A/N: Like Draco being the one to take Tom's diary to Hogwarts, there are a few things in this fic that might seem to contradict canon until they're tied in later on. One such example begins in this chapter. For this and any other instances, I'd like to say 'trust me, bro'.

Also, I'm not an Italian speaker by any stretch of the imagination, so if you see any errors (in any language other than English, honestly), please point them out so I can correct them!

Chapter 2: Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Where to Find Them

There was definite interest around the village in a game of Quidditch, which offered Draco the opportunity to be introduced to the rest of the kids.

Blaise's maternal family was one of twelve that comprised Nuovo Nora. Gianmarco's family—the Domatazzis—was another. Zabini was not one of the other ten names, which piqued Draco's interest. He realized then that he didn't actually know anything about Blaise's father other than he'd died the day Blaise was born. Draco had never even been told his name.

He was quickly distracted by the fact that village Quidditch games comprised solely of Chaser matches.

"Sorry—what?" he said when Blaise told him that.

"We can't have Bludgers this close to Muggles, and we haven't bothered with a Snitch for ages." Blaise leaned on his broom as the two oldest teenagers alternated picking the rest of them for their teams. "So we play it more like Muggle football, I suppose. If you don't want to play like a regular Chaser, go defence. You'll love it, I promise."

It didn't take Draco long to find out why. Defence players behaved the way Bludgers did, doing their best to dislodge, block, and intercept the other players. It made for an incredibly dirty game, necessitating someone at the ready to cast Cushioning Charms on the ground.

With a fast broom and plenty of blagging experience, Draco found his place in it. He also wasn't sure if it was arrogant to notice how skilled a flyer he was compared to the village kids. A few definitely boasted some serious talent. One of them, an older boy named Dante, approached Draco while they all sat on the ground during a break.

He said something in Italian, then looked expectantly at Blaise. Blaise translated: "He says that I had told him you play Seeker."

Draco nodded, to which Dante said something else. The familiar Snitch case Dante pulled out of his pocket pretty much said it all.

"Seeker's match?" Blaise translated anyway.

"Okay," Draco replied, which thankfully meant the same thing in Italian.

He stood back up and grabbed his broom. The other kids—especially the little ones who clearly looked up to Dante—grew excited. Draco spared a nervous thought that Blaise might not like him going off with another boy, regardless of why. He looked over his shoulder to gauge Blaise's opinion and caught a couple of Blaise's cousins amiably shoving his shoulders with impish grins. They stopped when they noticed Draco looking, descending into giggles as Blaise hid his ducked face by rubbing his forehead.

At centre pitch, Dante opened the case and waited until Draco had laid eyes on the Snitch before releasing it.

Dante made a looping motion with his finger. "Tre?"

Three laps on their brooms before the match would start, as Draco understood him to mean. He nodded. "Okay."

Dante also flew a Nimbus 2001. He was the only one who did in the village, perhaps because he also played Seeker on one of his school teams. He and Draco kicked off and flew in tandem, pushing their brooms to top speed.

"Pronti, partenza, via!" Dante yelled in Draco's direction after the third lap, which Draco had come to understand as 'ready, steady, go!'

Draco broke away from him, and they ended up on opposite sides of the pitch. Draco trolled along at about thirty feet in the air. He realized then that he wasn't even nervous to face off like this against somebody new, or who he hadn't had chance to scope their playstyle. Draco also felt rather confident in himself after having come so close to beating Potter in their last Quidditch match. Were the two of them on the same broomstick model, Draco had no doubts at all that he was the better Seeker.

When Draco dove, having caught sight of the Snitch, his stomach dropping had nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with the speed he ramped up to. He was just about to close his hand around the Snitch when something crashed into his side and sent him rolling in order to stay on his broom. He glimpsed a grin and flash of shadow before Dante sped off. So he wanted to play dirty!

Draco grabbed Dante's broom by a stirrup when he closed distance, upsetting its balancing. In the half-second Dante looked away from the Snitch, it was gone. Draco feigned having seen it, then tapered off to a cruising speed after he was certain to be followed. Dante's brow was slightly wrinkled when their gazes met. Draco smirked, which led to a laugh and rueful shake of the head from Dante.

It was a lot more fun to play against someone who didn't lapse straight into self-righteous anger about fouls. In fact, the more egregiously Draco behaved, the more delighted Dante (and their audience) was.

