his fingers as they unconsciously plucked at his trousers in an attempt to smooth away wrinkles that weren't there. He didn't need to ask Harry. He didn't need to subject him to that. Not at all. "Right. I guess I can understand that."

"I bet you could," Harry murmured in reply, and though the words could have been sarcastic, Draco heard only sympathy – no, empathy in his tone. Harry knew. He understood, too.

It was that as much as anything that caused Draco to retain his seat alongside Harry for the rest of the night. Even when Neville returned to sit with them for a few hours before retreating, when Jones made her appearance and offered little more than a nod of greeting before retiring herself. Lavender didn't make an appearance, but then Draco didn't really expect her to. Like Harry had claimed Ginny had done on several occasions, he suspected she was likely spending the night alongside Kitsune in her new den.

Draco didn't intend to fall to sleep on the couch beside Harry after exchanging little more than a handful of words throughout the entire evening. He didn't mean to, but under the comforting weight of Pipsqueak, the equal comfort of Harry's presence at his side, he couldn't help himself. He didn't regret it.

Harry didn't know at first what woke him. It hardly mattered to his sleeping mind as he swum from the depths of slumber into wakefulness.

Blinking his eyes open, his drew his gaze immediately to his lap. To Pipsqueak who, as she should be, as she was partial to since the first night they'd been bonded together, was sprawled across him. Beneath a textbook as it were, which must have fallen out of his hands when he'd dropped into sleep.

With a fumbling, sleep-clumsy hand, Harry reached up to such his face, ascertaining that yes, he was in fact still wearing his glasses. That made sense too if he'd fallen to sleep reading the textbook.

The warmth at his shoulder alerted him to Draco's presence at his side. Draco, who had forsaken his bed for the past few nights to simply sit with Harry on the couch. Harry didn't know the exact reason he had chosen to start doing so, could only suppose that it was driven by his inclination to be near Pipsqueak just as Harry was, but he appreciated the company nonetheless. Strange, how they spent so much time with one another these days – quite literally all day and now all night – but Harry never really got overly annoyed with his presence. Draco was simply there. They jested, they exchanged teasing jibes, they argued without any real sting but it was just easy. Harry had never expected that.

Since the night of Christmas, Harry found himself spending the dark hours alongside Draco on the couch. That first night, just as he'd predicted, Harry didn't sleep. He couldn't, for entirely different reasons to those that usually plagued him, but they kept him awake nonetheless. He and Pipsqueak, who he guiltily expected was kept from sleep because of his own unshakeable wakefulness.

Draco hadn't. He'd endured until the early hours of the morning before he'd fallen to sleep, head resting upon the back of the couch. Harry hadn't realised at first that he'd even fallen to sleep, so gradually and silently he had done so. He'd been lost in his own thoughts and it was only when he'd chanced a glanced from his periphery at him that he realised Draco's own silence had been not driven by pensiveness but because of his unconsciousness. He turned towards him, and he couldn't help but stare.

Draco looked different in sleep. Harry didn't realise how much tension he held in his face, how much effort he put into maintaining the superior and faintly arrogant expression, until it was shed into laxness. He looked younger, less troubled, the sharp lines of his face softened just a little.

Harry found himself smiling quite without realising. Really smiling for the first time since the incident with Kitsune the previous day had erased his Christmas cheer. This was a side to Draco that Harry hadn't seen before, and he felt somehow blessed to have seen it.

It was a very strange feeling indeed.

The second night, Draco sat down on the common room couch with him once more. More surprisingly, however, was the morning after when Harry had blinked himself awake. He hadn't expected to fall to sleep beside Draco and beneath the weight of Pipsqueak but he had. He'd slept well, too. The light of dawn was just creeping around the edges of the dark common room curtains that magically closed themselves every evening.

