Draco watched as Harry wiggled into his shorts, zipping them up and releasing a breath, just the smallest hint of soft skin relaxing over the hem.

Smiling, Draco stretched, the muscles of his back popping pleasantly. Adjusting his position on the bed, he propped his hands behind his head and turned away from Harry to stare at the ceiling. Old houses always seemed to have a porous sort of texture, almost like orange skin under a magnifying lens. Not that he had been in many, wizards always did prefer stone and open beams.

The night before, he had managed to coax Harry to share one of the flimsy cots, hanging onto him in a way that the other boy had affectionately called "parasitic". Now, though, his neck was making him regret such foolish clinginess. Draco wondered where this side of him had come from, as he couldn't recollect ever wanting to be so physical with someone before.

"Do you reckon my animagus form would be a snake?" He voiced, out of the blue, gaze tracing the patterns the filtering morning light created against the walls.

Harry hummed noncommittally, and Draco could hear him rummaging through his bag for socks.

"Not because of the obvious, though." He elaborated, despite the less than lukewarm reaction from his audience. "Slytherin pride, and all that. I'm not a child, Potter, and I don't need to cling to my house colours and mascot to retain my sense of identity. In fact, I rather like blue, nowadays. And snakes are way low on my list of possible companions."

"What the fuck are you on about?" Harry's amused voice asked from somewhere behind him. Draco craned his neck to have a better look, wincing when the stretch pulled at his sore spot.

Suddenly, the blinds were lifted and he had to screw his eyes shut at the unexpected brightness.

"Merlin, warn a guy!" He protested, blinking slowly to regain his vision. Harry was standing in front of the window, bathed in sunlight and looking unfairly inviting. Draco reached out one hand suggestively, beckoning him. "Like, you know, that or some other sort of animal that moults. Seeing my metaphorical ability to shed my skin and start anew. I'm a new man, don't you think?"

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, just out of reach, and laughed. "Don't chickens, and birds in general, moult too? Technically, all animals do. Maybe you'd be a chicken, one of those plush white ones with a big ring of feathers around their neck."

"It's not the same!" Draco pouted, pushing himself up into a sitting position and scooting closer. "And, in that case, I'd be a cock, you dimwit."

"M-hm." Harry agreed, leaning forward. His smile stretched languidly and Draco felt his own tongue unintentionally darting out to wet his lips. "I can see that."

"I hate you." he muttered, feeling slightly out of breath. Despite his words, his chin was already tilting in the right direction, a moth to the flame.

Harry's soft, amused "Yeah…" ended directly against his mouth, lips connecting on the exhale.

It still felt a little naughty, to be kissing Harry of all people. It made it all the more exhilarating, and Draco melted into it, one hand reaching for the nape of Harry's neck and the other settling just above his arse.

He was about to pull the other boy closer when the lounge door rattled, swinging on its hinges as if someone had made a piss poor attempt at slamming it shut in haste.

The piss poor attempt was indeed standing on the threshold, covering his eyes with his hands and muttering apologies in a squeaky, embarrassed voice. Draco was almost impressed that even his knuckles seemed to be blushing.

"Ah, you are walking now." He observed flatly, not feeling at all charitable. Or enthusiastic, for that matter. "Still trouble knocking, though, uh?"

"Ehm, hi, Colin." Harry said, clearing his throat and turning around slowly to greet the intruder. Draco huffed none too quietly.

"Hi, Harry, uhm… I'm sorry, I just- errr, I wanted to tell… Well, the door upstairs was closed, so." Creevey stumbled over his words, looking upwards as if expecting to see some sort of script written on the ceiling telling him what to say.

"Contrary to this door you just opened? You are lucky you didn't walk in ten minutes ago." Which was absolutely not true, but Draco said it nonetheless, letting the innuendos hang heavy in the air around them.

Harry reached out blindly behind his back, pinching Draco on one calf. Yelping, Draco caught his hand, pulling until the other boy fell onto his chest. Hooking his chin comfortably over Harry's shoulder he smirked at Creevey and asked. "Is there anything you actually need or are you here just for the show?"

Since realising the true identity of the dark haired boy living with his three fellows Gryffindors, Creevey had been particularly awkward around Draco. Draco, on his part, had made it his priority to stake his claim at every possible occasion, much to Harry's annoyance. And, while Harry thought Draco was being particularly obnoxious just to irritate him, part of Draco actually felt insecure about their relationship and what people might have to say about it.