Despite all that, or perhaps because of it, the mood didn't change once Draco caught the Snitch. Dante gave him a one-armed hug on the ground, laughing joyfully as they returned to the others. Although the affection was fraternal in nature, Draco quietly worried that it might bother Blaise. He didn't seem upset, although perhaps it helped that Draco dropped back down beside him. His body had been pushed to its limit, which made leaning against Blaise all the easier. That Blaise relaxed into it made Draco feel more secure that things were fine. He would have liked for Blaise to put an arm around him, was all.

Draco learned in short order that the people in the village were very tactile. It was a little overwhelming when he was touched often, without warning, and short of context. Why was Draco being poked in the shoulder? Why did Blaise's younger cousins want to walk arm in arm? Draco couldn't understand anything they said unless Blaise translated (if they even said anything), so Draco just decided to assume contact itself as the goal unless otherwise stated.

He'd met all the members of Blaise's family throughout the day, although didn't grasp just how many there were until everyone properly congregated at dinner. There were too many people to seat at one table, so Draco joined the rest of the kids out on the balcony. He and Blaise were the only boys.

Draco was handed a glass of wine by one of Blaise's aunts. He looked immediately to Mum and Father for their opinion on the matter, but they were otherwise preoccupied.

"It's normal," Blaise told him. "Don't worry about it."

It was difficult to concern about anything at all once a massive platter heavy with antipasto was levitated down to the centre of their table. Draco followed suit with the other teenagers on sparsely sipping their wine throughout clearing all the cheese, cured meats, olives, peppers, tomatoes, and whatever else. A mushroom risotto followed, and then perch with roasted vegetables.

Blaise poked Draco's arm once they'd both finished. "Want to go for a walk?"

A happy stomach seemed to facilitate the flutter that rippled through it. Draco felt warm, twitchy, and everything in between as he followed Blaise. They each took a cone of gelato before carrying on through the front doors.

Blaise had no destination in mind, based on the pace they went up the lane at. Other people strolled as well, making Draco conclude that this was just another cultural thing. He'd suspected (hoped) that Blaise wanted him alone, although one motive didn't have to exclude the other.

The sky turned orange, gold, and red. Draco and Blaise were plunged into shadow as the sun went behind the mountains to the west. What clouds were present contrasted heavily blue and pink.

"So what do you think?" Blaise asked.

Draco tore his gaze away from the horizon, only to be distracted by a speck of gelato at the corner of Blaise's mouth. Blaise swiped it with his tongue.

"Of the gelato, or. . .?" Draco replied.

"Everything." Blaise shrugged, that same corner of his mouth tugging toward a smile. "The village, the people, the food. Whatever."

"I like it," Draco said, then hesitated. "I love it, actually."

Using that word felt a little risky, but Blaise grinning in response was absolutely worth it. "It wasn't overwhelming? You looked it, a few times."

"I'm not used to being touched so much," Draco admitted, which also felt like a risky thing to say. "And I'm not used to being somewhere everyone doesn't speak English. I can't really be part of the conversation."

"Quite a change, I suppose, when you're used to being the centre of it."

Draco raised his eyebrows.

"It's what you like." Blaise bumped their shoulders. "Where you fit."

Draco licked his gelato. "I suppose I can't really deny it."

"You shouldn't. It's who you are."

Another flutter passed through Draco's stomach.

"I found it useful when we first started at Hogwarts," Blaise said. "I wasn't completely confident with my English yet. Theo helped, but it was handy to have someone around who spoke properly, clearly, and in a carrying voice."

"You're teasing me," Draco said.

"No."

"The same way Crabbe and Nott do," Draco playfully asserted. "You think I talk too much."

"You talk a lot," Blaise conceded, and they both laughed. "Not too much, though. Not for me."

Blaise's gaze shifted away as he licked his gelato again. Were Draco not holding his cone in the hand closest to Blaise—and had Blaise not folded his left arm across his middle—Draco wouldn't have had the self-control to keep his hand to himself.

Draco and Blaise ended up caught in various conversations as the lane grew busier. Blaise acted as translator, and then filled the air between chats by telling Draco more about whoever they'd just been talking with. It helped to alleviate the slightly charged air between them, although Draco's restlessness reemerged as they rounded back to Blaise's villa. The other kids had all congregated in the lower gardens. While sipping a small cup of frothy coffee, Draco considered all the lounging girls and the mixed voices of men and women carrying down from the balcony.