The third night had been the same. And then the fourth when Draco had made an effort to be productive. He'd disappeared briefly into the boys dormitory and returned with a pile of textbooks and parchments, declaring that if they were going to spend their evenings in the common room they might as well make use of it. Harry didn't comment that Draco didn't have to stay in the common room with him. Something stilled his tongue, whether it was nonchalance or a desire to avoid raising that particular topic for fear of Draco taking him up on the suggestion. Harry had slept two nights, two good sleeps, for the first time in what felt like years. It might have been selfish of him but he didn't want to mess with a good thing.

He had, however, been guilt-tripped into following Draco's example. Begrudgingly, sheepishly, he'd retrieved his own books from his room and set about picking up where he'd abandoned his holiday homework. Which was how, when he woke up that morning, it was to his textbook propped on top of Pipsqueak, who snored in her own sleep with the lightness of a buzzing bee.

Stretching, hunching his shoulders to relieve them of their tension, Harry rubbed a finger behind his eyes and wiped the grogginess of sleep from his vision. He slouched back against Draco once more, comfortable. They didn't usually have such contact, such intimacy in wakefulness, but in the haziness of his newly-awakened mind Harry didn't really care. Besides, Draco wasn't aware enough to object. And he was warm. It wasn't cold in the common room, was especially cosy beneath Pipsqueak's fluffy weight, but a little extra warmth wouldn't go astray. It was just so comfortable, Harry felt he could almost, almost drift back off to…

"Ahem."

The sound of a clearing throat snapped Harry's eyes wide open from where they had been drifting closed once more, blinking in sudden alertness. He pushed himself up from the where his head had unconsciously fallen back onto Draco's shoulder – unconsciously, very unconsciously – and twisted in his seat to peer towards the entrance to the tower.

Hermione stood just inside the door, un-shrunken suitcase behind her and Ron at her side. They were both smirking slightly, Hermione with a strangely knowing expression on her face and Ron just a little bit incredulously. Harry felt his cheeks flush for some unknown reason. It wasn't as though he'd been doing anything wrong. What did he have to be embarrassed about?

Regardless, embarrassed he was, and in an attempt to alleviate that embarrassment he eased himself away from Draco further, nudging Pipsqueak from his lap and more fully onto Draco's, and rose to his feet. Taking quiet, creeping steps away from the couch so as to avoid waking them both from their sleep, he crossed the room to his friends with the golden bracelet attaching him to Pipsqueaks neck trailing like a tail behind him.

Hermione engulfed him in an embrace the moment he stopped before her, Ron a moment later. Their smirks faded into genuine smiles that he managed to return in kind, thrusting aside the last of his embarrassment. "Hi guys," he said quietly. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too," they both replied in kind. Hermione continued with, "Thanks for that book on Petauridae. I've already read about half of it. It's really interesting."

Harry offered a feeble smile that felt just a little nauseous. Right. Hermione's present. He'd gotten it for her because of Kitsune which to Harry at least, and Draco, and certainly to Lavender, was something of a taboo topic of late. Hermione obviously didn't know about Kitsune yet, appearing far too happy for knowing, and Harry didn't relish the idea of being the one who had to tell her.

Instead, he widened his smile beneath Hermione's suddenly curious gaze and resolutely changed the topic. "Already? That was fast. I wouldn't have thought you'd have the time for it, what with everything else going on." He glanced expectantly between his friends. "How did it go?"

Hermione's smile widened until it was beaming and she turned her gaze up towards Ron who similarly seemed to glow beneath her attention. It was a little sickening to behold, all that lovey-dovey-ness, but Harry bit back any objections he could have voiced. He was happy that they loved one another, even if it did feel a little awkward to be the third wheel of sometimes. Besides, they'd shared something obviously special over the Christmas that made them happy. He couldn't resent them that, not even if he'd wanted to.

"Hermione was brilliant," Ron said, sincere praise in his tone. "Absolutely bloody brilliant. Not a glitch along the way. We ended up spending the whole Christmas with them, all 'cause of her."

