A/N: We're actually drawing closer to the end now! I'm not gonna jinx it and make an estimate how long it'll take, but we're in late May now (story time, and coincidentally, real time as well) and the term ends in July. The finish line is in sight xD

Enjoy this new chapter, tell me if you enjoyed it, and if you didn't, tell me why not :)

By the end of the week, although still in pain, Harry was allowed to move back into the Gryffindor dorms, armed with a special salve owled in from St Mungo's and standing orders to report to Madam Pomfrey every Wednesday for a check-up.

When he stepped through the portrait hole, the room fell silent. A few people, mostly 7th and 8th years, got up, and the way they lined the way to the dorms, it felt like Harry was walking down a red carpet. After fending off some congratulants and way too many nosey questions, he managed to flee into the eighth year dorms. Ron was absent, he noted. His bed was empty, and his belongings had been cleared from the bed stand. Moved into a separate room, Hermione had told him. He was still attending classes, but other than that, he was more or less restricted to his room for the time being, until someone would decide what to do with him.

Harry flopped down on his own bed and closed his eyes, wishing for nothing more than to forget all his troubles and to sleep for a while. But he was denied any rest, because shortly after, half the 7th and 8th year, led by Seamus, barged into the dorm.

'Harry! Is it true Ron and Malfoy duelled?'

'Justin from Hufflepuff said they're throwing Ron into Azkaban, and he heard it from his boyfriend who overheard Professor Flitwick!'

'They say Malfoy tried to kill you and that's why you were in the hospital, is that right?'

Such were the questions Harry was bombarded with. And why was it that they assumed Draco had been—no, actually, he knew why they assumed that, but he really wished they could see this new Draco the way Harry saw him. He wanted to yell in frustration— of course that's not what happened!—but he bit his tongue as he turned to face his peers. No, there had been no duel. No, nobody was going to go to Azkaban. No, Malfoy hadn't tried to kill anybody. Refuting rumour after rumour, he left out the part about Ron trying to kill Draco, until eventually, the group disbanded, leaving him alone in the dorm.

Crikey. If this was any indication what expected him from now on… it was fifth year all over again, just without Rita Skeeter this time. Harry dreaded to think what the questions at dinner were going to be like.

'Finnigan, not bad, but you need to work on your stirring. Granger, very good. And of course, Harry! Very impressive, my boy. Keep at it.'

If anyone would have told first year Harry that he would one day grow to excel in Potions class, he would not have believed it. Sixth year had been close, but that had been someone else's tricks. But now… between his renewed motivation and Draco's tutoring, Harry actually felt like he had a solid grasp on the techniques, and if Slughorn's praise was anything to go by, he needn't be worried about his grades, either. An 'O' would probably be too much to hope for (although, with Slughorn? The man's irritating celebrity fetish may yet work out in his favour), but Harry was reasonably certain he could achieve an 'E'. So long as he scored similarly in Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and Transfiguration, St Mungo's entrance exam wasn't out of the question yet.

Neville's hand went up. 'Professor? A question?'

Some sniggers came from the Slytherin corner of the classroom, but Slughorn was saved from having to answer when someone knocked on the door.

'Come in!'

A scrawny Hufflepuff boy nervously poked his head into the classroom.

'Professor McGonagall sends me, sir. She needs to see Harry Potter in her office right away. It won't be long, she says.'

A dozen heads turned. Two dozen eyes stared. Harry wished for a hole in the ground to appear. Couldn't he have one single class where he wasn't singled out, summoned by a teacher, attacked, collapsed, or anything else? What he would give for just one ordinary, uneventful year.

'Oh, well. Off you go, Harry!'

He put down his pen and headed out of the classroom. What McGonagall wanted to see him for, he had no idea. Ron came to mind, of course, but what would be important enough to pull him out of class in the middle of the day? When he arrived at the headmistress's office, he was none the wiser. He knocked, and Professor McGonagall opened the door.

'Come in, Mr Potter.'