Draco gave a light clear of the throat. "Can I ask you something?"

"'Course."

"D'you remember in first year, you told me your mum was cursed?"

Blaise turned serious as he nodded.

"Did that ever get sorted?" Draco asked, looking indicatively toward the balcony. "Only I thought all the men in your family had—you know. Died."

"Men related by blood."

"So the men up there are married to your mum's sisters, or. . .?"

"And Mamma's cousins," Blaise confirmed.

"You only have girls for cousins," Draco said. "Did the boys. . .?"

"The ones older than me." Blaise's volume further dropped. "There've only been girls born since."

Draco watched Blaise toy with his bottom lip. "I just wondered—but if nothing's been figured out. . ."

"It's been figured out where it came from," Blaise replied. "Just not sorted."

Draco's stomach flipped from a different type of keenness than what he'd been dealing with throughout the day. "What is it?"

Blaise stepped off with an inviting jerk of the head. "I'll show you something that'll make it easier to understand."

He led Draco into his bedroom and closed the door.

"It's a secret from the rest of the family," Blaise said. "Mamma always worried they'd tell her to leave if they knew. It's why we did leave—to see if it would help."

Blaise went to his bedside table and brought a book out. Draco joined him on the edge of the bed, sitting close enough that their knees touched.

The book was full of photographs. Its first page had photos of a younger Mrs Zabini, looking exhausted yet flushed as she held a blanketed bundle in her arms. There was a man too, holding the baby in a couple. Draco's stomach did some funny flips. For the first time ever, he was seeing Blaise's father. He looked quite a lot like Blaise, since they had the same eyes and smile. His skin was lighter, though—olive. He was effortlessly handsome the same way Blaise was.

"This is my dad," Blaise said, pointing. "These were the last photos taken of him."

Knowledge of that tainted the happiness they contained. It was hard to believe that this man celebrating his son's birth would soon be dead. Mrs Zabini was obviously none the wiser either.

"What was his name?" Draco asked.

"Franco."

Franco Zabini. Draco let the name marinate as Blaise turned the page. He wasn't sure he wanted to see what had come next, but it turned out the photographs weren't in chronological order. Instead, Franco and Luzia (it was hard to see her as Mrs Zabini here) were even younger. They didn't wear rings on their fingers yet, and were somewhere with turquoise water. Both had spent a lot of time in the sun, by the looks of them.

"My dad was a mariner," Blaise told Draco. "He would dive for magical plants in the Greek Isles. The company he worked for was based in Zakynthos. He and my mum met when she was on holiday there."

Blaise pointed at the photo with the turquoise water and white sand in the background. "This was when they went back there for their first anniversary."

"Of being together?"

"Yeah, they weren't married yet."

Draco looked carefully at all the photos, as if one of them might hold a clue as to what the curse on Mrs Zabini was. "Your father was the first one to die, wasn't he?"

"Mhm."

"And all your mum's male relatives died afterward."

"And Mamma's second husband, yeah." Blaise turned the page again. "This was my stepdad, Rosario."

Blaise was a little older in the photos, maybe four or five years old. He looked quite comfortable with the man. He leaned against his side in one photo, and Rosario's arm draped around his little shoulders. Draco's heart ached again.

"He died when I was six," Blaise said.

Yet again, Draco looked over the photos. Something heavy seemed to linger in Mrs Zabini's eyes. It was like her smile couldn't reach them—and who could honestly blame her, after losing two husbands?

"You said you know where the curse came from?" Draco asked, to be certain.

"Mhm," Blaise said. "It's Siren magic."

"Sirens?" Draco repeated, working to hide his intrigue in order to remain respectful. "Like merpeople?"

"They're different," Blaise replied. "Sirens are like Veela. They have an allurement to them."

"Did your mum happen across one on holiday, or something?"

"It happened through my dad." Blaise turned back in the book to the photos of his parents when they were younger. "Everything fits with it, so it's hard to think that Mr Scamander could be wrong."

"Newt Scamander?" Draco asked. "The one who wrote our school book?"

Blaise nodded with a brief smile. "He's friends with Daphne's grandfather, and that's who your father put us into contact with."

"Oh yeah."

"Mr Greengrass had Mr Scamander look at the file." Blaise toyed with the edge of a page. "Mr Scamander interviewed me and Mamma, to get more specific answers. It was his suggestion in the end."