Hermione flushed slightly beneath the praise. "Thanks, Ron."

"They're alright, then?" Harry asked, resting his attention solely upon her. "They got all their memories back?"

Hermione and Ron nodded in synchrony with identical smiles upon their faces. "All back. All fixed. They were angry with me at first but I think they were more upset than anything. Only for a little bit, though. After that…" Hermione shrugged, smiling with pride and satisfaction colouring her tone in place of any potential guilt.

"That's fantastic, Hermione," Harry said, genuinely delighted for his friend. He drew her into another hug. "I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks, Harry."

"Did they come back with you by portkey or are they flying?" He asked.

Hermione shook her head. "They'll be flying, but not yet. Had a couple of things to tie up in Australia of course."

"Of course," Harry nodded. "They were there for a while."

"Over a year," Ron agreed. "But you should've seen how eager they were to get back to Britain. I think they would have come by portkey if they could have. Anything to just be back with Hermione, I reckon."

Hermione smiled placidly, leaning into Ron's side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder in a squeeze. "They said they should be making their way back over by the end of January. I was going to try and clean up the house a bit before they got in."

"I'll come with you to help out if you'd like," Harry offered. He hadn't quite gotten over his guilt for not accompanying Hermione on her trip, even if he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not after what he'd seen happen with Kitsune.

"Thanks, Harry. I'd appreciate all the help I could get." Then, still smiling with in a glow of happiness, she deliberately changed the topic. "How about you? What did you get up to over Christmas?"

Here it was. Harry knew he would have to tell her – Kitsune turning Berserk was a pretty significant part of their holidays – but he'd never wanted to speak the truth less in his life. The thought of wiping that smile off Hermione's face was a painful.

So instead he shrugged. "Not all that much. Your mum and dad came to school for the feast, Ron, but otherwise nothing all that exciting. Spent the day with Pipsqueak, Draco, Ginny and Neville, mostly. And… and Lavender." He faltered a little at Lavender's name and didn't miss the faint frown that Hermione adopted, her smile fading slightly.

Ron didn't appear to notice. Instead he smirked. "Yeah, I can see you and Draco are getting kind of close." He raised a suggestive eyebrow, not in any way disapproving of that which he was insinuating as Harry might suppose him to be given that it was Draco Malfoy.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry muttered, though he felt his cheeks flush again. Why was he so embarrassed? He really had no reason to be. "It's not like that. We just fell asleep studying. That's all."

"You were studying?" Hermione asked, an approving smile rising upon her face. "Good on you."

"Yeah, right," Ron smirked again. "Studying."

"Shut up, Ron," Harry sighed again, though more resigned this time. Ron was an idiot who was making suggestive remarks that shouldn't make Harry embarrassed because… because they were irrelevant. They really were. He and Draco had honestly just been studying. "It's none of your business anyway."

"Oh, the denials of the guilty," Ron chuckled. He gave a slight yelp as Harry punched his shoulder but only laughed harder.

Harry's attention was drawn from his flush – honestly, what was that all about? – by Hermione, however. "I think it's a great idea, actually, that you two sleep next to each other. Lavender and I used to do that all the time with Kitsune."

"You did?" Ron asked, glancing towards her and thankfully missing Harry's reflexive flinch. "You didn't tell me that."

"Because it's none of your business," Hermione replied, parroting Harry's words with a smirk. Then she turned back to him and said the words that Harry had been dreading. "How are they, by the way? Lavender and Kitsune? I expect they're probably still asleep and I wouldn't want to wake them so…"

"Tod too," Ron added. "We were just going to drop our stuff off before heading down to say hi."

Harry fought his increasing urge to cringe. Fought it and felt he failed miserably. He knew that Hermione realised the meaning of his silence, even if Ron didn't appear to immediately. He could see the gradual understanding rising upon her face, fading her smile into rising despair. There was no surprise but simply anguish. Still Harry couldn't speak.