After all, Harry was Harry. Famous, brave, righteous, witty. And it didn't help that he had grown a lot from his skinny, ungainly days and was really pleasant to look at. Not that Harry seemed to realise any of that.

Draco knew that his own features had lost some of their childhood pointiness, softening in the right places while maintaining a certain sharpness. Without the stress of the last year giving him an gaunty hue, he was aware that, at least in looks, he wasn't inadequate.

If only looks meant much, though. Just days before, it had come to him as a startling realisation that he could, and would, still love Harry had he been less pretty. The thought had both scared him and filled him with a strange sense of relief. Peraph validation that all he felt wasn't but a feverish dream fuelled by lust. That it was more.

Real.

Harry, on the other side, was still an enigma. Draco wasn't sure why Harry liked him, maybe loved him, even. The knowledge that their relationship would surely be challenged more than once along the way, and that he would be the one found lacking, was daunting. Hell, Weasley alone served as his daily reminder that Harry could do better. Despite it having become no more than habitual teasing, the edge of contempt mellowed by weeks of living together, Draco couldn't help thinking that there was some truth in it.

Harry could definitely do better.

Better, though, didn't include the scrawny little kid that was currently watching him as if he had never seen a tastier meal. It wasn't really a fair assessment, as the poor sod held nothing but adoration in his eyes, but Draco didn't feel particularly magnanimus.

Someone like Colin Creevey would only turn a couple of heads, and maybe even get a thumbs up or two, if he were to be the one going after the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Draco envied that kind of liberty.

That said, Creevey's starstruck attitude towards Harry wasn't going to win him any house points with the other boy. Appeased by that knowledge, Draco leered at the younger wizard, enjoying watching him redden in embarrassment.

"You are an idiot." Harry hissed in his ear, so close that little puffs of air travelled across Draco's skin like a caress. Helpless against the feeling, Draco couldn't suppress a shiver, lips parting open. Gone was his carefully crafted smirk, replaced by what he could only suspect was the perfect rendition of a smitten idiot. Displeased at having lost his cool, Draco exerted no resistance when Harry pushed himself off him, only slightly scowling when the other boy approached Creevey.

"Are you feeling better?" Harry asked, hands clasping behind his back as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

"Oh, yeah, ehm… That's actually what I wanted to talk to you guys about. This morning is the first time I've woken up feeling okay since, you know…" At Harry's nod of encouragement, Creevey cleared his throat and continued. "I didn't even take the potion, although thank you, really, for making it!" He hastened to add, looking almost apologetic he was healing and they had had to waste their time on him.

"It was Draco. I don't particularly enjoy potion making." Harry shrugged, oblivious to the daggers being glared at the back of his skull. "And, anyway, that's great news! I'm really glad you are doing better, Colin."

"What Potter means is, he doesn't really have the patience to brew anything short of soup. Good soups, terrible potions. So, I suppose you should still be thanking him for dinner."

"Oh, yeah, o-of course." Creevey rushed to assure, looking earnestly at Harry in that way Draco knew made him squirm.

"Colin, no. There is really no need." Harry interrupted him, sighing tiredly.

Draco snorted.

"Uh, okay. Well, I am not in pain anymore and I know you are all very busy, especially you Harry, so…"

"Are you trying to tell us you are finally ready to join your family?" Draco asked, bluntly.

Harry groaned. "Don't listen to him, he was raised by dementors. You can stay as long as you need, we don't mind."

"No, he is right." Creevey said, his voice steadier. "I have no reason to, and they must be very worried. With two wizard kids, as Muggles, you know… my parents were so unprepared and still struggle understanding how-"

Sighing, Draco let himself fall backwards onto his pillow, whatever sob story Creevey was about to bore them to death with droning on in the background.

On the positive side, it seemed like they would be getting their cosy, private room back sooner than expected.

Once established that Lupin would arrive early the next afternoon to free them from their human burden, it was Draco who suggested they spend the last day in Creevey's company at the beach.

Cardiff bay was only a short bus journey from their house and, after his secret visit to Brighton, Draco was confident no one was going to recognise a group of teenage wizards hidden among Muggles. They had been holed up long enough and, in spite of finding Creevey's presence annoying, Draco knew that his departure would mean going back to hours upon hours of tedious research.

They need a break. With September coming to a swift end, the occasions to do so outside would be few and far between. If they were even able to find the time, with spell practice and Granger's never ending supply of obscure books.