Draco turned more to face Blaise on the bed. "What happened, then?"

"My dad ran into a Siren while working," Blaise said. "He had to have resisted it, since it cursed him. The way a Siren's curse works is it's passed on to the one you desire. It can apparently do some weird bloodline stuff to humans in certain situations, which is why every man and boy alive at the time in Mamma's family eventually died."

Draco hummed. "But then how did you get around it?"

"It happened during Mamma's pregnancy," Blaise replied. "Sirens are different about gender and stuff, so I didn't count as a boy yet by their magic. I wasn't considered to be alive either, while Mamma was carrying me. So I'm safe."

Draco's face fell. "You thought you weren't?"

"I mean. . ." Blaise cast Draco a sidelong look. "The way things were going, and all."

More than any other time that day, Draco wanted to take Blaise's hand. He wasn't even sure that had anything to do with fancying him. Still, because he did, Draco held off.

"I'm not the only safe one, either," Blaise kept on. "Aurora is, since Siren magic is all about gender—it doesn't care how you're born. Gianmarco is safe too. It's only ever been known to work through blood."

"But what about Rosario?"

"He drowned in a riptide." The corners of Blaise's lips twitched downward, and he cleared his throat. "It had nothing to do with this."

"That's if Mr Scamander is correct," Draco said with a slight grimace. "How do you find out that he is? You don't really want to wait and see if something happens to disprove it. Right?"

"It's how it all goes together that makes it work," Blaise replied. "My dad worked in a place where he had the chance to meet a Siren. His old job logs said he was working around Kythira in 1979, which is where the largest Siren settlement lives. Dad was the first one to die because he was the one who offended it."

"But how do you separate out things like Rosario, especially if he wasn't the only one who died in an accident?"

Blaise huffed a sigh that made him sound annoyed. "Not every little thing has to fit."

"A man dying isn't a little thing," Draco said.

"You think I don't know that?"

Draco pressed his lips, and Blaise ducked his chin. While Blaise toyed again with a page in the photobook, Draco noticed how worn its edge was. He wondered how often Blaise flipped through this book, thinking or dreaming or yearning of a life he never got to have because of all this.

"I'm not arguing with you," Draco eventually spoke. "I'm only asking."

"Yeah," Blaise quietly replied, not looking up. "Sorry."

Draco shifted close enough for their arms to touch. "Is there a way to confirm Mr Scamander's theory?"

"He's still looking into it." Blaise's shoulders relaxed. "We know where the Siren settlement is, so if he could go there and ask around. . ."

"One of the Sirens might admit to it," Draco finished for him. "They might confirm it."

Blaise nodded. "Sirens are difficult, though. They don't have much interest in dealing with humans beyond hunting them or—you know."

"That's pretty dangerous then, isn't it, to go to them?"

"Mr Scamander told Mamma when she said that that he's very careful. But I think that if anyone could do it, it's him. He's very good at what he does."

"World-renowned, and all that."

"Mhm."

"So what would this mean for you now?" Draco looked down at the photos again. "What does it mean for your mum? You don't have to worry about anything else bad happening if the curse has done all it can. What about Gianmarco? I thought your mum didn't love him."

"She likes him," Blaise replied. "They grew up here together. Mamma was just a village kid to Gianmarco back then, and Mamma thought he was a boring swot."

Draco snorted, to which Blaise grinned.

"I think they're changing," Blaise said in a careful sort of way. "Gianmarco was never shy to say he married Mamma because he was in love with her. Mamma might be nearly ready to open her heart again. They've been married for three years now, and I don't think it hurts that Mamma sees how well Gianmarco and I get on."

"Do you see him like a stepfather?"

Blaise nodded, which kindled further warmth in Draco. It was hard not to smile, especially when taking into consideration that Blaise had expressed jealousy in past for all his friends having their fathers.

"That's good, then," Draco said. "I'm happy it's all worked out for you."

"Me too." Blaise looked down at the happy, carefree photos of his parents in his lap. "It's thanks to you, you know. Because you're a busybody."

"Right." Draco feigned a sigh. "Sorry about that. Can't help myself, and all."

"I know." Blaise matched his tone, the smile he suppressed manifesting playfully in his gaze. "One of your many flaws."