"What?" Ron asked, finally catching on. He glanced between Harry and Hermione, a frown settling upon his face. "What am I missing?"

Before Harry could answer, for he liked to think that he would have answered, a voice spoke up behind him. "The bloody obvious, Weasley."

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry turned to face Draco. Draco, who was rubbing a hand across his face as if to wipe away the sleep and shifting the yawning Pipsqueak from his lap to rise to standing.

Ron frowned, though less in anger and more disgruntlement. "Not to me, Malfoy," he grumbled, resorting to surnames as they tended to when butting heads.

"Obviously," Draco replied, crossing the room to stand at Harry's side. He affixed Hermione with a stare that was neither cold nor apathetic. Did Harry detect a touch of sympathy? He wouldn't have been as surprised as he once would have been if it were present. Draco wasn't necessarily different to how Harry had always known him; it was more that Harry was seeing a side of him that he hadn't noticed before. He found he quite liked what he'd come to understand of him, just as he liked and appreciated the fact that Draco stood beside him, offering support in a frankly painfully difficult situation.

Hermione's eyes had widened and already begun to water before Draco spoke. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I think it was probably just a bit too much for her."

Hermione didn't sob. She didn't dissolve into uncontrollable tears, though her tears did fall. Slowly, they trickled silently down her cheeks. She raised a hand to wipe them away, though it was a useless attempt as more spilled forth to replace those she flicked away. With a sniff, shifting into Ron's side once more when he turned an equally heartbroken gaze towards her and offered her a shoulder of comfort, she nodded. "I know. I almost… I almost expected it to happen. I'd just hoped…" She choked herself off and wiped once more at her face. Her eyes were red rimmed when she returned her gaze back to Harry. To Harry and Draco. "When did it happen? Was it… was it right away or…?"

Harry shook his head. He wasn't sure which answer would make Hermione feel better: that Kitsune had gone Berserk right away or that she had only just missed the opportunity to prevent it from happening. Likely neither would be particularly comforting. "It happened a couple of days ago. Ginny and Lavender, they've built a pretty good den for her. Lavender spends most of her time down there, actually. Her and Ginny both. I think they actually have conversations, even though they can't see each other 'cause they're so spaced apart."

Hermione gave a watery attempt at a smile. "I'm sure they've done a good job of it." She sniffed once more, rubbing the back of her hand over her cheeks. "I think I might go down and see her. Them. Now. If that's okay with all of you guys."

Harry found himself nodding in time with Draco, right behind Ron. "'Course," Ron said, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. "We'll come with."

Hermione nodded in reply and without another word turned on her heel and made back out the door of the eighth year tower, suitcase abandoned in the doorway. Ron followed right behind her.

Harry spared a moment longer to share a glance with Draco. Draco had turned to meet his eyes as though he'd been expecting him to turn towards him. "Thanks for that," Harry muttered. "I don't know how I could have told her by myself."

The stare Draco affixed upon Harry was unblinking. It felt loaded with something more, something that Harry wasn't seeing. At least, until he realised that his words may just have been the first time he'd genuinely thanked Draco for anything.

Inclining his head, Draco paused only long enough to glance down between them to where Pipsqueak stood, peering attentively up at the both of them. "Yes, well, I can imagine it would have been hard for anyone. No gratitude is necessary."

"Still," Harry said, more determinedly this time. "I really mean it. Thanks, Draco."

For a moment, dropping his eyes towards his fingers linking together at his waist, Draco almost looked embarrassed. When he spoke, however, it was with his usual casual offhandedness. "We're in this together, right? With Pipsqueak, I mean? It's sort of my responsibility, I suppose you could say."

That was what he said. It was what he said very deliberately. Harry wondered why he thought he heard something very different indeed. He smiled. "Sure. I guess you could say that." Then, without another word, they stepped from the common room to follow Hermione and Ron from the tower, Pipsqueak trotting along between them.