To his surprise, his proposition had been met with general consent. Weasley had almost grinned at him, as if all Draco had ever needed to buy his approval was the promise of getting him out of the house.

It was a victory short-lived, though.

"Don't point that wand at my face!" The idiot in question was saying, swatting away Draco's attempt at making his hair colour less flashy.

"I wouldn't worry, Weasley. I can only improve your appearance from whatever this is." Draco retorted, waving his free hand in the other boy's general direction, well aware that Weasley hadn't changed anything about himself yet.

"Mum always said I'm the one between her other sons that looks the most like Bill, so… this you are referring to is clearly something that Harry finds highly attractive."

"Not surprising Potter isn't known for his good taste!"

"Well, at least that's something we can agree on." Weasley sneered, looking at Draco up and down.

"Leave me out of this." Harry said, voice aggravated. "Ron, I trust you can do your own cosmetic charms. Use the mirror in the hall, as I've left my contacts in the bathroom upstairs and Hermione is using the other one. I've no idea what's taking her so long, but knock if you need and I'm sure she'll help you. Her charm work is the best anyway. Draco, I've found my old glasses…"

"If you think I'm going to wear-"

"I've modernised the frame and switched the lenses with normal glass. I think that, with your newly dyed hair, it should be enough of a disguise. Unless your father is actively patrolling the coast looking for you, I doubt one of his darling friends would recognise you even if you were to walk directly under their noses." Harry said, pulling a pair of thin, gold rimmed glasses out of his pocket and trusting them into Draco's hand.

Draco unfolded them, wrinkling his nose. "At least they are not so stupidly round anymore."

He lifted them onto his face, moving his fringe aside. Despite being light, he could still feel them where they sat in between his eyes and over his ears, and it wasn't exactly comfortable. He blinked a couple of times, af if trying to adjust his vision.

"How do I look?" He asked, craning his neck in the hope of catching his reflection on one of the cabinet glass doors.

"Like a librarian's wet dream." Harry assured, patting him condescendingly on the shoulder.

"I think you meant to say I look like a librarian." Draco said, running a hand through his hair and swiping them backwards. "Whether or not that's what you are into…"

"Semantics." Harry shrugged, at the same time as Granger appeared, carrying a bag full of towels.

"All the librarians I've ever met are over 60 and kind faced." She said, giving Draco an unimpressed once over. "You are neither. Harry, please could you help me carry this? I was going to pack a few snacks and water."

She slung the bag over Harry's shoulder, who looked at its contents with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Hermione, is there a reason why we need the entire house supply of towels? It's not like we are going swimming, with what seems like the entire population of Wales for that matter."

"Oh, don't be dramatic Harry, it's only six. And, if you don't mind getting sand in places sand should never be, suit yourself. Just be grateful I am not asking you to carry the water." She said primly, tying her hair up in a high ponytail.

She had straightened them in a similar fashion to the Yule Ball, Draco observed. It was the only feature she had changed about herself, but it was enough to make her less recognisable.

Sensing Draco staring, she tilted her head, giving him an appraising look that lingered too long on his arm.

"I'm not carrying the water either." Draco scoffed, but she simply tutted and turned around, leaving him to shout after her. "Hey, Granger! Hey… I am NOT carrying the water!"

Watching Colin Creevy watching Harry with starry eyes and a hint of a drool, wasn't exactly how Draco had planned on spending the afternoon.

After a pleasant couple of hours in which he and Weasley had even shared a moment throwing bread at the seagulls, a group of giggling teenage girls had approached them asking if they wanted to join their game of beach volleyball.

Surprisingly, Granger had agreed for the lot of them, proving that she wasn't half as terrible as Draco and Weasley, whose gangly limbs flew everywhere like the sails of a windmill.

With only hers and Harry's teams left in the game, Draco had found himself sitting with a gaggle of silly girls, an embarrassed Weasley and Creevy. To top it all off, he couldn't tell which, between the girls and the younger wizard, was more interested in admiring Harry running around in shorts.

It was approaching evening, a slight breeze bringing cold air in from the ocean. Feeling unreasonably moody, Draco deflected every attempt at conversation. He was starting to get restless. Not having been able to contact Ben since his visit, the thoughts that had been consuming most of his last week started to creep back into his mind. Had he gotten Theo in trouble? Had Snape been able to understand Draco's message? Would he even be willing to help, after the way Draco had behaved with him during sixth year?