However exhausted Draco was when he finally crawled into bed, he ended up tossing and turning to such a point that Leon preferred to sleep as a loaf in the windowsill. Draco's skin tingled, and he wished he could have stayed in Blaise's bed with him.

Rain falling for the last few days of July kept them indoors with all of Blaise's cousins. Draco got some Italian lessons and had fun helping the girls with their hair. It required special care and was so very different in texture from his own.

He woke up on the first of August to quiet. No rain fell outside his window, and the sun created a tentative line on his bedroom wall.

Blaise grinned when they met up. "I've something I want to show you. Go put on your swimming trunks."

"My swimming trunks?" Draco repeated.

"You brought some, didn't you?"

"Well—yes."

Blaise offered no hints as to what he wished to share, so Draco went to change. He was accosted briefly by Mum, which turned him a little grumpy before he found Blaise again outside the villa.

"Look at me," he lamented, holding his glistening arms up. "I've so much sunpotion on me I'm going to blind someone."

Blaise erupted with laughter. "Yeah, me. Come on, we're going down to the lake."

They headed off down one of the footpaths, which led into the forest west of the village. The path weaved back and forth as they descended. It grew really steep at one point, where Draco and Blaise had to climb down. The ground rumbled underneath Draco's hands as they did. There was a Muggle automobile tunnel, according to Blaise.

"There you go," Blaise said when Draco reached the bottom. "Not far now."

The last bit of footpath came out onto a small, rocky beach. An old log lay on it, which Blaise draped his towel over. He pulled his shirt off. "Be sure to take off your sandals."

Draco joined Blaise by the log. "I was thinking of keeping them on."

"You could wear them into the water, I suppose," Blaise replied. "But you'll want to throw them back to shore."

Draco narrowed his eyes, split between suspicious and curious. "Why?"

"You'll see."

Draco set his towel beside Blaise's. He hesitated to pull his shirt off, distracted by the sight of horizontal stretch marks on Blaise's back. Draco felt a bit better to realize he wasn't the only one to get them after growing so much in a short span of time. He greatly disliked the purple marks on the front sides of his shoulders. Despite his feelings about his own, Draco found himself greatly interested in Blaise's.

He kicked off his sandals and followed Blaise to the water. Draco hugged himself for warmth, hobbling as the sharp rocks stabbed the bottom of his feet. His teeth chattered, and he suppressed a grimace for his poor nether region when he and Blaise stood submerged to their waists.

"All right," Blaise said. "So, my dad would dive as part of his work, right?"

Draco nodded.

"I want to show you how."

Blaise took some coiled, grey-green strings out of his trunks' pockets. He held half out to Draco, who wrinkled his nose. They were slimy to the touch.

"Eat them," Blaise told him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Eat them," Blaise repeated, then laughed. "Don't look at me like that."

"You expect me to eat these." Draco wrinkled his nose. "You first, then."

"No! I want you to."

Draco sniffed them tentatively, jerking his head back in disgust. "You're having me on."

"Come on, Draco. Trust me."

If Draco fancied Blaise less, he would have refused. Instead, he picked up one of the strings to inspect it closer.

"It's easier if you just eat the entire lot in one quick go," Blaise told him.

Draco sighed. "This is so nasty. I can't believe I'm letting you talk me into this."

"It'll be worth it," Blaise said. "I promise. I'll eat mine right after you do."

Draco braced himself and shoved the handful into his mouth. Like with the Sanguidis Potion he once drank, his immediate impulse was to spit it back out. Just do it, Draco told himself as he chewed. He couldn't even tell if his teeth were actually severing the rubbery little strands. The look on Blaise's face wasn't helping, as he clearly worked to not burst out laughing.

It made Draco feel better that Blaise started chewing just prior to his swallowing. Blaise had to clap a hand to his mouth when Draco retched. Their aftertaste made Draco feel like he'd eaten an entire stalk of seaweed for breakfast, which had left a coating of algae in its wake.

Blaise forced his down, then took a steadying breath. "All right. Now don't panic."

Draco's eyes went wide. "Panic? About what?"

His exhales started to sound thin, and his inhales felt it. Draco tried to pull in enough air to fill his lungs. It felt like something stopped it.

Draco grabbed at his throat. "Blaise—I can't breathe—"

"I know." Blaise's voice had also gone weak. "Come on."