On the one side of the table sat Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, although still only acting. Two seats down was the chair Professor McGonagall had just left, with Kingsley's bag taking up the seat between them. On the opposite side, a chair had been pulled out for Harry.

'Thank you for coming, Harry. And thank you for having me on such short notice, Professor. I'm sure you can imagine how packed my schedule is.'

Kingsley cleared his throat.

'Allow me to get straight to the point. We all know why I'm here: your little, ahem, stunt down in the dungeons. Now, the way I see it, there's two ways we can handle this.'

He pulled a stack of papers out of his bag and spread them out on the table.

'The first option is to press charges. If we treat this as assault, that happens automatically, nothing you or I can do about it. I've pushed back the investigation for the time being, but the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is breathing down my neck to let them handle this, and I don't need to tell you how eager those DMLE hotheads are to make some arrests.'

He looked at Harry, then at Professor McGonagall.

'I believe none of us want Ron in prison. Are we all in agreement?'

Harry nodded. Professor McGonagall hesitated, but then nodded as well.

'Very good. The second option is a lot less drastic, but I'm going to need both of you cooperating.'

He picked two forms off the stack and slid them across the table, one for Harry and one for McGinagall.

'Harry, this one certifies that you will not be seeking civil damages against Mr Ronald Weasley, born so-and-so, resident as follows, and so on. This here is a lot of words to say: "I'm fine, it was an accident". Signatures here, here, and here, please.

'Headmistress, I'm going to need you to certificate on behalf of the school that Hogwarts will not pursue disciplinary measures against Mr Weasley on the grounds of assaulting another student.

'That does not preclude consequences for any other rules broken in the process, just the assault', he hurried to add. 'The Ministry is not going to interfere with the way this school is run, Minerva.'

Harry scrawled his name on his parchment, and after a few tense moments, the professor signed hers. Kingsley collected both, looked them over, and slid them back into his bag, visibly relaxing.

'Thank you both. Ron isn't off the hook entirely, but if we're lucky, this should be enough to get the assault charge down to a regulatory offence. Negligient discharge resulting in non-fatal injuries rarely warrants more than a fine. No "war hero goes to prison" headlines, hopefully.'

He zipped up the bag and extended his hand, but Harry didn't shake it. Kingsley frowned.

'Was there anything else?'

Harry nodded. 'What of his auror career?'

He didn't know what he wanted to hear. Did he want to be the reason Ron's dream would end? No, certainly not. But then again, did he think Ron fit for the job? Two months ago, he wouldn't have hesitated to affirm that yes, Ron would make a terrific auror… but now he wasn't entirely sure anymore. He wasn't sure of anything at all.

The Minister's face fell slightly, and Harry guessed that Kingsley was similarly conflicted.

'I can't make any promises', he admitted. 'By the letter of the law, this isn't grounds for a rejection, but… this isn't an everyday case, Harry. This already went through the hands of the department heads. They will remember it. If and when he decides to apply, I can't predict how that'll work out.'

'I see.'

He offered his hand and Kingsley shook it.

'Thank you for your time.'

As Professor McGonagall accompanied Kingsley out of the room, Harry made his way back to Potions, but his thoughts were elsewhere. How in Godric's name would he break the news to Hermione?

…and therefore, Gamp's Law is satisfied only if the matter-to-energy ratio is within the boundaries laid out previously, something the summoner can calculate with ease using Maddock's formula, as described in his seminal 1572 work on transfiguration.

Phew. One foot of parchment down, two to go. Harry put down the quill and drank some water before picking it up again, trying to come up with his next paragraph. For some reason, remaining focused was harder than usual today.

'Minister of magic who passed the Troll Oversight Bill, what's the name again?', Draco mumbled from across the table without taking his eyes off the parchment. 'I thought I knew, but it appears to have slipped my mind. Something with A, I believe.'

Harry frowned. 'A… you don't mean Brian Julius Alquist? The one with the moustache?' He vaguely recalled Professor Binns droning on about it.

'Alquist, right. That's the one.'