He was so focused on his worries that he hardly noticed Harry reaching behind him for Granger's bag.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, uncapping a bottle of water and taking a long sip.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine. Good game." Draco replied, pushing the fake glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Thanks. Only one set left after the break. Are you sure you are fine?" Harry said, frowning.

"Yeah." Draco insisted, distractedly. The pressure inside his chest was building and he scrambled to his feet, leaning forwards to mutter in Harry's ear. "Do you mind if I stretch my legs? I feel a bit of a headache coming…"

"No, that's okay." Harry's eyebrows were furrowed, but he didn't pry further.

"Thanks. I won't be long." Draco replied, grateful.

He ignored Weasley's curious eyes, kneeling by the bag to fetch himself one of the remaining bottles. His shoulder still ached from carrying Granger's over-excessive packing around with them all day but, at the cooling touch of condensation against his fingertips, he was able to appreciate the charm she had discreetly casted to keep their supplies fresh.

Only a few things were as satisfying as cold water, quenching a thirst he hadn't even realised feeling.

He swallowed in big gulps and, by the time the bottle was half empty, he was feeling at least marginally better.

He hadn't gotten more than a few steps away from the group when Harry's voice called him. He turned his head and it was only thanks to his seeker reflexes that he was able to catch the coin that the other boy had thrown in his direction.

He looked quizzically at the golden pound in his palm and then back at Harry.

"Good catch. It's in case you feel like making a call." Harry said, a small smile gracing his lips.

Draco nodded and hurried away, a sudden wave of shame making his throat constrict uncomfortably. Choking back a groan, he walked to the nearest phone box, closing the door behind him. Once inside, he banged his forehead against the plastic board, closing his eyes and sighing.

It hadn't taken long for Harry to pick up on his recent mood shifts, and he had expected questions. Instead, Harry had told him that he would understand if Draco needed space or someone that wasn't him to talk to. He had his friends, after all, while Draco only had him. Receiving approval to apparate to Grimmauld place whenever he was feeling overwhelmed, or to call Allie without Harry being there, should have felt liberating. After all, it gave him that privacy opportunity he so desperately needed to get in touch with Snape.

Harry's show of trust, though, only made the necessary lies seem more deceitful. Draco hated feeling guilty.

So, he picked up the receiver and actually dialled Allie's number, praying that she was already awake. He tried to keep it short but, as usual, she was able to read the emotions behind his tone of voice. He played it up, deciding that venting about Creevy's annoying presence was the safest way to go. By the hesitance in her parting words, he didn't think he had succeeded in fooling her.

He sighed again, rummaging in his pocket for the crumpled piece of paper he had been carrying with him everywhere. Ben answered by the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Ben, it's me." Draco said, in a long exhale.

"Draco? Oh, wow, I actually did not expect you to call. Not using a phone, at least."

"It's not my first rodeo." Draco replied, using one of Scott's favourite expressions.

"Rodeo? Where did you- You know what, I'm not even gonna ask. I'm actually glad you called, Theo owled two nights ago. There's a package for you." Ben said and, by the sound of it, Draco guessed he was chewing on something.

"Oh, thank fuck. Did he sound mad? Hope he was smart enough not to give any clue." He said, relaxing slightly. He was fairly certain Theo had not given him away.

"You are lucky he didn't send an howler, you wanker. Actually, the letter only barely acknowledges Jeffrey. Theo just said he is glad you are well and that he had talked to Snape for you. The package comes from him, I think. But, yeah, it's safe to assume he is at least a little bit mad. He spent all summer worrying…"

"Yeah, I know. It's not like I could have done something about that." Draco interrupted, feeling unreasonably defensive. "Listen, are you having dinner?"

"No." Ben said, after a short pause in which Draco could hear him swallow. "Just a snack. Don't try to change the subject, you need to give him more than-"

"And you are alone, I presume?"

"Uhm, yeah. I'm meeting with Sonya in an hour or so…"

Slamming the receiver back onto the hook, Draco rushed out of the phone box before he could hear the rest of the sentence.

"Did you just apparate from a Muggle phone box?" Ben asked, startled, less than 5 minutes later.

"McDonald's loo." Draco shrugged. He had appeared in the middle of the other man's living room, the sudden pop causing Ben to drop the glass of juice he had been drinking. Draco waved his wand magnanimously, vanishing the mess.

"Since when do you wear glasses?" Ben prodded again, watching him with a perplexed frown.

