A/N: Enjoy! This is part 1 of what is essentially a double chapter, hence it's shorter.

Harry was silent for most of the way back, and Draco was glad about it. Oh, he had come to enjoy Harry talking more than he would have imagined, but in such a somber mood… better not.

The closer the end of the year inched, the more stressed he became. To stay or to go. Malfoy Manor or the extended Black family in Bruges.

Harry or no Harry.

A secondary consideration if ever there was one—portkeys, apparition, Britain was all but next door—but nevertheless, in his mind, the choice seemed to present itself as 'Harry or no Harry' lately.

Buggers.

In one month the train would come and take them home, and then… and then he would have to decide what 'home' was.

He tried to make a mental list. Malfoy Manor would be his alone, that was a pro. Mother would leave upon her release, and father would never leave Azkaban, so he wouldn't have to share the manor with anyone, staff notwithstanding.

I might get lonely.

That was a con, then. The events of their seventh year were another.

What else? England was his home, so staying meant familiarity. His favourite tailor, his wandmaker, his decorator and bootmaker… friends and acquaintances, although most of them wouldn't have anything to do with him these days.

Bruges, then. A fresh start, certainly… but different. I'll have to learn Dutch, he figured. A blank slate, but at what cost? The continent had a wizarding community as well, but the Dark Lord had raged there as well, and one wearing His mark might not be welcome. Even if Draco tried to keep it secret, such things had a way of making themselves known.

I might get lonely.

However he sliced it, that was what he always ended up with.

And what of Harry?

Staying meant Harry. Harry's friendship, maybe a chance at—no, don't go there.

You're setting yourself up for disappointment, Draco. Be reasonable.

Bruges meant no Harry. No heart—less heartbreak, Draco corrected himself. Sit it out, it'll blow over.

He could imagine the 'kicked puppy' look on Harry's face if he were to leave all too vividly. Which wasn't helping at all.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Draco tried to focus on his list again.

I'd have to sell the manor if I emigrated. Who would even want to buy the place? Most of the people he could imagine were dead or in prison. Keeping it would complicate matters though, both bureaucratically and by depriving him of any seed money to start a new life.

But staying in that big, empty house, alone with memories and… well, mistreated house elves, mostly?

Draco would rather sleep in Knockturn Alley.

Harry, unaware that he had been the subject of Draco's brooding for the past twenty minutes, pulled him out of his thoughts when they parted at the castle gates. Draco nodded absent-mindedly and muttered a goodbye. After Harry had disappeared towards the Gryffindor tower, Draco lingered for a moment, glancing back at the thestrals that had pulled their carriage.

Dead people. There were lots of those at Malfoy Manor.

Bruges.

Harry had barely made it through the portrait hole when Ginny ambushed him.

'Harry', she purred, grabbing his elbow and steering him to one of the empty armchairs. 'Do you have a minute?'

Moments later, Harry found himself seated and with a cold juice thrust in his hands (how long has she been laying in wait?, he wondered) and Ginny opposite him, trying her best at an innocent face and failing.

'Sooo', she started. 'What are you going to do about Malfoy?'

Harry flinched and hurried to look around them, but the Common Room was largely deserted, with nobody in earshot.

'Do about him?', he asked back under his breath. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean', deadpanned Ginny, 'that everyone with two eyes in their head and a single brain cell behind them can tell you are hopelessly infatuated with him. So… what are you going to do about it?'

Harry hoped his face wasn't as beet red as it felt. 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'Oh please. Alright, maybe not everyone, but I can tell. As can Hermione, for that matter. You're basically all over him, and I'm sure Malfoy isn't blind to the way you look at him when you think he's distracted either, so unless you plan to suffer in silence…'

'Okay, okay', Harry whispered, 'say I am. What about it?'

Ginny sighed. 'Look, Harry. It's not like I'm jumping at the chance to pair you two up. You know I wasn't happy when… you know what I mean. Anyway. But as much as I can't stand him, I can't stand you moping around even more, and if he is as reformed as you say… well, you've got it bad, and it's only a few more weeks until we leave. So somebody has to talk some sense into you.'

When I left you, Harry finished her sentence. If Ginny of all people felt compelled to nudge him in Draco's direction… was he really that obvious?

'What would you have me do?', Harry asked. 'I doubt he's into… that he's into that anyway, let alone me. And even if, can you imagine the fallout? The Prophet would have a field day, and—'

'Harry!', she cut him off. 'Are you listening to yourself? Since when are you concerned about the Prophet? And as for him, how would you know if you don't ask?'