Both their quills scratched on the parchment. Harry's potions homework was already written up and in his bag, having been looked over and approved by Draco at the start of their session, and barring trivia such as Minister Alquist's name, there was nothing either of them required the other's help with. They were, for all intents and purposes, spending time with each other simply because they appreciated each other's company while doing homework.

How far they had come, Harry mused.

He stood up and strolled over to one of the bookshelves in the nearby aisle. Transfiguration, transfiguration, there had to be something here… he should have asked Hermione to come, but he hadn't wanted to strain the newfound ceasefire between her and Draco. Ah, there it was. He picked up the tome and returned to their table, already formulating his next sentence. The intricacies of transfiguration were not something he cared to study in fine detail, but they were crucial to the healer training.

After describing the aforementioned process, Gamp later went on to formulate five principal exceptions to his law, three of which refer to living tissue, which according to Gamp cannot be created from nothing, although it can be transformed. The mechanism behind these exceptions, as they pertain to organic material, is not fully understood, however Patricia Anemonia describes in her 1813 work several possible and partial explanations for…

He wrote on and on, but his heart wasn't in it. Maybe it was the sound of Draco's quill scratching, or the library was busier than usual today, or maybe it was the way Draco's hands kept moving in his peripheral vision, or… well, Draco seemed to play a part in it, actually. Probably. Perhaps.

Well, he was somewhat distracting, Harry admitted to himself—not that he would have been caught dead saying it out loud. Between how he had looked at the beginning of the term and now, Harry thought that Draco had… livened up, that was the best he could describe it. Perhaps in the past, Harry had been too busy feuding with him to notice it, but lately, as they had spent more time together, he had noticed that when he wasn't miserable for once, the other boy was actually somewhat good-looking. He had gone from sickly-looking and sunken together to his usual, pale teint and held himself with more confidence than just a few months ago.

Anyway. Transfiguration homework. Right.

He managed another three paragraphs before his attention was drawn away again. Not by Draco this time, but a group of students who had just entered the aisle the two of them were sitting across from. They were chattering and looking over at their table, and Harry was fairly certain they were the subject of the group's conversation.

'Ignore them', Draco whispered, following Harry's gaze. 'I told you this would happen. Just pretend they're not there.'

Harry angrily glared at the group one last time for good measure before returning to the parchment. Uhm. Principal exception number four… Merlin, what was it again. He grabbed his textbook and flipped through the pages. Gamp, Gamp… right. Exception number four. He began to write anew.

A giggle from across the room distracted him again and he rolled his eyes.

'I don't see what the big deal is', he grumbled. 'A Gryffindor and a Slytherin, so what? They can't possibly believe all this nonsense the Prophet writes!'

Draco tensed. 'That's… not exactly what they believe.'

Harry frowned and looked up. 'What do you mean?'

Draco refused to meet his eyes. 'It's the other part of what the Prophet writes.' When Harry didn't catch on right away, he added, 'do I have to spell it out for you? They believe I'm "corrupting" you into switching brooms. Seeking for the other snitch.'

'Oh.' Oh. Harry flushed. 'That's—by Godrick, that's nonsense. You—me—I mean, what?'

'Right', Draco agreed, although there was something in his voice Harry couldn't identify. 'Completely bonkers.'

They did their best to ignore the other students and once again the sound of quills on paper mixed with silence while the group eventually dissipated. Occasionally, Harry glanced at Draco, who was fixated on his work, evidently more used to tuning out his surroundings. Returning to his own writing, Harry finished up the essay about Gamp's law, although he struggled to keep his gaze on the paper and away from both Draco and any passers-by.

When the daylight began to fade, they packed their bags and headed for the exit. They were almost out the door when a voice held them back.

'Potter! A word?'

It was some Hufflepuff boy—sixth year, if Harry remembered correctly. He glared over Harry's should, at Draco, and lowered his voice when Harry approached him.

'Weasley did the right thing', he opened without prelude. 'A lot of us think so. If he', he nodded at Draco, 'knows what's good for him, he'll make off, better sooner than later.'