He grabbed Draco by the elbow and pulled him further out. When their feet no longer touched bottom, Blaise submerged while Draco tread and gasped. He started to feel lightheaded, which wasn't doing much for his ability to stay afloat. Draco's scream was lost when grabbed by the waist and pulled down.

Draco fought against Blaise. His diaphragm fought him, automatically drawing Draco's lungs full in another futile attempt to avoid passing out. That was it, then. Draco was going to drown—

Except, he wasn't. Oxygen flooded back into Draco's bloodstream. He floated there in the water, panting, and then fully realized he was underwater and breathing. His comprehension of that must have shown on his face, because Blaise grinned. No—he was laughing at Draco!

Draco hit him in the shoulder as hard as he could, mouthing the word since he couldn't speak: 'Arsehole!'

Blaise grabbed Draco's wrist and opened his hand. Draco's lips parted as he took in the webbing that now connected his fingers. He looked back to Blaise, who stretched his neck out and ran his own webbed fingers indicatively over some gashes behind his ear.

Gills. Draco's hand flew to his own neck. Sure enough, he had them too.

The shock was starting to wear off. Draco wasn't cold anymore, the water felt as natural to him as air, and Lake Como's glimmering surface marked the boundary of an entire world left behind. Now that he wasn't confronted with some nasty-tasting plant or feeling like he drowned in air, Draco could think. This was how Franco Zabini had swam the waters of the Aegean Sea so efficiently. It all seemed very obvious now what Blaise had been trying to coax Draco into.

Blaise gestured at Draco to follow him, and took off toward the dark, murky depths. He was so fast that Draco wondered how he would keep up. However, further awareness of the changes in his body extended now to his feet. He had flippers. No wonder Blaise had told him to take his sandals off.

It was strange yet exhilarating to swim so quickly, and with such natural dexterity. Depth didn't bother Draco's ears, and he didn't seem to need light anymore to see. It was so incredibly quiet, cool, and peaceful down here.

Alongside seaweed, there was moss like candyfloss that looked like it belonged on a different planet. Draco brought himself to a halt when a figure loomed ahead. Blaise's silhouette seemed elongated as he circled the figure. Draco cautiously approached, and his stomach went a little strange as facial features manifested out of the gloom.

It was a statue—the figure of a long-haired, bearded man dressed in a robe with his arms open toward the surface. Draco shot Blaise a questioning look. Blaise placed a hand on his chest, fingers spread. He mouthed, 'Protection'.

Draco's frown deepened, for he didn't feel any sort of magic coming off the statue.

'For Muggles', Blaise added, then gestured for Draco to follow him again.

That was only the beginning of what was worth seeing. Draco could have expected Blaise to show him a sunken boat or two, but the multitude of other things Muggles had tossed into the lake amazed him. Automobiles were common, and even a seaplane. There was some sort of war vehicle that had a gun-like spout and heavy tracks around its numerous wheels.

At the same time Draco felt pressure in his ears again, Blaise started them back the way they had come. The lake's surface came into view as Draco's hands and feet started having difficulty finding purchase for propulsion. Blaise poked Draco, then pointed upward. They started straight up, and Draco experienced a thrill of anxiety as to what might happen when his head broke the surface. Would he be able to breathe air?

Not quite yet, it turned out. Draco and Blaise lingered beneath the surface as they leisurely swam back toward shore. About twenty feet out, Draco's mouth started to feel wet and his lungs were restrictive. He could breathe easier above water, although panted heavily from the effort of getting to shore.

He and Blaise sat in the sandy shallows. Draco's body felt heavy after how weightless he'd been underwater.

"That stuff we ate's called Gillyweed," Blaise broke their comfortable silence with. "It's one of the plants my dad would pick. It grows in the Mediterranean. You can keep eating it while underwater to extend the effects, but I didn't bring any more than what I had."

"I don't think I could have swam much longer than that anyway," Draco said through a yawn. His eyes were heavy, and he looked forward to a kip at riposo.

"I could eat an entire cow." Blaise grimaced. "Swimming's hard work even with flippers, isn't it?"

He leaned back, propped up on his elbows so that the waves lapped against his chest. Out of Draco's shadow, Blaise closed his eyes and tilted his head back so that the warm sun bathed his face. Draco's breath caught in his chest to look at him. Blaise was so relaxed—too relaxed to possibly be aware that Draco had just realized that fancy was no longer a word big enough to describe his feelings.