"Uh? Oh, they are not mine." Draco said, rubbing his nose with his open palm and pushing Harry's glasses to rest atop his head. He could feel the ache in his temples worsening and he snapped, frustrated. "Listen, I have no fucking time to waste…"

"If you want me to keep playing messenger with my brother, you should at least try to sound a little grateful." Ben said, flatly. He crossed his arms, levelling Draco with an unimpressed stare.

Chastised, Draco flushed. "Okay, yeah. You are right. I'm sorry, I- it's true, though, I can't stay long." He breathed out,

"Why?" Ben asked, his eyes still hard.

"Why what?"

"Why can't you stay? What's going on with you? Theo is one of your oldest friends, I think you owe him an explanation, don't you?"

"He is not here, though, is he? I know this is probably driving him nuts, but you need to understand that I can't risk involving more people than I have to. The less you two know, the better. Trust me, please. I'll- I'll try getting in touch with him, but I can't really promise you anything… He is in Hogwarts, goddamn it. If word gets out of my shift in… allegiance, it could get dangerous for a lot of people, Ben. I want him safe and he'd kill me if I got you into trouble." Draco pleaded, clenching his hands into fists and focusing on the sting of nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms to stop himself from raising his voice.

"And are you safe?" Ben insisted, but his expression had softened. When it was clear that Draco wasn't willing to elaborate, he sighed, nodding. "I guess seeing you in one piece has to be enough for now. Rumours of Potter's return have been circulating for weeks, father is starting to get worried. It doesn't please… Him, you know, that- You Know Who. But Potter has made it this far and I guess that means something, if you are on a first name basis with him. Theo says he has a knack for surviving…"

You don't know the half of it, Draco thought bitterly. "I don't really want to talk about this."

Ben nodded again. "Okay then, I'm gonna get you the package." He said, motioning towards his room.

He returned seconds later, holding a book-sized parcel wrapped hastily in brown paper.

"I think it's a book." He commented, pointlessly. There was a hint of a teasing smile playing on his lips and Draco relaxed.

"Astute observation, I wonder what gave it away. But, honestly, thank you!" He said, clutching the package to his chest in gratitude.

Ben's eyes zeroed on his left forearm, where Harry's handprint had faded to a darker pink against his pale skin.

"Hey, what's-"

"I'll call you!" Draco squaked, embarrassed.

With a parting grimace, he apparated back to McDonald's bathroom stall. He had left the door locked, hoping with all his might that none of the Muggles in charge of the facility would notice it was temporarily empty. To his relief, the grubby cubicle was still secured and void of people.

He was about to cheer on his success, when a voice piped up from one of the other stalls, heavily accented and sounding fairly drunk. "Alright in there, mate? That didn't sound too good. I'd stay clear of whatever you have been eating, if I were you."

Cursing Merlin for the lack of a more discreet way of apparating, Draco felt his cheeks heat up. Deciding that he couldn't really leave the place until the unsolicited commentator was gone, preferably a safe few miles away, he picked at the wrapping paper around the package, ripping a neat strip down the middle.

What surprised him wasn't really the book inside as much as the look of it. A faded, old version of Advanced Potion Making, it had definitely seen better days. The cover was held together by a long piece of yellowing spellotape and, at a quick glance inside, the pages were crowded with annotations in a small, unremarkable handwriting.

Intrigued by the curious choice, Draco flipped through it. Scanning the little notes and diagrams, he tried to figure out why Snape had chosen to send him what looked like a well used copy of their NEWTS textbook. Whatever former student it had belonged to, it looked like they had been quite critical of the original material, offering a different spin on almost every passage.

Checking the front page on a whim, he noticed that the previous owner had scribbled "this book belongs to the Half Blood Prince" in the top right corner, using the same tiny print as the rest of it.

What a pretentious wanker, he thought, snorting at the idea that anyone would be wanting to call themself something so stupid.

He was starting to think Snape was taking the piss, when he noticed that the first few pages didn't lay quite as flat. A folded piece of parchment had been wedged in between page 10 and 11.

Draco hastened to open it, confusion growing when it turned out to be blank but for three words written at the top.

"For your notes".

Despite the subtle changes that come with maturity, the handwriting was still quite recognizable. There were no doubts that it all belonged to the same person. Considering that the piece of parchment could only come from Snape, there was really only one possible conclusion.

His jaw dropped. Whatever it meant, it seemed that Snape had sent Draco his personal copy of the textbook, one packed with notes and comments from the man's own school time.