He didn't wait for a reaction but turned on his heel and marched back into the aisle he had come from. Probably for the better, but as tempted as Harry was to catch up to him and give him a piece of his mind, he just clenched his fists and returned to Draco. His friend didn't need to ask, and Harry was grateful that he didn't. If he looked as angry as he felt, the contents of the conversation couldn't be too hard to guess; Draco most likely had a fairly good idea of them.

They walked the next few corridors in silence, Harry not paying much attention to his surroundings until Draco suddenly stopped. When Harry turned to him, he simply raised an eyebrow.

'Gryffindor is that way', he pointed back at the junction they had just passed. 'Unless you were planning to accompany me to my dorms?'

Harry reddened again. 'Right. Zoned out for a moment.' He coughed to hide his embarrassment. 'See you on Monday.'

Draco nodded in reply and Harry backtracked the few metres and turned towards the Gryffindor tower. Although he had played it off like nothing, Draco's remark continued to bother him. He certainly hadn't meant anything by it, just a flippant little jab between friends, but after the happenings in the library, it conjured up some not entirely unexpected but certainly not helpful associations and (even worse) imagery.

Unless you were planning to accompany to my dorms? He hadn't even said it like that, but Harry's fantasy was running away with him, and already he worried that someone might have overheard them. Him, Draco, and hinting at a bedroom… if any of that leaked out, the tabloids would wish for a second title page. And maybe a third.

Blasted Prophet. Harry almost wished he had remained ignorant to the nature of the rumours circulating about them.

He was too worried about the potential fallout to care much about how he felt about the idea. It was only later, after dinner and in the privacy of the Gryffindor dorms, that he realised he didn't particularly take issue with it—a realisation that brought the redness back to his cheeks so forcefully, he had to take a cold shower afterwards to try and get those thoughts out of his head again.

Draco cursed himself. A lot.

Throughout his life, speaking thoughtlessly had gotten him in trouble a lot, but usually it was for insulting muggle-borns within earshot of a teacher, for bold claims he couldn't hold up, or for invoking the family name in ways his father didn't approve of.

Accidental frivolity wasn't something he had ever expected to add to the list.

'Unless you were planning to accompany me to my dorms?', he had said. To Harry. In a public corridor.

It wasn't so much the public part that worried him—watching out for bystanders had become second nature to him over the past year, and he was fairly certain nobody had witnessed his little slip-up—but the Harry part. If he thought about what Draco may or may not have meant by it, and came to the right—or wrong?—conclusion… of course, Draco hadn't mean that by it, he hadn't meant anything by it! But the underlying sentiment, he loathed to admit it, was more or less—no, no it wasn't, not—

Stop right there, he chastised himself. Calm down. Breathe.

His face remained calm and composed, but inside, the turmoil continued. No, he certainly wasn't dreaming about anything involving Potter and bed, he refused to entertain that thought, at this time and ever—but purely hypothetically speaking, if Potter concluded Draco had meant anything by it, Draco wasn't certain he could deny it without giving himself away. And with the way Harry had reacted to the revelation what the world thought about their alleged relationship, Draco didn't dare hope for understanding or lenience. No, once the other boy found out how Draco felt—no, stop, once he suspected that Draco felt for him, he would certainly do as was expected of him and break off any and all contact to Draco.

Well. He was going to cross that bridge if and when that happened.

Bloody Potter.

When Harry had initially approached him, Draco had seen a naive Gryffindor and an opportunity to restore his influence and improve his standing. He had fully intended to take as much advantage of Harry's good faith as possible, just as his father had taught him. No good deed goes unexploited.

If he had known that less than a year later, he would be plagued with decidedly un-Malfoy feelings about Harry, he would have told him to go to hell and brew his bloody potion alone.

Great fucking mess he was in.

A/N: That potion Draco mentions at the end is chapter 6, when Harry asks Malfoy for help in Potions class, which is how their study meetings come to be. It's been six years since I wrote that chapter, I had to ctrl+f my own fic to remember when that was xD