'I just… I can't imagine him wanting that sort of… thing with me.'

'And I couldn't imagine Malfoy not being a cunt and being bearable to be around', she countered, 'but here we are. And "that sort of thing" is called gay, by the way.

'Oh don't look so shocked', she added at his slack-jawed reaction. 'It's not a bad word. You've met my brother Charlie, right? Because if you treat it like a dirty secret, I can guarantee you Malfoy won't want to snog you.'

Gay. Harry tried the word in his head a few times. Gay. I'm gay. It felt… odd. Unfamiliar. Then again, his only exposure to the topic before had been Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and they had always made it sound awful, lowering their voice as if afraid to say it out loud.

'Do you really think it could work?'

Ginny shrugged. 'Why not? You've been getting along pretty well all year. You both like Quidditch, for starters. Shared interests.'

Harry nodded. 'And you're really behind this?'

Ginny swallowed. 'What's over is over. You're not coming back, I'd be a fool to wait for you. If Malfoy makes you happy, then go and be happy. Better than walking around looking like a kicked puppy whenever he's not around. I'm not going to hold your feelings against you.'

'Thank you. Really.'

She gave him a crooked smile. 'Come here.'

They embraced for what felt like minutes before separating. Harry took the first sip of his no-longer-cold juice as he settled back into the armchair to think the whole thing over.

How he would tell Draco, Harry had no idea.

Hey Draco, there's something I've got to tell you—no, too cliché.

Casually dropping my s—hinting at my… preference? Could go wrong.

He briefly considered writing a letter, but in what felt considerably too much like a Malfoy kind of thinking, he tossed out any ideas that involved written evidence.

How, then?

Ginny's words returned to him. You both like Quidditch, for starters.

He began to work out a plan. Draco hadn't played Quidditch in… oh, two years now? He had to be itching to play again, and since the Slyhterin team was playing without him this year, he hadn't really had any opportunity to do so. Harry would have to speak to Professor McGonagall tomorrow; certainly, if his name held any sway at all, he could persuade her to let him book the pitch. Maybe Ginny's word as team captain would help, too…

At some point, Draco would have to teach Harry the meaning of the word 'subtlety'.

During today's lunch break, Draco had barely been able to focus on his quiche, because Harry had spent the last five minutes trying to signal him from the Gryffindor table.

That, or he was choking on his fish salad and suffocating.

Either way, there couldn't be a single person in the Great Hall who hadn't noticed Potter's antics, Draco was sure of it.

After lunch, Draco made sure to leave the Great Hall last, and sure enough, there Harry was, waiting for him and virtually beaming with excitement.

'What in the world is wrong with you?', Draco greeted. 'Were you practising pantomime at the table or did you just fail your classes in covert messaging?'

Harry seemed way too pleased with himself to mind.

'We have an appointment', he announced. 'Today, 8pm, at the Quidditch Pitch. Just you and me.'

'Wha—say again?'

'Quidditch', Harry repeated, and yes, Draco had apparently heard correctly. 'I thought we could catch a few snitches. Refresh the rusty reflexes.'

Draco hadn't attended any of the season's matches and tried to ignore the topic entirely, but that didn't mean he wasn't dying to fly again. However…

'What if I had plans?', he teased. 'Do you usually book establishments without asking your plus one if they have time?'

Harry flushed at that, and Draco indulged, just for one second, in the fantasy that his words meant something to Harry. Dreams, Draco, dreams, he chided himself.

'Well, uh, I, well I didn't think—'

'Naturally', Draco deadpanned. 'Don't fret, I'm taking the piss. I will indulge your ludicrous plans. Eight, you said?'

'Eight', Harry confirmed.

'Alright then', Draco sighed. 'Eight. I'll be there. Now, may I go, or would you like to mime any more secret messages?'

'That's all', Harry beamed. 'See you then!'

Of all the Gryffindors, Draco just had to fall for the silliest, didn't he?

A/N: Home stretch! Things are looking up! I've written this chapter and the next back-to-back, intended as a double feature and therefore a little shorter than usual. I've got the number of remaining chapters figured out, and I've started writing ahead to tie it all together in the last chapter(s). The rest of the story is pretty much planned out well in detail, so hopefully, the usual months-long delays will be a little shorter.

To give me some time to write the next instalments, the second part of this double chapter will be space apart a little.

Expect "…Chaser", chapter 25, on July 14!